#its a little busy the flatter tone might help

[derp-craft]

What do we thing guys? All red brick or do we like the diorite brick? I think I like breaking it up buuuut the white is pretty stark against the deepslate. Given I have NO idea what I will be doing with the background of this underground 'base' soooo. The shape has been fun to work with since I'm building it around something rather than on it's own lol.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Galletita ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

part of a small fic exchange with random mutuals :)

This is for you, my dearest Beefro! Hope you enjoy!

| GALLETITA | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): chubby Javi P x fem!reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  5.2k | CONTENT: big boi Javi P is hungry and a little cranky, you like to bake and Javi likes to eat, belly kink, feeding kink, probably bad Spanish, we’re playing fast and loose with timelines, canon, and everything in general, so just forget about timey wimey boo boo wah wah and enjoy the story lmao

| SYNOPSIS: Your sister and brother-in-law have enlisted your help with their small business while they await the birth of their first baby. You help with the cafe and find yourself face to face with a new customer whose appetite might have met its match in you.

It had been a rush to open up on your own at the last minute, but your sister couldn’t exactly be blamed for going into labor in the middle of the night. You’d anticipated this eventuality, but manning the entire store on your own for the next couple of hours felt as daunting as if it’d never been considered at all. She and your brother-in-law had brought you down here almost a month ago to help out with their small cafe before the baby arrived, and you had spent most of your time helping out with anything to shoulder the more physically demanding tasks, leaving her with things like manning the register so she could rest on a stool for most of the day.

They only had two other part-time employees, and only one of them was available to come in today around noon, which left you on your own for what felt like an eternity. Thankfully the rain provided a deterrent for many customers, and you held out hope that nobody showed up until someone who actually worked here was able to come help out. You hadn’t heard any updates about your sister’s labor, but there were plenty of things to do to keep your attention until something came through.

The little bell above the shop door rang out the announcement of a customer’s arrival. You quickly smooth over your apron, pat down your wet weather frizzy hair, and walk towards the front counter.

“Good morning! What can I get for you today?” you offer up in a rushed, pleasant voice.

The smooth, deep tone that replies aligns with the gorgeous man it belongs to. Brown hair mussed every which way, a neatly trimmed mustache that frames a pair of plump lips, broad shoulders balanced out with a soft middle pouching out against a light blue button up. Thick thighs stretching the denim of his worn jeans. By the time your eyes travel back to his face, he’s looking at you expectantly with a hint of a smirk. Heat floods your face when you realize he said something you missed entirely because you were too busy ogling.

“Sorry,” you stutter out in a nervous laugh. “O-One more time?”

The handsome customer almost renders your brain into complete mush yet again when his big brown eyes soften into something patient and, hopefully, flattered instead of annoyed with your distractedness. “I asked if you had any kind of dessert type foods. Bakery down past the corner lost power. Saw your cafe sign on when I was driving back and figured I’d give it a shot,” he explains simply with an easygoing sort of confidence that made your knees feel jittery.

“Oh. Right. Yes, we have power,” you assure him. His eyebrow ticks up in amusement as you both take in the overhead lights and sound of machinery running. His lips twitch as though he’s holding back a wide smile - and probably a laugh at your expense. 

“What I mean is, uh, yes. We have a few options, but we mostly focus on coffee based drinks.” You wave broadly at the barely stocked glass case. “I, um, I didn’t quite get it all filled up. Busy morning.”

“Busy, huh? Figured the rain might keep people away,” he observes as he looks over the sparse offerings in the case.

“Yeah,” you agree in a breathy sort of hum. Why on earth could you not stop staring at this man like you’d never seen a male human before? You give yourself a little grace by insisting the hectic night and busy morning have made your brain a little fried. He stays still except for his eyes, which flick over to you with that sparkly sort of warmth you feel you could get used to very quickly.

“See anything you’d like?” you ask, trying desperately to get yourself back on track.

His grin breaks free completely and makes little crinkles around his eyes. “I’m open for whatever you recommend, sweetheart,” he shoots back, smooth and heavy like molasses.

Your face goes from slight confusion to embarrassment  when you realize your choice of wording probably sounded incredibly forward, and it goes into full-fledged mortification when you realize his reply was even more so. He only smiles back warmer, and you feel frozen to your spot, only released when he breaks eye contact to look at the case again.

He chuckles low to himself, but you only catch something that sounds like “linda.”

“My name’s not Linda,” you correct in some sort of autopilot reply. When he bites his bottom lip down in a quiet laugh, you very nearly excuse yourself to the back.

“My apologies, sweetheart. Rude of me to not make proper introductions. I’m Javier. Javi, if you like.”

Your hand floats up of its own accord to meet his, and you think you give him your name in return. You’re not really sure anymore. Maybe you were more exhausted than you thought. You manage to get through enough conversation to direct him to the cookies you’d made yesterday as well as a few pieces of banana bread. He picked a random assortment, and you began to box it up when he held a hand up. 

“Just gonna sit here for a bit and try a few if that’s alright,” he smiles. “Not in too much of a rush to get back out into all that mess.”

You say of course and stay as long as you like and try to make yourself busy with things around the shop so you don’t embarrass yourself anymore than you already have. You watch as inconspicuously as you can from the corner of your eye as Javier downs two cookies, half a slice of banana bread, and a few sips of his black coffee like it was nothing. Your chest felt light and jumpy watching him dive into your baked goods. You were far from a professional, having just heavily dabbled in cooking and baking as hobbies when you had the time or the money, but you’d taken to prepping baked goods for the food case since you arrived to help out.

Javier seemed to appreciate your efforts in full as he munched quickly on each bite. You could see the soft bugle of his tummy over his belt while he sat eating. You wanted to reach out and touch it so badly, to see if it was as soft as it looked or as sensitive as you imagined it would be. It was noticeably rounder the longer he sat and ate.

The already snug pull of his shirt buttons was more pronounced each time he bent forward slightly to sip on his coffee. His waistband sat lower than he was probably used to because he kept fidgeting with it. You wish he’d just undo his belt if it was pressing into his stomach and making him uncomfortable. Frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he undid it all and let his body bow out and breathe easy while he ate and got more of a curved, satisfied middle.

You jump at the sound of your phone going off in your back pocket, and you hastily answer when you see your brother-in-law’s picture fill up the screen. “Hello? Is everything alright? How’s she doing? Is the baby here yet?” You do a little jumpy dance when your brother-in-law shares the news of the latest member of the family making their debut. Baby and mom were both happy and healthy. You shoot Javier an apologetic look when you notice him watching you curiously. He grins and waves you off as he tucks into whatever sweet treat was lined up next.

You pace around the cafe and try to retain all the information being relayed, but between the rain and the busy hospital it was a bit difficult to hear. You were so focused on listening to your call that you hadn’t heard another customer enter the shop. In fact, you didn’t even realize anyone else had come in until a firm, annoyed tap landed on your shoulder. You jerk away in surprise and motion to the phone. “I’m so sorry, my sister just had a baby. I’m getting the update about it. I’ll be with you in just a second,” you promise in a whisper to the impatient customer. He’s tall and thin with a clean-cut suit and haircut to match. Your entreating smile has no effect whatsoever as his face remains cold and annoyed. 

“Half the block is out of power, and the only coffee place I can find in this fucking storm won’t even serve people? Fucking typical,” he bites out, gripping his hips with large, tense hands. “Hurry it up, will you?”

You’re so caught off guard by the rude interaction that you’re stunned into silence. Just as you get your thoughts together enough to tell this guy to fuck off, he rounds on you again. “My boss is going to wring my neck if I don’t bring him some fucking coffee, and some of us have real jobs that we care about. Can you get off your stupid personal call and sell me a cup of coffee?”

When you don’t answer quickly enough for his liking, he plucks your phone out of your hand and hits the button to end the call. He snaps it back into your hand and holds his arms open to his sides. “Was that so fucking hard? You got enough brain cells to rub together to ring up a few cups of coffee, sweetheart?” he sneers.

The scrape of a chair across the cafe is all the warning this harassing asshole got before Javier roughly shoves him into a table, knocking said asshole as well as a couple of chairs onto the ground.

“Get the fuck outta this shop. If you step foot in here again, I will personally see to it that you are arrested for trespassing, harassment, stalking, assault, and whatever else I can think to put on the charges. You understand me?” Javier’s back and shoulders are puffed out and ebbing with heaving pulls of angry air.

The rude customer scrambles onto his knees and feet, reddening quickly from embarrassment. “You can’t just put your hands on people, man!” he squalls. Despite the challenging demeanor, the man slowly takes several steps backwards and away from you, edging closer to the entrance. “Maybe I should have you fucking arrested for putting hands on me, huh? How about that? You think your girlfriend is gonna be impressed when you’re sitting in county? All because you wanted to impress her? You fucked with the wrong guy—”

Javier takes a measured step forward and swings an uppercut into the man’s gut. He doubles over with a groan and grabs at the entrance to hold himself up. He sputters and coughs, bug-eyed with alarm, before scurrying out of the shop.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath. It had been a while since you’d been in a retail environment, and you’d forgotten how awful the general public could be, especially towards service workers.

Javier turns to you once he’s sure the man has left for good and gives you a quick inspection, satisfied with your unscathed state, but still asks if you’re okay. You give a quick nod and thanks. 

“You know that guy? He ever been here before and given you trouble?” he presses.

His voice is so stern and pointed, you answer immediately that as far you knew it was the first time the asshole had ever graced the walls of the shop. He dips his head a few times in acknowledgement. “How long are you here alone?” he probes. You don’t stop to consider how he’s so confident that you’re in the shop alone. Instead, you reply quickly to his commanding voice and words. He glances at his watch and makes a sort of grimace. “That’s still some time between now and then,” he muses aloud. He puckers his lips in thought and relaxes a hand onto his hip, leaning casually to one side and somehow still maintaining that confident control of the room.

“If it’s alright with you and wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, I’d like to hang around until it’s more than just you holdin’ down the fort.” His eyes are softer now, like they’d been earlier before the belligerent customer had come and disrupted everything, but you can see the imploring weight behind them. Please just say you don’t mind that I stay for a while so you’re not left here alone.

“No, of course not. Of course I don’t mind,” you half laugh at the idea of not wanting him around. “Just don’t feel obligated or anything. I think you got the message across to that jerk loud and clear.”

You grin a little, and Javier mirrors the expression with a lopsided one of his own. “Well, alright then.

I’ll keep outta your way until cavalry arrives.”

True to his word, Javier settled back into his seat after righting the chair and table he’d knocked over during the scuffle, and you might forget anyone else was here with you in the shop if it had been someone who wasn’t so devastatingly handsome, broad, and protective. You kept stealing quick glances his way and offering up more treats “on the house” for his help if you noticed his plate was empty. After the fourth round of treats, he sighed  and rubbed his ever protruding belly. “I’m fit to pop, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Oh, come on. One more cookie,” you appeal. You shoot him a bright, encouraging smile as you extend the plate of cookies to him. He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head but still accepts one last cookie.

“Damn things taste so good. Everything tastes so good. I’m really  in for it now that I know about this place,” he laughs.

You chuckle and shrug as you absentmindedly sink down into the chair opposite him. “Well if you have anything in particular you like, I can try to find a recipe and make it. The regulars would probably like something new in the rotation,” you reason.

“Chase off one asshole and you get preferential treatment, huh? Not a bad deal,” he teases. 

You giggle and clench your hands where they lay resting in your lap. It’s part giddy nerves at the way his crinkly smile and flirtatious demeanor make your belly feel warm and tingly. It’s also partly getting flustered once you realize that you’d invited yourself to sit down at his table and started pressing him for menu ideas. He seemed like a nice guy, and that’s probably all this was: just a nice guy doing a nice thing. He hadn’t signed up for all of this when he stumbled upon your sister’s little cafe.

“You really make all the food yourself?” he asks. He looks thoughtful and maybe even a little  impressed.

You wave off his unspoken compliments and explain that you’ve taken up the task from your brother-in-law since you came to stay and help out. You admit that it wasn’t very hard to convince him as it wasn’t usually in his wheelhouse to prep any of the food. That had always been your sister, who shared an affinity for baking and cooking with you.

“So, got any ideas for me?” you ask in a hope to get the conversation away from yourself.

The line of his mouth curves until a soft, shallow dimple forms on his cheek. “You’re really gonna make somethin’ just for me?” His voice dripped in a deeper, honeyed drawl that made warmth spark and erupt between your thighs.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

He laughs to himself and rubs a thumb along his lower lip, which isn’t helping with how badly you want to throw yourself across the table and nip at it. After a moment in thought, he nods his head once and says, “Biscochitos.”

You blink a few times, completely dumbfounded at what word just left his mouth. “Biscuit Cheetos?” you repeat in confused whisper.

Javier snorts and covers part of his laugh with a cough. “I’m sure you could make a hell of a ‘Biscuit Cheeto’, but I’m talking about the cookie I grew up eating a lot of. Biscochitos.” He pronounced it slower this time, and you parrot it back correctly.  He gives an appreciative hum at your efforts. “Sound real pretty sayin’ that.”

Your face heats again at the center of attention circling back to you. You wave him off again and look away. “I’ll agree it’s a lot better than ‘Biscuit Cheetos’,” you snort. You sit in a charged silence, fidgeting and squirming under Javier’s steady, calm gaze. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms lazily. His air of confidence was warm and firm in a way that made you feel at ease and electrified all at once. He studies you for a moment and grins again.

You feel like you’re trapped in his charming web, but you’re not exactly a fly struggling to escape. You might not mind being up next on the menu. He certainly  looks like he enjoys a good meal. You excuse yourself to get back to work and pack up some cookies to go once he leaves. All too soon the other employee shows, and your quiet time together is over. Just as you resign yourself to some internal pouting that this handsome stranger turned knight in shining armor was probably never to be seen again, he slips you a piece of paper with his number scribbled on it. With a wink and a “gimme a call once those biscochitos are out in the case, mi galletita” he strolls out the door.

You immediately take your 15 minute break and start scouring the web for recipes.

Javier didn’t know which was harder to give up: smoking, booze, or women. All of his past indulgences felt a little heavy handed now that he was mainly doing consultation work for police and government agencies. He’d settled back in Texas to be closer to his family, closer to the home he’d gone away from with dreams of making the world a better, safer place. While he doesn’t much feel that he’s made a difference, he still tries to politely skirt the heaps of praise and compliments most shower him with instead of shutting them down with the truth of just how fucked up each and every facet of the law was in its own way. 

Still, he had bills to pay. He had a spitfire mind and drive that needed quelling. The first thing he’d given up was smoking. It hadn’t been the uphill battle he’d heard about from so many others. Then again, he really only craved a smoke after he’d been in the company of a beautiful woman. That had sorted itself out as he was no longer hitting the pavement day in and day out, and the pick of female coworkers was an HR nightmare on top of slim pickings. 

He wasn’t meeting up with informants and tipsters down at random bars or restaurants or wherever else, and all his fountain of vices seemed to naturally dry up - at least in terms of what triggered his attention to them in the first place. 

However, Javier had found himself a new hobby that he didn’t have to worry about hiding, scheduling, or monitoring. Food. He could eat at his desk, little snacks tucked into his drawers. His car was good for a quick bite any time he got into it. The guys around the office went out for lunch more often than not, and there were plenty of places to eat around here. It’s how he’d found his favorite bakery. That is, until the storm had knocked their power out and led him straight into your sister’s quaint little cafe. You’d struck him in a way he hadn’t seen coming. He hadn’t found himself too concerned with women or fucking something warm and wet for a while now. Much too enamored with his latest adventures in becoming a “foodie” or whatever it was that the secretary had called it.

He hadn’t gone back to that former favorite bakery since he’d happened upon you. A comfortable, familiar smile crept onto his face when you’d called him a few days later after that fateful firth meeting. You sounded flustered and excited to let him know “his cookies” were ready. 

It’s no wonder his mouth had formed the nickname for you as he left the shop that first day. Mi galletita, my little cookie. God, you were such a sweet thing. When he went to see you first thing after work, you beamed at him and looked all the brighter when he legitimately moaned into his first bite of the biscochitos you’d made. He was almost embarrassed about it until he saw how much you took it as a compliment. He liked making you feel good about yourself. After visiting you week after week - sometimes more than once a week - he’d begun to hope that he might be able to make you feel good in other ways, too.

Your sister and brother-in-law were back into the mix now, and he was starting to worry how much longer he’d be able to just walk in and see you. You’d lit something inside him that had him coming back to see you again and again, like a magnet inching too close to another and having no choice but to be propelled together. He didn’t care too much for how you were closing a lot at night by yourself, no matter how many times you assured him it was safe.

Just like that first day you’d met, he felt a need to look after you and make sure you were taken care of. After all, you’d been doing the same thing in your own way. He’d put on more weight since you started plying him with all sorts of confectionary treats. His pants dug into his waist by lunchtime every day, but he couldn’t keep from gorging himself on all the delicious things you made with him in mind. He’d been fit and active once upon a time, but between the desk job and your baking, the seams of his clothing were hanging on by a weak thread in some places.

But, just like your delectable offerings, Javier just couldn’t get enough of you.

The shop had been closed for almost 45 minutes now, and you hated to think of all the ways you were holding Javi up while he waited for you to finish shutting everything down and prepping for the morning shift. He’d taken to sitting with you on nights that you closed, quietly reading something to himself as he patiently waited for you to complete the tasks around the shop. It had been a hectic day that put you behind, but the sight of Javi eating cookie after cookie and rubbing his expanding belly appreciatively made it all worth it.

When you tell him you just have a little bit of paperwork left in the back, he’s slouched down into the chair to ease the bend of his waist into his tight pants. He doesn’t turn you down when you offer for him to keep you company in the back. He sighs as he settles into the couch in the back office. You eye the pouching bits of his stomach that have spilled over his jeans and lick your lips. You love that something you’d made for him - something you’d put so much time and care into - had resulted in a satisfied tummy.

The couch huffs and puffs as much as Javi does as he tries to find a comfortable position. You turn to look at him, and his expression morphs into a somewhat embarrassed face.

“Ate too many cookies, and now my fat ass can’t even sit comfortably,” he grumbles.

You fight internally over whether or not to suggest the obvious: undo your belt and pants. Instead, you opt for the softer lob of a suggestion. “Here, lie down and stretch out a bit. That should help.” You get his head propped comfortably and slide his jacket away from him. He looks more at ease, but you know what would make him feel really good. Your hands travel down his chest slowly. “And, um, I think that…. this could help, too.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers are gently unfastening his belt and jeans, and his stomach bulges out when it’s finally free from the confines of his constricting clothing. He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, and his entire body slackens a bit. “See? Told you it would help,” you say quietly. You trail your fingertips through the thatch of brown hairs at the top of his underwear. His eyes snap open and find yours, pinning you with a searching, fiery look.

You gently curve the palm of your hand over the taut swell of his stomach, and he groans when you rub soothing motions across it. “Poor belly is so full, Javi. Feels so tight. Does it feel good when I rub it like this?”

He whimpers and nods when you apply firmer pressure, and you continue rubbing for a few minutes. “Makes me so happy to see you eat all the cookies I make you. I bake them just for you, Javi.”

His tongue slips over his lower lip when he groans again. “Know you do. Too fucking good to me.”

“I just wanna make you feel good, Javi,” you breathe. Your hand starts to travel lower. “Can I do that? Make you feel good?”

He watches you with fixed adoration and nods. You drag his pants down to mid thigh and gasp at the sight of him. Belly rounded and protruding from stuffing himself with your cookies. Thighs thick and strong. Cock half hard and dribbling from the tip. Your head is between his legs before your nerves have a chance to distract you. The sound you draw from Javi with a few kitten licks across the underside of his cock makes your head spin. You vacuum your lips around the tip and rub his stuffed belly as you start sucking.

He lets out a pained moan and guides your head faster, bobbing up and down on as much of him as you can take. He pulls you off with a loud grunt. “Hermosa, my stomach,” he hisses. You pushed too hard against his sensitive belly while you worked him with your mouth.

“Sorry, Javi,” you apologize in a soft hush. You lean forward and press soft kisses to his belly in a show of contrition. 

His chest vibrates with a low, approving hum. ‘That’s okay, galletita. Let me have a turn, yeah?”

Despite his bloated middle, Javi moves with relative ease now that it’s not cinched beneath a waistband. He stands and bends you over the desk. He’s freed you from your lower garments in what feels like seconds. You know he’s on his knees between your legs, but your hips still jerk in surprise into the cool edge of the desk when you feel his damp breath fanning over your bare pussy. “Still hungry for you, galletita.” A gripping hitch of breath lodges in your throat when he starts licking into you.

Javi’s appetite for your confections paled in comparison to the famished frenzy happening between your thighs. Strings of warm wet something slide down your legs as your climax quickly approaches. His large hands spread you open for his devouring, and the next sharp suck on your clit has you shaking against the desk. Your lax body is pulled backward, head turned to the side to meet Javi’s mouth. He eats into you again, tongue and spit and the taste of yourself spreading.

You reach blindly behind you and around Javi’s belly to guide his cock into you. He lowers you onto the desk once more to adjust himself deeper into you. You moan when he props his belly onto the curve of your ass. It frees up the space he needs to drive himself to the hilt, and you sputter and squeak at the size of him.

“Yeah, you like my big belly, huh? Got somethin’ else that’s big I think you’ll like,” he chuckles.

Your mouth juts open in a silent yell when he grips onto your hips and fucks into you. Your hands fly backwards to clench onto his as he cleaves you in two.

“Breathe, hermosa, breathe,” he reminds you. You instantly gasp and heave out the breath you’d been holding. “You like all of your man to be nice and fat, huh? Big fat belly and a big fat cock, too, huh?”

Every stroke wiggles his belly on top of your ass, and there’s no sense in denying how much you love it. “YES, JAVI,” you cry out. “WANT YOU SO BIG. YOU FEEL SO BIG FOR ME.”

He pants with the effort of his thrusts. “Can feel you tightening up again. You gonna come again for me? You gonna come on this fat cock? Gonna come on this fat cock while your ass is trying to hold up this fat belly?”

Your eyes slide into the back of your skull as your whole body seizes up. Javi  drives himself sloppily into the pitches of your cunt, gripping and choking him with your orgasm. His frenzied question of where? lets you know he’s close. So close that he doesn’t hesitate at all when you tell him to come inside you. He groans like he’s in pain at the desperate plea for him to fill you up.

“Aahhhh–fuck— my little—aahhh fuck!–galletita wants to be a mommy just like her sister, huh? Want me to come in you and put a baby in there, hm?”

You’re too strung out on your high to coherently answer, and it’s extended by the guttural moan of Javi as he starts to spill inside of you. So often a smooth talker, the transition of Javi’s dirty talk to this vocal, unhinged symphony is a pleasant surprise. You soak in every hiss and groan and whimper. He doesn’t quiet until he’s caught his breath, although the slump of him against your back leaves very little room for him to take a deep breath.

You stumble when he pulls out of you and turns you around with your ass half hanging off the desk. He scoops his fingers through your spent pussy and gathers up the remnants of him leaking out. He brings it to your face, and you obey when he tells you to open up. He slips his cum covered fingers into your mouth and groans. He retrieves another scoop of himself from you and smears it across your waiting tongue.

“You feed me so good, galletita, I gotta make sure I feed you, too,” he grunts.

You swallow all of it down until you’re left with nothing but his bare fingers to tongue and lick and suck on. He lets his wet hand wander down to your stomach where he pauses. “Maybe I like the idea of you having a big round belly because of me, too,” he jokes. Warmth floods your face at the thought of it: Javi with a big round belly stuffed full of your cooking, and you by his side, the swell of your middle filled with the two of you.

I tried my best for you, @beefrobeefcal 💜

Here's the "pic" of Javi in the cafe (aka the edit I made for this fic lmao):

Merry Christmas, ♥Puddles♥

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

Warnings: the usual for this universe with crass language and descriptions of bodies (flattering and negative) with use of the words fat, etc. some heavy petting and kissing and talk of blow jobs, age gap, mentions of drugs, mentions of and an actual enema described in the most respectful and vague way that I could manage? strictly caretaking in tone and help regarding serious health concerns

Rating18+: Mature for some sexual language, some sexual scenes, subject matter, dark thought processes and health specifics

Word Count: 10k 🤭

Special Thanks: to baby girls @stylespresleyhearted & @eliseinmemphis who’ve breathed this universe into being and for my friends who gave their input and assurances for this chapter. And to all of y’all who said to go full real and raw in this one, incorporate the hard and ugly parts with the soft and lovely -just like life. Thank you, this urging has helped me go ahead and write something I’m very proud of and hope touches y’all, too.

Graceland at night will always remind Gigi of the first time coming, seeing the house all lit up at the end of the drive's curve, window lights twinkling at her and the promise of his presence inside filling her with butterflies.

Tonight Elvis’ hand is heavy on her ankle and its little chain instead, as it lays in his lap as he drives them up and around back himself, the garage opening like witchcraft without Gigi noticing a single employee besides Sam down at the gate. What a change a week makes.

It’s his home, she thinks fondly at the sight of the back kitchen door. Seems ages since this afternoon when he sent her out here to wait in the garage as he took care of business. They must both be thinking the same thing as they loiter in the Stutz for a little while after he turns the engine off, as if scared some remnants of ghoulish Alden’s might remain inside.

She slips her hand into his big paw at last and he seems to startle out of a reverie in order to give her a tight smile. His sweaty skin glitters from the garage light and it’s muted and pretty as a painting. “Thanks for bringing me home, daddy.” she whispers and if a kid ever got the chance to be brought to the North Pole by Santa, Elvis ain’t sure they’d be more grateful than this shimmery eyed girl child in his seat.

Who the fuck didn’t want this sweet little thing? Who made her so desperate she’s coming home with a washed up old man who’s notorious for having a revolving bed? Elvis chuckles mirthlessly at the thought that even he is so beat that right now he is more preoccupied with how to distract her so he can slip away and do a damn enema.

Life is rarely fair, but it definitely ain’t fair to poor Gigi. The least he can do is tell her,

“Stay put, baby girl.” as he gets out on his side and limps over to the passenger door and opens it for her like his mama taught him, hoping he doesn’t look as stiff as he feels.

He must fail at that. No sooner does she duck her head and emerge from the car, one long leg at a time, than she’s by his side with an arm looped around his waist as if she could support him were he to tumble, kicking the passenger door closed with her still shoeless foot.

Nasty habit that, going around barefoot, he’s gonna have to break her of it, this lack of shoes, and she’s gonna have to shower before getting into bed, no way he’s gonna have grimy sooties in his sheets.

Gigi pulls Elvis’ arm over her shoulder like they’re two marines headed up a beachhead and he’s had his leg blown off, her smile is the only thing keeping him from shoving her off to prove just how fine he is. God. Why?

“What’re you doin’?” he asks instead keeping his feet firmly planted, blinking owlishly at her and she gives in to the temptation to swipe the mop of hair off his forehead. She thinks he looks so distinguished with it swept back, each of his striking features lifted by the volume. She spies some gray roots in the glow of the back door light and it makes her smile, she wonders if she can talk him into styling it the old way again, or a version of it. The way it naturally fell when he was licking her.

“I’m helping ya.” she replies with confused cheeriness.

“I don’t need it.” he insists while squeezing her waist in an attempt to make the blow land softer.

She gives him the closest thing to a suspicious look that he’s ever seen out of this guileless creature. “C’mon in honey.” he changes tactics and taps her butt, getting her to move up the few stairs to the kitchen and willing himself not to wince as he bends his knee.

Gigi is watching him like a hawk and it makes him feel very decrepit and he can just hear the ribbing from the guys about coming back hobbling after taking out a young lady a few years too vigorous for him.

That thought makes him pull his arm off her shoulder and he goes back to squeezing her waist. Which now that he thinks of it, she’s very skimpily dressed still. Just the panties and his jacket. Elvis hopes most of them have gone to bed inside or are out.

The house is far more homey when there’s less people in it, Gigi thinks, as they cross the threshold and no booming bass hits their ears or the tinkling den of party guests. Just the gentle clatter of cutlery and quiet hum of low conversation which ends up being Mary at the sink and Lamar still sat where Gigi got the keys from him at the kitchen counter, eating his burger in between sharing it with Dinah. Dinah who’s making chewing ground beef and onions an art form of seduction. It’s a little off putting if Gigi is being honest which she tries to be but Elvis makes an outright noise of disgust at being met with this in his own home.

“Fuck’s sake Lamar,” he grunts and his friend drops his bun in surprise at the sudden apparition of the two runaways, “don’t ya need to polish a windshield or somethin?”

“I’ll help polish your hubcap, baby.” Dinah purrs into Lamar’s ear and Gigi’s eyes bug about as much as the driver’s.

“Out, both of ya.” Elvis snaps his finger towards the door and Lamar lumbers by with a murmured

“Sorry EP- just sorta happened…”

as he goes with Dinah skipping past them with a wink and a tipsy gait that suggests smoking too much grass in one day.

“Jesus.” Elvis mutters, wondering what the hell is up with this group of friends and holds Gigi tighter lest she pick up on bad behavior as they venture into the den and past it to the living room, seeking out humankind.

There are no Alden’s to be found but unfortunately there is a scene unfolding on the couch of two frizzy blondes clawing at each other while unhinging their jaws like mating hippos, the better to lick each other’s tonsils. Dodger sits to the side in her usual spot in the rocker with her pipe, heedlessly crushing her crossword opposition.

“Tammy!” Gigi gasps in glee at her friend’s scandalous public behavior and the way her red acrylics have torn poor Jerry’s shirts to literal shreds, biceps and fuzzy golden pecs on almost-full display. Not that he seems to mind with the way his hips keep pumping up and his hands are wedged in the back pockets of her cutoffs.

“Jerrah,” Elvis thunders after her exclamation and only then does the hippo-love-fest- cease and Dodger raise her head in order to look Gigi up and down from the anklet on her footsie to the crown of her pretty blonde head, “the hell you doin’?” Elvis demands of his friend, “Comin’ into my home, fuckin’ up the place with b-b-barbecue sauce and ruinin’ d-dinner while y-y-yer at it a-and now neckin’ on m’couch? It’s new, man, got it last month!”

His irate voice turns into a whine at the end and Gigi rubs her hand against his chest in soothing commiseration. “Yeah Tammy, it’s new.” she echoes him.

“Who’s this?” Dodger asks, blatantly ignoring Elvis’ plight.

“I-its Gigi, grandma, ya met her earlier?” he prompts with a confused scrunch of his eyebrows that Gigi finds as cute as a little boy and she gives the unimpressed dame a little wave.

“So many girls in here I can’t keep straight.” she huffs around her pipe.

“Speaking of, uh, how’d it go? Ya know with-“ with Ginger, Elvis means, as he runs his hand down from Gigi’s waist to grab her hand and hold it.

“Oh uh,” Jerry rights himself on the couch and clasps his hands like he has some shred of professionalism left to him in that ribboned shirt, “it’s been handled. Wasn’t pretty but -well, the termination was pretty obvious. Ya gotta be a little more than delusional to push it when your ‘fiancé’ has left to go … out to eat.”

Gigi bites her lip to stall her giggle at his phrasing and burrows closer to Elvis while looking up to see his reaction, follow his lead. The man couldn’t look less sympathetic for her Predecessor and some guilty little cloud that has been hanging over Gigi all evening dissipates under the bright light of his justification.

“Good,” he murmurs lowly, “didn’t want it all fussy, jus’ wasn’t meant to be. Was wrong about it all.” and that seems like a very gentle and kind concession for him to make, just as he doesn’t seem to regret the fact it is very much over.

“Well, uh, now that’s been handled…” Jerry trails off in the manner of those waiting for recognition of a job well done. He doesn’t get it. And so he continues after a beat, “Now that’s done I’ll just be uh, on m’way-“

“-No!” Elvis protests urgently and suprises evryone with his vehemence. “I-I mean don’t go, I need ya man. I-I mean, ya just got here, ya know? A-a-and where’s everybody else gotten to?”

There it is, Jerry thinks with a sigh, he’s needed since the house is empty, it’s got nothing to do with being missed. “Well, Hodge and Ricky spent most the afternoon clearing Ginger’s stuff out at her request and tidyin’ up the master for when ya get back. They’re takin’ the last of her shit over now.”

“Oh.” Elvis accepts this with a thoughtful nod, “Thas good.” he declares softly. “Well, don’t go man, not yet. Not till they get back. You just stopped by and I ain’t seen ya and we can play pool?” Elvis tempts him.

Jerry tries to ignore the way Tammy’s hand has crept into the back of his jeans and is wiggling a finger at his crack. “Uh, ok, yeah I mean- ain’t you tired, Boss?”

“Oh jus’ need a lil refresher, then I’ll be back down, right as rain. I’ll smoke ya.” Elvis replies easily and Jerry picks up on the reason for his insistence like a well trained hound.

A refresher. Be right back down.

Jerry glances over at the cute little stage five clinger holding onto Elvis like he’s a teddy bear she won in a striptease carnival and he gets the memo loud and clear.

“A-a-and it ain’t gentlemanly, you leavin’ Tammy after such a display, a girl’s owed more than that.” Elvis gets desperate enough to pull that one out and Jerry hides his laugh with a dry cough.

“Yeah, yeah I wouldn’t wanna miss seein’ you.” Jerry agrees, “Came just to see how ya were.” he admits the truth of it. “I’ll be down here when you’ve freshened up.”

“Alright.” Elvis nods.

“What’d you two get up to anyway?” Jerry starts a conversation and looks to Gigi for an answer, she doesn’t seem inclined to answer, favoring petting Elvis’ chest instead, but when he doesn’t say anything she picks up the social cue and replies for them both since he seems tired,

“We went back to my place.” she admits breezily, “The only place we could think to hide out. I’m not dressed for anything much.” and she pouts in a way that suggests she thinks she is but an executive decision was made to hide her.

“Ya went to the apartment?” Tammy is grinning wildly and she scoots closer to Jerry, patting at the seat next to her for a juicy retelling. Elvis shuffles the Siamese twins that he and Gigi have become over to the couch and gently disentangles her to sit next to her friend, exchanging a vehement look with Schilling.

“Yes we did!” Gigi is glowing with the memory and his heart aches.

“Who’s this again?” Dodger repeats, too distracted by the sight of a panty clad woman on the red couch to go back to her crossword with full mental capacity.

“This is Gigi, Dodger.” Jerry repeats gently but with more volume as if that’ll sink in better.

“Yes, I’m Gigi.” she’s eager to make a good impression, bless her and her full cotton-crotched display. Elvis starts to creep away in a stealthy little meander from the couch now that Gigi is facing away from the stairs.

“You from Memphis?” Dodger asks sourly, and this plays well into his ploy, Dodger has two moods -not giving a rat’s ass about what happens around her or else being a goddamn one-woman inquisition.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Born?”

“In Memphis, ma’am!”

“Your parents?”

“Mama’s French but Daddy is from Hardiman county.”

“French, hmph.” Dodger picks out the one unacceptable nugget and latches on, “I went to France once…”

Elvis can taste the inquisition coming on and it should buy him a good thirty minutes. Thirty minutes should work if he can just relax and not fuck it up with nervous retention. A ticking clock always makes him clamp up. He bites his lip and reminds himself just how awful it would be for Gigi to learn what his regimen requires. He takes the first step soundlessly, then the second. He’s made it to the third by the time he hears a distant-

“Oh Gigi!-“ from Jerry and the feel of a soft hand on his elbow. She looks so at home on his stairs that Elvis feels like marveling, like she was meant to go up to this sanctum-sanctorum that he trusts so few to see. Not for the first time today he feels as if he’s being looked at with eyes as unconditionally loving -and presumptive- as his Yissa’s.

“Are we going up now?” Gigi asks in a giddy little whisper and Elvis wonders if she really just tore out of the living room and Dodger’s chat in order to be with him. Not even housebroke, this one.

“Gigi, it ain’t polite leavin’ Dodger like that.” he rebukes gently and the glee fades into consternation.

“S-she knows I went to help you!” she whimpers in protest and behind her ear he can see Schilling get up and whisper something to Tammy. It better not be any particulars.

“That’s real sweet darlin’ but I’m gonna be right down,” Elvis soothes, his hand cupping her cheek, “be right down, and family’s very important to me, Baby Girl. I’d like ya to get to know my people.”

It’s a thin excuse with one of those people being her best friend and the other his friend. He imagines it’s not the most appealing thing to sit and be grilled on genealogy by Dodger but Gigi is just gonna have to bear it.

“Can ya do that f’me Gigi?” he prods like it’s a great commission and she’s got watery eyes again and he really cannot believe someone is this sensitive, like God sent her out into life half baked with too thin a skin.

“Yeah, daddy.” she agrees softly, glancing up the stairs to where he’s barred her from going after inviting her up just this afternoon -it makes no sense to her.

He’s never seen a more dejected creature than Gigi as she slinks back to the living room, much to Jerry’s relief and encouragement, and takes her seat beside Tammy with crumpled cheerfulness. Elvis sees her wipe her eyes with the back of her wrists, like a kid, before perking up and turning back to Dodger with faux investment in the conversation.

Elvis climbs the stairs and wonders how he’s gonna manage this night after night. Hell, some mornings he needs it, too. Suddenly the irony hits him of wanting a girlfriend to stay only to now find the reality of that much too oppressively clingy for his pride. He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do about it but for now he opens the padded doors to his room and notices with satisfaction the orderly sanitation that Hodge conducted on the place. He leaves his door adjar, no fear of intruders in this house with its well worn habits and spoken and unspoken rules. He calls up Yissa first and foremost, and while she’s in the middle of something she drops her project and they eat up a good bit of his thirty minutes with conversation. Not that he minds or counts. He’d sit on burning coals every night if that’s what had to happen to talk to his little girl. When she has to go he hangs up the receiver and goes about setting up his routine in the bathroom.

Below him, Gigi crosses and recrosses her ankles under Tammy’s smirking scrutiny and tries to listen to Dodger’s questions with due attention even as Tammy whispers filthy questions in her ear about her time with Elvis.

“Haven’t you got any shoes?” This is Dodger’s most recent concern.

“Yes ma’am I do.” Gigi patiently insists.

“Never see you in any shoes.”

“Well I- it was a pool day, you see?”

“If ya got shoes you should wear them.” Dodger moralizes and Gigi can see her point, even if she doesn’t agree.

“Yes ma’am.” she murmurs as her heart wanders upstairs where she’s seemingly not allowed.

“Get my grandson to buy ya some shoes.” Dodger points at her.

Tammy, who’s not even bothering to act like she’s listening to Dodger, starts to crack up in laughter at this berating of the point, she catches Jerry’s eye in her mirth and like lovers often do, they set each other off into a series of giggles that soon lose their context and Gigi is left more alone than ever.

She looks about the place and thinks of a million things she’d like to ask Elvis’ grandma, if he had a normal grandma. One of those cuddley, gingerbread types that the world had led Gigi to believe were ubiqtous. Instead there’s just this aged artifact from another century, smoking her pipe and staring at Gigi like she’s the oddity.

“Is that weed?” Gigi asks hopefully, nodding at the pipe’s smoking bowl.

Upstairs Elvis had slipped into a plush blue robe he uses exclusively for these purposes to keep the chill away, and having ordered his accouterments, had proceeded only a small way into his routine when the damn intercom blared to life and spooked the ever lovin’ crap outta him. He fumbled with his tools and lost his progress, angrily washing his hands so he could buzz back.

“Elvis, come get yer floozy,” Dodger was saying over the loud speaker, “she’s cryin’ in the den.”

Of course she was, he seethed and felt like breaking the glass in his frustration over no one being competent enough to wrangle a single teenage girl from intruding on him for half an hour.

“Gigi, she don’t mean nothin by that!” he could hear Charlie’s voice faintly in the background and the fact that even with reinforcements they couldn’t handle this made Elvis laugh in manic hopelessness.

“Tell her to grow up, Goddamnit, or I’ll send her home.” he roared through the intercom, punching the button with a vicious jab.

It was quiet for a few moments after that. Fed up and miserable with pain, Elvis stepped away from the button and grabbed another enema bulb and poured in the saline, warming it in the sink and slicking up the catheter with a lubricant that used to remind him of happier times -now his mind associates it with this. He released the button before hearing the response - downstairs Gigi’s sobbing whimper and Tammy offering her friend support by calling him an ‘ass.’

Unable to get the angle right he gave up his attempt to do it standing and grabbed his allocated mat for these purposes, fluffing out a black towel over it. This activity was something he did more of the set up for than anything else in his life. In decades. Having his crew carry the cases of supplies around was humiliation enough, he didn’t need anyone around him to get a firm impression of the details, which laying out towels and lubing up tubes inevitably gave. Mystery was important for respect, and there weren’t no mystery here. And little, if any, dignity either.

Elvis got down on the mat with a brutal pop of his left knee. He heard his own whimper and it sounded like a wounded creature, not at all himself. It was cold down here on the tiled floor with just a thin mat between him and the marble but he could lay down at least and reach behind himself and make his tense body relax enough to accept and dispel what it needed.

Getting up and to the toilet from the ground was the hard part. And he’d bite that challenge off when he needed to.

“Daddy?” he heard faintly outside his room, through the barrier of a wall and half closed door, but while his sight suffered and his body failed him, his ears were sharp as ever and for a brief moment his heart leapt at the unexpected joy of his Lisa coming early. Then he heard again, “Daddy?” And that wasn’t Lisa at all, she didn’t call him daddy and she’d never be so tentative upstairs.

Too committed to his procedure and unable to interrupt it, Elvis held his breath like he was playing hide and seek as Gigi repeated his name closer, inside the bedroom, gently but with so much sadness in her tone.

So she’d ventured up here anyway.

He tensed as she drew closer to the bathroom, drawn by the light under the door in the otherwise darkened room. This tenseness was gonna screw up his enema, he was gonna retain at this point.

“Elvis, you in there?” she asked gently on the other side of the wood and he let out a shaky breath at the inability to deny any longer, fearing she’d try the doorknob of he was silent and in his trust of his home’s stable order, he hadn’t bothered to lock it.

Gigi turned everything topsy turvy and he felt like a young kid again, getting overwhelmed when changes came to fast and nothing familiar would remain just so. He felt his breath coming fast and his vision starting to spot. Such silliness for a man in his forty’s.

“Yeah baby girl, I got in the tub for m’head.” He lied, counting on the compassion she had previosuly shown for his ailment to bolster his story. He has no body of water to splash for emphasis so he stayed stock still on his side on the cold floor and waited with baited breath for her to accept this. “And I had’ta call Lisa.”

“Oh good!” she cooed from outside, and he smirked at the confirmation that he still knew how to play ‘em. “You coulda told me, Daddy! I’d be quiet as a church mouse and coulda run the tub for you and washed your hair for you so you didn’t have to strain your shoulders.”

Did she think he needed to wash his hair? He put his hand to his head and felt grease and immediately regretted it as part of that was now lube. “Aww, you sweet thing.” he complimented her kindness vaguely even as he panicked at the thought that his lie would require a wet head. God he was so tired, he came home so he didn’t have to pretend and here he was on his bathroom floor, puttin’ in a Oscar worthy performance with a half quart of saline up the ass.

“You shouldn’t be so silly, Daddy.” she scolded sweetly and he rolled his eyes, thinking ‘if she only knew.’

“Oh?”

“I love to help you.” she insisted and she must’ve had her lips presssed to the door gap, she was so breathy and close, he could picture her smushed face now and he wanted to tear up at the sweetness. “Will you let me wash your hair, Elvis?”

He didn’t know if it was his imagination or not but he thought he saw the door handle wiggle like a hand had put weight on it. “N-n-no, I-I,” he stuttered out urgently, “I-I-I ain’t comfortable w’that.” he begged, “Not tonight i-I-i’m shy, Gigi. Believe it o-o-or not I-im shy.”

And that at least was a God’s honest truth.

“I know.” she murmured back and sounded like she was smiling herself, “I noticed. I didn’t expect that of you, but I really like it. Makes you cuter somehow.”

And being considered cute was a real heartening thing for a fella to hear, tipped on his side as he was, like a beached whale. Elvis grinned into his hand and let himself savor that. The feeling came again that Gigi really liked him as he was, except for his temper, maybe, and he could hardly fault her for not enjoyin’ it. But she liked him. As he was.

“I’m just gonna sit outside here and be with you.” she declared gently and to his alarm he heard the sound of shuffling like someone sitting down in front of the door, “We don’t haveta talk if you wanna be quiet. I understand, with your head hurtin’. I just couldn’t be away from you any longer. Please don’t make me be away from you, Elvis. It’s all I want, to be with ya.”

Elvis stared unblinking at the caulk line at the bottom of his tub. It was right at eye level down here and the varied thickness of it made him irrationally annoyed, he reached out and picked at a gloop of the dried stuff with his bitten fingernail.

“Ok.” he answered, utterly terrified.

How the hell was he gonna get off the floor, hobble to the John and do his buisness without the sound of any convincing bath effects -and her sitting right outside the door. How the hell. He figured it would be better if she were distracted.

“Tell me ‘bout your French mama.” he requests the first distraction that comes to his mind.

Gigi eagerly takes off on a tangent about her mother who was an artist and rarely in one place, how she had been born in Normandy and credited their breasts to good Norman cow milk, how she painted replica Monet’s on commission and was accordingly sued and how Gigi enjoyed being taken overseas to visit her French relations and go apple picking in the orchards and swimming in the sea -and Elvis listened to the narrative, told in her sweet voice, and allowed himself to be lulled, trying to relax before he made the effort to finish this business.

“-the seashells in Normandy are gigantic, some as big as my palm!” she was telling him as he sneakily turned over and raised himself on his knees, “Of course they wouldn’t be so big in your hands, your hands are so big and beautiful and could hold two of mine but -but they’re big. Does hawaii have big seashells?”

Elvis grunted in effort of holding it in until he could get where he was going and he still had concerns about noise with her right there. “Mm, pretty big.” he grunted out and a thought came to him as he gripped the edge of the tub for leverage to stand, “Water’s gettin’ cold, hold on sec I’m gonna top it off with some hot, won’t be able to hear ya.” he fibbed and reached to turn the handle so it gushed out a roar of water.

Satisfied with his cover, Elvis grabbed again at the tub’s edge and anyhting else that might aid his poor knees in getting off the damn floor. This is what trying to cut back on the pain meds got him, such debilitating pain that he could hardly get off the floor when just a few months ago he was able to kneel down for kisses on stage with only veiled discomfort. Not this agonizing ache and strange weakness in his limbs. He clutched at the tub faucet with it’s handled shape and pushed up.

He was a few pounds too much and after some strain and little progress, the faucet snapped out of its fixture with a deafening clatter that sounded like the ceiling had caved in, reverberating around the tiled room like a thunder clap. He fell back on his kneecaps with a searing thud.

“Lord have mercy!” he heard Gigi exclaim clearly over the roar of the empty tub, and that was because she was right beside him, having burst in with all that loving presumption at the first sound of distress. “Oh daddy, what happened? Ya slip comin’ out?”

She couldn’t get a good read on the situation with it so dim and simultaneously shiny in here, besides the confusing aspects of Elvis being dressed in a robe and dry headed as if having been out of the tub for awhile and him crouched beside it as the absent faucet still roared from its pipe against the empty porcelain. His bathroom was mainly gold, with flecks of black in the tile and accents and it disoriented her, so busy and gaudy she didn’t even notice the mat beneath her feet, assuming the spread out towel was another odd addition that went with the solid gold faucet lying wrenched from its place in the tub.

“Elvis, here, my hand!” she turned the tap off so he could hear her better and tried to get him to look up but his face was turned down with his hair hanging into his eyes. “I’ll help ya up, daddy.” she assured again, and stepped closer, crouching to brace her track hardened thighs for the ordeal of hefting such a sturdy man onto his feet.

On her way to him Gigi stepped on a clear little carton, rather like a baby bottle but far more collapsible. It was empty and squished under her foot, she picked it up curiously. “What’s this?” she asked him innocently.

He looked over at her then, up through a fan of golden lashes so thick and stiff you could hang your hat on them and answered in a dejected growl, “It’s a goddman enema, Gigi.”

She squeezed it once more till the empty thing wheezed and realisation dawned on her face. “Oh, duh.” she laughed and chucked it aside without a second thought before offering her forearm as a handle for him to grip, he rather dazedly let his hand curl around her tan flesh, “If you’re in here doin’ those ya really oughta have somebody nearby to help.” she berated him and once again he thought of Lisa and was beyond glad that it wasn’t his little daughter seeing him like this. No, it was just this big tittied sweetheart who he’d remember fondly through a haze of shame once she leaves him tonight. “Ya should have someone near to help ya get up if you’re in trouble,” she went on, “I know you’re shy. But it’s just me! I’m shy too and I let you see my pussy.”

Like that’s remotely the same as helping a man shit. “Girl,” he rebuts solemnly as he staggers to his feet with her help, feeling the liquid slosh in his gut, “some things are best left between a man and his toilet.”

“Yeah ok,” Gigi conceds, then strikes back right away, “but right now there’s nothing but a lotta distance between you and your toilet. Let me help. C’mon. This is a really pretty robe, by the way. You should always wear blue. And red, I suppose. You look so good in red. Well then there’s black, you’ve always looked good in black,” Gigi babbles and before he knows it he’s sat on the porcelain throne as she tugs the aforementioned blue robe away in the back for him, Gigi herself, lost in a world of the photos she’s cut from the papers of him at his concerts as she continues on “-and I like you in oranges, too. Never thought yellow was the best but I’ll have to see it in person. Pink makes you look kissable-“

“-Gigi,” Elvis whispers in a small voice, “could ya turn around, a’least?”

“Oh! Of course!” she spins around and faces the open bathroom door that she walks over to and shuts, confining them both in here. He means to ask her how she got away and made it all the way up here without interference, he has a buncha pussies for bodyguards. He doesn’t know Gigi was personally escorted upstairs by Dodger who was fed up with the girls tears, who pointed out the master bedroom doors and everything.

“You need to wash your feet, been in the garage and walkin’ in the street’n’shit.” he says for lack of anything better and to minimize the utterly irregerous ordeal of having a woman here for this. Bathrooms just don’t get shared for this shit. They just don’t. But here he is, losing control of one more aspect of his life. All he can focus on right now is letting the thing do it’s job so this ain’t a waste.

“Ok.” Gigi answers obediently and starts shucking her clothes without preamble, stripping down to her naked state in front of him for the second time today and she gives him a bashful grin over her shoulder like she should be the shy one before standing next to him again and turning on the shower tap. The tub and it’s damaged faucet is separate and he’s glad of the patter of rainfall that fills the room and after feeling it for temperature, Gigi soon steps in and begins a faithful lather of her body, starting with her feet.

Elvis watches transfixed as she sudses her little pink toes and the well formed shape of her heel and thumbs at her arches. He wishes to God he was in there doing that. As it is, the little show makes him forget his surroundings and he finally relaxes more than he had been able to all night. Suds are dripping off the curve of her titties like a chocolate fountain splashing off strawberries and he reaches behind him to flush without tearing his eyes from the sight, grateful for the distracting sounds of Gigi humming one of his songs and the fizz of the shower.

Whether the noise alerted her or she’s just intuitive, Gigi glances up as he gathers his robe about him and braces to stand up. “Daddy, I said Let.Me.Help.” she punctuates her sentence with aggravation that bounces off the shower wall like she’s in a stage play. She’s stepping out of the still running shower, all shiny and dripping, before he can protest, and she stands in front of him bare and gentle and he could weep at the sweet expression on her face, so devoid of anything but affection and determination to be of help.

He wonders if this is how mama felt, when she got tipsier than she’d ever have the courage to admit, when he helped her up stairs or into bed and ignored the smell of the alcohol and the slur of speech. The staggering ineptitude of a parent whose child has suddenly had to take over caring for. Mama always used to pat his head in the morning, a silent acknowledgment for his kindness but also his silence, covering her nakedness like Noah’s faithful sons.

He wants to cry. He misses mama so much, misses her assurances and her approbation that she sees him trying to do his bestest. He finds his forehead leaned against Gigi’s slick belly before he means to and finds he’s weeping with her hands in his hair before he can stop it.

“Daddy, sweet daddy, you bear up with so much.” she’s murmuring in broken hearted tones and he hears her sniffling too, and maybe it’s her saying it but it’s his mama talking though her, he’s sure of it. Here in this Gethsemane of his pride and dignity, he weeps at being found out and instead of scorn he gets warm flesh melding into his own and soft messages from his mama.

“Gigi -Jesus! -I-I dunno what to say.” he gasps, ragged and hoarse.

“You don’t? I don’t, more like.” she whispers fiercely, “The whole nation would apologize to ya if they knew how bad it’s gotten. And you never breathin’ a word. Lord daddy, you’re stronger than anyone I ever seen.”

He doesn’t feel very strong, staring at the broken faucet lying in the spatter of shower drops.

“Do ya need to do another?” she asks gently, soothing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I’ll get it ready.” she offers.

“No, m’set.” he mumbles.

“Be honest.” she warns.

“I swear, m’done. Just beat.”

“Maybe the fennel oil helped?” she hopes and maybe she’s got a point, this was easier than some.

“Maybe it did.” he’ll give her that and smiles against the curve of her belly.

“Why aren’t you usin’ coffee in the enemas instead?” she inquires much to his bewilderment, “It’s good for your liver and less abrasive on the gut. Saline just shreds you.”

“Really?” he grunts, this cute girl knows a thing or two after all, “Never heard that.”

“We’ll have to see if they help, get you a bucket and tub too, they’re easier to manage.” she decides and he wants to protest that she doesn’t get a say in such things but the fact she’s talking about a future where she’s here and meddling with enemas makes him a little woozy with hope. Gigi makes a mental note of calling up a friend who’s majoring in nursing and asking for any and all books and tips that could help in a situation like this. “Let’s get you washed and put to bed.” she encourages him, scratching at the base of his head and feeling the steam roll off of him, inflammation and exhaustion pouring out from his skin, “no way you’re up for shooting pool with Jerry.”

“Oh that was just to get him to keep an eye on you.” Elvis laughs as she helps him stand, never once planning on playing pool tonight of all nights.

Gigi rolls her eyes at him and pouts at his deviousness, Elvis is just glad she’s focusing on that and not the surrounding accouterments any longer, “It really hurt me you didn’t want me with you.” she informs him with grave maturity that somehow makes a mockery of her nineteen years, she looks more fragile than ever, even in this attempt at communicating her needs.

“And I don’t want ya seeing me do this.” He replies as gently as he can as the shower roars next to them and fills the room with billows of steam, “Like I said, some things are between a man and his toile-“

“-and his toilet, yeah. But I’m me!” she explains with a wide smile and he’s really got no clear, available arguments against such impregnable, optimistic, self-exalting while at the same time being utterly selfless -logic.

It’s like arguing with a very pretty lunatic, one with ripe tits still shiny from her shower and crooked little front teeth behind full lips and eyes that could convince him of anything at all -and Elvis wonders if this is how folks feel with him. Is he this infuriating? Do they get a thrill of confusion and reward in doing what he asks? Is it some sorta weird ass loop over and over that has them denying then agreeing right after, again and again?

“Let’s get you in the shower daddy.” Gigi is saying with a roll of her eyes at *his* silliness and Elvis watches in a sort of disembodied trance as she undoes the thick tie holding his robe closed.

This is another thing he was gonna take slow. Getting naked, touching and being touched no faster or intensely than what he directed and allowed. And…well, there it goes, his robe and his resolve opened up and pushed off his shoulders as slow as a strip tease while this perfect young thing has her watching face transformed from caring into something so hungry and admiring he actually feels his pulse quicken.

That’s more like it, the natural order of things is somewhat restored when the caregiver shifts from viewing him with solicitude to viewing him with the divine and fathomless want that is feminine arousal.

But still.

Sweet Jesus, it’s been forever since someone reacted to his body that way. The face sure, the man -yes, and the legendary presence is a given. But that’s all outliers of him, of poor little ole Elvis alone in his own room, in his own house, without the trappings. Nobody in a long while has taken the trappings off and moaned like a paid whore at the sight of something so utterly human and a little faulty as his body now is. A body Elvis has fought and lost against for well over a decade now.

The robe puddles around his feet and he expects it’s time to get in the shower if Gigi would pull her eyes up from his protruding gut. She’s already seen it once today when she unzipped his jacket. After an overly long review where he can actually see her crane her head down to try to see his pecker -jokes on her, the gut hides it- and up his treasure trail to his chest and his neck and his chin and his lips-

-Gigi throws her arms around his shoulders and kisses him. The sight of him naked and hairy, manly and huge, with a hanging belly too much for her to hold her desires back any longer.

Elvis is as warm as she remembers and with his body unimpeded by a tracksuit or a robe she can now fully press her body against his, standing toe to toe with their heights not too dissimilar, making it wonderful and easy to kiss him as she presses herself to every inch of his tacky skin, so much muscle and discipline polished beneath the soft and hairy bulk. It makes her feel small, just how wide and broad and large he is in comparison to her, tall and lanky as she is, she’s never been little before, but with this bear of a man she could curl into his barrel chest and pull the hairy curtains closed and be tucked away from it all. Like a fairytale princess in her favorite oak.

“I want you to crush me.” she moans in his ear as she curves her body to align with the pouch of his belly, her ass stuck out for optimal contact and Elvis groans in response, seeing the pair they make in the fogging mirror.

Something in him responds to the rightness of the image presented, fogged by the steam and softened where they’re two pink cherubs caught in an embrace, her soft breast resting on the dome of his furred chest.

Both complimentary but untraditional in their combination, - a sorta Gainsbourg and Birkin vibe where everyone’s left wondering how exactly the gargoyle got the maiden -or the thickening rockstar got this sweet piece of ass- but nobody doubts the sex is blazing hot.

It’s sexy as hell and the temperate side of himself that health and Ginger had been striving to coax into the fore, plummets into a lava filled grave at the primal, loin swelling satisfaction of Gigi and her nakedness pressed to him, writhing against him, reveling in him and trusting in his masculine abilities to satisfy her.

He grips an ass cheek in his hand, spanning from hip to crack, and crushes it to him meanly, pinching her soft skin with hsi rings, his other arm flung about her ribs and pressing her nearer there, too. Gigi lets out the happiest cry of completion at him granting her request. It’s breathless and short from the lack of air left in her lungs.

“This how ya like it?” Gigi hears him rumble darkly in her ear and she feels herself dribble at his voice alone, finding the feeling of all his strength and power pressed to her more overwhelming that any self-brought pleasure.

She can only nod her head frantically in agreement, his grip too hard and tight for anything else, she feels like she’s floating and somehow that’s more grounding for her than anything else she’s ever felt in her life. He must feel her shudder as he responds with one of his own and readjusts his grip on her butt, fingertips grazing the underside of her cheek and teasing the folds that lead to where she’s a wet mess for him.

He teases there for a moment, tiny, ticklish little swipes to the back of her waxed pussy lips and then he curls his fingers again and grips harder than even before, into her plush ass and he lifts her up to her tiptoes by the hold, making them level before slotting his mouth against hers, the closest thing to sloppy in his kisses that she’s yet experienced from him.

It delights her. This gritty, unmeasured side of him that doesn’t take things in measured and calculated amounts. She wants to be mauled and squeezed and have the crescent indentions of his fingernails on her ass. She wants to be irresistible to him, she wants him to appraise and enjoy her like she’s both precious and objectively the only thing he wants to squeeze and fuck for the rest of his life. She’s ready for that life. Gigi mauls him back, careful to be gentle with her pressure but she kneads his soft sides and the thick cording of his neck, so full of strength but also inflammation -and she suddenly recalls the shower.

Having broken their kiss, they both glance over at the pattering water. And it’s better this way, neither having to break up the moment, they both just seem to agree and proceed to amble over in a waddling embrace and step into the lavish shower.

Gigi has already washed but she won’t be the one reminding Elvis of that as he squirts a generous amount of shampoo into his hands and grumbles about her stupid drugstore lemon shit. That wanting to have him paw at her and be a little sleazy in his touches is gratified by the way he spends too long on her boobs, something that is traditionally a rather clean body part. But his boyish little smile and the single minded lostness on his face he suds up their heavy weight and let’s her large pink nipples slide through his knuckles, his pink tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he gently jiggles the slippery firmness of them, makes Gigi sigh in dreamy delight that she can bring him joy by standing in the shower and letting him wobble her boobs, clapping them together one minute and jostling them the next to make the soap suds slid and back and forth along the runway to her nipples. They might have stayed at that game all night, both quite invested in never letting one little congregation of bubbles slip off the Cherry red cliff onto the shower floor. But Elvis yawned once and just like that they decided it was time to wash him and go to bed. With a sad kiss goodbye to one of her large nipples, Elvis allows for the roles to be reversed.

Of course washing him was strictly utilitarian. What was she on about, lathing his shins and his thighs and squeezing his ass like he was a nineteen year old girl? And what was it about Gigi rubbing his shoulders as she went and then turning him around into the spray to wash it off as she started to work at his front, giggling to herself as she swooshed his chest hair into certain patterns with the slippery soap. She even hefted his own boob flaps up, something he fuckin’ hated even existed right now, and she did it with heavy lidded eyes and bitten lips like she was getting off on this, on swishing suds around his large belly before squatting to get her first peak at lil Elvis.

He was still soft, or mostly so, but what shocked Gigi was how thick he was even in repose. Laying heavily on his thigh, his length was nothing much, decent but not particularly matching of his long limbs, but his thickness was to a degree that she wished she did have the stupid Lemon Up shampoo to compare it to, it wasn’t too far off. She didn't know dicks came in that size, the sorta size that makes babies heads coming out seem like not much of an escalation. Alright maybe not that big but he was large, very thick and cutely stubby and Gigi wondered if maybe it was swollen like the rest of him, if it changed with age or weight, if his pink and vulnerable little head was always peaking out of its tan sheath and if his stones were always so large and heavy, asking for the same treatment as her boobs got.

She cupped them with a dollop of shampoo in her hand and jostled the heavy sack gently and with joy in her heart. Elvis lurched forward to lean his forearm against the shower wall to steady himself.

“Gigi, honey, be brief.” he begged and if he’d have commanded her, then she might’ve popped the heavy balls into her mouth just to show him what she thought about him always denying himself any fun, but Elvis was begging and above her his belly heaved with his labored breathing and much as she wanted to see him swell to life, she cared more about seeing him rested.

Reluctantly she finished with a swipe and rinse to the back of his sack and between his crack which made him jump like a critter ran up it instead of a diligent hand. Gigi liked it when he was boyish and shy like that. It makes her press a kiss to his floppy little dick, so heavy and promising in its shrunken state and he lets out a scandalized groan at the feel of her nibbling at the tip with her lips.

“No, no honey don’t.” he begs and gives her a hand to pull her up, she remains steadfastly on her knees with a hand on little Elvis like he’s a handle of some sort. “Good girls don’t do such things.” He explains gently but with firmness, “There ain’t no need, that’s not somethin’ I need from a sweet thing like you.”

Gigi is far from relieved. In fact, if the shower spray weren’t so universal he’d think her eyes were welling with tears for the zillionth time tonight.

“What?” he barks in absolute confusion.

“But I wanna suck you!” she begs, hoarse and throaty and -she’s definitely back to crying again, sweet Jesus, he’d gotten himself a huge tittied young woman who cried over not being allowed to have his cock in her mouth.“I practiced just for the odd chance I ever met you!” she pleads in a desperate cry.

“What?” Elvis looks down at her perturbed and has to admit, unsettled as he is by this, she sure does look pretty right at cock level.

“I practiced with a nice guy who was cut so I had to pretend.” she explains mournfully and Elvis hauls her bodily up by her elbows against the tile to understand this riddle.

“Thought you said you were a virgin, baby.” he chides in confusion about the aspect of practicing for him.

“I am!” She swears, “But I practiced for you! See, I can-“ and she sticks her fingers back to her tonsils with only a small gag that makes Elvis’ masculine heart twinge in admiration.

But he’s better than this. He’s beyond appreciating her gag control and needs to know about this so called nice guy. “Darlin’ who’s this feller?” Elvis has a knack for recalling names and he’s gonna shoot this sonuvabitch if he can find him.

“He was a sweet trucker,” she explains with dreamy reminiscence, “about your age or older, and he fixed my flat tire when it popped near Jackson last year. He was real sweet and I wanted to thank him. He shared his Sundrop with me and he had one of your albums on the radio in his cab. So we talked about you and I told him how I loved you -this was a year ago- and how I wished I could meet you and show you how I loved you. And he lived in Meridian, see, and he sounded a little like you and he had dark hair and this gorgeous belly and when I sucked him I listened to your voice singing through the radio and pretended it was you.”

She finishes this saga with a simple head nod, like that’s all real tidy and normal. Elvis just gapes and a million feelings rush through him, horror at the fact she’s this gullible and unprotected, followed by burning pride at the idea of having been a preoccupation of her’s for so long. Some of this smacks of psycho stalker fan and he should probably run for the hills but Gigi pretended to blow him a year or so ago with a flabby truck diver and Elvis has a vision of that happening again if he somehow screws this up and she ends up on her own again.

That just can’t happen. He shuts his mouth and coughs, realizing that just can’t happen. “Do you like fat men, Gigi?” he asks soberly.

She looks a little hurt by this before replying with wounded devotion and a wobble of her wet lip, “I only love you.”

Elvis sighs and shakes head in astonishment and presses a kiss to the top of her wet head before turning off the shower stream. She likes it when he rolls his eyes at her but doesn’t push her away, Doesn't say she’s silly, just kisses her into compliance. She likes that.

She likes it even better when he was wet and large in the shower grinning down at her, wrapping her up in towels they had to waddle to the drawers to get in dripping pairs.

“You’re somethin’ else, baby.” he tells her but never says it’s too much. She’s waited all night for him to tell her she’s too much it she’s too clingy or she’s too effusive and he hasn’t said it yet.

Gigi helped him step into his silk pajamas pants, he was strangely meek and appreciative of this sort of help and it made her sigh with relief, letting her guard down as she did up the buttons of his sleep shirt under his smiling gaze. She had to ignore the chill of the room on her bare skin, gooseflesh pricking beneath chilled droplets, but it was worth it for the way his eyes ravished her with searching adoration, every single part of her.

Elvis offered her pajamas of her own, too, matching his own. She declared she never could sleep in clothes and the shocked little O of his mouth made her giggle, then he looked hurt and tried very hard to persuade her to try it for him.

“C’mon baby, everybody needs ‘jamies.” he sweet talks to her, holding open the waist band.

“I can’t sleep in them! It’s got elastic!” she sounded like a child forced to eat collards.

“Gigi, wear some pajamas,” Elvis tried sternness, “do it for your daddy, now.”

She sobered up at that, while remaining dried eyed much to his relief. With a slowness of movement and a grimace of distaste that showed her dislike, Gigi took the pajama top from him and slid it on.

It hung there unbuttoned with her bare cunt out and her belly and tits and legs and everything nearly, except for her covered arms, and then she smiled at him with self sacrificing serenity in her eyes while murmuring, “Only for you, daddy.”

And that’s how they ended in bed with Gigi in nothing but an open silk pajama shirt, sans bottoms, with an embroidered E of her right yam.

“I can’t believe they expect you to tour like this.” she muttered as his sweet expressions turned to grimaces and groans upon stretching out on the mattress. Tired from just entertaining a girl and her friends. The closest to angry he thinks Gigi is capable of as she scrunches her brows in frustration and he finds he has to hide a smile instead of telling this little girl to mind her own. She’s frustrated for his own benefit.

“I got good days and bad days.” he explains, turned on his side and stroking her face where it lay on their shared pillow, the room dark except for a lamp on, showing them in the mirror above. “Today were tougher than some, not ‘cause of you but jus’-“

“You woke up with a migraine.” She recalled and he is touched by that.

“Yeah, and had to take more pills for it.” he agrees, “and I gotta take s’more before I can sleep.” he warns her but Gigi just hums and keeps on kneading the back of his neck in a way that is liable to make him start drooling.

“When do we leave for the tour?” she asks, setting in and slinging her naked leg over his hip comfortably.

His heart skips a beat at her presumption. Then it plays catch up and bounds so hard he feels winded as he gasps, “September.”

“We’ve gotta get you better by then.” she mutters, “And you’ll have to help me with midterms, it’ll be crazy trying to pass long distance.” To herself Gigi ponders on whether she might have to push back school in order to be with her Daddy, the thought troubles her none because she’d fail it a million times in order to get more time with him. As long as he’ll have her and even then she knows she’d never be able to leave him as compliantly as Ginger had.

Elvis contemplates the fact she’s willing to risk college for him, that she depends on him for midterms and his belly tightens at the thought in anxious hope.

He turns on his other side, hoping for some relief from the belly ache. Without fail she follows and curls around him,seeking to understand he can’t take the heavy pressure of laying on it, and she is jetpacking on his back like a clingy koala, legs and arms woven around him until he’s half laying back on her.

“Baby Girl, I’m gonna smother ya.” he resists a little laugh as she has him in something close to a wrestling pose, legs wrapped around his hips from the back and arms over his belly, his back smashing her boobs.

She lets out a happy moan instead, “I want you to.” Gigi insists and sounds close to climax at the feel of his weight on top of her. She keeps her hold on him tight, content with feeling enveloped by him as droplets of water drip from his hair onto her chest.

Pretty lil weirdo.

“S’like a elephant layin’ on a junebug, we can’t sleep this way.” Elvis finds himself grinning at the comical image reflected in the mirrors above.

“But it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” she begs, “I’ve dreamed about this. Take your pills daddy’s and we’ll go to sleep now.”

Compliant in his bewilderment, Elvis props up and measures out his doses in his palm, swallowing them down dry before lying back, trying to aim for the mattress but Gigi wriggles beneath his bulk again and he prays he doesn’t get another lawsuit on his hands come morning for smothering the life out of a teen girl.

“Do you want a burger?” she asks softly in his ear, right as he starts to relax in her protective hold. He’s got his arms criss crossed across his body to hold her own as they hug him.

“Uh, umm, no -I-I-I’m -I’m sleepy.” he drawls, torn at the lovely idea of a burger after such a long evening but then again, his head is pillowed on boobs and Gigi’s fingers are swirling shapes in the hair on his belly under his shirt. He doesn’t really feel like ever leaving. She makes a better mattress than any amount of money could ever buy.

“Ok, honest?” she whispers in his ear and he smiles into his pillow at her childish earnestness.

He presents a wobbly pinky for her to witness his solemn oath and she happily hooks her littler one with his and they curl round each other, it feels like a promise of more than just midnight burgers. A promise of him helping with midterms and her never having another man in her life.

To his surprise, just as he starts to drift off, Elvis feels Gigi’s hand slither beneath the waistband of his silk pajamas. He thought she’d gotten the message he’s not up for it, the preliminary little snores from the sedatives underscoring his point, but all she does is cup his soft package in her palm, like it’s the most precious wobby in the world for her, and promptly starts snoring little snores herself.

Elvis tries to savor the feeling of her holding him through the night and as he slumbers, her voice manages to break through the fog of dreams talking about midterms to come, about his tour in September — with his surety in their future aided by the promise of their still clinging pinkies, sleep comes easier than it has in years.

I hope y’all enjoyed, thank you for reading and thank you for all the prompts that got us here! We are working on a prompt list because after his chapter we open it up to jumping around with prompts. But don’t feel like you’ve got to wait till then, go ahead and send in whatever you’d like and I’ll see what I can cook up! 🌷 xoxo

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[marinas-drafts]

but then…Gigi

Part 5

Warnings: the usual for this universe with crass language and descriptions of bodies (flattering and negative) with use of the words fat, etc. some heavy petting and kissing and talk of blow jobs, age gap, mentions of drugs, mentions of and an actual enema described in the most respectful and vague way that I could manage? strictly caretaking in tone and help regarding serious health concerns

Rating18+: Mature for some sexual language, some sexual scenes, subject matter, dark thought processes and health specifics

Word Count: 10k 🤭

Special Thanks: to baby girls @stylespresleyhearted & @eliseinmemphis who’ve breathed this universe into being and for my friends who gave their input and assurances for this chapter. And to all of y’all who said to go full real and raw in this one, incorporate the hard and ugly parts with the soft and lovely -just like life. Thank you, this urging has helped me go ahead and write something I’m very proud of and hope touches y’all, too.

Graceland at night will always remind Gigi of the first time coming, seeing the house all lit up at the end of the drive's curve, window lights twinkling at her and the promise of his presence inside filling her with butterflies.

Tonight Elvis’ hand is heavy on her ankle and its little chain instead, as it lays in his lap as he drives them up and around back himself, the garage opening like witchcraft without Gigi noticing a single employee besides Sam down at the gate. What a change a week makes.

It’s his home, she thinks fondly at the sight of the back kitchen door. Seems ages since this afternoon when he sent her out here to wait in the garage as he took care of business. They must both be thinking the same thing as they loiter in the Stutz for a little while after he turns the engine off, as if scared some remnants of ghoulish Alden’s might remain inside.

She slips her hand into his big paw at last and he seems to startle out of a reverie in order to give her a tight smile. His sweaty skin glitters from the garage light and it’s muted and pretty as a painting. “Thanks for bringing me home, daddy.” she whispers and if a kid ever got the chance to be brought to the North Pole by Santa, Elvis ain’t sure they’d be more grateful than this shimmery eyed girl child in his seat.

Who the fuck didn’t want this sweet little thing? Who made her so desperate she’s coming home with a washed up old man who’s notorious for having a revolving bed? Elvis chuckles mirthlessly at the thought that even he is so beat that right now he is more preoccupied with how to distract her so he can slip away and do a damn enema.

Life is rarely fair, but it definitely ain’t fair to poor Gigi. The least he can do is tell her,

“Stay put, baby girl.” as he gets out on his side and limps over to the passenger door and opens it for her like his mama taught him, hoping he doesn’t look as stiff as he feels.

He must fail at that. No sooner does she duck her head and emerge from the car, one long leg at a time, than she’s by his side with an arm looped around his waist as if she could support him were he to tumble, kicking the passenger door closed with her still shoeless foot.

Nasty habit that, going around barefoot, he’s gonna have to break her of it, this lack of shoes, and she’s gonna have to shower before getting into bed, no way he’s gonna have grimy sooties in his sheets.

Gigi pulls Elvis’ arm over her shoulder like they’re two marines headed up a beachhead and he’s had his leg blown off, her smile is the only thing keeping him from shoving her off to prove just how fine he is. God. Why?

“What’re you doin’?” he asks instead keeping his feet firmly planted, blinking owlishly at her and she gives in to the temptation to swipe the mop of hair off his forehead. She thinks he looks so distinguished with it swept back, each of his striking features lifted by the volume. She spies some gray roots in the glow of the back door light and it makes her smile, she wonders if she can talk him into styling it the old way again, or a version of it. The way it naturally fell when he was licking her.

“I’m helping ya.” she replies with confused cheeriness.

“I don’t need it.” he insists while squeezing her waist in an attempt to make the blow land softer.

She gives him the closest thing to a suspicious look that he’s ever seen out of this guileless creature. “C’mon in honey.” he changes tactics and taps her butt, getting her to move up the few stairs to the kitchen and willing himself not to wince as he bends his knee.

Gigi is watching him like a hawk and it makes him feel very decrepit and he can just hear the ribbing from the guys about coming back hobbling after taking out a young lady a few years too vigorous for him.

That thought makes him pull his arm off her shoulder and he goes back to squeezing her waist. Which now that he thinks of it, she’s very skimpily dressed still. Just the panties and his jacket. Elvis hopes most of them have gone to bed inside or are out.

The house is far more homey when there’s less people in it, Gigi thinks, as they cross the threshold and no booming bass hits their ears or the tinkling den of party guests. Just the gentle clatter of cutlery and quiet hum of low conversation which ends up being Mary at the sink and Lamar still sat where Gigi got the keys from him at the kitchen counter, eating his burger in between sharing it with Dinah. Dinah who’s making chewing ground beef and onions an art form of seduction. It’s a little off putting if Gigi is being honest which she tries to be but Elvis makes an outright noise of disgust at being met with this in his own home.

“Fuck’s sake Lamar,” he grunts and his friend drops his bun in surprise at the sudden apparition of the two runaways, “don’t ya need to polish a windshield or somethin?”

“I’ll help polish your hubcap, baby.” Dinah purrs into Lamar’s ear and Gigi’s eyes bug about as much as the driver’s.

“Out, both of ya.” Elvis snaps his finger towards the door and Lamar lumbers by with a murmured

“Sorry EP- just sorta happened…”

as he goes with Dinah skipping past them with a wink and a tipsy gait that suggests smoking too much grass in one day.

“Jesus.” Elvis mutters, wondering what the hell is up with this group of friends and holds Gigi tighter lest she pick up on bad behavior as they venture into the den and past it to the living room, seeking out humankind.

There are no Alden’s to be found but unfortunately there is a scene unfolding on the couch of two frizzy blondes clawing at each other while unhinging their jaws like mating hippos, the better to lick each other’s tonsils. Dodger sits to the side in her usual spot in the rocker with her pipe, heedlessly crushing her crossword opposition.

“Tammy!” Gigi gasps in glee at her friend’s scandalous public behavior and the way her red acrylics have torn poor Jerry’s shirts to literal shreds, biceps and fuzzy golden pecs on almost-full display. Not that he seems to mind with the way his hips keep pumping up and his hands are wedged in the back pockets of her cutoffs.

“Jerrah,” Elvis thunders after her exclamation and only then does the hippo-love-fest- cease and Dodger raise her head in order to look Gigi up and down from the anklet on her footsie to the crown of her pretty blonde head, “the hell you doin’?” Elvis demands of his friend, “Comin’ into my home, fuckin’ up the place with b-b-barbecue sauce and ruinin’ d-dinner while y-y-yer at it a-and now neckin’ on m’couch? It’s new, man, got it last month!”

His irate voice turns into a whine at the end and Gigi rubs her hand against his chest in soothing commiseration. “Yeah Tammy, it’s new.” she echoes him.

“Who’s this?” Dodger asks, blatantly ignoring Elvis’ plight.

“I-its Gigi, grandma, ya met her earlier?” he prompts with a confused scrunch of his eyebrows that Gigi finds as cute as a little boy and she gives the unimpressed dame a little wave.

“So many girls in here I can’t keep straight.” she huffs around her pipe.

“Speaking of, uh, how’d it go? Ya know with-“ with Ginger, Elvis means, as he runs his hand down from Gigi’s waist to grab her hand and hold it.

“Oh uh,” Jerry rights himself on the couch and clasps his hands like he has some shred of professionalism left to him in that ribboned shirt, “it’s been handled. Wasn’t pretty but -well, the termination was pretty obvious. Ya gotta be a little more than delusional to push it when your ‘fiancé’ has left to go … out to eat.”

Gigi bites her lip to stall her giggle at his phrasing and burrows closer to Elvis while looking up to see his reaction, follow his lead. The man couldn’t look less sympathetic for her Predecessor and some guilty little cloud that has been hanging over Gigi all evening dissipates under the bright light of his justification.

“Good,” he murmurs lowly, “didn’t want it all fussy, jus’ wasn’t meant to be. Was wrong about it all.” and that seems like a very gentle and kind concession for him to make, just as he doesn’t seem to regret the fact it is very much over.

“Well, uh, now that’s been handled…” Jerry trails off in the manner of those waiting for recognition of a job well done. He doesn’t get it. And so he continues after a beat, “Now that’s done I’ll just be uh, on m’way-“

“-No!” Elvis protests urgently and suprises evryone with his vehemence. “I-I mean don’t go, I need ya man. I-I mean, ya just got here, ya know? A-a-and where’s everybody else gotten to?”

There it is, Jerry thinks with a sigh, he’s needed since the house is empty, it’s got nothing to do with being missed. “Well, Hodge and Ricky spent most the afternoon clearing Ginger’s stuff out at her request and tidyin’ up the master for when ya get back. They’re takin’ the last of her shit over now.”

“Oh.” Elvis accepts this with a thoughtful nod, “Thas good.” he declares softly. “Well, don’t go man, not yet. Not till they get back. You just stopped by and I ain’t seen ya and we can play pool?” Elvis tempts him.

Jerry tries to ignore the way Tammy’s hand has crept into the back of his jeans and is wiggling a finger at his crack. “Uh, ok, yeah I mean- ain’t you tired, Boss?”

“Oh jus’ need a lil refresher, then I’ll be back down, right as rain. I’ll smoke ya.” Elvis replies easily and Jerry picks up on the reason for his insistence like a well trained hound.

A refresher. Be right back down.

Jerry glances over at the cute little stage five clinger holding onto Elvis like he’s a teddy bear she won in a striptease carnival and he gets the memo loud and clear.

“A-a-and it ain’t gentlemanly, you leavin’ Tammy after such a display, a girl’s owed more than that.” Elvis gets desperate enough to pull that one out and Jerry hides his laugh with a dry cough.

“Yeah, yeah I wouldn’t wanna miss seein’ you.” Jerry agrees, “Came just to see how ya were.” he admits the truth of it. “I’ll be down here when you’ve freshened up.”

“Alright.” Elvis nods.

“What’d you two get up to anyway?” Jerry starts a conversation and looks to Gigi for an answer, she doesn’t seem inclined to answer, favoring petting Elvis’ chest instead, but when he doesn’t say anything she picks up the social cue and replies for them both since he seems tired,

“We went back to my place.” she admits breezily, “The only place we could think to hide out. I’m not dressed for anything much.” and she pouts in a way that suggests she thinks she is but an executive decision was made to hide her.

“Ya went to the apartment?” Tammy is grinning wildly and she scoots closer to Jerry, patting at the seat next to her for a juicy retelling. Elvis shuffles the Siamese twins that he and Gigi have become over to the couch and gently disentangles her to sit next to her friend, exchanging a vehement look with Schilling.

“Yes we did!” Gigi is glowing with the memory and his heart aches.

“Who’s this again?” Dodger repeats, too distracted by the sight of a panty clad woman on the red couch to go back to her crossword with full mental capacity.

“This is Gigi, Dodger.” Jerry repeats gently but with more volume as if that’ll sink in better.

“Yes, I’m Gigi.” she’s eager to make a good impression, bless her and her full cotton-crotched display. Elvis starts to creep away in a stealthy little meander from the couch now that Gigi is facing away from the stairs.

“You from Memphis?” Dodger asks sourly, and this plays well into his ploy, Dodger has two moods -not giving a rat’s ass about what happens around her or else being a goddamn one-woman inquisition.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Born?”

“In Memphis, ma’am!”

“Your parents?”

“Mama’s French but Daddy is from Hardiman county.”

“French, hmph.” Dodger picks out the one unacceptable nugget and latches on, “I went to France once…”

Elvis can taste the inquisition coming on and it should buy him a good thirty minutes. Thirty minutes should work if he can just relax and not fuck it up with nervous retention. A ticking clock always makes him clamp up. He bites his lip and reminds himself just how awful it would be for Gigi to learn what his regimen requires. He takes the first step soundlessly, then the second. He’s made it to the third by the time he hears a distant-

“Oh Gigi!-“ from Jerry and the feel of a soft hand on his elbow. She looks so at home on his stairs that Elvis feels like marveling, like she was meant to go up to this sanctum-sanctorum that he trusts so few to see. Not for the first time today he feels as if he’s being looked at with eyes as unconditionally loving -and presumptive- as his Yissa’s.

“Are we going up now?” Gigi asks in a giddy little whisper and Elvis wonders if she really just tore out of the living room and Dodger’s chat in order to be with him. Not even housebroke, this one.

“Gigi, it ain’t polite leavin’ Dodger like that.” he rebukes gently and the glee fades into consternation.

“S-she knows I went to help you!” she whimpers in protest and behind her ear he can see Schilling get up and whisper something to Tammy. It better not be any particulars.

“That’s real sweet darlin’ but I’m gonna be right down,” Elvis soothes, his hand cupping her cheek, “be right down, and family’s very important to me, Baby Girl. I’d like ya to get to know my people.”

It’s a thin excuse with one of those people being her best friend and the other his friend. He imagines it’s not the most appealing thing to sit and be grilled on genealogy by Dodger but Gigi is just gonna have to bear it.

“Can ya do that f’me Gigi?” he prods like it’s a great commission and she’s got watery eyes again and he really cannot believe someone is this sensitive, like God sent her out into life half baked with too thin a skin.

“Yeah, daddy.” she agrees softly, glancing up the stairs to where he’s barred her from going after inviting her up just this afternoon -it makes no sense to her.

He’s never seen a more dejected creature than Gigi as she slinks back to the living room, much to Jerry’s relief and encouragement, and takes her seat beside Tammy with crumpled cheerfulness. Elvis sees her wipe her eyes with the back of her wrists, like a kid, before perking up and turning back to Dodger with faux investment in the conversation.

Elvis climbs the stairs and wonders how he’s gonna manage this night after night. Hell, some mornings he needs it, too. Suddenly the irony hits him of wanting a girlfriend to stay only to now find the reality of that much too oppressively clingy for his pride. He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do about it but for now he opens the padded doors to his room and notices with satisfaction the orderly sanitation that Hodge conducted on the place. He leaves his door adjar, no fear of intruders in this house with its well worn habits and spoken and unspoken rules. He calls up Yissa first and foremost, and while she’s in the middle of something she drops her project and they eat up a good bit of his thirty minutes with conversation. Not that he minds or counts. He’d sit on burning coals every night if that’s what had to happen to talk to his little girl. When she has to go he hangs up the receiver and goes about setting up his routine in the bathroom.

Below him, Gigi crosses and recrosses her ankles under Tammy’s smirking scrutiny and tries to listen to Dodger’s questions with due attention even as Tammy whispers filthy questions in her ear about her time with Elvis.

“Haven’t you got any shoes?” This is Dodger’s most recent concern.

“Yes ma’am I do.” Gigi patiently insists.

“Never see you in any shoes.”

“Well I- it was a pool day, you see?”

“If ya got shoes you should wear them.” Dodger moralizes and Gigi can see her point, even if she doesn’t agree.

“Yes ma’am.” she murmurs as her heart wanders upstairs where she’s seemingly not allowed.

“Get my grandson to buy ya some shoes.” Dodger points at her.

Tammy, who’s not even bothering to act like she’s listening to Dodger, starts to crack up in laughter at this berating of the point, she catches Jerry’s eye in her mirth and like lovers often do, they set each other off into a series of giggles that soon lose their context and Gigi is left more alone than ever.

She looks about the place and thinks of a million things she’d like to ask Elvis’ grandma, if he had a normal grandma. One of those cuddley, gingerbread types that the world had led Gigi to believe were ubiqtous. Instead there’s just this aged artifact from another century, smoking her pipe and staring at Gigi like she’s the oddity.

“Is that weed?” Gigi asks hopefully, nodding at the pipe’s smoking bowl.

Upstairs Elvis had slipped into a plush blue robe he uses exclusively for these purposes to keep the chill away, and having ordered his accouterments, had proceeded only a small way into his routine when the damn intercom blared to life and spooked the ever lovin’ crap outta him. He fumbled with his tools and lost his progress, angrily washing his hands so he could buzz back.

“Elvis, come get yer floozy,” Dodger was saying over the loud speaker, “she’s cryin’ in the den.”

Of course she was, he seethed and felt like breaking the glass in his frustration over no one being competent enough to wrangle a single teenage girl from intruding on him for half an hour.

“Gigi, she don’t mean nothin by that!” he could hear Charlie’s voice faintly in the background and the fact that even with reinforcements they couldn’t handle this made Elvis laugh in manic hopelessness.

“Tell her to grow up, Goddamnit, or I’ll send her home.” he roared through the intercom, punching the button with a vicious jab.

It was quiet for a few moments after that. Fed up and miserable with pain, Elvis stepped away from the button and grabbed another enema bulb and poured in the saline, warming it in the sink and slicking up the catheter with a lubricant that used to remind him of happier times -now his mind associates it with this. He released the button before hearing the response - downstairs Gigi’s sobbing whimper and Tammy offering her friend support by calling him an ‘ass.’

Unable to get the angle right he gave up his attempt to do it standing and grabbed his allocated mat for these purposes, fluffing out a black towel over it. This activity was something he did more of the set up for than anything else in his life. In decades. Having his crew carry the cases of supplies around was humiliation enough, he didn’t need anyone around him to get a firm impression of the details, which laying out towels and lubing up tubes inevitably gave. Mystery was important for respect, and there weren’t no mystery here. And little, if any, dignity either.

Elvis got down on the mat with a brutal pop of his left knee. He heard his own whimper and it sounded like a wounded creature, not at all himself. It was cold down here on the tiled floor with just a thin mat between him and the marble but he could lay down at least and reach behind himself and make his tense body relax enough to accept and dispel what it needed.

Getting up and to the toilet from the ground was the hard part. And he’d bite that challenge off when he needed to.

“Daddy?” he heard faintly outside his room, through the barrier of a wall and half closed door, but while his sight suffered and his body failed him, his ears were sharp as ever and for a brief moment his heart leapt at the unexpected joy of his Lisa coming early. Then he heard again, “Daddy?” And that wasn’t Lisa at all, she didn’t call him daddy and she’d never be so tentative upstairs.

Too committed to his procedure and unable to interrupt it, Elvis held his breath like he was playing hide and seek as Gigi repeated his name closer, inside the bedroom, gently but with so much sadness in her tone.

So she’d ventured up here anyway.

He tensed as she drew closer to the bathroom, drawn by the light under the door in the otherwise darkened room. This tenseness was gonna screw up his enema, he was gonna retain at this point.

“Elvis, you in there?” she asked gently on the other side of the wood and he let out a shaky breath at the inability to deny any longer, fearing she’d try the doorknob of he was silent and in his trust of his home’s stable order, he hadn’t bothered to lock it.

Gigi turned everything topsy turvy and he felt like a young kid again, getting overwhelmed when changes came to fast and nothing familiar would remain just so. He felt his breath coming fast and his vision starting to spot. Such silliness for a man in his forty’s.

“Yeah baby girl, I got in the tub for m’head.” He lied, counting on the compassion she had previosuly shown for his ailment to bolster his story. He has no body of water to splash for emphasis so he stayed stock still on his side on the cold floor and waited with baited breath for her to accept this. “And I had’ta call Lisa.”

“Oh good!” she cooed from outside, and he smirked at the confirmation that he still knew how to play ‘em. “You coulda told me, Daddy! I’d be quiet as a church mouse and coulda run the tub for you and washed your hair for you so you didn’t have to strain your shoulders.”

Did she think he needed to wash his hair? He put his hand to his head and felt grease and immediately regretted it as part of that was now lube. “Aww, you sweet thing.” he complimented her kindness vaguely even as he panicked at the thought that his lie would require a wet head. God he was so tired, he came home so he didn’t have to pretend and here he was on his bathroom floor, puttin’ in a Oscar worthy performance with a half quart of saline up the ass.

“You shouldn’t be so silly, Daddy.” she scolded sweetly and he rolled his eyes, thinking ‘if she only knew.’

“Oh?”

“I love to help you.” she insisted and she must’ve had her lips presssed to the door gap, she was so breathy and close, he could picture her smushed face now and he wanted to tear up at the sweetness. “Will you let me wash your hair, Elvis?”

He didn’t know if it was his imagination or not but he thought he saw the door handle wiggle like a hand had put weight on it. “N-n-no, I-I,” he stuttered out urgently, “I-I-I ain’t comfortable w’that.” he begged, “Not tonight i-I-i’m shy, Gigi. Believe it o-o-or not I-im shy.”

And that at least was a God’s honest truth.

“I know.” she murmured back and sounded like she was smiling herself, “I noticed. I didn’t expect that of you, but I really like it. Makes you cuter somehow.”

And being considered cute was a real heartening thing for a fella to hear, tipped on his side as he was, like a beached whale. Elvis grinned into his hand and let himself savor that. The feeling came again that Gigi really liked him as he was, except for his temper, maybe, and he could hardly fault her for not enjoyin’ it. But she liked him. As he was.

“I’m just gonna sit outside here and be with you.” she declared gently and to his alarm he heard the sound of shuffling like someone sitting down in front of the door, “We don’t haveta talk if you wanna be quiet. I understand, with your head hurtin’. I just couldn’t be away from you any longer. Please don’t make me be away from you, Elvis. It’s all I want, to be with ya.”

Elvis stared unblinking at the caulk line at the bottom of his tub. It was right at eye level down here and the varied thickness of it made him irrationally annoyed, he reached out and picked at a gloop of the dried stuff with his bitten fingernail.

“Ok.” he answered, utterly terrified.

How the hell was he gonna get off the floor, hobble to the John and do his buisness without the sound of any convincing bath effects -and her sitting right outside the door. How the hell. He figured it would be better if she were distracted.

“Tell me ‘bout your French mama.” he requests the first distraction that comes to his mind.

Gigi eagerly takes off on a tangent about her mother who was an artist and rarely in one place, how she had been born in Normandy and credited their breasts to good Norman cow milk, how she painted replica Monet’s on commission and was accordingly sued and how Gigi enjoyed being taken overseas to visit her French relations and go apple picking in the orchards and swimming in the sea -and Elvis listened to the narrative, told in her sweet voice, and allowed himself to be lulled, trying to relax before he made the effort to finish this business.

“-the seashells in Normandy are gigantic, some as big as my palm!” she was telling him as he sneakily turned over and raised himself on his knees, “Of course they wouldn’t be so big in your hands, your hands are so big and beautiful and could hold two of mine but -but they’re big. Does hawaii have big seashells?”

Elvis grunted in effort of holding it in until he could get where he was going and he still had concerns about noise with her right there. “Mm, pretty big.” he grunted out and a thought came to him as he gripped the edge of the tub for leverage to stand, “Water’s gettin’ cold, hold on sec I’m gonna top it off with some hot, won’t be able to hear ya.” he fibbed and reached to turn the handle so it gushed out a roar of water.

Satisfied with his cover, Elvis grabbed again at the tub’s edge and anyhting else that might aid his poor knees in getting off the damn floor. This is what trying to cut back on the pain meds got him, such debilitating pain that he could hardly get off the floor when just a few months ago he was able to kneel down for kisses on stage with only veiled discomfort. Not this agonizing ache and strange weakness in his limbs. He clutched at the tub faucet with it’s handled shape and pushed up.

He was a few pounds too much and after some strain and little progress, the faucet snapped out of its fixture with a deafening clatter that sounded like the ceiling had caved in, reverberating around the tiled room like a thunder clap. He fell back on his kneecaps with a searing thud.

“Lord have mercy!” he heard Gigi exclaim clearly over the roar of the empty tub, and that was because she was right beside him, having burst in with all that loving presumption at the first sound of distress. “Oh daddy, what happened? Ya slip comin’ out?”

She couldn’t get a good read on the situation with it so dim and simultaneously shiny in here, besides the confusing aspects of Elvis being dressed in a robe and dry headed as if having been out of the tub for awhile and him crouched beside it as the absent faucet still roared from its pipe against the empty porcelain. His bathroom was mainly gold, with flecks of black in the tile and accents and it disoriented her, so busy and gaudy she didn’t even notice the mat beneath her feet, assuming the spread out towel was another odd addition that went with the solid gold faucet lying wrenched from its place in the tub.

“Elvis, here, my hand!” she turned the tap off so he could hear her better and tried to get him to look up but his face was turned down with his hair hanging into his eyes. “I’ll help ya up, daddy.” she assured again, and stepped closer, crouching to brace her track hardened thighs for the ordeal of hefting such a sturdy man onto his feet.

On her way to him Gigi stepped on a clear little carton, rather like a baby bottle but far more collapsible. It was empty and squished under her foot, she picked it up curiously. “What’s this?” she asked him innocently.

He looked over at her then, up through a fan of golden lashes so thick and stiff you could hang your hat on them and answered in a dejected growl, “It’s a goddman enema, Gigi.”

She squeezed it once more till the empty thing wheezed and realisation dawned on her face. “Oh, duh.” she laughed and chucked it aside without a second thought before offering her forearm as a handle for him to grip, he rather dazedly let his hand curl around her tan flesh, “If you’re in here doin’ those ya really oughta have somebody nearby to help.” she berated him and once again he thought of Lisa and was beyond glad that it wasn’t his little daughter seeing him like this. No, it was just this big tittied sweetheart who he’d remember fondly through a haze of shame once she leaves him tonight. “Ya should have someone near to help ya get up if you’re in trouble,” she went on, “I know you’re shy. But it’s just me! I’m shy too and I let you see my pussy.”

Like that’s remotely the same as helping a man shit. “Girl,” he rebuts solemnly as he staggers to his feet with her help, feeling the liquid slosh in his gut, “some things are best left between a man and his toilet.”

“Yeah ok,” Gigi conceds, then strikes back right away, “but right now there’s nothing but a lotta distance between you and your toilet. Let me help. C’mon. This is a really pretty robe, by the way. You should always wear blue. And red, I suppose. You look so good in red. Well then there’s black, you’ve always looked good in black,” Gigi babbles and before he knows it he’s sat on the porcelain throne as she tugs the aforementioned blue robe away in the back for him, Gigi herself, lost in a world of the photos she’s cut from the papers of him at his concerts as she continues on “-and I like you in oranges, too. Never thought yellow was the best but I’ll have to see it in person. Pink makes you look kissable-“

“-Gigi,” Elvis whispers in a small voice, “could ya turn around, a’least?”

“Oh! Of course!” she spins around and faces the open bathroom door that she walks over to and shuts, confining them both in here. He means to ask her how she got away and made it all the way up here without interference, he has a buncha pussies for bodyguards. He doesn’t know Gigi was personally escorted upstairs by Dodger who was fed up with the girls tears, who pointed out the master bedroom doors and everything.

“You need to wash your feet, been in the garage and walkin’ in the street’n’shit.” he says for lack of anything better and to minimize the utterly irregerous ordeal of having a woman here for this. Bathrooms just don’t get shared for this shit. They just don’t. But here he is, losing control of one more aspect of his life. All he can focus on right now is letting the thing do it’s job so this ain’t a waste.

“Ok.” Gigi answers obediently and starts shucking her clothes without preamble, stripping down to her naked state in front of him for the second time today and she gives him a bashful grin over her shoulder like she should be the shy one before standing next to him again and turning on the shower tap. The tub and it’s damaged faucet is separate and he’s glad of the patter of rainfall that fills the room and after feeling it for temperature, Gigi soon steps in and begins a faithful lather of her body, starting with her feet.

Elvis watches transfixed as she sudses her little pink toes and the well formed shape of her heel and thumbs at her arches. He wishes to God he was in there doing that. As it is, the little show makes him forget his surroundings and he finally relaxes more than he had been able to all night. Suds are dripping off the curve of her titties like a chocolate fountain splashing off strawberries and he reaches behind him to flush without tearing his eyes from the sight, grateful for the distracting sounds of Gigi humming one of his songs and the fizz of the shower.

Whether the noise alerted her or she’s just intuitive, Gigi glances up as he gathers his robe about him and braces to stand up. “Daddy, I said Let.Me.Help.” she punctuates her sentence with aggravation that bounces off the shower wall like she’s in a stage play. She’s stepping out of the still running shower, all shiny and dripping, before he can protest, and she stands in front of him bare and gentle and he could weep at the sweet expression on her face, so devoid of anything but affection and determination to be of help.

He wonders if this is how mama felt, when she got tipsier than she’d ever have the courage to admit, when he helped her up stairs or into bed and ignored the smell of the alcohol and the slur of speech. The staggering ineptitude of a parent whose child has suddenly had to take over caring for. Mama always used to pat his head in the morning, a silent acknowledgment for his kindness but also his silence, covering her nakedness like Noah’s faithful sons.

He wants to cry. He misses mama so much, misses her assurances and her approbation that she sees him trying to do his bestest. He finds his forehead leaned against Gigi’s slick belly before he means to and finds he’s weeping with her hands in his hair before he can stop it.

“Daddy, sweet daddy, you bear up with so much.” she’s murmuring in broken hearted tones and he hears her sniffling too, and maybe it’s her saying it but it’s his mama talking though her, he’s sure of it. Here in this Gethsemane of his pride and dignity, he weeps at being found out and instead of scorn he gets warm flesh melding into his own and soft messages from his mama.

“Gigi -Jesus! -I-I dunno what to say.” he gasps, ragged and hoarse.

“You don’t? I don’t, more like.” she whispers fiercely, “The whole nation would apologize to ya if they knew how bad it’s gotten. And you never breathin’ a word. Lord daddy, you’re stronger than anyone I ever seen.”

He doesn’t feel very strong, staring at the broken faucet lying in the spatter of shower drops.

“Do ya need to do another?” she asks gently, soothing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I’ll get it ready.” she offers.

“No, m’set.” he mumbles.

“Be honest.” she warns.

“I swear, m’done. Just beat.”

“Maybe the fennel oil helped?” she hopes and maybe she’s got a point, this was easier than some.

“Maybe it did.” he’ll give her that and smiles against the curve of her belly.

“Why aren’t you usin’ coffee in the enemas instead?” she inquires much to his bewilderment, “It’s good for your liver and less abrasive on the gut. Saline just shreds you.”

“Really?” he grunts, this cute girl knows a thing or two after all, “Never heard that.”

“We’ll have to see if they help, get you a bucket and tub too, they’re easier to manage.” she decides and he wants to protest that she doesn’t get a say in such things but the fact she’s talking about a future where she’s here and meddling with enemas makes him a little woozy with hope. Gigi makes a mental note of calling up a friend who’s majoring in nursing and asking for any and all books and tips that could help in a situation like this. “Let’s get you washed and put to bed.” she encourages him, scratching at the base of his head and feeling the steam roll off of him, inflammation and exhaustion pouring out from his skin, “no way you’re up for shooting pool with Jerry.”

“Oh that was just to get him to keep an eye on you.” Elvis laughs as she helps him stand, never once planning on playing pool tonight of all nights.

Gigi rolls her eyes at him and pouts at his deviousness, Elvis is just glad she’s focusing on that and not the surrounding accouterments any longer, “It really hurt me you didn’t want me with you.” she informs him with grave maturity that somehow makes a mockery of her nineteen years, she looks more fragile than ever, even in this attempt at communicating her needs.

“And I don’t want ya seeing me do this.” He replies as gently as he can as the shower roars next to them and fills the room with billows of steam, “Like I said, some things are between a man and his toile-“

“-and his toilet, yeah. But I’m me!” she explains with a wide smile and he’s really got no clear, available arguments against such impregnable, optimistic, self-exalting while at the same time being utterly selfless -logic.

It’s like arguing with a very pretty lunatic, one with ripe tits still shiny from her shower and crooked little front teeth behind full lips and eyes that could convince him of anything at all -and Elvis wonders if this is how folks feel with him. Is he this infuriating? Do they get a thrill of confusion and reward in doing what he asks? Is it some sorta weird ass loop over and over that has them denying then agreeing right after, again and again?

“Let’s get you in the shower daddy.” Gigi is saying with a roll of her eyes at *his* silliness and Elvis watches in a sort of disembodied trance as she undoes the thick tie holding his robe closed.

This is another thing he was gonna take slow. Getting naked, touching and being touched no faster or intensely than what he directed and allowed. And…well, there it goes, his robe and his resolve opened up and pushed off his shoulders as slow as a strip tease while this perfect young thing has her watching face transformed from caring into something so hungry and admiring he actually feels his pulse quicken.

That’s more like it, the natural order of things is somewhat restored when the caregiver shifts from viewing him with solicitude to viewing him with the divine and fathomless want that is feminine arousal.

But still.

Sweet Jesus, it’s been forever since someone reacted to his body that way. The face sure, the man -yes, and the legendary presence is a given. But that’s all outliers of him, of poor little ole Elvis alone in his own room, in his own house, without the trappings. Nobody in a long while has taken the trappings off and moaned like a paid whore at the sight of something so utterly human and a little faulty as his body now is. A body Elvis has fought and lost against for well over a decade now.

The robe puddles around his feet and he expects it’s time to get in the shower if Gigi would pull her eyes up from his protruding gut. She’s already seen it once today when she unzipped his jacket. After an overly long review where he can actually see her crane her head down to try to see his pecker -jokes on her, the gut hides it- and up his treasure trail to his chest and his neck and his chin and his lips-

-Gigi throws her arms around his shoulders and kisses him. The sight of him naked and hairy, manly and huge, with a hanging belly too much for her to hold her desires back any longer.

Elvis is as warm as she remembers and with his body unimpeded by a tracksuit or a robe she can now fully press her body against his, standing toe to toe with their heights not too dissimilar, making it wonderful and easy to kiss him as she presses herself to every inch of his tacky skin, so much muscle and discipline polished beneath the soft and hairy bulk. It makes her feel small, just how wide and broad and large he is in comparison to her, tall and lanky as she is, she’s never been little before, but with this bear of a man she could curl into his barrel chest and pull the hairy curtains closed and be tucked away from it all. Like a fairytale princess in her favorite oak.

“I want you to crush me.” she moans in his ear as she curves her body to align with the pouch of his belly, her ass stuck out for optimal contact and Elvis groans in response, seeing the pair they make in the fogging mirror.

Something in him responds to the rightness of the image presented, fogged by the steam and softened where they’re two pink cherubs caught in an embrace, her soft breast resting on the dome of his furred chest.

Both complimentary but untraditional in their combination, - a sorta Gainsbourg and Birkin vibe where everyone’s left wondering how exactly the gargoyle got the maiden -or the thickening rockstar got this sweet piece of ass- but nobody doubts the sex is blazing hot.

It’s sexy as hell and the temperate side of himself that health and Ginger had been striving to coax into the fore, plummets into a lava filled grave at the primal, loin swelling satisfaction of Gigi and her nakedness pressed to him, writhing against him, reveling in him and trusting in his masculine abilities to satisfy her.

He grips an ass cheek in his hand, spanning from hip to crack, and crushes it to him meanly, pinching her soft skin with hsi rings, his other arm flung about her ribs and pressing her nearer there, too. Gigi lets out the happiest cry of completion at him granting her request. It’s breathless and short from the lack of air left in her lungs.

“This how ya like it?” Gigi hears him rumble darkly in her ear and she feels herself dribble at his voice alone, finding the feeling of all his strength and power pressed to her more overwhelming that any self-brought pleasure.

She can only nod her head frantically in agreement, his grip too hard and tight for anything else, she feels like she’s floating and somehow that’s more grounding for her than anything else she’s ever felt in her life. He must feel her shudder as he responds with one of his own and readjusts his grip on her butt, fingertips grazing the underside of her cheek and teasing the folds that lead to where she’s a wet mess for him.

He teases there for a moment, tiny, ticklish little swipes to the back of her waxed pussy lips and then he curls his fingers again and grips harder than even before, into her plush ass and he lifts her up to her tiptoes by the hold, making them level before slotting his mouth against hers, the closest thing to sloppy in his kisses that she’s yet experienced from him.

It delights her. This gritty, unmeasured side of him that doesn’t take things in measured and calculated amounts. She wants to be mauled and squeezed and have the crescent indentions of his fingernails on her ass. She wants to be irresistible to him, she wants him to appraise and enjoy her like she’s both precious and objectively the only thing he wants to squeeze and fuck for the rest of his life. She’s ready for that life. Gigi mauls him back, careful to be gentle with her pressure but she kneads his soft sides and the thick cording of his neck, so full of strength but also inflammation -and she suddenly recalls the shower.

Having broken their kiss, they both glance over at the pattering water. And it’s better this way, neither having to break up the moment, they both just seem to agree and proceed to amble over in a waddling embrace and step into the lavish shower.

Gigi has already washed but she won’t be the one reminding Elvis of that as he squirts a generous amount of shampoo into his hands and grumbles about her stupid drugstore lemon shit. That wanting to have him paw at her and be a little sleazy in his touches is gratified by the way he spends too long on her boobs, something that is traditionally a rather clean body part. But his boyish little smile and the single minded lostness on his face he suds up their heavy weight and let’s her large pink nipples slide through his knuckles, his pink tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he gently jiggles the slippery firmness of them, makes Gigi sigh in dreamy delight that she can bring him joy by standing in the shower and letting him wobble her boobs, clapping them together one minute and jostling them the next to make the soap suds slid and back and forth along the runway to her nipples. They might have stayed at that game all night, both quite invested in never letting one little congregation of bubbles slip off the Cherry red cliff onto the shower floor. But Elvis yawned once and just like that they decided it was time to wash him and go to bed. With a sad kiss goodbye to one of her large nipples, Elvis allows for the roles to be reversed.

Of course washing him was strictly utilitarian. What was she on about, lathing his shins and his thighs and squeezing his ass like he was a nineteen year old girl? And what was it about Gigi rubbing his shoulders as she went and then turning him around into the spray to wash it off as she started to work at his front, giggling to herself as she swooshed his chest hair into certain patterns with the slippery soap. She even hefted his own boob flaps up, something he fuckin’ hated even existed right now, and she did it with heavy lidded eyes and bitten lips like she was getting off on this, on swishing suds around his large belly before squatting to get her first peak at lil Elvis.

He was still soft, or mostly so, but what shocked Gigi was how thick he was even in repose. Laying heavily on his thigh, his length was nothing much, decent but not particularly matching of his long limbs, but his thickness was to a degree that she wished she did have the stupid Lemon Up shampoo to compare it to, it wasn’t too far off. She didn't know dicks came in that size, the sorta size that makes babies heads coming out seem like not much of an escalation. Alright maybe not that big but he was large, very thick and cutely stubby and Gigi wondered if maybe it was swollen like the rest of him, if it changed with age or weight, if his pink and vulnerable little head was always peaking out of its tan sheath and if his stones were always so large and heavy, asking for the same treatment as her boobs got.

She cupped them with a dollop of shampoo in her hand and jostled the heavy sack gently and with joy in her heart. Elvis lurched forward to lean his forearm against the shower wall to steady himself.

“Gigi, honey, be brief.” he begged and if he’d have commanded her, then she might’ve popped the heavy balls into her mouth just to show him what she thought about him always denying himself any fun, but Elvis was begging and above her his belly heaved with his labored breathing and much as she wanted to see him swell to life, she cared more about seeing him rested.

Reluctantly she finished with a swipe and rinse to the back of his sack and between his crack which made him jump like a critter ran up it instead of a diligent hand. Gigi liked it when he was boyish and shy like that. It makes her press a kiss to his floppy little dick, so heavy and promising in its shrunken state and he lets out a scandalized groan at the feel of her nibbling at the tip with her lips.

“No, no honey don’t.” he begs and gives her a hand to pull her up, she remains steadfastly on her knees with a hand on little Elvis like he’s a handle of some sort. “Good girls don’t do such things.” He explains gently but with firmness, “There ain’t no need, that’s not somethin’ I need from a sweet thing like you.”

Gigi is far from relieved. In fact, if the shower spray weren’t so universal he’d think her eyes were welling with tears for the zillionth time tonight.

“What?” he barks in absolute confusion.

“But I wanna suck you!” she begs, hoarse and throaty and -she’s definitely back to crying again, sweet Jesus, he’d gotten himself a huge tittied young woman who cried over not being allowed to have his cock in her mouth.“I practiced just for the odd chance I ever met you!” she pleads in a desperate cry.

“What?” Elvis looks down at her perturbed and has to admit, unsettled as he is by this, she sure does look pretty right at cock level.

“I practiced with a nice guy who was cut so I had to pretend.” she explains mournfully and Elvis hauls her bodily up by her elbows against the tile to understand this riddle.

“Thought you said you were a virgin, baby.” he chides in confusion about the aspect of practicing for him.

“I am!” She swears, “But I practiced for you! See, I can-“ and she sticks her fingers back to her tonsils with only a small gag that makes Elvis’ masculine heart twinge in admiration.

But he’s better than this. He’s beyond appreciating her gag control and needs to know about this so called nice guy. “Darlin’ who’s this feller?” Elvis has a knack for recalling names and he’s gonna shoot this sonuvabitch if he can find him.

“He was a sweet trucker,” she explains with dreamy reminiscence, “about your age or older, and he fixed my flat tire when it popped near Jackson last year. He was real sweet and I wanted to thank him. He shared his Sundrop with me and he had one of your albums on the radio in his cab. So we talked about you and I told him how I loved you -this was a year ago- and how I wished I could meet you and show you how I loved you. And he lived in Meridian, see, and he sounded a little like you and he had dark hair and this gorgeous belly and when I sucked him I listened to your voice singing through the radio and pretended it was you.”

She finishes this saga with a simple head nod, like that’s all real tidy and normal. Elvis just gapes and a million feelings rush through him, horror at the fact she’s this gullible and unprotected, followed by burning pride at the idea of having been a preoccupation of her’s for so long. Some of this smacks of psycho stalker fan and he should probably run for the hills but Gigi pretended to blow him a year or so ago with a flabby truck diver and Elvis has a vision of that happening again if he somehow screws this up and she ends up on her own again.

That just can’t happen. He shuts his mouth and coughs, realizing that just can’t happen. “Do you like fat men, Gigi?” he asks soberly.

She looks a little hurt by this before replying with wounded devotion and a wobble of her wet lip, “I only love you.”

Elvis sighs and shakes head in astonishment and presses a kiss to the top of her wet head before turning off the shower stream. She likes it when he rolls his eyes at her but doesn’t push her away, Doesn't say she’s silly, just kisses her into compliance. She likes that.

She likes it even better when he was wet and large in the shower grinning down at her, wrapping her up in towels they had to waddle to the drawers to get in dripping pairs.

“You’re somethin’ else, baby.” he tells her but never says it’s too much. She’s waited all night for him to tell her she’s too much it she’s too clingy or she’s too effusive and he hasn’t said it yet.

Gigi helped him step into his silk pajamas pants, he was strangely meek and appreciative of this sort of help and it made her sigh with relief, letting her guard down as she did up the buttons of his sleep shirt under his smiling gaze. She had to ignore the chill of the room on her bare skin, gooseflesh pricking beneath chilled droplets, but it was worth it for the way his eyes ravished her with searching adoration, every single part of her.

Elvis offered her pajamas of her own, too, matching his own. She declared she never could sleep in clothes and the shocked little O of his mouth made her giggle, then he looked hurt and tried very hard to persuade her to try it for him.

“C’mon baby, everybody needs ‘jamies.” he sweet talks to her, holding open the waist band.

“I can’t sleep in them! It’s got elastic!” she sounded like a child forced to eat collards.

“Gigi, wear some pajamas,” Elvis tried sternness, “do it for your daddy, now.”

She sobered up at that, while remaining dried eyed much to his relief. With a slowness of movement and a grimace of distaste that showed her dislike, Gigi took the pajama top from him and slid it on.

It hung there unbuttoned with her bare cunt out and her belly and tits and legs and everything nearly, except for her covered arms, and then she smiled at him with self sacrificing serenity in her eyes while murmuring, “Only for you, daddy.”

And that’s how they ended in bed with Gigi in nothing but an open silk pajama shirt, sans bottoms, with an embroidered E of her right yam.

“I can’t believe they expect you to tour like this.” she muttered as his sweet expressions turned to grimaces and groans upon stretching out on the mattress. Tired from just entertaining a girl and her friends. The closest to angry he thinks Gigi is capable of as she scrunches her brows in frustration and he finds he has to hide a smile instead of telling this little girl to mind her own. She’s frustrated for his own benefit.

“I got good days and bad days.” he explains, turned on his side and stroking her face where it lay on their shared pillow, the room dark except for a lamp on, showing them in the mirror above. “Today were tougher than some, not ‘cause of you but jus’-“

“You woke up with a migraine.” She recalled and he is touched by that.

“Yeah, and had to take more pills for it.” he agrees, “and I gotta take s’more before I can sleep.” he warns her but Gigi just hums and keeps on kneading the back of his neck in a way that is liable to make him start drooling.

“When do we leave for the tour?” she asks, setting in and slinging her naked leg over his hip comfortably.

His heart skips a beat at her presumption. Then it plays catch up and bounds so hard he feels winded as he gasps, “September.”

“We’ve gotta get you better by then.” she mutters, “And you’ll have to help me with midterms, it’ll be crazy trying to pass long distance.” To herself Gigi ponders on whether she might have to push back school in order to be with her Daddy, the thought troubles her none because she’d fail it a million times in order to get more time with him. As long as he’ll have her and even then she knows she’d never be able to leave him as compliantly as Ginger had.

Elvis contemplates the fact she’s willing to risk college for him, that she depends on him for midterms and his belly tightens at the thought in anxious hope.

He turns on his other side, hoping for some relief from the belly ache. Without fail she follows and curls around him,seeking to understand he can’t take the heavy pressure of laying on it, and she is jetpacking on his back like a clingy koala, legs and arms woven around him until he’s half laying back on her.

“Baby Girl, I’m gonna smother ya.” he resists a little laugh as she has him in something close to a wrestling pose, legs wrapped around his hips from the back and arms over his belly, his back smashing her boobs.

She lets out a happy moan instead, “I want you to.” Gigi insists and sounds close to climax at the feel of his weight on top of her. She keeps her hold on him tight, content with feeling enveloped by him as droplets of water drip from his hair onto her chest.

Pretty lil weirdo.

“S’like a elephant layin’ on a junebug, we can’t sleep this way.” Elvis finds himself grinning at the comical image reflected in the mirrors above.

“But it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” she begs, “I’ve dreamed about this. Take your pills daddy’s and we’ll go to sleep now.”

Compliant in his bewilderment, Elvis props up and measures out his doses in his palm, swallowing them down dry before lying back, trying to aim for the mattress but Gigi wriggles beneath his bulk again and he prays he doesn’t get another lawsuit on his hands come morning for smothering the life out of a teen girl.

“Do you want a burger?” she asks softly in his ear, right as he starts to relax in her protective hold. He’s got his arms criss crossed across his body to hold her own as they hug him.

“Uh, umm, no -I-I-I’m -I’m sleepy.” he drawls, torn at the lovely idea of a burger after such a long evening but then again, his head is pillowed on boobs and Gigi’s fingers are swirling shapes in the hair on his belly under his shirt. He doesn’t really feel like ever leaving. She makes a better mattress than any amount of money could ever buy.

“Ok, honest?” she whispers in his ear and he smiles into his pillow at her childish earnestness.

He presents a wobbly pinky for her to witness his solemn oath and she happily hooks her littler one with his and they curl round each other, it feels like a promise of more than just midnight burgers. A promise of him helping with midterms and her never having another man in her life.

To his surprise, just as he starts to drift off, Elvis feels Gigi’s hand slither beneath the waistband of his silk pajamas. He thought she’d gotten the message he’s not up for it, the preliminary little snores from the sedatives underscoring his point, but all she does is cup his soft package in her palm, like it’s the most precious wobby in the world for her, and promptly starts snoring little snores herself.

Elvis tries to savor the feeling of her holding him through the night and as he slumbers, her voice manages to break through the fog of dreams talking about midterms to come, about his tour in September — with his surety in their future aided by the promise of their still clinging pinkies, sleep comes easier than it has in years.

———————————-

I hope y’all enjoyed, thank you for reading and thank you for all the prompts that got us here! We are working on a prompt list because after his chapter we open it up to jumping around with prompts. But don’t feel like you’ve got to wait till then, go ahead and send in whatever you’d like and I’ll see what I can cook up! 🌷 xoxo

[writeraven]

THE HOWLING BARK — 01

CHAPTERS: [ 01 | 02 | 03 ]

TAGS: [ isorawrites. » Sora Holmes Case Files ]

LINKS: [ Tumblr » Story, Project | AO3 » Work, Series ]

SHIPS: Murderomantiques; Laniaitte & Emmanellain.

MUSES: Sora Holmes, Yiune Watson.

NPC: Laniaitte de Haillenarte, Emmanellain de Fortemps.

FFXIVWrite: 2023 — 01.

envoy /ˈɛnvɔɪ/ noun a messenger or representative, especially one on a diplomatic mission.

Camp Cloudtop had never been this crowded since the Second Dragonsong War, as far as the commander of the Rose Knights could remember. Narrowing her gaze at a small airship approaching the landing amongst a sea of clouds, Laniaitte de Haillenarte recalled the letter from her brother, Stephanivien, of the Skysteel Manufactory:

Knowing him, I’m sure Inspector Briardien would be most delighted to accept your case and solve such an intriguing mystery for a fellow countryman. Alas, the inspector is still in Thavnair, where he was last sighted with a certain gentleman of light. He did recommended someone who might be equally interested, though Ser Briardien didn’t sound particularly thrilled about this person.

Turning the letter over, Laniaitte scrutinized at the missive attached. While some Ishgardians were acquainted with the Sharlayans in Idyllshire (that was later abandoned), it was the Second Final Days that truly brought the different nations together to combat a common threat. Thanks to the Warrior of Light and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, the song of oblivion had been silenced forevermore, and the realm was slowly but surely recovering from the scars of war and despair. Though Old Sharlayan might have re-opened its borders to foreign trades and talents, Laniaitte would never expect these conservative scholars to skip the political formalities and send an envoy straight to her post.

Once the airship was safely docked at the landing, the lady commander stepped forward with a temple knight’s salute. “Welcome to Camp Cloudtop. I am Laniaitte, captain of the Rose Knights. We have been expecting your arrival.”

“I appreciate the warm welcome.” Amongst the three figures that emerged from the airship, the speaker was a petite Xaela lass in a black Gothic dress. Her short silver hair shimmered under the midday sun, but the heat did not melt the iciness in her gray eyes. “All the more so when you look back at the frigid climate of Ishgard.” Next to her, a Veena maid trailed behind her mistress dutifully, and she appeared to be keeping the third company at a distance. The latter broke Laniaitte’s impassive face into a scowl.

“My lady!” Emmanellain de Fortemps spread his arms upon greeting his not-so-secret crush. His excitement faltered under Laniaitte’s narrow look, and he hastily turned his overbearing gesture into an awkward bow. “I-It’s such an honor to be graced by your radiating presence—”

“You can save the pleasantries for your little party affairs, young lord,” the lady commander cut him off, her tone as hard as her armor plate. “I do not recall requesting any assistance from House Fortemps.”

“Be at ease, Lady Laniaitte,” the Gothic Au Ra drawled with amusement. “We happened to encounter Lord Emmanellain in Old Sharlayan. The poor lad missed the last ferry to Limsa Lominsa, and we decided to take him along, since we have a common destination. Oh,” she paused to glance at her Viera maid. “He also offered to show us around his motherland as a token of gratitude, did he not?”

“Certainly he did, Milady,” the maid replied softly. Laniaitte couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the mature voice that oddly contrasted with her meek appearance. “The young lord was most enthusiastic to take us to the Gold Saucer. Something about maidens in bunny outfits—”

“T-T-That’s for another time!” Emmanellain squeaked, shuddering at Laniaitte’s look of contempt with guilt. “But beautiful leporine ladies are a rare sight to behold!”

“I’m truly flattered by your gracious praise for my partner, but as you can see, we are here on an important business.” The corner of Laniaitte’s lips twitched slightly, intrigued by the young goth’s elegant comeback. With a curtsey, the horned visitor introduced herself proper.

“I am Sora Holmes, a mystery academician and acting envoy of Sharlayan—and this is my personal assistant, Yiune Watson. I accept your case at the behest of my brother and the Warrior of Light, Syndrei.”

Support me on Ko-fi — https://ko-fi.com/whyraven. Thank you very much for your continuous support☕

[lys1]

Congratulations! You waited so patiently <3 This is another Asra x fem!reader for you. NSFW. 5218 words. 

Playing With Potions

—————

The late spring morning air was warming up to be a balmy 75 degrees. You had your skirt pulled down and up, tucked in the back of the waistband, forming makeshift shorts. The shop was somewhat quiet, yet the din from the streets made its nimble way through the open windows.

You descend the ladder to the box of ingredients you were unpacking. They had come in the previous evening and Asra had promptly asked you to “organize them later”. Of course you said yes, the two of you shared this shop after all, and the work that came with it.

Asra himself was bustling behind the counter, sweeping the wooden floors free of the dust and fallen ingredients. He stops momentarily to pick up his cup of tea and take a long sip. The jasmine tea's steam billows into his face as he sighs with content pleasure.

The floorboards creak as you step down and Asra looks over at you, gaze soft. "How's the supplies look, dear?" He asks curiously, returning the cup to it’s coaster.

"Ah," you muse, counting the small containers in your hands. "Looks like we will be all set on lizard toes for a while, I think our supply captain read 1000 instead of 100." You can't help but chuckle, it couldn't be helped, at least you wouldn’t have to order more for a while.

Asra's eyes open a little wider, "oh my." He laughs, "I suppose we won’t". He sets his broom to rest against the counter and bare feet pad over to you, his deep-purple eyes examining the products.

You feel his hand settle on your waist subconsciously; a side effect of being close to one another. You breathe in lightly, smelling the sweet scent of coconut and honied biscuits wash over you. Asra's breakfast choice was apparent.

"Mm," you say, turning so the two of you were face to face. "You smell delicious."

Asra smiles, box in his hand now a little less important. "Care for a taste?" He teases, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sets his lizard toes aside and joins his other hand at your waist. You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod.

He is a mere millimeter from sealing the gap between you when the bell of the shop jingles merrily.

"Ah jeez," you huff good in good nature. "I forgot we have jobs and responsibilities."

Asra laughs at your obvious disappointment and steals a small peck. "Unfortunately, we have to eat somehow." He then turns away and walks back to the counter to greet the customer.

The man is short and has a little round face. He looks extraordinarily nervous, and this catches your attention. Yours and Asra's shop is well known in the city and the townsfolk trust their magicians. You hadn't seen anyone come in here looking so nervous, and maybe even a little embarrassed.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Asra asks charmingly, resuming his position behind the counter. Briefly you let yourself admire how nice he looks, comfortable in his shop and expertise, before turning back to the box you were supposed to be dealing with. Not, however, letting your ears miss the conversation.

"I," the man starts, already fumbling with his words. "I, well look. I need help." He finishes plainly, nervously clutching his shirt between his pudgy hands.

Asra smiles kindly, "many do." He says, tilting his head and examining his new client. "Are you here for a card reading? Need to get some answers?"

The man groans as though he is already exhausted with the conversation. "No, I already know what I need. I have the answers. I've heard about this place. The ways you can help people. I live an hour out of the market and I made this trip just to see you."

"We're flattered, for sure." Asra says calmly, you can hear slight annoyance in his tone from all the ambiguity. The visitor is none the wiser though. "To help you though," Asra continues. "I'll need to know what you need."

"Alright I need a potion," the man finally reveals. "One that will help me... with performance." His cheeks are redder than a bell pepper in the sun.

Asra raises a white eyebrow, "performance? Are you an actor?"

"No!" The man's voice came out in a strangled whisper, obviously trying to keep it down. You roll your eyes, chancing a glance over your shoulder. The shop floor wasn't that big, of course you were going to hear everything.

"No," he said again, this time a little more composed. "What I mean is... my sex life performance." The truth comes out. Your visitor wipes his forehead with a dirty rag from his pocket. "My wife and I well.. we've hit a slump," he explains. "And I've heard of potions that can help with that kind of thing. Stuff that will completely change the game." His eyes are shining now, imaging life post-performance potion.

Asra looks uncertain at best. "I see," he starts, shooting you a glance. "That.. does exists. But it takes awhile to make. And the price isn't cheap either."

You shove the last of the crow feathers into their designated drawer while listening. You have never heard of such a potion, but you were also still learning. Asra sounds a little unsure though.

"Price isn't an issue," the man sounds desperate. "I'll pay anything."

Asra sighs, he feels bad for the man wringing his hands before him, practically crying for a cure. "Alright," he finally concedes. "I'll make it, but you'll have to come back in the morning. This kind of thing takes all evening to brew."

Your customer nods vigorously, "I can wait." He says. "Tomorrow morning, yes! I'll be here!" His excitement apparent, he bows a few times while backing out of the door, tripping over his own feet.

The door closes with a sharp bang and the bell rings furiously. Asra blows air out of his mouth so that itf ruffles the curls between his eyes.

"Well," he says after a moment. "A sex performance enhancing potion was not what I was expecting to make today." He rubs his temples, eyes closed and looking thoughtful.

You grin at him from the shelf as you pick up the empty shipping box and rest it on your hip. "That's quite the name, I've never heard of a potion like that."

Asra laughs and opens his beautiful eyes to look at you. "Yes, you'll have to forgive me for not teaching you that kind of magic, it's not the.. safest." He ends uncertainly. "I don't even know how this guy found out about it. It's not talked about much amongst us magicians.. and it's certainly not a common one."

Immediately more questions than your mouth can keep up with flood your brain. "So how did you find out about it? And why isn't it safe?" You ask the two more important ones, eyes following Asra as he finds a piece of paper and quill to use.

He dips his quill in the register's ink well and starts scratching down what you presumed to be ingredients. "I've been studying magic for years, my love." He says simply, "and before you ask, no I haven't used it on myself." He looks up at you, mischief dancing in his pretty eyes. "I'd like to think my sex game is up to par." He adds innocently, licking his lips seductively when your ears tinge pink.

You brush imaginary dirt off your shirt sleeves and huff. "I suppose it's pretty good." You mumble. It almost feels like a lie to just describe it as "pretty good" but Asra doesn't need you to stroke his ego right now. You do that enough falling to pieces beneath him every night.

Asra is well aware of your attempt to keep him humble and laughs lightly. "And to answer your other question," he says, turning back to his ingredient list, "messing with ones body like this can be dangerous. You have to be very precise."

You nod as he explains, it makes sense.

Potions are always brewed in pots over a magic fire so you put yourself to work, removing a medium sized iron pot from a hook on the wall and carrying it to a fire stand. Asra is busy himself, opening various drawers and adding seemingly random ingredients to a basket he has looped over his arm. Iris petals, newt eyeball, and some shimmering gold flakes. You smile watching him, your gorgeous magician; smart and able.

In no time at all Asra has a bubbling pot of sweet smelling liquid stirring before him. You stand beside him, observing curiously.

"Why are you wearing gloves?" You ask, taking note of the large leather gloves that clad all the way up your lover's forearm.

Asra continues to stir and looks over at you, happy to hear your eagerness to learn. "I can't risk even a drop of this touching my skin. It's so strong, and will immediately absorb into anyone's skin, leaving them..." He shakes his head and trails off, amused. "That's why it has to brew so long, to burn off some of the potency."

Your mouth opens in amazement, taken aback by the idea. This is the real deal you decide, stepping back a couple inches in precaution. After watching the potion bubble for a couple more minutes you stretch and grab the watering can sitting by the floor of the door.

"I'm going to water the plants," you inform Asra, waving your hand briefly until the can is full of cool, crisp water. Gods knows there are at least three dozen inside and outside of the shop.

Asra is humming in confirmation that he heard you as you open the shop door to the plants hanging outside. You don't get very far before you're blindsided by a streak of purple darting through your legs.

Escape!

"Faust?!" You yelp, dancing around the squirming snake as she winds her way under and into the open shop. A loud, booming bark makes you jump again. This time a large hound dog is rounding the tight corner from the side street and barreling full speed towards you.

All hell breaks loose. The water can is up in the air, crashing wildly into the side of the building. You are thrown back onto the dusty floor and a mass of fur and teeth race past you, paying no mind to your yelling.

Help!

Faust is racing around the floor, narrowly avoiding the jaws of the angry dog she seemed to have aggravated. There's a large crash from inside and you cringe, hearing bottles break and wood crunch. You look back, scared at what you might find.

The shop is a disaster, papers strewn, vials broken, and potion pot toppled. Asra is groaning on the floor, obviously doing no better than the rest. You glance at him worriedly, taking quick notice of the potion he had been making spilled everywhere, even on him.

You snap your fingers and the dog's growl, who was cornering Faust by the bookshelf, turns into a whimper as you lift him up with your magic. "I'm sorry pooch," you sigh, "but we can't have you eating our friend." With a wave of your wrist the hound is out the door and down the street in an instant. The hinges creak and bell rings as the door is once again closed to outside.

Thank you!

Faust wriggles happily, red eyes glowing in relief. You guess she got up to some trouble with the local fauna. She slithers up the stairs quickly, leaving you to look around at the ruined shop.

"Ah, fuck," Asra's words cut through your thoughts like a knife. He's laying flat on the floor, chest heaving as though he just ran a marathon. Sweat glistens on his tan skin, covering him from head to toe.

You step over the broken bottles and kneel at his side. "My love?" You ask, unsure of what to do. It was obvious what had happened, it didn't take an expert. The potion that was supposed to be for your customer was now soaked into Asra's glowing skin.

Asra opens his eyes and you swallow hard. You know that look, and it nearly makes you start trembling where you sit. Lust is prevalent, clouding Asra's eyes until they're a dark amethyst color.

"You-" you start to speak but are cut off by Asra sitting up abruptly. His face is close to yours and his breath washes over your lips, hot and wanton. He looks positively desperate, just the sight of you sitting before him doing wonders.

"Please," Asra's voice comes out low and husky, he watches your chest rise and fall quickly as a result. "Can I please have you, right now."

You could almost call him asking like that soft and innocent, if it wasn't for the raw, hungry look he was giving you. His eyes were traveling everywhere across your body, leaving an invisible line that you could almost feel burning into your skin. Your lips parted and you let out a soft gasp, the power that kind of look had over you was astonishing. You shifted your legs under you subtly, feeling the result of the hot atmosphere low in your stomach.

"Tsk, tsk," you had to tease for a moment. "Closing the shop at midday for some fucking?" You reach up and cup Asra's cheek, feigning uncertainty. His skin on your fingertips burns white hot and you have to hide your amazement.

Asra's eyes narrow, he knew you too well. With a quick flick of his wrist you hear the deadbolt on the door slide into place. It's only a second later and both of his hands have found a place on either side of your hips.

"Why do you torment me?" he asks, pulling you close so your legs straddle him. "Can't you see I'm getting enough of that from this damn mistake of a potion?" His words are almost shaky, as though he can barely speak anymore. He presses his hips up to meet yours, and a soft sigh escapes his lips as he finally gets a little friction.

You dig your nails into his shoulders and gasp, the feeling of Asra so obviously in need is enough to make anyone go wild.

You can't resist grinding down lightly and Asra's eyes practically roll back at the sensation. "How can I say no to such a pretty face," you whisper, completely in love with his reaction.

That was enough for Asra and without added words he gathers you up in his strong arms and lifts you both. Your head falls back pleasurably when his lips find your neck. It only takes a few quick steps on his part to bring the two of you into the plush back room.

The purple cushions lining the cozy futon sink in gently as your back hits the mattress. The room has a slight pleasing haze as sandalwood incense burns at the table. The smell washes over your senses and a new wave of sensuality comes over the room.

Asra's hands hold you firmly as his lips continue to press lovingly into your skin. He hovers over you, one leg pressed between your legs, causing your hips to involuntarily move along his thigh.

"I need you out of these clothes," Asra groans, lips being stopped at your chest where your shirt has suddenly become a hindrance. He's already tugging at the hem, untucking the loose fabric from your waistband. You raise yourself to your elbows and help him pull the shirt over your head. At once it is thrown over Asra's shoulder and his eyes are set on your bare skin, drinking in the sight of his lover.

You smile at his admiration and lay back again, stretching your arms above your head and arching your back. You feel his hands on your stomach, traveling up to rest on your breasts. Your skin prickles with desire, flesh lighting on fire from his ministrations.

"How did I get so lucky," he breathes out, looking down at you with a look filled with love and passion. He rests the tips of his fingers on your nipples and swirls them lightly, leaving you to twist in torturous pleasure beneath his touch. "Everything about you is beautiful." Asra continues to flatter, lowering his head so his curls tickle your stomach. He licks a long line from the dip of your hip up to the valley between your breasts.

After a few moments of tasting your supple skin he moves his hands to the top of your skirt and tugs. You lift your hips in compliance and the fabric slides down your legs easily. Asra licks his lips as your body is finally fully presented to him.

"I could feast on you," he announces, voice lowered with need. "And I wouldn't go hungry in a lifetime." These words he whispers into your inner thigh, they tickle your skin softly.

You watch with bated breath as the man before you adores his lover. It's hard to keep your moans controlled as you feel his sinfully good tongue lick you in a way that can only be described as ecstasy.

Asra shifts into a more comfortable position, lying on his stomach and he brings your legs to lay comfortably over his shoulders. You shudder as you feel his hot breath flutter over your dripping slit. He doesn't waste anymore time and lowers his face to enjoy you.

Your thighs squeeze his head lightly as your body arches in response. Asra is devouring you as though you were a feast and it was the only meal he is to have in a lifetime. He grips your legs tightly to keep you from moving and covers your slit with his mouth, sucking for a moment on the tight nub at the top. He groans happily into your skin before moving down to lick your hole.

"Oh please, yes," you run your trembling hand through his hair and raise your hips up to meet his greedy mouth. He laps short, quick strokes first, stimulating you into madness.

After a moment he slows his tongue down to swirl languidly, looking up at you. You make eye contact and groan at the erotic scene of him eating you out. "That mouth of yours is too skilled for its own good," you whisper, fingers digging into his scalp, trying desperately to savor every swipe of his tongue.

Asra smiles against your folds. "I live to make you feel good, my dear." He says, pausing a moment. "You intoxicate me. Your smell, your taste. I couldn't get enough even if I had all the time in the world." He presses his lips on each one of your thighs with hot, open mouth kisses.

You blush at his words, feeling amazing under his praise. "Come here," you command softly, pulling on Asra's hair lightly to guide him back up your body. He kisses every inch of skin he passes before finally reaching your lips.

"Mm," he hums, taking your face in his hands. "But these lips, are like the finest honey in Vesuvia." He lifts your head so your mouths meet. It's a hot and feverish kiss, full of staggering amounts of love.

You press your body into his and relish in the feeling of kissing Asra. Your mouths are opened to one another and your tongues meet in fiery unison. While you enjoy the kiss you allow your hands to roam. Your fingers find his shirt buttons and you start to undo them as best you can, only a little distracted. It takes just a minute and you sigh happily into his mouth when you finally remove the annoying clothing.

You part a moment to admire the divinity of his body; prostrated before you. He was calling himself the lucky one, but you could probably make a pretty good argument for it being the other way around. He looked absolutely glorious in the hazy glow of the room.

As you reach for the waistband of his pants and rest your fingers playfully on the skin above it Asra breaks out in goosebumps at the fluttering feel of your touch.

"Ah," he breaths out, raising himself to his knees and closing his eyes. Clearly, he's enjoying the attention finally being on him.

"You are the one with the potion affecting them." You say, drawing a line from one hip to another. "It'd almost be criminal to ignore you for any longer." Your eyes fall to the bulge straining under Asra's pants, just begging to be free. A smile plays across your lips as his breaths quickens significantly.

"I.. wouldn't complain." He finally manages to say in a strained tone.

You smile, maybe a little too satisfied, and hook your fingers under the band. "I know." You chuckle, pulling. The trousers catch a moment on Asra's hardened length before slipping down to his knees. You take time to admire the sight before you, licking your lips. Asra is panting slightly, looking down at you lustfully as your eyes graze over him.

He grabs your head on either side and looks into your eyes. "Please," is all he can croak out.

You swallow thickly and you feel yourself dampen even more at his begging words. “I’d like nothing more" you say; need dripping heavily from your words. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his leaking slit lightly. Asra's body shivers with pleasure when your soft lips meet his aching shaft.

You take a breath before closing your mouth around his tip. Your cheeks hollow and you suck in deeply, enjoying the small sounds of pleasure emitting from Asra's lips. He groans even deeper as you finally swallow down his whole length, tip sliding down the back of your throat.

"Ah fuck, baby," he stutters through gritted teeth, fingers threading through your hair. He thrusts into your mouth without hesitation, reveling in the way you feel around him. The pace is fast and vicious, leaving no time for extra room for breathing.

You choke back your gasps and feel the involuntary tears prick at the corners or your eyes. Your hands fall to your sides as you let Asra use your mouth how he pleased. Licentious noises ring around the room as he sinks his member into your mouth relentlessly, moaning at each stroke and the salacious feelings that come over him.

His grip tightens in your hair as he pounds into your face. You open your mouth as widely as you can and take him in, ignoring the slight pain of labored breathing. The feeling of being used so mercilessly is intoxicating, and you close your eyes, enjoying the pleasure that overtakes you.

With a loud pop he pulls out of your drooling mouth, leaving you to be the one groaning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry love," he huffs dazedly, need heavy on his features. "But if I don't stop this now I'm cumming in your mouth."

"That doesn't sound so bad," you complain, sticking your tongue out so Asra can view how much you want it. His eyes darken considerably and he looks ready to break.

He takes a breath in sharply, steadying himself before holding your face gently in his hand. "As much as I want you fuck your face, that pussy of yours I know is dripping for me and I have to comply." He chuckles, running his thumb along your lip.

You whimper at his words, practically climaxing at the suggestion. You meet his eyes in a needy manner and nod. "Oh, Asra," you start, already seeing excitement flit across his face at the mention of his name. "I want you more than I can even describe to you."

To this Asra inhales sharply, thumb still hooked in your mouth. "Tell me how you want me," he says, barely able to contain his own desire.

"I want you to fuck me from behind," you begin, knowing exactly how to please his ears. "I'm going to cry and moan, and beg you for relief but you will know better." His eyes widen in ecstasy but you continue anyway. "I want you to give everything you can to me, without holding back."

Asra seems to snap right in front of you. His features immediately seem to plead for consolation. "You'll get what you ask for." He growls, fingers tightening in your mouth. You lick his thumb seductively and the action throws him over the edge.

Asra's hands fly to your waist and hold you firmly, you're flipped over; ass to the heavens greeting him. He swallows at the sight and digs both palms into the flesh, enjoying the feeling immensely. "So needy and ready for me," he groans, finger finding your entrance and slipping in easily. You gulp at the warmth of having fingers enter you. Asra is unrelenting and curls them cruelly against your walls.

"Just fuck me already!" You cry, unable to hide your desires anymore. You hear Asra laugh behind you, yet despite this you know he is dying to sink himself into you.

"Alright, alright." He concedes, taking your hips in his hands. "If you insist."

You feel his tip slide against your slit and shudder, craving the feeling of him inside you. It doesn't take more than a moment before you feel him start to enter you. You lay your head down, turning your face so you can watch Asra take you from behind.

His lips are parted in a silent moan as he relishes in the feeling of your walls around him. You sigh softly as he fully sheaths himself in you, a small tremor passing over your body from the pleasure. One moment, two moments pass as you both bask in the feeling of being connected.

"Give me your hands," he commands, slowly sliding in and out of you, giving no care to his agonizingly slow pace. Soft gasps are falling from your lips as you try to register his request.

Carefully, you cross your arms behind your back. It's no use to keep the blush at bay as you take in the dirty scene. Your face is pressed to the pillows, unable to move much as Asra takes your wrists and pins them to your back. Your ass is raised in the air to meet his rhythmic thrusting.

Asra grips one of your thighs with a free hand and quickens the pace a little. Your eyes shut tightly as your body responds. You can feel his tip hit deep inside of you with each snap of his hips. It's unrelenting and you have to catch yourself from begging for more.

You feel the fingers around your wrist tighten a bit as Asra's breathing speeds up behind you. You know that he's set on giving you as much painfully slow torture as he can manage himself, but you also know that potion is working against him. There's nothing he wants more than to let go and pound you into the mattress.

"Baby," you choke out, words bouncing along with your bodies. "I know you want to fuck me so good right now." Your voice is deep with seduction. "Please just fill me up like I know you want to." You finish your plea, watching his face with satisfaction. His eyes are darkened with desire. He takes just a few more strokes before slowly to a stop inside you.

"You asked for it," he warns. He only takes a moment to let go of your wrists and flips your body so you're facing him. He cages you in on either side and licks his lips as he stares into your eyes. His hungry mouth meets yours in a kiss full of fire. You can melt into it for only a second before you feel him grab your hips and pull you flush against him; Your cries drowned by his lips as he sets an erratic pace, skin meeting with loud slaps.

"Fucking hell," he groans, still kissing you between words. "You feel like heaven on earth. You're so hot, and I can feel your insides squeezing me." He explains, hot breath falling over your face. Your cheeks burn at his descriptions.

You loop your arms around his neck and press your chest into his. Your skin meets, shining with sweat and burning from love. Asra presses back, savoring the feeling of your nipples brushing against his.

You start to feel that familiar blossom of unreleased pleasure pool in your lower stomach. Asra's shaft is hitting you just right, sending jolts of satisfaction right to your core.

"Oh-" you stop and whine pleasantly when he shifts angles. "Fuck. Please yes, don't stop!" Your arms drop and nails dip into his biceps and you grit your teeth from the hot delight searing through your body.

"I couldn't even If i wanted to," Asra answers, words strained as his grasp on himself starts to crumble. His breath is leaving his lips in short pants now and you can almost see the resolve to hold on slip away before your eyes.

He falls into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and thrusts into you with all of the strength he can muster. You bury your face in his neck and take hold of his hair. You can feel Asra's body shuddering to not let go.

You bring your lips to his ear and bite his lobe. "Won't you come for me sweetheart? Please empty yourself in me." You whisper.

Asra takes in a sharp breath and you hear him choke at your words. They were enough to push him over the edge and he rams into you with a low, strangled cry.

Your head falls back and your mouth opens in a silent scream as Asra lets himself go in you. Your legs shake violently of their own accord as you feel your orgasm wash over you, leaving your body in euphoric fire.

Asra's lips immediately find yours as you ride out your orgasms together. You kiss him passionately, all of your senses in overdrive. His kisses are soft, and sweet, a clear declaration of his love. Happiness rushes in like a flood as you enjoy the afterglow. After a minute Asra removes himself from you and joins you in laying down, sides still heaving from the activities.

"My dear, how I love you." He says with a smile, running his fingers in slow, soft circles on your stomach.

You turn on your side and look into his eyes. He looked content, and his cheeks were dimpled from his growing grin.

"I love you too," you return, hand falling into his. His skin was still warm. The two of you lay there for a while, out of breath and simply enjoying the presence of one another.

Eventually, Asra sits up and looks down at you with humor in his eyes. "Well, I think I can tell our buyer that we did an extensive review of his product and it does, in fact, work."

Your face breaks into a smile and you laugh at Asra's words. "Oh goodie, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear all about it."

[the-slasher-files]

Hello there! I’m back with another request. Can you write some headcanons of Michael, Jason, Bo and Bubba if their S/O was an artist? I’m an artist and I would love to see their reaction if I showed them one of my latest drawings.

Yay.. ok so I’ve got a few requests for this (from a shy s/o to a confident one) so I kind of mixed them together :) also btw I don’t write for Bubba but I will write for all the others, plus more! hope you enjoy 🔪💕  

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS WITH S/O THAT LOVES TO DRAW OR IS AN ARTIST

INCLUDES JASON, MICHAEL, BO, VINCENT, and CHROMESKULL

JASON VOORHEES

First of all living where you do at the cabin there is so much inspo from deer, to the lake, to changing of the seasons.. It is honestly the best place for an artist

Jason always noticed a black notebook lying around with pens and pencils on every other surface, and you were oddly protective of the book, so he left it alone respecting your boundaries

Sitting with him in the quiet cabin Jason loved the sounds of the pencils scratching along the paper, and he loved to watch the soothing motions of your wrist going to work

Slowly he will become more and more interested in what you're doing and he needs to see. Sneakily inching himself closer to you as you work away and stretching his neck as far as he can, catching a glimpse then feeling guilty

Jason wants to respect you so much but it kills him that you’re not showing him. So when you were in the shower he quickly ran to the book and gently ran his fingers over your work, amazed at how good everything was and how you brought the nature/animals to life in the book from around the camp

Flipping a page then he is met with sketches of himself, with the mask and without, his hands, some of his wounds with the bones sticking out... it was beautiful and he couldn’t look away until you walked into the room pushing him away from the book but seeing his expression made you melt, he loved it so much and slowly brought out confidence in you, making you show him your work all the time

A few times he had brought some art supplies home from a group of teens that came along

One day he came home to canvases all over the floor and red paint splattered all over your old t-shirt Jason freaked out thinking it was blood in the dim lighting, he stepped on your canvases with muddy boots and held you up making you yelp... “Baby it’s just paint”... well now he feels foolish and upset for stepping on your art

The next night he still felt bad but you showed him what you had created from “the incident”... Bright colours framed the bootprint and brought out the muddy tones, some of the canvases had pressed flowers along the details of the print and it was so beautiful Jason immediately hung them on the wall  

Just an fyi he wants to always do crafts with you lol so make sure you help him

MICHAEL MYERS

Now this guy is pretty indifferent to everything but something about your art brings out a new side in him

You can say a lot of things about Michael but you cannot say he isn’t observant, he sees everything and knows everything

Like Jason he notices your many notebooks and various art supplies around the house, but he is far more intrusive than Jason and will rip the notebook from your hands holding your neck if you protest as he flips through it

Watching his face nothing changes, he just scans the pages then throws the notebook down walking away leaving into the night

The next morning notebook, paints, pens, brushes and other supplies litter the kitchen counter... wonder who got those???

Michael loves watching you work on your art, watching your facial expressions, the way the pens run along the paper and how the paint coats the canvases.. oop you just gave him an idea

One night he came home gruesomely cover in blood a little more than extra, and Michael moves above you and the art you are working on, whoops he is dripping blood on the canvas, then smearing it, then moving his knife along it using it as a brush, I guess

You yelled at him at first but watching how he seemed to enjoy the colours mixing together and the way the blood dried was sort of.. cute

You knew Michael had a funny and creative side just by the way he walked into the bedroom one night with a sheet over himself and sunglasses on, and the way he leaves marks on your body in a certain pattern or framing his favourite features of you. Michael’s art was his kill you realized

He really loves your pieces, even though he would never say so and Michael’s favourites were the sketches of himself you did and he would paint blood along them

You weren’t gonna lie it made the portraits more interesting and honestly beautiful, they quickly became your favourites as well

I’m sorry but my horny self just wants to see Michael in an all-black suit at an art gallery admiring the masked portrait of himself covered in blood... sorry but it’s hot lol

BO SINCLAIR      

So Bo is not really observant so it might take him a while to notice the art supplies around the house but even then he thinks it’s just Vincent’s

You will probably have to do just do the art in front of him before he gets that its your art supplies.. man sucks lol

Bo really enjoys your company when he is in the shop, you just sitting there working away in your notebook and him under the hood of his truck

He doesn’t necessarily push to see what you’re drawing but Bo teases, the harder you hide it the harder he teases... “what ya got in there sex drawings?” “Fuck darlin’ let me be your model”

If you don’t want him to see what you’re doing never leave your notebook behind because the man is a snoop in every sense of the word

Bo 100% supports your art even though he isn’t very interested in it and doesn’t really get it, if it makes you happy he will steal supplies from his twin and if victims have notebooks or pens he will bring them to you immediately  

On a day where you decided to spend the day at the shop, sitting on your chair sketching away while Bo was organizing his tools, he kept catching your glances and smirked “Baby, you need somethin?” he would ask smugly.

“Nope” a simple answer not stroking his ego “gonna grab a beer from downstairs you want one?” Bo nods as you make your way to the mini-fridge. Quickly the man strides over to the notebook, opening the page where you had placed your pencil. He knew it, sketches of himself, it makes his ego skyrocket.

“BO!!” pushing him away and he grabs the book holding it just out of your reach smirking “Momma always said I’d be a good model” “Don’t flatter yourself Sinclair, you’re the only man around for miles that doesn’t wear a mask or look like a trash man” you laughed as him smirk fell... run

He honestly loves your art even though Bo gives you a hard time... His favourite thing is falling asleep to the pencil sounds against the paper when you’re laying in bed together

VINCENT SINCLAIR

SAAAAAAME... lol

The man notices right away that he begins to lose his an unused notebook and some of his best art pencils

It made you very nervous to show Vincent what you sketched and painted since he was just so good at art in every way. It was unfair

His favorite thing to do with you is make little sculptures from wax or clay, he could tell you were very creative and good at what you made, and he would always be super supportive

Vincent’s praise and support made you more comfortable with doing your art around him and even showing him. The man loves it and loves all of it

Different from his brother, Vinny respects you a lot and is fine with not looking in your notebook until you’re ready to show him. He hates when people see his unfinished work and flip through his notebooks as well

The good thing about dating him is Vincent’s art stuff is now yours

Also he is a very good teacher, somehow though he cannot talk, Vinny never makes you feel bad about your art and if you need help he is more than happy to support

Art date nights!! Getting the idea from your phone, you lit all the candles and brought down all the paint you could along with the large unused canvases you had found. When Vincent strolls downstairs his eyes go wide, seeing you in just your bra and underwear “I’m ready for art class Vin” you giggle

When he finds your paintings or sketches of himself without his mask Vincent’s heart melts, finding someone like you to love him, let alone see his destroyed features as art kills him

CHROMESKULL

Jesse is a very watchful human, even when he isn’t at home the guy has cameras literally everywhere

When he was gone on a "business trip" you had all the free time in the world, plus you had picked up some new art supplies, so why not work a large piece when Jesse isn't around to distract you... When you had worked on for a few hours you got a text 'How's the painting coming along?' And that's when you realized cameras are everywhere!

If you are a shy person with your art he basically doesn’t allow you to be, he’s a pushy spoiled man but he is also very supportive and it makes you more confident in showing him  

Jesse honestly loves art and has many expensive paintings in his large home, so when he sees your art you better believe he will have Preston frame the art and put it on the walls, with special art gallery lights really making it look perfect

If you need any and I mean any art supplies no matter how expensive Jesse supports it *hands you his gold credit card*

"Oh.. renovations? To the already perfect mansion?" "Yup.. it's your new art studio"

Art, wine and cheese nights... the perfect date

Feeling uninspired? alright time to change the scenery, let’s go to a tropical destination or a wintery cabin. The man wants to spoil you and put your passion at the top of his priority list, plus he just wants a vacation and see you in your swimwear

It doesn't matter if you're shy about your art or confident Jesse will say he is taking you to an event, get you all dolled up and take you to an art gallery event that is just your art... surprise! Dumb rich bastard loves your work and flaunts it to everyone he can

[astaroth1357]

Hello!! Congratulations on your 1,500 followers!!! I was wondering if you could write hc's with the Demon brothers reacting or helping MC with daddy issues(if possible specifically the kinds with an absent father). If possible please make the female MC, but if you would prefer to make it Gender Natural than its awesome as well!! Thank you very much for your awesome work!!💖💖

A F!MC has an Absent Father (Mammon, Beel, Asmo, and Lucifer)

Okay, so this was a pretty tough request (part of the reason why I'm getting to it so late). Having an absent father can lead to a lot of different (very sensitive) issues for their daughters and I always want to try and be as respectful as possible while still producing accurate content… So instead of my usual 7 brothers format, I'll be shortening this to the brothers that I think could best handle the situation at hand. As always, I will try my best to be respectful to those who may be experiencing these struggles, but if anything I say comes across as harmful or triggering please let me know right away. I'll take down/edit the post if need be. Thank you.

Warnings: Absent Fathers, Eating Disorders, Body Image Problems, Depression, Abandonment, Divorce

Mammon

What kind of Dad wants nothing to do with his kids?? From Day One, Mammon just couldn't understand it...

Admittedly, he might have been a little biased. Ever since he watched his baby brothers grow up, he'd always had a little soft spot for anklebiters in general… They made for pretty sweet kids compared to their rude, spitfire-y current selves (even Satan had his moments). Mammon could see that same innocence in a lot of kids, human, angel, or demon.

So when the MC revealed to him that her own father walked out on her mother before she was born, he was just slightly (incredibly) outraged.

Though he'd like to believe the guy had his reasons for leaving, it just didn't sit right with him… Especially after getting to know the MC so well and seeing that she was such a great person! 

Hadn't the guy been curious about her at all? Didn't he care?? What was stopping him now?? (You know, aside from being on a completely different plane of existence and all that. Like that would stop Marlin from finding Nemo… Yeah, he likes Pixar. What of it?)

Some people might have gone as far as to say that Mammon was waaay more upset about it than she was herself, which was nice but well… his heart was in the right place.

It was around the time when he offered to track the guy down, hogtie him, then leave him to drown in the 4th Circle that she had to take him aside and explain that, though she appreciated his anger on her behalf, she didn't need him to crusade for her… 

She ultimately told him that if he really wanted to help, he could love her and be there for her. Words that he not only took it to heart, but he took very seriously.

She’d never had anyone be as reliable or faithful as Mammon was after that point. As far as he was concerned, he could be what her father never was for her: loving, caring, and present for no other reason than because he loved her!

You know, like you're supposed to be for the people you hold dear...

True, he didn’t always say the right things nor did he always manage to solve every problem for her when he tried to help but he never stopped trying to make her feel loved. He'd spend every Grimm he'd ever had if he had to. She deserved it.

Beelzebub

When you love someone, you usually want to get to know more about them. Things like their past… So it wasn’t unusual for Beel to ask the MC about her home back in the human world, especially after he shared his own past with Lilith and his brothers.

Unfortunately (or fortunately he'd suppose, depending on how you look at it), the intricacies of divorce were a little new to him... Sure, he knew what marriage was and that relationships can fail, but to be frank, he grew up in a very different sort of situation than that of humans. 

He didn't even have a mother, much less and traditional father-son relationship. Lucifer filled in that spot for him like he had for everyone else and they left their father of their own accord...

But something about the way the MC talked about how her father left felt… upsetting. She seemed to use different sorts of tones when talking about the whole thing... At first, she spoke it with blank apathy, but then it changed to bitterness, then lastly… sadness. Like she was regretful about something that, for as far as he could tell, was completely out of her control…

He didn't want to pry into her past much more for that reason... Though he could tell something about it had hurt her, probably deeply, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable so he just waited for her to come to him instead...

And in time, she did.

And ever the patient listener, Beel let her get it all off her chest. He could tell that she felt a lot of different ways about it, and most of them weren’t positive, but he was never one to tell people how to feel about anything. Thinking back on it, he supposed that he’d feel pretty bad too if Lucifer just left the family one day, but even that wasn’t quite the same thing… 

What he knew for certain was that it hurt him to see her so upset and, for once, he wasn’t really sure how to fix it… Can you even “fix” these things? Since he didn’t know the answers he just made a simple promise to himself in order to help make things better...

He probably couldn’t bring her father back, nor could he make his absence hurt any less, but he could be there for her instead. Not like a father, obviously, but as someone who could always love her whether or not she felt she needed it...

And from then on, he let his actions so the talking.

If she was upset and needed comfort, Beel was there. If she was feeling lonely or unloved, he’d be the first to notice and hold her close. Even if she tried to push him away to protect herself from any pain, he wouldn't just abandon her. He'd wait patiently for her to be ready to let him in.

He might not have known all the answers for her, but he wasn't going to let her feel all alone… He made sure of that.

Asmodeus

If he were telling the truth, Asmo was already pretty familiar with this sort of thing. Everybody has "Daddy Issues," himself included, and affects people in a lot of different ways in or outside the bedroom.

Which is why he found it particularly disheartening when he noticed some signs in his beloved MC…

The MC had once confided in him that her relationship with her father was… distant. Though he was physically in the family, she never felt like she could talk to him or get to know him… In a sense, he was never as involved in her life as he probably should have been.

That alone wasn't very uncommon for human families, or so he's heard, heck between his Heavenly-but-Distant Father and his Not-as-Distant-but-Always-Busy Brotherly Surrogate, he could even relate… but it was how she seemed to cope that concerned him…

Something about her self-esteem just wasn't where it needed to be… 

Of course, Asmo's not one to get on a high horse and preach that looks don't actually mean anything (he's a demon, not a hypocrite) but there's a big difference between practicing self-love and falling victim to self-critique… There’s wanting to look your best because it brings you personal joy to do so, then there’s constantly worrying about rejection when you don't look so nice… He's seen it all before.

Truthfully, it was a painful cycle to witness… the eating and then the starving… the hours she’d spend in front of the mirror or her bitter tears after a "bad" selfie… It made his heart ache uncontrollably just to think about it…

So of course he intervened, he simply had to. Not only was it unhealthy for her but it could have brought his darling so much lasting pain in the long run...

When he finally spoke to the MC, he tried to be as gentle as he could while still expressing his concerns… He told her that he noticed the way she had been acting and that he was worried about her…  He genuinely believed that she indeed deserved love with no strings attached. She didn’t need to “prove herself” worthy of it for him or any of his brothers because they would be there for her regardless of what she looked like.

It wasn’t a cure-all. obviously, but never thought it would be. It would take her time to learn how to express love for herself or feel secure that he wouldn’t just start ignoring her one day… but Asmo was nothing if not a caring and patient lover. 

He tracked down places and people who could help her with her struggles and what they couldn’t offer he picked up on himself through perseverance, persistence, and a lot of research. He had his heart set on helping her and that was exactly what he planned to do.

Asmo wasn’t going to stop until she believed that she was honestly, genuinely loved... And that was a promise.

Lucifer

Lucifer picked up that there was something a little different about the human early on, even before he was ever told that her father passed away when she was young. She seemed… particularly fond of him.

He didn’t think much of it at first, but over time it started getting more and more apparent that she gravitated to him for one reason or another… She’d hover around him, bring him things while he worked, or act out like she wanted his attention (not completely unlike Satan or Belphie in that regard).

If he were being honest, it flattered him some, but the more he began to think about it the more… uncomfortable it made him for reasons he couldn’t quite place…

Eventually he gave in and had to run the problem by Barbatos just for a little clarity (he figured the butler could be discreet about it) and that’s when the connection between him and the MC’s deceased father finally came to light. 

There was no real way to sugarcoat it other than to say that she seemed to think of him as… a surrogate Dad of sorts… Which didn’t exactly ease his concerns at all. 

Though he was probably the most “fatherly” person in the House (having more or less become the unofficial father figure to his brothers for centuries), those were still his brothers. He had a large part in actually raising them. The MC was not only a human, but patently not his child. He truly had grown to love her over their time together but that was a very different kind of love…

Something about the situation rubbed him the wrong way… Would he be taking advantage of the MC’s past if he were to try and be with her like he wanted…? Sure, he may be demonic, but he’s not heartless. He only wanted what was best for her and he wasn’t quite sure that was him for once…

While he was still mulling over his feelings, the MC finally jumped the gun and asked him if they could start dating. He knew that it would hurt her (and him) if he said no but he also couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t a problem here…

So he compromised. He agreed to the relationship, but told her that he wanted to take things slow… He was open about his concerns that she may not love him for the reasons she thought she did, which wasn’t the most pleasant conversation to have but it seemed like the one she needed to hear.

It encouraged him that she didn’t appear to reject him outright when he brought it up, nor was she completely broken up about the pace he wanted to set for them, which was a good sign. 

He offered to find her people to talk to about her concerns, particularly around her upbringing, at no cost to her. He thinks humans call them… therapists? Whatever they were, he didn’t doubt that they were better equipped to help than he was.

He tried his best to make it clear that he was only concerned because he loved her so deeply that he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t using her trauma for his own ends... She deserved better than that and he wasn’t afraid to tell her such.

It ended up being a slow process to love for them both, but he’d never regret putting the MC’s wellbeing first. No matter what.

[moon-stars01]

First Impressions

Mingyu x Reader

Author:Deko

Summary:In which Mingyu is a regular and your positive your into him.

Gene:fluff,Swearing,Romance

Rating:General Audiences

~First Impressions~

You'd developed a crush.

One, which you'd hoped was fleeting because you only ever saw him around once a week whenever he'd come into your shop.

He was peculiar in the way he carried himself, he'd nestle himself in a corner and play with a trinket he found interesting and made himself laugh on plenty of occasions.

To others, you guessed, he might look half insane laughing to himself like that – but to you, you found it rather sweet.

Sweet, because he indulged in the company of himself. So few are lucky to have enough confidence to carry themselves freely without reserve or judgement, so while he struck you as peculiar, you also found him irresistibly charming for this fact alone.

He came up to you one day and completely shocked you out of your daydream – and you shuffled to hide your book to make it look like you were actually working.

He met your eyes, "Do you make this stuff?"

He pointed around the shop, and you tried to focus on the question but your mind was more drawn to the fact that his voice did not match his pretty face. You'd always imagined him more soft spoken.

"Y-yeah. Well, no" You exhaled slowly, calming yourself down. "Some. My dad makes most of it."

Ahh, wonderfully spoken. Beautifully enunciated.

He hummed in wonder, and you saw a faint smile trace his lips for a moment, before it disappeared.

He said nothing more and began to walk out of the shop.

You gasped, not wanting him to leave. He'd finally talked to you and that's all he'd had to say? The shop was empty so now was your chance to... say something, anything!

You leaned over the wooden counter, "My name's Y/N!" you half shouted, grasping onto the edge.

Really? Your name? That was the best you could do?

He turned around, eyes wide in wonderment, before they softened at the sight of you. "I'm Mingyu. See ya."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking away. He used his shoulder to push open the door and left the shop without another word.

You slumped back in your chair and took your book back out from its hiding spot, and tried to focus on the words. You were sour upon him leaving, his presence alone had always made you feel giddy, and the shop suddenly felt colder without him there.

—0–0–0–0–

The next day, Mingyu came in.

This shocked you because he never came in more than once a week; you wondered what must have been so important.

Shock was evident on your face, and when your eyes locked as he walked in the door he wore an unreadable expression.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you were stacking wooden toys and trinkets onto the shelves, and noticed that he wasn't acting the way he usually did. He seemed off.

You bit your lip and approached him quietly; he didn't look at you though, as you spoke into the air – only able to admire his side profile.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" You treaded carefully, sounding a little too meek for your liking. You didn't like the effect he had on you.

He looked to be lost in thought for a moment, before turning to look at you. "What kind of gifts do girls like?"

Your heart sank into the floor.

As your eyes trailed his face, gaze sweeping over his perfectly symmetrical features from his soft brown eyes to his pretty pink mouth you realised the insanity of your previous sentiments.

Of course he had a girlfriend, look at him for gods' sake.

You masked your sadness aptly, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. It wasn't as if he'd lead you on or anything, you'd just been living in your own delusions for far too long, allowing them to manifest into actual feelings.

"The things my father makes..." You walked ahead of him around the corner and through shelves, using your index finger to indicate you wanted to be followed, "Are good for tourists, and gifts for old people."

You lead him to a little corner of the shop, one that only stocked the things that you yourself had made. It was your father's idea.

"As for me, I like to make prettier things. Things other girls might enjoy." You used your hand to gesture up and down the shelf.

Mingyu looked at you for a moment with a quirked brow, and then set his gaze to the shelf.

You watched on as he reached out to touch the eclectic weeping willow you'd made. It had taken you forever to create, hence the maybe a little outrageous price tag. You'd had many customers grumpily try to haggle the price with you, but you were fond of it, maybe you didn't really want to let it go.

"You made this?" He questioned, gaze still on it. His long fingers were delicately tracing the decorative beading on it.

"Yes." You murmured shyly, clasping your hands behind your back.

"It must've taken you a long time." He noted.

"It did." You couldn't really think of much else to say, so you continued to watch his form.

He finally leaned up, as if breaking away from his transfixed state. You'd be lying if you said you weren't flattered.

"I'll take it, then."

You blinked up at him, "Are you sure?"

He raised his eyebrow at you, small smile playing on his lips.

He picked up the tree and set off towards the direction of the counter without another word, prompting you to follow.

You rushed ahead, pushing the small wooden entryway to go behind the counter, before meeting his eyes again.

He placed the item down and you looked back up at him, searching his face for any uncertainty.

"Can I ask you a question?" You murmured, avoiding his eyes.

He put his elbows on the counter and sat his head in his palms, watching you expectantly. "Sure."

Too close, he was too close!

You stepped back a fraction, hopefully to an unnoticeable degree. "Is the person this gift is for...special?"

The prying question left your mouth with little hesitation, and he too answered without it.

"Yes."

You watched as he pulled out his wallet and started fishing out notes, but you stopped him with your hand, lowering his gently.

"Then it's on me."

He looked at you, "Huh? No, I couldn't." He ignored you and set the money on the counter anyway.

"I made this a long time ago" You whispered gently, scanning the item to let the system know it was no longer in the store, "It's collecting dust here. You've also given us more business than I care to admit." Your tone was teasing when you looked up at him.

Again, his expression was unreadable.

"Would you like me to wrap it?" You asked, fighting down a sigh.

"Yes, please." His nice voice sent your heart into mini palpitations, and turned your stomach into a fluttering mess.

Stupid, traitorous body.

"Just a moment then." You took the item and walked into the back, exhaling deeply when you were out of ear shot.

You carefully wrapped the tree in bubble wrap, before setting it onto some pink wrapping paper and folding it all together nicely. You sealed it with tape before you heard the entry way doorbell ring.

You left the item in the back and wiped your dewy hands on your pinafore. Stepping out, you looked at the older woman who'd stepped into the store.

"Welcome!" You smiled at her, not familiar with her face. It was always customary to welcome newer customers, the regulars never cared quite so much.

She smiled back and set about the store, and you turned back around to go and retrieve the wrapped gift.

You brought it back out and noticed the money was still sitting on the counter, so while his attention was diverted in his zoned out state, you sneakily placed the money in the bottom of the paper bag, and put the wrapped gift on top of it – effectively hiding it.

"Here you go." You set the paper bag in front of him, and he took the handle and let it fall to his side.

"Thank you." He gave you a quick smile before heading out, and this time instead of using his hands like a normal person, or even his shoulder like he had the day before – he used his foot to push the door open and set out.

You watched his hair fly around in the wind as he stepped outside. The door shut and the bell jingled – leaving you to watch his figure through the glass doors.

His hair was so fluffy. You sighed, putting your elbow on the counter and resting your head in your palm. You wondered what it might be like to run your hands through it.

Sadly, though – that wouldn't happen any time soon. Any girl worth spending 89 dollars on an artisanal craft tree, must be special indeed. It seemed rather frivolous.

—0–0–0–0–

The next morning passed without any drama, and you found yourself during lunchtime nose deep in a book. This week had been slow, dreadfully slow – despite Mingyu and his more than occasional visits – to bring you out of the ordinary.

Your dreamlike state was shattered with a loud ringing of the entry bell, signifying the door had been opened with a little more force than necessary.

A gasp caught in your throat at the sight of Mingyu– and while you were overjoyed at his visit (3 days in a row was a new record) you couldn't help but notice the scowl on his face.

"Y/N."

He'd never said your name before, it sounded like heaven coming from him. But maybe a little bit of slipping from the clouds and plummeting down to earth kind of heaven because his tone was heated.

You watched as he rummaged through his pant pocket, before he pulled out a familiar wad of cash.

He unceremoniously dumped the notes onto the counter in front of you, and his eyes drew you to them, even though the first thing you wanted to do was look away.

"I said no. Why did you do that?" He sounded affronted, and he ran his pretty long fingers through his soft mop of hair to emphasize his frustration with you.

You wanted to say sorry, but you weren't. And if not for a faux apology, what were you supposed to say to that? So you kept quiet, hoping it would pass.

He narrowed his eyes at you sharply, and if gazes could kill...

"So, do you just go around giving away the things you make to anyone for free?" The angry set of his jaw was as frightening as it was handsome. You knew this boy – you'd been watching him for so long. His goofy, light-hearted demeanour could not be clouded with a foul mood.

And as if you were psychic, your silence seemed to stun him. He'd come in here hoping for a reaction and when he realised you weren't going to give him one it calmed him down. You watched as his tense stature relaxed, and his frown mellowed out.

"My sister loved the gift, by the way." His tone had gone soft, "She said it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. I thought so too."

Your heart rate quickened – his sister? You had a nasty habit for jumping to conclusions. It's not as if he'd come into a craft store to buy handcrafted wooden condoms.

Your heart had a pessimistic way of thinking, you'd liked him so much and for so long that your brain turned to non-functioning mush in his presence, clearly.

His sister. The tree was for his sister.

You chewed on your lower lip, trying to concentrate on evening out your breathing and heartbeat. To no avail, naturally.

His gaze was on you so strongly you could feel it. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I'm...sorry?" Wow it's like you didn't even try to be convincing.

"No you're not." He chuckled, low and quickly – and it built up into laughter much lighter "You're not sorry at all."

You looked away, caught.

From your peripheral vision you saw him slide the notes over to you, even closer than they were before. "Put the money in the register. Now."

His tone didn't leave much room for debate, it was low and persuasive and you found yourself trembling at the thought of saying no.

"I want to watch you do it."

You detected hints of flirtation in his tone but you didn't want to get ahead of yourself, so you reached out to grab the money and just get it over and done with, but he was quicker.

He snapped the money back up and held it between his middle and forefinger, just for the purpose of keeping your gaze. "And don't try this again, I live too far away to keep coming back like this."

You tilted your head in question, he lived far away?

You held your hand out and he gave you the money, allowing you to put it in the register underneath his watchful gaze.

You shut it, and looked up. "Satisfied?"

He grinned at you, "Very..." A pause,

"Don't sell yourself short, don't ever try to give some guy free things, especially when they're so beautifully and carefully crafted."

You felt mildly affronted by his accusations. "What do you mean by some guy?" your lips fell into a thin line, the previous mood shattered. You chose to ignore the latter half of the sentences flattery.

"I don't know. Maybe if some guy you like comes in with his friends and charms the pants off of you and I don't know... you just give away your things for free."

You gave him a look of complete confusion. Was he daft?

"I like you, jerk."

Your hands came up to your mouth, as if it would do any good. Why had you said something so rash?

His eyes went wide, and if you didn't know any better you might have seen his face flush.

"What, why? You don't even know me..." He scratched the back of his head, "For how long?"

How coherent of him?

"Why? Because I can. I might not know you but, that doesn't mean I don't want to! And, uh, a while..." You huffed indignantly at the end of your mild outburst.

"No, god I mean..." He ran a hand through his hair, "I wouldn't say I like you, it's more of a crush... I don't know how to explain it, how can you like someone you don't know? You know?"

He had a fair point, in all his jumbled musings, perhaps blurting out your affections so carelessly made him think you were someone who used those words often.

"Well..." you thought, deflecting, "how can you have a crush on me then? Or whatever it is you want to call it."

"I asked first."

You almost scoffed, folding your arms. "Because I see you looking around and you're always happy. This is my father's store, and it makes me happy seeing you happy inside of it."

How many times did you just use the word happy?

He looked pleased at your admission, a sweet sly smile playing at his lips.

You sighed, "Now you."

"Alright" he shifted his balance onto his other leg, looking far taller and more imposing than he should have for someone so pleasant. "You make me curious, that's why."

Huh?

He rolled his eyes at your blank stare of confusion, "You make me curious. Whenever I come in you scramble to hide the books you're reading, to pretend like you were working." There was laughter in his voice, "It's cute..." he leaned in closer over the counter, "and it makes me so curious, I always wanted to know what you were reading."You felt your cheeks warm in embarrassment, "You could've just asked."

"No..." he hummed in reply "Because I spent my time in here day dreaming about what you might be reading. It entertained me."

You huffed, "Nice to know I'm a good source of entertainment."

"And whenever you look over at me..." He ignored you and carried on, "And I notice from the corner of my eye and look back, you always look away. Why do you do that?"

All of this time he'd never let on just how attentive he was to you. Knowing this embarrassed you to no end.

You didn't answer him.

"Why do you do that?" He tried again, his voice sounded closer than before. He looked so handsome with confusion lacing his features."I don't know." You bit back shyly

"You're a shit liar, do you know that?" he bit his lip and gave you a once over, "I'll ask you one more time, why do you look at me like that?"

You played with the frills on your sleeves out of nervousness and pat down your store pinafore one too many times than was necessary, desperately needing a distraction from your ever fluttering stomach.

"Y-you know you're nothing like I thought you'd be." You muttered

He smirked and gave you a look as if to say, 'no shit.'

"Wrong answer." Was what he whispered back instead.

The two of you just stood there staring at one another, and you couldn't discern whether or not the silence was comfortable, or unbearable.

You could've sworn his eyes darted to your lips for a moment, but the spell was broken when the bell sounded and a customer came in through the door.

"Welcome!" You got out, albeit breathlessly.

You met eyes with Mingyu again, and he looked as if he was on the brink of saying something. He sucked in an annoyed breath and looked away. But that façade didn't last long because a second later his attention was back on you.

"What time do you get off?"

Your eyes darted to the clock. 5.20. You had 10 minutes left but you'd rather clock out early than have to wait through the tension of, well, whatever the hell you'd call this.

You watched as your final customer left after looking around extremely briefly.

"Now." You whispered, taking off your pinafore gently and setting it beneath the counter.

You went out back for only a moment and switched the power off, coming back out to meet Mingyu.

Your nervousness was palpable, and you patted down your jean skirt that was beneath the pinafore, hoping that your blouse was presentable enough.

It felt like time was moving very slowly as the two of you walked out of the store together, his beautiful features were darkened in shadow – illuminated only by the soft cloudy light emanating from the glass doors.

The two of you slipped out wordlessly, but not before you flipped the sign at the door around to 'Sorry! We are CLOSED.'

—0–0–0–0–

Mingyu took you to a park that was close by, and while the sun wasn't out shining, there was a real charm to the dull grey – with little hints of blue dotted throughout the sky.

The two of you sat on a bench overlooking a field of grass and trees, with flowers scattered about, growing in sparse groups.

"You know, I'm sorry for teasing you." He murmured, looking forward.

You smiled, only a little.

You often day-dreamed about Mingyu taking you out, but back then he didn't have a name to his face. He was just the smiling boy who'd come in whenever he felt like it, with no routine.

But now that you knew the kind of flirtatiousness and deadly charm of which he was capable, it got you to thinking. Just what exactly was it that you liked about him? He had every right to tease you, and to question – because in his eyes you were just a silly girl with an even sillier, baseless crush.You turned to look at his side profile, marvelling at the perfect sculpture of it. "You are?"

"Yeah. Can I tell you the truth?" There was an odd sort of smile on his lips – that met somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

You nodded – hopefully he caught it in his peripheral vision.

"At first I was annoyed with you – for telling me you liked me so carelessly. I thought maybe you'd said it to lots of people before me, I got jealous I suppose." He leaned off to the side of the bench and sat back up with a daisy in his hand, and when he started picking at the petals you supposed it was to put his energy somewhere. "But seeing the way you act when I even... look at you. The way you look at me, it's..." he sighed softly, thoughts dribbling off into nothingness. You hadn't even realised he thought so deeply about you, you felt awful for making him uncomfortable – even without realising it."What I'm trying to say is that I understand you." He finalised "I'm drawn to you, too, more than I can understand why."

You smiled softly, suddenly feeling very warm.

"But, you don't know me, Y/N." He looked at you – looking far too beautiful in all his earnest composure. "Can you live with that?"

"For now." You whispered, "But I meant what I said before, is it so wrong to want to get to know you?"

"Which..." He inhaled and reclined into the bench, legs splayed out in a boyishly charming manner "Which me did you start to like, how was I?"

You thought about the confusing question for a moment, "You smiled a lot. Made a lot of weird, goofy faces at inanimate objects my father and I made. Ridiculously charming stuff." You giggled "And you'd always buy the silly things that my dad loves and I loathe. You know, the wooden sculptures with odd anatomy. I told him there was no market for it, but you became the market." You bit your lip to keep from laughing harder.You paused, "I'll only be a little upset if that isn't the real you."He pulled his lower lip through his teeth and turned to look at you, there was something indiscernible about his gaze, "Only a little?" he whispered.

A.Lie.

"Yeah..." You trailed off

"Do you make it a habit to lie?" he scoffed, turning away from you. "I already told you, you're a bad liar."

"'Shit', I believe was your adjective of choice."

You watched him grin, if you were brave enough to call it that. "I'm serious, Y/N. If you want my truths you have to give me yours, it's the only way we can figure out..." his index finger flicked between the two of you in an exaggerated gesture "Whatever this is."

He was right. He was probably always right.

"I'd be upset, but I'm sure I could get used to every part of you."

Satisfied, he seemed to drop it. "Good, because it is a part of me, before you that is."

You quirked your brow, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You make me nervous." He concluded simply.

"I make you nervous? You never let that on, at all." You murmured, truthfully confused.

Mingyu seemed very well put together. He was a person who you'd always assumed never gave two shits about the thoughts of other people. But the more time you spent with him alone, the more you realised your awful habit of projecting personalities onto people was a dangerous game to play.

The Mingyu you had feelings for was only a small part of his personality, there was more depth to him than he let on.

"I'm a better liar than you." He was looking at you fully, now.

It was silent for a while before he spoke up again, "My mom took me to this area when I was a little younger during the holidays. You didn't work at the shop at that time but I vaguely remember seeing your face. I loved the eccentric toys your father made, so I always asked my mom to bring me back."

This was news to you, you didn't remember him at all. But listening to him recollect so fondly about your store made your heart swell with pride. That's all your father had ever wanted, a homelike store full of warmth and treasures people of all ages could enjoy.

The store was especially bustling during holiday season and irrevocably dead during off season, so it was understandable you didn't recognize his face.

"I always drive down here when I get the time. I feel at home here for some reason because I have good memories of the store – it was so magical and big when I was a kid, not so much now, naturally."

"Yeah, you're huge." You cut in.

He snickered before continuing on, "Since I felt at home in your store I always got a little comfortable, entertaining myself. But then I noticed you looking at me once, and I don't know what it was about it, but, something happened to my heart that day."

You blinked a few times, trying to absorb all of this information. He was a wonderful speaker – his voice was so calming and deep you found it hard not to fall in.

"Your heart?" You questioned delicately, just trying to make sense of the connection the two of you seemed to have – which until today had gone severely unnoticed.

"Yeah. And before I knew it I was nervous, I couldn't act the way I usually did because I was afraid it would scare you off or something. I felt like I couldn't be myself around you, you were too beautiful for that." He ran a hand through his hair after the statement, and you felt blessed to have seen him do it up so close.

"That's...shallow. You were willing to change who you are, for me? Because you thought I was pretty?" You laughed lightly at the notion

He raised his eyebrow at you and leaned in close, "Shallow?"

You swallowed at the close proximity.

"You never answered my question, and I've been so truthful I think I deserve an answer..." He ran his tongue along his lower lip, following the teasing lilt in his tone. He was teasing you, and he wasn't attempting to conceal it this time.

You knew exactly what question he wanted the answer to.

'Why do you look at me like that?'

He fucking well knew the answer to it too, and you wondered if he was 50% kindness and 50% mischief – maybe 60/40.

But you were certain, even after everything he'd divulged to you – you'd take all 50% of his teasing, of his bullying and smirks and eyebrow raises and every other bloody thing that came along with Mingyu's personality – if it meant you got to see him laugh with glee from time to time.You'd gotten caught up in your thoughts while watching him, and you shook your head to shake you out of the dazed reverie.

"You were doing it just now." He fell back dramatically into the bench, leaning his head back "Christ."

"Sorry."

"No you aren't!"

You giggled, then.

"No really. I am, I'm sorry. I didn't ever want to make you uncomfortable. That's the truth. It was the last thing I wanted." You felt a little ashamed of yourself, at not ever being able to hide your feelings well.

Your inability to do so had caused the person next to you a great deal of confusion.

"Whoever said I wanted an apology from you? I love the way you look at me. But I told you before, I'm curious." He shifted close to you, impossibly so. Close enough that your thighs were touching – but his were clothed.

"If you don't tell me, I'll kiss you."

You looked at his mouth and had to fight back laughter. That was a threat? Oh boohoo, that would be awful.

Perfectly annoyed by him, you grabbed gently at the collar of his shirt and brought his mouth to yours. He let out a low, pleased noise – melting into your touch.

His lips felt like heaven on yours, they were soft and warm – and the noises of pleasure he was making was doing little to stifle the rampant thumping of your heart. He kissed back with fervour, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him further.

When it had all gotten too much, he pulled away slowly and hesitantly, before putting his head into the crook of your neck and letting out a soft sigh. "That was unfair." He whispered, leaning back to look at you. "You're avoiding giving me an answer."

"Are you done being a brat or are you going to admit that you already know the answer?" You wound your arms around his neck and played with the back of his hair, admiring the feel. It was as soft as you'd imagined.

"Is it so wrong to want to hear it from you?" He murmured, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours again quickly.

You laughed softly into the little space between you, effectively ignoring him.

"I really am sorry about liking you so early. But I think it'll be very easy to like all of you,Mingyu." You hoped you sounded sure.

"You're not sorry." He bit his lip, smiling through the gesture.

"You're right." You whispered, leaning up and placing a delicate kiss to his forehead, and lingering far longer than necessary;

"I'm not."

[all-might-can-smash-me]

Masquerade

Hawks/Keigo Takami x Reader

Summary: you run into a man who helps you take a short break from the life of a party that could bore anyone to death, he says he has his own agency and struggles with people recognizing him, but that doesn’t ring a bell for you.

Masterlist

The sound of laughter, shuffling expensive fabric, obnoxiously loud conversations, and the smell of expensive beverages wasn’t quite your scene as you stood amongst a circle of people. You stood and listened to them boast and brag behind their little shades or masks that were there in hopes of masking their identities along with their hero names that may or may not have been flattering or embarrassing. Those awful conversations filled with champagne did not mix with the classical music that played from the live, mini sized orchestra either and it could almost make a cringe burden your face behind the simple masquerade mask you wore, but you always caught your emotions from glinting across your face, it was a skill that you needed to learn and master from a young age. That is what came from being conditioned by the commission itself you guessed from early on in your life. Guess you could chalk it up to being old habits that would forever stick to you. 

“And you! You were elected as the commission’s designer right? So you get to play around with costumes for heroes all day? Play dress up?” Questioned one of the heroes in the little circle. It perturbed you a bit, you expected to go all night without anyone asking you questions and seemingly being passive aggressive with it. Or that person be slightly intoxicated as well since you could hear the slur in their words and sway in their step. So what do you do?

“Of course, what else would I be doing?” You replied back with a charming smile, flute of champagne soon brought up to your lips as you took a small sip, everyone’s attention now back to their bragging and constant and silent battle on who was the best among them. None of them however were in the top 100, that's for sure. 

Your eyes now quickly darted around the room. You wanted an escape, but then what? Find yourself in another circle of heroes who tried to compensate for their lack of popularity? Or have someone else belittle your place in the world? Sitting by yourself didn’t seem at all bad, but what goof will that do? Sitting by yourself in a room filled with people obligated to do good? They would probably approach you and offer to sit with you like the nice popular girl does to the weirdo at school before homecoming queen is voted for. Oh well, you guessed, might as well do as you go. You slowly backed away from the circle, the others preoccupied with themselves. 

“Oh no, I’m not interested..” A man spoke out, a woman seeming to follow with every step he took away. He let out a small exclamation as he felt something solid run into his side. You gave a sigh, mouth about to open to scold the person who had bumped into your side, though soon you felt your body be turned, the person who had almost made you soil the front of your dress with your champagne now had their arm around you. “You see, my wife here wouldn’t appreciate me gallivanting around with strange women, isn’t that right dear?”

You were confused and maybe even slightly dazed as you heard the man say that, You were even more in a daze as you looked up to the masked figure and to the red wings that were almost sprawls magnificently out from behind him, glinting under the many lights upon the chandelier above. A little clear from his throat made you come back to your sense as you brought that charming smile you were told to do over and over again, giving a soft nod of your head as you looked to the defeated woman before you. 

“You are correct about that dear, I wouldn’t appreciate you going out with mysterious women that aren’t me!” You said with a laugh, flute placed upon a tray of a passing waiter, hand now placed upon the man’s chest, the woman profusely apologizing before scurrying away to hide her embarrassed self amongst the many crowds and to possibly avoid the man’s face along with your own. 

“Lets go honey” He spoke, you giving a vigorous nod of your had as took his arm, following after his casual steps and past the many groups of people and passed the open curtains that covered the tall entrances to the many platforms that lined the ballroom. This particular one clichély led to the gardens of the venue. You didn’t care how cliché it was though, you were glad to now catch a break from the annoyances that walked and spat all over those polished ballroom floors. “Man, that was close, thanks for playing along” He said as he let a sigh of relief. 

“I should be thanking you, I don’t know how long I could take all those ridiculous conversations anymore” You said as you let go of his arm, taking the liberty to step ahead and down the marble steps the lead to the grass that almost seemed to be fake by how perfect it seemed to be. “Mind entertaining me for a bit? Before we either have to join the party or leave?” You asked with a small smirk to which he only returned as he followed in your shadow, hand soon lifting the small train of your gown. “Lets sit for a bit” you suggested as you sat down upon a small stone bench that was sat off to the side along the cement path that led through the garden or various bushes of flowers and fruit. The masked man sat beside you, the train of fabric he once held now piled onto his lap.

“I would have thought this mask would have hidden my identity, too bad my wings are a dead giveaway” He mumbled, though you only raised an eyebrow at him before looking off onto the garden. “What?” he asked, you only shrugging your shoulders.

“Just that I find you conceited. I don’t know who you are” you pointedly out with a matter of fact tone as you folded your hands on your lap, the other, who you guessed was a hero, looked at you in bewilderment.

“You live under a rock or something lady?” He asked as he ruffled his feathers a bit, face scrunched up with his confusion as you looked back to him accusingly, hands snatching the trail of your dress from his lap, tossing it to the ground as you got up. 

“For your information I am a costume and weapon concept designer for the comission...so its pretty much my job to do business with who they tell me about and keep to myself about anyone else.....and gossip magazines and drama news channels isn’t really my thing if you are only known for being controversial.” With that you were marching down the path towards the garden, the man now scrambling up and easily catching up with you.

“Whoa there, I’m sorry, I’m just not use to people who really don’t know who I’m and when I say that I really am not trying to sound so....”

“Douchey?”

“Yeah....douchey” he confirmed with a small laugh as he looked over his shoulder and to the classy party that was still carrying on within the fancy walls of the ballroom. “Look...I’m Hawks” He finally said, reaching out a hand, which you only gave a small glance before you sighed, your hand soon giving his a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise” you spoke out, though you only stiffly and sassily turned away to continue your walk along the crackless cement path, Hawks now falling in step beside you. You were glad, just by a tiny bit, that's all you would admit to yourself as you looked over to him. “So, you area hero I’m guessing? Judging by your name?” You asked as you clasped your hands behind your back, Hawks shoving his hands into the stiff pockets of his trousers. 

“Yeah, I am. I have my own agency in Fukuoka city. I have plenty of sidekicks registered with me, but really they end up being my cleanup crew. I’m a little to fast to keep up with” with a sheepish smile he looked down to you who only nodded your head with a hum before looking back ahead. “I can control my feathers from my wings, helps fulfill my need of being a constant mutli tasker” he joked a bit, which you gave a small laugh as you looked to his wings he now stretched out behind him fully. They only seemed to put you in awe as you raised a hand questioningly, only letting your hand softly brush against the red feathers once he gave a nod of permission.

“You seem pretty young, that is a lot you’ve got accomplished” You complimented, your steps now coming to halt as the two of you now made eye contact. Though he looked away to now look up to the starry night.

“I could say the same for you, you are the same age or yet probably a year or two younger” he pointed out before he looked down to you, waiting expectantly for an answer. you gave a nod of your head.

“What can I say? The commission liked what I could do and plucked me right up after my graduation” you said with a small roll of your eyes and a sarcastic chuckle. “Can’t complain, I wouldn’t be standing here with all these opportunities handed to me.” a sigh was soon pushed out into the cool spring air, Hawks giving a soft nod before looking back down to you.

“Yeah, I’m all too familiar with that...” you were just about to open your mouth to ask him a question before you cellphone had began to blare out it’s annoying ringtone, causing your to scramble for it within your bag to finally answer it, walking a bit ahead to hush words into the device before hurrying back. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to leave!” you shouted as you were already running off as fast as your heeled feet could take you, Hawks trying his best catch up, but once you had begun to weave through the groups, he lost you. With a curse he got swept away in a group, now to only be left to wish to see you again. 

“Good morning!” Called the secretary as you sipped tiredly from your coffee and was now skillfully opening your office door despite the binders and folders that were balanced on your arm. “You had a delivery this morning, so i placed it on your desk” called the secretary as you entered your room, eyes landing upon the flowers that rested in their vase on your desk. 

“What in the world....” you muttered out as you settled the things down on the work table nearby, now stepping up to the vase that held the arrangement to pluck off the note that sat in it’s little plastic holder. 

‘I didn’t even get the chance to ask for a number let alone an email address or something...so here is mine -Hawks’ and there was the number and there was the stupid grin that managed to crawl on your face as you sat down at your desk now admiring the flowers.

“Goodness..” you mumbled out as you grabbed the remote for the tv that was mounted onto the wall, turning on the channel, listening to the voices as you prepped your desk for the work you were about to begin. 

“Number two hero Hawks made an appearance at the ball for Hero and all Hero support personnel and sidekicks hosted by the commission to raise donations for the damage caused by....” Though the rest of the words now drowned out from your ears as your mouth was now agape, you now sitting up straight within your chair as you stared down to the name ‘Hawks’ scribbled on the small piece of cardstock. 

“What?!” You exclaimed. Wow...you really escaped that ball with the nation’s number two hero and didn’t even know. 

How embarrassing...

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hi ! The requests are open right ? Can I have a scenario with Jade. He noticed that the reader regularly spies on him, especially when he is in is mermaid form. He thinks they have bad intentions but the reader is just trying to memorize his appearance in order to redraw it because they find him really beautiful like that. They're hiding because they're too shy to ask him if they can draw him. Thank you.

Jade Leech: 

Jade knew better than to mindlessly trust in the goodness of other people.

He noticed your staring problem from the very beginning, at first ignoring it as he thought it might just be a bad habit that would disappear on its own. As it continued on he considered saying something but took to meeting your gaze which is generally what made you turn your head away, being wary but still glancing his way every now and again as you continued to scribble away in that little sketchbook you always have on you. He wondered what type of information you might be getting from simply watching him but he couldn’t let the potential concern go. If he had to physically confront you, even if you didn’t look like you stood a chance, he’d do just that.

Jade still put it off even as he kept track of how often you watched him, how you wouldn’t do so when Floyd or Azul were around, how whenever he left you never looked back up from your notebook until it was time for your next class. The final straw had been when you were clearly spying on him in his mermaid form, hidden away like you often were when you wanted to watch him, trying to make yourself as small as possible. If you were this curious about him why not confront him directly? He knows most found him intimidating but he had never done anything to you specifically to make you this wary. He supposed it was finally time he acted on his suspicions.

You looked incredibly pale when you cornered him.

Jade had hypothesized that you weren’t a threat before but the conclusion was even more solidified when he confronted you on your odd spy-like behavior as you were practically cowering from him when all he’d done was greet you. You held the book between the two of you and he reached out to grab it, eyebrow raising in interest as you pulled it away from him and tightly to your chest.

“Might I ask what you’ve been writing down about me in there?” Jade’s tone stayed even and polite but it was never as simple as that when it came to him, even you who rarely interacted with anyone in Octavinelle knew that, “Just a quick peek, I promise.”

“I-It’s nothing bad,” You finally stuttered out, unable to meet his eye, “I just… like to draw and you’re very… You’re a good subject.”

You couldn’t tell this man to his face that he was beautiful, could you? You flipped to the page you think looks best before displaying it for Jade, who’s expression is now full of surprise at what he sees. He leaned down to take a closer look, seeming to observe your drawings of him with great interest, especially the one of his tail that took up the entire margin of the page. He thinks you have a great amount of skill and despite the odd way you’d gone about make him your subject, he was quite flattered that you were so interested in catching his likeness that you’d study him so often. He still planned on telling you it was best to not stare at him as much as you did, people would talk, but…

“I would gladly allow you to draw me in my free-time, if you’d like. Getting distracted during class or while I’m busy… I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for you to-“

“T-That’s fine! You’ll really let me draw you? And- And could you perhaps do it in mermaid form, too?”

So enthusiastic, Jade couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were acting. He certainly wouldn’t mind spending some extra time with you if he could manage to get reactions like this out of you. He wasn’t ashamed of his mermaid form either so having you sketch it would be no skin off his bones though he’d have to keep it a secret from Azul as the stingy businessman might try to make some profit from this.

“I think we could come to make a deal…” Jade watched as you flinched, realizing he should’ve chosen different words, “With me. I promise I’m far more lenient with my personal dealings.”

You didn’t know if he was telling the truth but with a charming smile like that, how could you say no?

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt 20 / on AO3

(posting early this week because I might not have time tomorrow)(also, because of the upcoming xisang week, I’m not sure yet if I’ll update this fic next week)

With some help from Su She, Nie Huaisang gets his wangxian ship sailing.

Nie Huaisang guiltily twisted his hands as they left the classroom, already half crying as Wei Wuxian finished retelling his first day of punishment with Lan Wangji. 

"I really am so sorry, Wei-xiong!" he lamented. "I really wish I could help you. Maybe if I could find a way to copy part of the rules for you and pass them to you…" 

"Lan er-gongzi would surely notice," Meng Yao softly objected. "And then you'd both be punished again." 

"Aren't you busy enough with your own punishment anyway?" Jiang Cheng huffed. "You'll be lucky if you can even attend your music lessons with all that extra homework you were given, right?" 

With a miserable sigh, Nie Huaisang nodded. Cheating was more work than he'd thought, and he'd have to find a better way to do it if he were to pass that year. Though really, it had been Lan Wangji’s fault for joining the lectures, which he hadn't done the previous year, and also Wei Wuxian's for taunting Lan Wangji by looking at him. Of course Lan Wangji had gotten curious, and he'd noticed the cheating, and… 

For some reason, Lan Qiren had decided that Wei Wuxian was the instigator in this business, so he'd been punished the hardest. But Nie Huaisang had been given a lot of essays to write, and he didn't dare to ask Lan Xichen to help, fearing to be scolded for his dishonesty. Meng Yao and Jiang Cheng, who hadn't cheated at all, offered little sympathy and even less help, the first because he was still catching up, the second because he didn't feel like it. Hopefully Su She might give a hand, if Nie Huaisang cried a little. 

"It's really not so bad," Wei Wuxian said carelessly. "I won't say that first afternoon in the library with Lan Zhan was fun, he's even more boring than his uncle, but I think I can entertain myself. I bet before the month is over, I can get him to break his self control. Now that'd be fun!" 

Nie Huaisang stopped on his tracks and grabbed him by the arm, not a trace of tears in his eyes. 

"Wei-xiong, why do you have to antagonise him so much?" 

"Why wouldn't I? I'd like to be his friend, but he's too stuck up. Pissing him off is the next best thing." 

Baffled by that logic, Nie Huaisang looked at their two friends. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, while Meng Yao was trying his best not to smile. 

"Wei gongzi is like that, don't question it too much. He likes to tease people, and thinks everyone understands it's meant in a friendly manner."

Judging by the tone of his voice, Meng Yao himself had been a victim of that friendly teasing, and that perhap it hadn't gone so smoothly between them. That would explain why Meng Yao seemed to prefer Jiang Cheng's company, who was less fun to have around, but also a little quieter when he wasn’t shouting at Wei Wuxian.

Personally, Nie Huaisang preferred Wei Wuxian out of the three, but was getting a little annoyed at him right at that moment. 

While Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao went their way to enjoy their freedom for the rest of the day (they would waste it studying, they seemed the type), Nie Huaisang decided to accompany Wei Wuxian all the way to the library, so they could chat a little. He still had a plan to put in motion, orders from his future self to obey, and his own natural desire for fun to satisfy.

“I don’t understand why you’re like that with Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang said as they took the longest path possible toward the library, trying to keep his tone casual. "If you want to be his friend, there are better ways. Why don't you talk to him nicely?" 

Wei Wuxian did not even hesitate. "I've tried, and he ignores me." 

That was sadly true, as Nie Huaisang had seen a few times. It didn’t help that Wei Wuxian naturally sounded like he was trying to tease people, even when he was sincere. He was so fun to have around that most people didn’t mind it, but for someone like Lan Wangji...

"Well maybe if you apologised to him?" Nie Huaisang suggested.

"I've tried that too, but he thinks I'm insincere.”

"Because you are!" Nie Huaisang pointed out, fighting a smile.

Wei Wuxian just laughed, but that was an answer in itself.

"Please, at least don't make him any angrier," Nie Huaisang pleaded. "He'll never be your friend otherwise!" 

Hearing him get so distressed about that, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks, his expression more serious than Nie Huaisang had ever seen so far. He was a little scary like that, something about his height and the shape of his eyes making him look cold and distant when he wasn’t grinning and laughing.

"Listen, Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said in a voice that had lost some of its warmth. “I want to be his friend, sure. I think there's something interesting about him, definitely. I’d really like it if I could be close to Lan Zhan, and given the chance I’ll do it for sure. But if he only becomes friends with me because I start acting like someone I'm not, then we're not really friends, and it's not worth the effort."

“Wei-xiong, I didn’t expect you to be wise like that,” Nie Huaisang whispered, a little awed.

“Only you would find that wise,” Wei Wuxian mocked, and Nie Huaisang found that he could breathe a little more easily now that the other boy was laughing again. “If Jiang Cheng heard me, he’d say that my personality is too awful for anyone to like me! And Meng Yao would say something about compromises. I’m pretty sure they’re the wise ones, but I just don’t feel like acting so seriously.”

Nie Huaisang grinned, a little envious of such a bold way of living. He was not always likeable, according to a lot of people (himself included, when it came to the man he was supposed to become), and so he would never have expected people to fully like him as he was. Nobody except his brother, who had little choice in the matter, and maybe Su She who probably felt like he couldn’t be too picky when it came to friends, and… well, Lan Xichen seemed to like him as he was, too, but that was just because he was so nice.

It was so bold of Wei Wuxian to expect to be fully accepted as he was. But then again, Lan Wangji also wasn’t the sort to make efforts to get others to like him, so at least they had that in common.

As they arrived near the library, the topic had to be dropped. Wei Wuxian, with a grimace of fake agony, went inside to sit with Lan Wangji, while Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise of finding Su She about to leave the library, and free to spend some time with him. Lan Wangji had asked for his help to put some order in a section of the building while waiting for Wei Wuxian to arrive, and Su She couldn’t decide if he was flattered or annoyed that the request had been made to him rather than another disciple.

Su She ranted about that for a little bit as they walked away from the library, before complaining about his classes, and then about a letter from his mother who wanted him to send home some talismans because she was still convinced their house was haunted even thought he’d visited during winter and hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Nie Huaisang listened, and even reacted here and there, but couldn’t quite focus on his friend’s problem that day. Su She noticed of course, and asked what hung so heavy on his mind that he couldn’t even laugh at his description of a clearly fake haunting.

“I might have a silly question to ask you,” Nie Huaisang replied. “But please, don’t make fun of me for it. It’s kind of important, and I think you could really help me.”

“That sounds very worrying, but fine, ask me.”

"How would one seduce a Lan?" 

Su She gave him such a long, serious look, that Nie Huaisang started feeling he’d rather have been laughed at after all.

"So you're finally doing something about Lan gongzi?” Su She asked. “About time, it was getting annoying how clueless you are. And, well, if you want my opinion…" 

"Oh, no, this is about Lan Wangji, not Xichen-gege!" 

Su She stopped walking and fell silent for a moment, his expression turning complicated. He looked as if he’d eaten a very sour lemon that also happened to be moldy, all while there was a cut in his mouth.

"Lan er-gongzi? Really?"

"Yes. See, I think Wei-xiong and him could be good friends,” Nie Huaisang quickly explained, startled by that strong reaction, “so of course I want to help. But they're the two most difficult people in the world, you know? Xichen-gege is helping, but a second opinion never hurts." 

"Ah, it's just that," Su She said, instantly relaxing. 

He resumed walking away from the library, and Nie Huaisang followed.

"Well, yeah. Why did you think I needed help about Xichen-gege?" 

Su She hesitated, and even opened his mouth a few times to say something. Eventually he frowned and shrugged.

"If you're too stupid, it's not my problem,” he said. “Let's talk about those other two instead, since you’re so preoccupied. Aside from being equally good at fighting, what do they have in common?" 

Nie Huaisang crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head.

"Nothing at all." 

Su She nodded.

"Then I guess they need to fight again. Maybe in public."

"You think that'd help if they had an audience?" Nie Huaisang wondered.

"No idea,” Su She said with a wicked grin, “but I'd like to see Lan er-gongzi in a fight that makes him break a sweat."

Nie Huaisang poked him in the ribs.

"Mean. But… Wei-xiong can be pretty full of himself,” he admitted. “I guess I'd also like to see if he's as good as he thinks. How to get them to fight though?"

They’d reached a more isolated part of the Cloud Recesses, a small garden that rarely saw much use, just at the border to the wilderness. They found a bench, and after removing some dead leaves they sat there to continue chatting in peace.

"In two days, you get a day off from lectures, right?” Su She asked. “Get your Wei-xiong to the training grounds after lunch. Lan er-gongzi is always there at that time on a free day, and I'll do my best to be as well. It'll be pretty easy to get them to spar." 

"Su-xiong you're just the best!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, hugging his friend who barely even grumbled against such effusions. “What would I do without you?" 

"You'd be less efficient for sure. Now can we talk about something less boring than Lan er-gongzi?”

“Yes, yes! Tell me more about your parents’ haunting, I’ll really listen now! If it’s not a ghost, then what is it?”

Pleased to return to a more fun subject, Su She started discussing his theory about some wild cats and a few squirrels that he suspected to have found their way into the currently disused ‘haunted’ room, and talked about it with such indignation that Nie Huaisang was soon in tears from how hard he laughed.

-

Although nobody had been warned of the duel to come, a small crowd had quickly assembled around the training grounds once it became understood that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were having a friendly fight. They were both reputed to be insanely skilled after all, and rumours about their first duel under the moonlight had spread fast. 

So far, Nie Huaisang had to admit that both boy's reputation was deserved. If anything, they were both more talented than he would have expected. They exchanged blows and parried them as if it were easier than breathing, making for a beautiful show. Su She, who stood on Nie Huaisang's right at the very edge of the training grounds, appeared consumed with admiration and envy. He'd fallen silent a while ago, and perhaps regretted this fight he'd helped organise. 

On Nie Huaisang's left, Jin Zixuan was almost as upset, just a little better at concealing it. 

"I can't believe such talent has been wasted and given to the world's most obnoxious person," he complained as Wei Wuxian dodged a blow. 

"Apparently, that's also Lan Wangji’s opinion," Nie Huaisang cheerfully replied. "But I think he's warming up to Wei-xiong now." 

Lan Wangji, after a moment of surprise at the way Wei Wuxian had avoided his attack, lunged at him again with renewed vigour. 

"Yes, I can see they're on their way to becoming best friends," Jin Zixuan sneered. "Well, that's getting boring. I was hoping to see Wei Wuxian put in his place, but now he's just going to be more insufferable. I'll see you later, Nie gongzi." 

He left, but the spot next to Nie Huaisang didn't remain empty for very long. Lan Xichen quickly made his way there. Nie Huaisang immediately smiled at him, but unlike the rest of them, Lan Xichen didn't appear to pleased by the show. 

"Huaisang what's going on here?" he asked. "What are they fighting about? Did something happen?" 

"Oh they're just fighting for the sake of it!" Nie Huaisang cheerfully explained, only for Lan Xichen to look even more distressed. 

"Wangji got into a fight without reason? How?" 

Alerted by his tone, Su She tore his eyes from the fight and gave Lan Xichen a quick bow. 

"Lan gongzi needs not worry. They're not actually fighting, this is only a friendly spar." 

"Yes, we thought it'd be good for them, so we made it happen," Nie Huaisang confirmed. “I think it’s going great! Wei-xiong looks like he’s having the time of his life!”

Reassured that no rules were broken and no serious harm was intended by either party, Lan Xichen finally properly looked at the ongoing duel. He observed the two fighters for a moment before eventually nodding.

“Wangji too is enjoying this,” he said after some consideration. “I’m glad for him. It is so rare for him to get an opponent of his level. Other juniors are rarely a match, and adults won’t spar with him because they don’t want to lose to someone so young. You had a good idea, Huaisang.”

“Oh, that wasn’t even my idea,” Nie Huaisang replied, beaming. “It was Su-xiong who suggested it, and who asked to see them spar.”

Lan Xichen turned his attention to Su She, who appeared a little uncomfortable. Nie Huaisang realised, a little late, that scheming to make people fight, even in a friendly manner, was probably against some of Gusu Lan rules.

“I am glad you have such a good friend helping you set your plan in motion,” Lan Xichen said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still, don’t drag him into too much mischief. I would be very disappointed in you, Huaisang, if you caused Su-shidi to get in trouble. He’s worked so hard to prove himself to our teachers, let’s not ruin his efforts just because you like to have a little too much fun.”

“Of course not!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “Su-xiong, you wouldn’t let me cause you real problems, right?”

“I only agree with Nie gongzi’s ideas if they don’t contradict the rules,” Su She confirmed, bowing again toward Lan Xichen. “And I wouldn’t let Nie gongzi do anything dangerous or ill-advised. Lan gongzi can be at peace, I won’t let anything happen to his friend.”

Lan Xichen smiled stiffly. 

"I know I can trust Su-shidi to take good care of Nie gongzi. I am… quite happy to leave him in your hands, where I know he'll be safe." 

It was a rather odd way to say that, and there was something a little too cold in Lan Xichen’s tone which did not quite please Nie Huaisang. But Su She himself seemed unbothered, so this might just have been Nie Huaisang imagining things. It was probably just that Lan Xichen still remained doubtful regarding Lan Wangji’s potential friendship with Wei Wuxian, which had to affect his mood.

But things really were going quite well. In fact, they were going much better than Nie Huaisang had hoped. After fighting a little more, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian eventually stopped when a Lan teacher approached them to explain that he needed the training grounds for his own class. There didn’t appear to be a clear winner between them, as far as Nie Huaisang could say. Later, when he asked Su She, his friend gave his more expert opinion that although they had completely different fighting styles, they were equals in strength and capacity. It would be interesting, he said, to see them fight side by side instead of against each other.

For now though, they politely bowed to each other, and Wei Wuxian, grinning more brightly than Nie Huaisang had ever seen him yet, asked if they might train together again in the future.

It was quite funny to see Lan Wangji’s conflicted expression. On one hand, Wei Wuxian was nearly a criminal in his eyes, who had disrespected his uncle, broken many rules, and cheated during an exam, all of which was unforgivable and marked Wei Wuxian as beneath his consideration. But at the same time, this looked to have been a very fun sparring session, Lan Wangji had been forced to use all his skill to keep up with his opponent, and that was something too precious to be easily dismissed.

At a loss, Lan Wangji turned to look at his brother, hoping for guidance. Lan Xichen, in turn, only briefly glanced at Nie Huaisang before nodding at his brother with an encouraging smile.

“Behave in class,” Lan Wangji ordered with a slight frown, before turning away.

Wei Wuxian looked disappointed by what he must have mistaken for rejection, but Nie Huaisang saw that answer for what it was and ran to his friend to explain that Lan Wangji had, in fact, very warmly agreed to fight him again.

[clairenatural]

destiel, 1k, more fluff :) for the anon who asked for "im a barista and you just ordered the most complicated and hideous drink and I wanna judge you but you're kinda cute"  

Dean hates working the morning shift.

It’s something he does, both because he loves his employees too much to do that to them and because he has a very specific morning setup he doesn’t trust anyone else with, but he doesn’t enjoy it. The morning shift starts with a rush of grumpy people in business suits, the kind to just snap “coffee” at him while already checking their emails, and sleepy students in pajamas who stare at him like he’s speaking gibberish when he asks what size they want.

The initial rush fades into the mid-morning, when he gets more people in suits, this time awake enough to be polite, and interns, who always seem half-panicked but at least remember to say “thank you.” This is the easy time, when most baristas would relax and take a deep breath as their shift dwindles to an end.

Not Dean, though. Dean stays on high alert all the way until 10:30 when, like clockwork, he walks into the doors of the café. And he might be the reason why Dean is refusing to give up his morning shift, even though he complains constantly, even though he knows Kevin is good enough to open all by himself.

His name is Castiel, but Dean shortened it to Cas on the coffee cup two weeks ago and he hasn’t complained yet. A large cup, that he fills with the medium amount of coffee, adds an unhealthy amount of half-and-half, and fills the gap with whipped cream.

The concoction has two pumps of vanilla syrup, one of hazelnut, and three of caramel. They got pumpkin spice in last week, and he’s been adding two scoops of that in ever since. It’s the same amount of liquid as a drip coffee but entirely espresso shots—although Castiel asks for so much milk in it that Dean’s not sure if the caffeine matters. He finishes it off with a hefty drizzle of strawberry syrup, of all things—and then Castiel coats the top in cinnamon before he heads back out.

It’s a monstrosity. It’s more sugar than coffee. It offends Dean to even call it coffee. And Castiel has ordered it every work day, at 10:30am, like clockwork. For the past month.

He’d hate to be this guy’s dentist.

The first time he’d ordered it had gone badly from the start. Dean had choked a bit as soon as he heard the guy start ordering, in the deepest voice he’d ever heard say the word caramel. He planned to recover, deliver his standard “do you want some coffee with that sugar,” line (because nobody orders something like that at an artisan coffee shop unless they’re prepared to be shamed), but he looked up into eyes so wide and blue and earnest that the snark died in his throat. “Sure, okay,” he’d said instead, and then made the monstrosity to the letter. Castiel had given him a lopsided smile when he handed him the coffee, and tipped it towards him in a ‘cheers’ motion before turning away, and that...that was it for him.

Really, he tells himself, he’s just trying to figure this guy out. He’s not put together enough to be a professional, but he’s too sure of himself to be an intern. He delivers the order, the whole thing in its entirety, in a deep tone that ranges from monotonous, to frazzled, to deeply exhausted. He watches Dean make the drink like the whipped cream is going to jump across the counter and bite him, but he takes the order every time with that same easy smile.

They exchange a total of 73 words a morning, 54 of those being the order itself. And yet, Dean waits, every day. And he’s never been more careful with a strawberry drizzle—because, he tells himself, if he’s attaching his name to it it’s gonna be perfect, even if it’s hideous.  

There’s just something about this guy that Dean can’t put his finger on—something buzzing just under his skin, urging him to get to know him better. It doesn’t help that he’s really cute, or that his eyes are blue enough Dean thinks he’d let them see into his soul, or that he’s pretty sure that smile has branded itself into his brain. There’s just something else. Strong enough that, and he’s loathe to admit it, even to himself, Dean is willing to overlook the coffee order.

He has a special cup this morning—he’s already prepared it, put it at the top of the stack so it won’t be suspicious when he pulls it off.

I’ll forgive you for your awful taste in coffee if you call me, it says, a hasty number scribbled underneath and his name below that.

If it works, he’ll learn more about this guy. If it doesn’t, well—Dean figures there’s plenty of places more suited to make the coffee disaster than his shop, anyway. They specialize in artisan beans best served black. The syrup is really for whiney teens, Instagram photos, and, apparently, Castiel.

They do their morning coffee ritual, Dean hands off the customized coffee cup to Cas, and the rest of his shift passes in a hazy blur. He doesn’t get a text back until he’s back in his apartment, already having reconciled never seeing the mystery man again.

He still lunges for his phone the moment it buzzes.

While my brother was flattered by your phone number, he thought it was probably meant for me. -Cas

Dean’s still staring at the first message, trying to decipher it, when another one comes in.

I appreciate you overlooking his awful taste in coffee. For the record, I take mine black.

He grins as it clicks into place, only feeling a little guilty at the flood of relief that accompanies it. He types back a message immediately.

Oh, thank God. Do you want to get some actually decent coffee sometime?

He gets an I’d like that :) back a few minutes later, complete with the smiley face, and he grins down at his phone for several long minutes.

Making the coffee catastrophe every morning might be just be worth it. 

[paperpocalypse]

the space-time continuum.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 9. Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,456 words

Warning: Swearing

Five doesn’t really have any hobbies in the traditional sense.

He’s becoming more and more of a workaholic these days. The siblings love to harp on Luther for being as bland as toast, but even Number One takes the time to have fun once in a while; Five does not, at least not for the past few months. Even his weekly half hour of sanctioned free time is usually spent practicing his spatial jumps or writing equations. Lots of equations. One would be inclined to say that working is Five’s hobby, in its own, terribly boring way.

So one Saturday, when the clock strikes noon, you head over to Five’s room and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“Well, that was easy,” you say, opening the door. Five is at his desk, scribbling in yet another notebook. “I thought there’d be more resistance.”

“Only three people in this house knock before coming in,” Five replies, not looking up as you walk over. “Mom, Vanya, and you. Mom is cleaning the living room and Vanya’s practicing, so that leaves –” he crosses a line out – “you.”

You smile. “Don’t I feel special.”

“Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself.”

Knowing that he’ll probably kick you out if you tease him further, you instead peer over his shoulder at his work. Equations, just as you suspected. There’s a ragged edge near the spine where he had torn a page out and started over.

“Any way I could help?”

“Probably not.”

You glare at him. There’s just the slightest uptick on the corner of his mouth. “Everything has a pattern, Five. I bet I could find one in all this stuff.”

“This ‘stuff’ is space-time mathematical physics. Of course there’re patterns, but they’re all twisted together in the world’s shittiest rope.” He finally looks up at you in that piercing way of his, and you try to ignore the jump in your heartbeat when he does so. “There’s a chair right over there. If you’re going to stick around, don’t hover over me like a vulture.”

In other words, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Not bothering to press down a smile, you drag the chair over and sit next to Five, as close as you can without invading his personal space – he’s gotten more adamant about it lately, along with his growing antisocial tendencies. But today, it seems that he’s alright with your knees touching. Hands folding politely on top of the desk, you take the briefest moment to admire his side profile before examining his work closely for the first time.

Everything has a pattern. You tune out the sounds of your breathing, the crisp sound of a pen scratching at paper, your blood pulsing. Working with inanimate things is still a pain; you’d rather concentrate on living things than a jumble of numbers and variables. But this is important to Five and you want to help him, so you take in a slow, deep breath and drag your eyes down the page.

Yikes. It looks like one of the exercises Sir Hargreeves makes you train with, unfortunately. Most of the page is a derivation of some kind. You stare at the steps without blinking, eyes straining to locate just a thread, anywhere, to grasp –

“Ah-ha!” you exclaim when a trail fades into view, light blue against the pure white paper. Five looks over at you, and you grin sheepishly.

“You got it?” he asks dryly, twisting the pen once over his fingers. Still, his tone is expectant.

You fixate on the next page, and the rest of the patterns come into view, each one a different color. Five’s right – they’re all twisted together like a rope. It’s looser in some places, though.

“Got it,” you breathe. “Wow, that’s pretty neat.”

Five hums, satisfied, and resumes writing. You watch the paper intently as he continues to fill the notebook with figures, circling some numbers here and there and testing a calculation on some scrap paper every once in a while. The threads weave in and out of each other, and after a few minutes, you begin to see wisps of equations yet to be written – approximations of the best path to take. They’re faint, but you can see them. Yes!

“Might I give my humble opinion, Five?” you put in when he finally pauses.

He raises an eyebrow, pen clicking. “Shoot.”

Keeping your eyes on the notebook, you scoot closer and reach over to grab the scrap paper, plucking a spare pencil from the holder at the corner his desk. Five’s gaze burns into your hand as you start copying down the prediction as well as you can.

Once you’ve finished, you point at the denominator of the last answer in Five’s notebook. “So according to the pattern, you should –”

“Expand it as a power series in Planck’s constant,” Five mutters, leaning in to check your work. “Huh. That makes sense.” He nods, glancing over at you with a thoughtful expression. “Nice work.”

The compliment brings forth all sorts of gushy feelings that you’d rather die than admit to anyone, but the happiness shows on your face anyway. “No problem at all. Piece of cake.”

Five flips through his notebook again, then closes it and tosses his pen onto the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he looks past you and through the window before leveling his gaze back onto you. No words are exchanged for what feels like an eternity.

“So,” he finally says, right when you wonder whether he wants you to leave. He crosses his arms. “Why’d you really stop by?”

“What?”

“Well, to put it nicely, you’re not exactly a math person. Especially when it comes to the kind I’m doing, so …” Five tilts his head toward you.

You balk, scrambling for a way to explain without sounding like a buffoon. He simply waits, letting you brew as usual, as if he has all the time in the world until you come up with something. “I just …” you finally manage, shrugging weakly, “wanted to hang out with you. You’ve been kinda cooped up in your room lately, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing that?” You gesture to his notebook. He nods. “What is it, exactly?”

“A spatial jump study.”

“Spatial jump study?” you echo, blinking with surprise. “Why?”

“Dad wants me to know how my power works as part of my training,” Five says flatly, standing up and walking towards his nightstand. “It’ll prepare me for time traveling – even though I’ve been ready for months already.”

You blink rapidly, taken aback. “You can time travel?”

He opens a drawer and rummages through its contents, picking something up. “Technically, I already can, since my spatial jumps manipulate time to a certain degree. If Dad would just let me, I could jump months forward. Maybe even years.” He tosses whatever he’d been holding to you. Instinctively, you catch it. “You dropped that after our last mission, by the way.”

You look down at your hand. In it lies a small keychain in the shape of a fluffy little bird, lemon yellow and cartoonish. Frowning, you pick it up by the keyring and dangle it closer to your face. Did you drop this one? You remember that you had lost a keychain when one of the robbers tore your jacket pocket, and that you had gone with birds that day, but to be honest you don’t quite remember what it looked like. You have a lot of bird keychains. The perks of joining the famous Umbrella Academy, you guess.

You pocket it anyway. “Thanks,” you murmur, touched either way.

Five shrugs and strides back over, hands in his pockets. “No problem. It was easy to spot.”

“I’ll say.” Standing up, you glance at the alarm clock next to his bed and gawp at the time. 12:20. There’s only ten minutes left? Geez. “Well … I better get ready. I’ll see you during training, I guess.”

Reluctantly, you make your way to the door, hearing the muffled clunk of your chair being set down as Five returns it back to its rightful place. Right. But when you open the door, preparing to step out into the hallway, he calls your name.

You quickly look back. “Hm?”

“Let me know if you need any help with your puzzles,” he says.

A smile immediately crawls onto your lips. Nodding, you look down at your feet and then back up at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

As you walk towards your room, strangely giddy, you pass Diego on the way. He gives you a weird look but you hardly care, reaching into your jacket pocket to touch the cool metal within.

See you then.

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea. 

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors. 

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know. 

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work. 

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen. 

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came. 

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well. 

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile. 

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours. 

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past. 

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.” 

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” 

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is. 

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…” 

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.” 

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

***

You didn’t see him again for a month. 

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat. 

Okay, maybe you did. 

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again. 

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself. 

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore. 

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone. 

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.” 

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.” 

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead. 

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls. 

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible. 

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest. 

You don’t remember much about the explosion. 

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors. 

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing. 

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a  stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled. 

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight. 

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning. 

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious. 

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.” 

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all. 

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte. 

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you. 

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight. 

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off. 

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall. 

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while. 

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed. 

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months. 

Hope, you realized. 

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.” 

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you. 

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx​

[blackmissfrizzle]

The Barbershop (EZ Edition)

Angel’s Edition

Miguel’s Edition

Pairing: EZ Reyes x black!reader

Summary: The reader gets EZ ready for his patch party.

Warnings: Use of the n-word & smut

A/N: Thank you to @ly--canthrope​ for the EZ fluff prompts!  

A/N (2): I highly suggest listening to El Clavo while listening. Also, I think Nestor and Coco might be getting some attention from me, so be on the look out for that.

Prompts: 

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice” 

Person scrunching their nose & other kisses them

When you got your first pair of clippers in high school, EZ was your first customer and ever since you’ve been cutting his hair. Even when he went off to college, EZ came back to Santo Padre to get his hari cut by his best friend. The only time you didn’t cut his hair was when he was in prison for those 8 years, but since he’s been back, he hasn’t missed an appointment.

Now here he was at your house with his hair longer than usual because he was busy with club shit. Luckily, he came by with enough time for you to do his hair before his patch party. “Ezekiel, please come to me before your hair gets this long again.”

He pinched your side as you moved around him. “Hey, you do Angel’s hair all the time and his hair is a shit ton longer than mines.”

“I’m used to Angel’s long locks! You’re supposed to be the clean-cut brother.” You stopped cutting his hair and moved the clippers in front of his face. “Oh, and if you pinch me again while I’m doing your hair, I’ll purposefully fuck up your hairline. Let’s see how many of those hang arounds will want your dick then.”

He held up his hands in surrender and mumbled his apologies, but not really meaning it. As long as you’ve been his best friend his favorite pastime was to rile you up. He loved how flustered you got when you couldn’t come up with a clever comeback. He loved how your hand slapped him across his body even if it was a little painful. He loved how your eyes widened in shock and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how you’ll look when he finally gets the chance to slip inside you.

Everyone was aware of his crush on you, except you. The only reason EZ didn’t tell you was because with the pair of you, timing was awful. When he realized he was in love with you, you had a boyfriend and when you broke up with that boyfriend EZ was with Emily. Then, he went off to prison and when he came back, he didn’t want to involve you with his mess, so he kept his distance. But he couldn’t wait anymore, he had to let you know.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he grabbed your attention by lightly grazing your hip. “Yes, Ezekiel?” He let out a soft groan. He loved when you used his full name. It didn’t matter if you were yelling it excitement, teasing him, or scolding him, he just loved to hear it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything else because your phone started to ring. It was your sorta boyfriend, Rick. EZ couldn’t stand him. He was a douchebag that gave you more headaches than anything. And it was obvious to EZ that you didn’t love him. It was evident in the way you talked about him like an annoying chore. For the life of him, EZ didn’t understand why you kept him around.

“Oh, so now you’re coming? Well, just meet me there because EZ’s riding with me.” EZ couldn’t help to smile a bit at you putting Rick in his place. He tried to listen to Rick’s response, but he could only make out his tone and from that he could tell he was pissed. “Why? Nigga, I don’t have to give you a reason why my best friend is riding in my car.” Even though you were busy with your little argument your hand never faltered, cutting hair was second nature to you. “Ugh, if you must know its his party and I’m planning to get him plastered, so he needs a DD. That’s good with you? Oh, wait I don’t care,” You hung up the phone soon after that.

“Rick coming?” EZ managed to keep the disdain for him out of his voice. “Who knows? Probably be better if he stays but forget about him.” You turned off the clippers and brushed his hair, then gave EZ the mirror to inspect himself. After he gave his haircut a serious inspection, he started biting his lip and doing his signature pretty boy poses.

“Okay, Lothario if you’re done making out with yourself in the mirror, imma go take a shower to start getting ready.” As you turned to walk away, EZ grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. “Thank you, querida.” He kissed your wrist and gave you those adorable puppy dog eyes. “No problem, EZ,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, then went to your bathroom to get ready and ignored your heart swelling up from EZ’s touch.

An hour later you were still getting ready and EZ was taking a shower. While you were applying on makeup, EZ walked into your room wet, fresh out the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. You knew EZ was ripped, but see it up close, my god there are no words.

EZ caught your staring in the mirror. “Like what you see?” He asked, flexing his pecs. “Ew, no!” You falsely claimed and scrunched up your nose in faux disgust.  EZ came up to you and kissed your nose before snatching your lotion off the dresser.  “You know what, you’re right. You love it.” EZ was so damn close to you that you could feel the heat of the shower radiating off of him.

“Yeah, I love it,” you deadpanned before pushing him away. “Now get ready. I don’t want you to be late to your own party.”

--

While EZ was having the time of his life, you were having the opposite. Rick ended up coming, but he was in a funky mood thus bringing your mood down. When his first words were something about how your dress wasn’t flattering, you made plans to break up with him. Using him as a distraction from EZ was draining your soul and you didn’t need that kind of energy in your life.

He made the breakup easier for you when you caught him in the restroom with one of Vicky’s girls with his dick in her mouth. You couldn’t even muster up any anger, instead you gave the girl and extra $100 for her troubles.

Although, getting cheated on sucked, what pissed you off the most was the girls all fawning over EZ. They were all over him like bitches in heat, rubbing on his chest, arms, and head, commenting on his haircut…your haircut. “Damn chica, just go claim your man.” Coco observed how you were sending death glares at the women.

“He’s not my man! He’s grown and can do whatever he wants.” You sputtered, surprised at being caught. “Exactly! If you weren’t too chicken, then he’d be your man.” Angel commented, taking a sip of his beer.

You ignored Coco’s and Angel’s somewhat encouraging words to look back at EZ. Your face instantly brightened when you saw how at ease he was. It wasn’t too often EZ could let go like this.

EZ felt a pair of eyes on him and when he found out it was you his eyes gleamed, he cracked that boyish smile and raised his beer to you. Excusing himself EZ made his way to you and gave you a hug. “Ezekiel, what’s with the hug?”

“I miss you.”

“You rode with me here, EZ.”

“Its Ezekiel and I barely talked to you since we’ve been here. Is it so bad that I want to party with my best friend?” You scrunched up your face. “I guess not.”

EZ hummed his appeasement and kissed your nose.  “Come dance with me.” He didn’t give you time to reject him. Tightly he tugged your hand and pulled you into the middle of the scrapyard.

Prince Royce and Maluma’s El Clavo began to play. EZ knew how much you loved this song, but since you didn’t know Spanish you didn’t understand the song. It was ironic to him that this song was playing tonight. Earlier, he saw how Angel escorted Rick out and the relief wash over you when you saw him leave. He knew Rick must’ve done something stupid. If it wasn’t for your need to avoid conflict, EZ would’ve beat his ass right then and there.

“What are you doing?” You questioned EZ as he placed his leg between yours and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Dancing obviously,” he chuckled near your ear sending vibrations throughout your body.

You decided not to fight him and followed his lead. There’s been plenty of times you’ve dance with EZ, but it was always playful and fun, but this…this was different, this was sensual. A passionate dance only meant to be shared between lovers.

“Eyes,” he ordered assertively. It was his command to you when he wanted you to feel what he was saying.

Si esta noche tu novio te bota (If tonight your boyfriend throws you out) Dile que tú no estás sola (Tell him that you are not alone) Que tú estás conmigo, que yo sí te cuido (That you are with me, that I do take care of you) No como ese idiota (no como ese idiota) (Not like that idiot (not like that idiot) Si esta noche tu novio te bota (If tonight your boyfriend throws you out) Dile que tú no andas sola (que no 'tás sola) (Tell him that you are not alone (that you are not alone) Que yo soy el clavo que saca ese clavo (That I am the nail that pulls that nail)

Y dile que se joda (And tell him to fuck) Maluma, baby

Your breath hitched as EZ began translating the lyrics to English. He had to be able to feel how fast your heart was beating. “There it is.” He pointed out. “There what is?”

“That look.” He tugged your bottom lip that you had tucked underneath your teeth. “What look?” Your breath brushed against his thumb and it took all his control not to pounce on you.

“Eyes blown out, chest heaving. See,” EZ gripped your chin to keep your eyes leveled with his. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. It’s the same look I have when I look at you.”

“Stop playing with me, Ezekiel.” Your heart couldn’t take it if this was some sort of joke. “I’m not.” His voice did not waver.

“What about Emily? Or Gabby?”

“Distractions. Distractions that kept me from the real thing for too long.” You sucked your teeth in disbelief. EZ decided to translate the song for you some more. If you weren’t going to believe his words, then maybe you’ll believe another’s.

Yo llevo la cuenta, esta es la quinta vez  (I keep track, this is the fifth time) Pero yo no entiendo por qué no lo ves   (But I don't understand why you don't see him) Tú estás demasiado buena para estar con él (mamacita) (You're too hot to be with him (mamacita)) Tremenda mujer para estar con él  (Tremendous woman to be with him) Y si te busca a las 4:20 porque te llama borracho  (And if he looks for you at 4:20 because he calls you drunk) Ahora te quiere pero mañana vuelve a hacerte daño (Now he loves you but tomorrow he will hurt you again) Por ese bobo no llores  (For that fool, don’t cry) Deja que yo te enamore (deja que yo te enamore)  (Let me make you fall in love (let me make you fall in love)

Now that you knew EZ’s feelings, the lyrics became much more intense for you. Instinctively, you rested your forehead on his. His lips hovered over yours so much that you could taste the beer on his breath. Your acrylic nails caressed the back of his head caused him to stop his translation and purr against your neck. “You like that, Ezekiel?” You teased, giggling against his neck.

“I don’t know,” EZ pressed up against you tighter so you could feel his hardon. “You tell me if it feels like I like it.”

Now or never, you thought. You brought your lips closer to EZ’s. The both of you fighting for dominance, but ultimately EZ won, claiming you in front of the club. It wasn’t until you heard the cheers of his brothers that he’d stop kissing you.

Instantly, EZ started pulling you in the direction of your car, but you stopped him. “I can’t wait, Ezekiel. I need you now.” EZ’s normally bright eyes darkened and he led you towards the clubhouse. On your way to the dorm room, both you and EZ ignored Angel when he told you, “Don’t be surprised when EZ starts crying.”

As the pair of you made it through the hallway, each of your touches got heavier, more daring. So daring that when you finally got to his dorm your dress was halfway off. The rest of the clothes fly off like a whirlwind except EZ’s jeans. In his rush he tripped over his jeans. “Oh, that’s funny?” He asked when he caught you giggling.

“Just a little.” EZ rushed to you, tackled you to the bed and quickly turned your giggles into soft moans as he kissed you.

Despite your best efforts to keep him close, EZ pulled away. He leaned back on his haunches and admired your body. “I can’t believe I finally have you.” He lifted your leg threw it over his shoulder and started kissing you from your ankle up to your inner thighs. “You know one night when I slept over at your place. I caught you touching yourself. Your hands flew to your face to cover up the embarrassment. “Oh god,” you mumbled.

EZ’s deep chuckle made you peek through your hands. “What are you embarrassed for? For that little 10 seconds, it was the sexiest thing I’ve seen, but it was so damn torturous in the most beautiful way. Do you know how hard it is to have that vividly replaying in my head and not have you?”

The whole time EZ was talking he was getting closer to your core, but you were hyper focused on his words that his mouth on your clit took you by surprise. “Shit,” you squealed underneath his tongue. With your hand you covered your mouth to keep your screams down. EZ lifted his head at your muffled screams. “No, let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel.”

Following his instructions, you removed your hand and that earned you an approving smile from EZ. “Good girl.” Before he returned to his meal, EZ grabbed you by the back of your neck, forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

This time he added his fingers as he ate you out. The hold he had on you allowed no room for you to run, you had to stay there and take everything he was giving you. Add pussy eating to the long list of things that Ezekiel Reyes is great at.

Your hands shot out to EZ’s head. Scratching it was your best alternative since you had nothing to tug at. EZ raised his head, his mouth glistening from your cunt. “I bet you wish my hair was longer now.” He teased before diving right back in.

“EZ, I’m gonna cum.” You continued scratching the back of his head as he moved his tongue and fingers faster. “Cum all over my mouth, preciosa.” He murmured above your pussy.

An explosion. That was the only way you could describe your orgasm. It busted through your body, leaving you and EZ soaked. The evidence shone on his forearm, highlighting his veins, leaving you in a trance.

EZ noticed your staring at his arm. “Ride my forearm.” He demanded, excited that he’ll be able to get you off this way.

At first you were hesitant, but with EZ’s urging you hopped on it. You were experiencing immense pleasure and wanted EZ to experience the same. Tonight, was a celebration for him and this entire time his focus was on you. Completely selfless as usual. Reaching between your bodies, you began stroking him, smearing his precum all over his engorged head. “What are you doing?” He gasped, flexing his arm a bit more. “Tonight’s about you. I want to make you feel good.”

EZ nibbled at your chin. “I want you to cum all over my forearm, that’ll make me feel good.” You continued jerking him off while you rode him.

Who would’ve thought the rough ridges of his protruding veins and his constant flexing had you cumming a second time for the night? “Fuck we got to do that again!” You tried to nuzzle your face in EZ’s neck, but he wouldn’t let you because he was too busy kissing you all over your face. “EZ, I just came on your fucking arm.”

“Yeah and it was hot! I bet that douchebag couldn’t do that with his measly dick.” Slowly, he began to lay you down. “Now you’re about to cum all over my dick while screaming my name.”

Your now boyfriend made good on his promise. Opposed to Rick’s useless jackhammering, EZ made slow, powerful strokes, ensuring you were well taken care of.

He was tending to your body so well your eyes kept rolling to the back of your head. “Eyes!” He commanded harsher than ever before. When your eyes met his, you could see the struggle in his eyes. EZ wanted to be soft, gentle, and romantic, but deep down he wanted to fuck you hard, show you who you belong to.

“Make me yours, Ezekiel. Fuck me like you mean it.” It took him some time to process the words, but when he did his widened in realization that he got permission to let go. “Fuck, I love you.” He captured your lips in a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how much he loved you. “I love you too.” You told him as he had a bruising hold on your hips.

Gone was sweet soft Ezekiel. He was replaced by EZ, the harsh lover that’s gonna push you over the edge, then bring you back just to do it all over again.

Yours and EZ’s moans accompanied by the sound of bodies slapping together made a symphony that you would never get tired of. This was what you were missing for all those years apart.

“Make me proud. Cum all over this dick, querida.” EZ suckled your neck, branding you with his marks. “Ezekiel!” You cried out as your body combusted, almost feeling every molecule in your body. The newly patched Mayan silenced your cries with his mouth as he came soon after you.

EZ tried to lay in the bed with you but you refused. I t was his party and you were adamant that he enjoys it some more. You two can have your alone time later.

Just as you were sliding up your panties, EZ stuffed his fingers up your cum filled pussy. “Don’t want this leaking out.” He whispered, giving you a cheeky grin as you moaned at his ministrations.

“Okay, that’s enough you nasty ass kids. Playtime is over! Time to get fucked up, baby bro. I’m sure Y/N wants to forget the last 30 seconds.” Angel banged on the door.

“That was nice while it lasted.” You slipped your dress over your head and fixed your hair. EZ hummed his agreeance and led you out the door and ignored the childish jeering from his brothers. They could tease all they want, because as long as he has you, he doesn’t give a damn.

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