#my darling but ALSO 'rascal'

[herder-of-gnorbus]

My baby Zabell turns 2 today!

[autisticredhood]

little miss rascal really living up to the RASCAL allegations. stole my bookmark OUT OF MY BOOK and. scampered off with it in her mouth

[yandere-sins]

Mixed Feelings (Yandere!Kafka x Reader x Yandere!Blade)

Honestly? I got side-tracked while writing my Yan!Himeko/Welt x Reader. Insted I wrote this. Found out Kafka is easier to write than I initially thought. I like Blade but he keeps dying in my team, so he deserves some softness. Bon appetit!

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail  Pairings: Yandere!Kafka x GN!Reader x Yandere!Blade   Warnings: Yandere, Dub-/Non-Con touches/kisses, Hints at kidnapping/owning reader, Soft yandere, Possessiveness, Obsession, Infatuation, Sexual innuendos, It's not stated but there is a small implication that reader is taller than Kafka but not taller than Blade

Kafka should have been offended at the sight of you sitting on Blade’s lap, but for some reason, she really couldn’t bring herself to it.

She should have been upset and angry at you for being quiet and obedient to someone who wasn’t Kafka. She should have been fuming as she watched him run his hand down your arm, his eyes following the touch with wonder reflected in it, and gripping it tightly when you tried to pull away. But then Blade reconsidered, forced himself to be gentle when you flinched. He had you propped on his leg, only your tiptoes reaching the floor as you sat stiff like a board, your back straighter than a blade, but Kafka had never seen him quite so calm, and neither you. Usually, you’d throw your hands in her face or try to crawl away when she wanted to do similar things with you, but there was something different about how you let Bladie treat you.

It ticked her off and intrigued her just as much at the same time.

It was painfully obvious, but neither of you knew what to make of the other. You were looking at each other equally as perplexed as Kafka felt as she watched you interact. It was strange because she felt like she wanted to say something, never too shy to speak up, tease, and defend you. But this time, she wanted to see what would happen if she kept still. You were both explosive in different ways, and she had the lighter to escalate this moment. Yet, she snuffed out the flame, watching, surprised that Blade hadn’t noticed her yet. Surprised about how deeply in thought he must have been to ignore a possible threat like her, seething beneath her curiosity.

The looks you gave each other were equally as surprising as they were confusing. Kafka knew you. No matter how much you liked to deny it, wanting to stay an enigma before her all-seeing eyes, she knew you better than anyone. You were scared. You braved yourself with your straight posture and gritted teeth, but you were scared of Blade, who had only been ordered to look after you while Kafka went to fetch you a drink. It didn’t help that she had kept you to herself until now, so you didn't know the strange man she left you with; didn't know that Kafka’s 'friends' were equally as crazy as she was—if not more. 

However Blade had managed to wrangle you into this position was unexplainable, her little rascal almost subservient now, sitting on his lap and letting his arm support you. But Kafka had to admit that Bladie could be unnerving, and it seemed that once he caught you, he had taken your moody self over completely. But even more of an enigma, perhaps, was the man awkwardly dragging his fingers over yours, trying to gain a hold on you while you dug your nails into your thighs, refusing him that pleasure.

Kafka had seen so many emotions in Blade’s eyes throughout the years. Numbness, mostly. But also anger and ecstasy. So seeing the smallest sparks of affection in his formally dead gaze, adoration, and longing swirling in the mad red, was new to even her. He was like a completely different person, though no less deadly so, Kafka was sure. It was just unusual for him to latch on to anyone, and her heart shrunk in bitterness, knowing it was for her darling.

Blade was her ‘friend’. At least he was someone she could bear keeping by her side. So seeing the hints of infatuation as he looked at you, jealousy began to bubble up in her. Kafka didn’t want him to grow fond of the one person she only wanted to herself, not being someone who liked to share what she felt was profoundly hers. There was a moment of hope for her poor heart, though, your eyes flitting over to her nervously, widening as you found her standing in the door frame holding a sweet, colorful drink for you, two straws sticking out of it. 

“Ka- Kafka!” you gasped, realizing your own predicament of being seen like this. You might argue and whine, but Kafka had installed a good portion of fear inside you, and you instinctively knew this was not a good look for you. But as you tried to jump up, Blade gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him and catching you off-guard, forcing out a most adorable “Ouf!” from your lips while your body collapsed in his arms. 

“My, my. If looks could kill,” Kafka chuckled, the smile playing on her lips never reaching her eyes as she returned Blade’s glare. Stepping down the few steps into the room, Kafka was undeterred as she made her way over to the both of you. Compared to you, she didn’t fear Blade. Why would she? Kafka knew he would do nothing to upset her. Handing you the glass, you didn’t bother refusing her kindness like usually, a mix of shame and fear forcing you into compliance. You took what she gave you—a delightful change in your attitude for once—and Kafka ran her gloved fingers down to your wrist, wrapping them around it before giving it a light tug. 

Immediately, you got on your feet, not needing her to tell you twice. Bladie’s arms slit off you defeatedly as he grumbled under his breath, averting his eyes from the sight of Kafka bringing you against her, with it being her arm now wrapped around you possessively, reminding her fellow Hunter who you belonged to.

“Thank you for watching my precious darling, Bladie. I hope you two played nice with each other while I was gone.”

“Nothing happened,” you mumbled, pouting at the insinuation that you two had been on a childish playdate. Kafka relished in the sight of your wary attempt to defy her, yet you were too scared to look at her and tell her to her face. Lucky for you, you were adorable—and it had obviously been Blade who bent you to his will, not you trying to cozy up to him. She could appreciate that, deep down, you knew who you belonged to, not even trying to soften up someone else to get what you wanted or make her jealous on purpose. 

It wouldn’t have worked anyway, considering it was Blade we’re talking about. 

“Really appreciate it,” she instead told him, watching his expression grow more glum with every time she addressed him, his eye twitching as he looked at her. 

“No problem,” he said, almost a little too monotone. Suspiciously composed. His calmness seemed almost too forced. He couldn't fool her. After all, Kafka knew him better than anyone. But Blade merely got up from his seat, walking past both of you, and with a hunch itching inside her, Kafka looked after him, watching as he stepped out of the room. You twisted further away in her hold, trying to make yourself smaller than you were and avoiding drawing more of Blade’s attention as he passed by you, and she clicked her tongue, feeling offended that he frightened you so. Kafka would have to look you over for bruises so she could be sure, but it seemed like Blade had left quite the impression on you and your subconscious mind. A space that should have been occupied with Kafka and the fear as well as desire you felt for her.

To her delight, she was right to look after Blade. His hand gripped the doorframe, fingers tapping discontentedly against the wood as his movements halted. Any normal person would have missed the glance from the corner of Blade's eyes, first at you, then crossing Kafka’s, the light from outside the room bright and hurtful as it blinded her. And yet, she knew he’d hesitate but needed to see it with her own two eyes so she could confirm her suspicions. Even when he retreated without another second delay, hurry in his step as it echoed down the corridor, Kafka was sure now, the tell-tale signs glaringly obvious.

“Seems Bladie likes you,” she teased, fingers digging into your waist and pulling you flush against her, chest to chest. You took a nervous sip from one of the two straws, avoiding all eye contact. “I don’t mind you two becoming friends, you know?”

“He’s weird,” you mumbled while hiding behind another sip of your drink. “We’re not friends.”

“Now, now, you’re being rude to my friend. Try to get along with him, okay? He seems to really like you.”

You glanced down at her suspiciously. You were wary of her pushing you towards this connection. Wary, she was testing you, or maybe you were wary because you really didn't want to get closer to Blade. The latter amused her as much as it pleased her. “Don’t wanna…”

Kafka couldn’t help but chuckle at your childish antics. You loved trying to gain her sympathy, especially when you were scared, and she loved every last part of your easily readable personality. Even when you hated her, you knew better than to get on her bad side, and Kafka was weak to your pacification attempts. At the very least, you were thinking of her in everything you did, and she was proud of her little manipulator for pulling at her heartstrings with more ease than even her Spirit Whisper could make you compliant and cuddly. 

“It’s fine—really,” she reassured you in a gentle voice, feeling your body relax a little in her arms, even if you were still oh-so wary of her. Raising herself to her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to the corner of your mouth, startling you. However, in the dawn of still being scared of having done something to upset her, you merely huffed, turning your head away. 

Kafka wondered how you’d behave, knowing who was still standing in the corridor, leaning against the wall next to the door and listening to the conversation, having come back on quiet soles after his exit. Would you cower? Hide behind her? Apologize for being rude to Blade? Poor Bladie’s heart must have been broken all over again, yet he hadn’t left even after you called him weird.

“I don’t mind,” Kafka reiterated, pinching your cheek until you faced her again, her chance to get a proper kiss from the lips she loved so much. Sweetness spread between you two as she tasted the drink on your tongue, a surprised gasp escaping you as she bit down on the pliable muscle. The sound was enough to ruffle some feathers outside the door, the faint sound of clothes moving as Blade finally took his leave for good, unable to endure what he thought was going to happen next. 

Kafka grinned. 

She had a sudden desire to take you to the room next to Bladie’s, making you whimper and scream to give him an earful of the person he was infatuated with, destroying his idea of you and teasing his broken heart to see just how far he was willing to go to mend it this time. It was a doomed experiment, but it gave Kafka the satisfaction of getting revenge on the person who carelessly laid their hands on what belonged only to her.

“I don’t care what you two do while I’m gone. But I hope you always remember whose arms you go back to once you're done having fun, Darling.”

[kaihuntrr]

remember my previous post with my Scott designs? I said I would draw full bodies, so I used my lineless style! I also wanted to design Secret Life Scott, aka; Glitz!

Life Series: Scott! (take two)

The lore is still the same, I just changed up and added things to the previous four so they can be as detailed as Glitz!

Since I’ve talked about the previous Scott versions, I’ll only talk about Glitz and his design origins <3

Secret Life: Glitz

Teamed with his bandmates, Glitter (Gem) and Glam (Impulse), he makes a fun presence with his rocking sweet attitude with a hint of sass. Fulfilling his tasks might be a bit hard for everyone, but he seems to fly by them quite quickly! A charming guitarist with a sense of fashion and the spotlight.

I wanted to keep a harpy theme for Gem & the Scotts, I think it makes sense since they have a music-themed name plus they live high up! I made him a peryton so it matches with his previous lives with their additions of horns and antlers!

this is the part where I ramble about a story idea (and why there’s a particular ship in the tags)

SO. I was talking to @mewhoismyself about a secret life au with rockstar Scott with budding feelings for rascal/ upcoming artist Jimmy! Listen it could also be a Scott/Jimmy/Martyn situation but I have a whole other fic for Majorwood (gestures at the Sea Prince) but music au Flower Husbands… DO YOU HEAR ME??

I may think of the au more in the background,, I just LOVE how they all turned out and the potential to use Glitz’ design more really excites me- but what do you think? Whose design is your favorite of the five? I personally love how all of them look, my sweet darlings <3

[ghouljams]

It's either you said it one of the other fantastic CoD writers. Simon is the only one who had a normal life before joining. He was older when he enlisted got to experience adulthood a bit even if it was only a year or two. Even after his torture he came home and took on primary care giver for his family throwing his dad out, getting his brother clean, and even helping his brother find the love of his life. He had a good 5-7 years as a civi adult before he became ghost. Ghost was his grief hidden he wants to go back to the softness of Simon.

Also I just want to compliment you on actually writing a close to canon ghost. Far too many people forget he is confident in his appearance and that's he's a bit off goof ball. Yes he has PTSD around getting forcefully touched all over. (I also head canon autistic ghost) Of course he's not gonna want to get touched and the ghost mask allows him to preserve simon. Because he unlike König isn't proud of his war crimes he only does them so others don't lose their families or get their hands dirty.

Now soap, the lyin son of bitch, who joined the service at 16 instead of 17 like a good kid who knows Patience. He's rough and a bit vulgar he needs to be thrown into a rock tumbler 4-6 weeks going through all three stages before he'll be considered soft. He'll have soft moments, but those will be more accidental. He's a good time, but unless you're equally rough he is not husband material.

-hot mess rambler

(I said I'd get out and yet here I am... I hope your day is well ghoul)

Ghost is so fun because there's so much dimension to him. He's cocky, he's funny, he is absolutely blunt but encouraging, he wants his team to do well. He grew up in a shitty household but he pulled himself out of it. He knew joy and family and it was ripped away from him, of course he's trying to protect himself now. OF COURSE Simon is locked away far under the facade of Ghost. He's like an abused dog, he's looking for someone to love him and a place to feel safe but he'll bite if you push him too hard.

Soap on the other hand. What a rascal, a rake, a rapscallion if you will. Trying to join the SAS at 16, and getting kicked out when he's caught only to go back at 17 because what else is he doing? He's hiding all his soft edges behind an impenetrable layer of Scottish charm. You're not going to get anything genuine out of him unless you force it out of him. He's gotta bond with people and even then you are hard pressed to ever get any sort of deep response from him about anything. The man is a hardened soldier, using humor to cope and come off as less rough than he is.

This is why he's gotta butt against darlings that don't want him, or just are making him work for it. Gotta break Soap down and force him to admit he has feelings under all that charm.

(I hope you keep coming back to my ask box! My day is going well but busy. I hope yours is going well!!)

[alexa-fika]

HELLOOO I SAW UR FANFIC OF RAYLEIGH AND SHAKKY AND I WAS WONDERING IF U COULD DO ANOTHER ONE THANK YOUUU HAVE A GOOOD ONE AND OFC DONT IT IF A YA BUSY

THANK YOU HAVE A GOOD ONE

Tree Escapades (Rayleigh x gn!child!reader x Shakky )

A/N Here we go! I was heavily inspired by @novelbear and used quite a bit of their parent prompts to be able to do this one, of course instead of parents it’s our favorite grandparents : ), also check out my thinking sketch for this, I strive to have everything organized and proffesional

Reader is replaced by Dokusha here, which stands for reader in Japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“Hahaha! Catch me if you can, Grandpa!” the small child screams joyously, running away from Rayleigh

Rayleigh couldn’t help but chuckle as the child ran away from him, his legs quickly moving as he ran behind the little kid.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any problem doing that little rascal. You’ll get nowhere!”

They only receive a loud laugh in response as they dart away from view

“Dokucha!” he calls, falling after them

“You can’t run off like that, my love, you could get hurt,” he calls out, looking around for the child

"Dokusha, where are you? I know you’re around here; where are you?” he continues to scan the area, his eyes narrowed as he spoke, the expression on his face shifting from amusement to worry as he spots the child slowly climbing up one of the nearby trees

“Woah! Okay! Maybe let’s not do that!” he says, quickening his pace to stand below the tree

They stick their tongue out at him

“Grandpa can’t catch me now!”

Rayleigh couldn’t help but crack up at Dokusha’s attitude; the little child had clearly gotten the spunky personality of his captain.

He rolls his eyes as he activates and envelops his arm with busoshoku Haki and gives the tree a swift hit, causing the child to stumble on their climb

In a last-ditch effort to keep themselves on the tree, they take hold of one of the fruitful branches, only gaining to get a hold of a fruit before the branch caves in under their weight, and they fall straight into the awaiting hands of their grandfather

“Haha…oops?”

Rayleigh chortled as he cradled the child close to his chest, running his hands along their head and checking the child for any injuries

“Haha, you're in enough trouble, Dokusha. What were you thinking?” Rayleigh was trying to seem stern, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he looked at them

They giggle in their grand-fathers arm, glancing at their own arm and the fruit they had pulled down with them and inching it towards their mouth

Rayleigh quickly snatched the hand and fruit from Dokusha's grasp

“Ah-Ah, don’t eat that; you don’t know if these fruits are safe to eat.”

“Boohoo

Rayleigh playfully pinches the child’s nose

“Don’t you boohoo me, little rascal!” they said, throwing the child over his shoulders

They squeal as he does, banging their tiny fists on his back, a string of laughs escaping them as they did

Rayleigh laughed as he felt them pounding on his back as he carried them around

“I’ll have you know, Dokusha.. you're a little troublemaker. But a cute one, though I don’t think Shakky will be very happy with you once she hears of this.”

“No! Don’t tell Grandma!” they whine

“Hmm… maybe, maybe not. If you’re good and promise not to do it, then I won’t tell her, but if you misbehave, I’ll be forced to tell her that my darling Dokusha is a little devil.” a he stops to ‘think’ putting the hand that was not holding the child over his shoulder on his chin pretending to think hard

“ On the other hand, I don’t see any reason not to. You did something stupid and potentially dangerous. Maybe some time-out will change that.”

“Nooo”

“Yep, I have made up my mind. Should have thought twice thinking you could outrun your dear grandpa,” he says, entering the bar, Shakky standing behind the counter, the usual cigarette in her hand

“Looks like you two were having fun.”

“We sure were! Aren’t they just the cutest thing, and they have something to tell you as well, don’t they?”

Rayleigh said, pulling them from his shoulders and placing them on his hip, ignoring how they shook their head

“Don’t tell grandma!”

Rayleigh gave the child a slight squeeze on the side before he sighed and rolled his eyes*

“We have had this conversation. You are not going to get off the hook so easily,” Rayleigh said, crossing his arms and looking at Shakky, who was smiling

“Looks like our little rascal has been having a little too much fun,” Shakky said, taking a drag of her cigarette

“And I would very much like to know what it is that my little grandbabe has been up to.”

“Dokusha was up to no good as usual; I caught them when they decided to climb a tree, and when I stopped her from eating a fruit, they started bawling like a baby, saying, ‘Nooo, don’t tell grandma!’ They’re quite the little rascal, aren’t they?”

“I didn't bawl like a baby!” they protest

“Hmm, really? Could of fooled me,” Rayleigh replied as he looked at the child.

“Dokusha…” begins Shakky

They wince as they hear the stern tone in their grandmother's voice

“Dokusha, we talked about you climbing trees. You can not keep climbing trees; you will hurt yourself,” Shakky says, her tone very stern as she frowns at the little child

“We have also talked about you running off on your own, especially playing your little games without telling us you are playing said games,” she scolds

“Sorry”

“And that is the last time I hear of you misbehaving; we have had this discussion far too many times for you to be still acting out,” she says firmly but with a slight twinge of a smile,

“Are we understood?”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“Oh, and no treats for you.”

“No!”

“Now go wash your hands; dinner is almost ready,” she said as she watched the child glower

Rayleigh chuckled as he put them down, and they stood their ground, pouting with their arms crossed

“Hm? Do I hear a week without treats?”Rayleigh said, cupping his ear

Shakky, catching on, nods her head

“I think I hear it too.”

Rayleigh laughs as the child quickly rushes over to the sink and wash their hands; Shakky can’t help but chuckle along

“I'm washing!”

“Well, aren't they well-behaved?”

Rayleigh nods, still laughing slightly

If only I could write my school essays as easy as I write these…

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[hunieday]

Momo - Drama Collection (Winter) Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Momo: Good work, Torao! Hope you enjoy your time today at the drinking party 😆

Momo: I'm super looking forward to drinking with the drama cast! 💯 ✨

Mido Torao: I’m also looking forward to it.

Mido Torao: Seems like Nikaido and Yaotome will be late though, did you hear about that?

Momo: I did! They said they're busy with work~!

Momo: Is it okay if it's just the two of us until they come ⁉ Or do you want me to invite the super handsome special guest Y-san ⁉

Mido Torao: Yuki-san huh…

Mido Torao: Um

Mido Torao: I want to be alone with you, is that okay?

Momo: ba-dum...

Momo: I was joking around to lighten the mood, but Momo-chan got all giddy... 

Momo: I’m not cheating on you, darling ‼ 😭 💦

Mido Torao: You were joking huh…

Momo: But thanks for saying you’re okay with just the two of us alone 👍✨ I'm really looking forward to drinking with you!!

Mido Torao: Thank you. I'm looking forward to it too

Momo: Huh!? Really!? 

Mido Torao: Yes

Momo: What should I do!!! I feel like Momo-chan is wrapped around Torao’s fingers... 🥺

Mido Torao: no i’m not HAHA

Momo: 

Momo: But you know, you've become cute! You’re a lot rounder around the edges nowadays

Mido Torao: Are you saying I got fat!?

Mido Torao: I mean yeah, the other members keep giving me unusual snacks to eat lately...

Momo: that’s not what i meant lolololol you’re already cute lololol

Momo: By the way, what kinda snacks are you getting? 🤭

Mido Torao: Puffed rice? They come in pouches and are crispy and delicious.

Momo: Puffed rice~~!! How nostalgic! Makes me wanna go to a candy store (*ﾉωﾉ)

Momo: Tell me more stories over drinks okay!

Mido Torao: Got it. I also have something I want to talk to you about

Mido Torao: I’d like you to teach me a lot more about acting.

Momo: Torao... 🥺 ✨

Momo: Now that you mention it, you know, Yuki liked Torao's role and found it really interesting! 

Momo: "I thought he'd stop Momo from recklessly breaking into someone else's territory alone, but he charged in head first" he looked like he enjoyed watching it 😂

Mido Torao: The part where I ride my bike and blurt out, "I’ll be the one who paves the way for the leader" right?

Momo: Yes yes! Vice-leader-kun is quite reckless!

Mido Torao: Of course his followers would be bloodthirsty when their leader’s like that.

Momo: Well, the leader is a tiiiiiny bit of a rascal, isn’t he? 😅 💪

Mido Torao: a bit is the understatement of the century.

Mido Torao: Chasing after the enemies up a three meters high wall, jump-kicking them from the stairs... I thought it was quite the violent script

Momo: right lolol the action scenes sure were intense~~!!

Momo: I tried my best to follow your example 😤💪

Mido Torao: My example?

Momo: That's right! Watching Torao work so hard on his stunts motivated me!

Mido Torao: Is that so...

Mido Torao: I was an inspiration for Re:vale…

Momo: Are you getting fired up?

Mido Torao: Burning hot.

Momo: Just! too cute!!! 😆 😆

Momo: Apparently our relationship was popular on SNS too ;P🫰

Mido Torao: Really? What were they saying?

Momo: "Vice-leader-kun always standing next to the leader with a smug smile, they’re my bias!" (1)

Mido Torao: There it is, “they’re my bias”. What’s a bias? what the hell does that mean?

Momo: there it is lololololol

Mido Torao: I’m curious. I heard Haruka use it the other day too.

Momo: It means someone you like the most! 😆 saying “bias” sounds stronger than just saying “love”~!

Mido Torao: I see. It does feel more intense.

Momo: How about you start using it, Torao!

Mido Torao: In what situation would I even use it?

Momo: For example...

Momo: It’s everyone’s bias, Momo-chan! ;P 🫶 🫶

Mido Torao: I don’t think that’s for me…

Momo: That’s not true!!! Just try saying it for a bit!!

Mido Torao: I’m your bias, Mido Torao.

Momo: 

Momo: 

Mido Torao: I’m not sure about this one…

Momo: No it's really good!!!!!???

Momo: But well, your fans are most likely looking for a strong and cool Torao (*ﾉωﾉ) 🤎

Mido Torao: Well, I’m confident that I can make someone fall in love with me just by standing there and not saying a word.

Momo: Nice, I want to hear tons of stories about the confident Torao 👍

Mido Torao: Hell yeah, later. I’m looking forward to it.

Momo: 

The original conversation went a bit different, Momo ends his message with “好きピ= sukippi”, Momo later on explains that it’s a combination between 好き=suki (like) and ピーポー=people (pi=ピ), which means a “favorite person” even if it’s sometimes used on objects and such. The closest and most “literal” translation would be “fave”, but I doubt Torao wouldn’t know what a fave is so I went with bias instead.

HUGE thank you to Ai (soushibana and chettiri on twitter) for helping me out with the snacks translation! I wouldn't have understood it without her, big props & go check her accounts out!

[berry-messy-scribbles]

Junkrat having a crush on you - headcanons

Pairing: Junkrat/Jamison Fawkes x GN!Reader

Summary: General headcanons of Jamison Fawkes aka Junkrat having a crush on reader.

Words: 1,500

Tags: SFW; gender-neutral reader; fluff

Warnings/triggers: minor curse words

A/N: "I absolutely adore Junkrat and his expanded characterization in overwatch 2, so I decided to write some headcanons for my favourite pyromaniac. I hope you will enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it!" - Mod Berry

Oh boy, you bet that there will be a lot of puns involved. You know those interactions, that they added in overwatch 2? From casual puns, they will evolve into cheesy pickup lines. Not to mention, if you show the slightest bit that you do enjoy them or lord forbid, you follow up with an even dorkier response - expect to be smothered in bad puns every time he sees you. Jamison will be more than happy to share with you his special chemistry pickup lines such as:

"Are you carbon monoxide? Cuz ya sure take my breath away!"

"Excuse me darl, but did ya lose an electron? Cuz you are positively attractive!"

"Damn I've never seen a bomb like you! And I make those every day 24/7!"

"Oh, how I wish you were like Avogadro cuz then I would already know your number!"

I imagine he tells them with a full happy grin plastered on his face followed by a wink ;)

Jamison would definitely try too hard to sweep you off your feet by bragging about his and Roadhog's heists or even about their casual shenanigans. Don't worry, Mako makes sure to add realism to those and embarrasses him from time to time, by telling exactly how they went. For example:

"Oi Roadie do you remember the time when I saved both of our asses in Numbani by MY magnificent and strategically thought out plan?"

"You mean that one time you accidentally lit your ass on fire just to confuse the guards and buy us some time to escape? Yeah, that sure was something Rat."

The big man then lets out a hearty chuckle.

*gasp* "Betrayed by my own crime partner!"

At first, it would embarrass the hell out of Jamie. He would desperately try to explain to Mako that his pride and chance at a relationship with you is at stake, but then he sees you laugh, and just like that all his worry instantly disappears. From that very moment, he would tell all the awkward details himself just so he could hear you laugh one more time.

This also includes Junkrat telling you a different story about how he lost his finger, since the first time you have ever asked him about it. You would call him out at any given chance though. However, you appreciated his effort in trying to brighten up your day even if it meant listening to the silliest of tales of Jamison's lost finger.

“Oh, this? This is a painful reminder of my tragic yet complicated past." he follows up with a very expressive pose like the drama queen he is.

"Dude you are literally missing an arm and a leg. How could the finger be the main focus?"

"Y/N I am flattered that you are so invested in my backstory but no spoilers! Even for you. Now, where was I? Ah yes! (...)"

Some of these stories included his supposed memories from the outback. Probably back when he wasn't featured on every wanted poster in Junker Queen's domain.

"I lost me finger to a bunch of fellow junkers in a truth or dare fight in a bar, and you wouldn’t believe that it was because of the truth part!” 

Other times it would be something so ridiculous that you can't help but snort at the simple prospect of that situation ever happening to Jamison.

“There was this one time when I had to wrestle a quokka for my lunch! Don't ever let them fool ya with those big ol' eyes and cutesy faces. I am tellin’ ya those things are bloodthirsty. I got my food back but the little rascal took my finger as revenge!"

"I am not blaming it though, sometimes even I wonder how I taste."

That last part earned him a well-deserved nudge, followed up by a sigh and being called a "dumbass" ( affectionate ) in response.

"Y/N you know that I am messing with you right? Or am I?"

But do not be fooled as this man is far from stupid as everyone likes to think. This man can be a menace to society and still be a genius. I had to include that in the note because I am sick and tired of people brushing it off. You have noticed that not only his craftmanship and his entire workshop reflect that statement but also his special interest, which is drumrolls please - philosophy! Specifically speaking, philosophy of mathematics. His newest interaction with Sigma shows that Jamie is aware of concepts such as Zeno's paradox. But why am I sharing this headcanon with you? That is because I am sure that if Jamison sees that you are interested in what he has to say, ( unless being ignored by like half of the other characters *cough* ) and therefore feel comfortable around you, he will be so excited to infodump you with all sorts of fun facts!

Whenever he sees you worry about his health, whether it would be because of his recklessness on the battlefield or an experiment in his workshop gone wrong Junkrat feels unusual. That is the best way to put it. Not many people care about his well-being. In fact, most of them wish something bad would happen to him or simply ignore his injuries ( I am looking at you Mercy ) so this blonde mess of a guy is used to not even notice the pain in the first place. Jamison tries harder to be more careful knowing that there is a special someone that cares about his safety. The thought of you caring about him that much fills his stomach with butterflies.

Having said that he is still the pyromaniac we know of and Jamison would most definitely use his explosives to create something entirely dedicated to you. That way he gets to demonstrate his engineering skills and show you that he is not an all talk no action kinda guy. There was this one time when he got too carried away though. He carefully prepared everything and showed you the results of his hard work but.. let’s just say... it gave you mixed signals? I mean, how could you possibly feel about bombs arranged in Y/N exploding at a rapid-fire rate just to leave nothing but ashes and flickering flames behind? Jamie was so eager to get any reaction from you but in your mind, you were so confused. Is this supposed to be a threat or a love confession? In Junkrat’s case, it could be both at the same time.

Junkrat gasping for air all proud of himself with what it seems like stars in his eyes after the explosion: “So what do you think? Am I good or what?”

Y/N standing there with wide eyes, while thinking to themself *chuckle* “I am in danger.” It would be rude to leave him with no response so you settled for “Great, it was sure something to see my initials get blown away. Truly a sight I won’t ever forget.”

“Aww Y/N you sure have a way with words.” 

Having said that if you are not the kind of person who likes grand gestures, don’t worry Jamison will understand and won’t bother you with any going forward. He might be one of the most wanted criminals but he still has class.

Speaking of another wanted criminal Jamison would so rant about you to Mako. It happens anywhere at any given moment no matter if it's fitting or not - from their daily hangouts to the dangers of their crime-filled life. I imagine that even when their lives are being threatened Jamie will still make sure to mention how gorgeous and cool you are to Roadhog because something they encountered reminded him of you.

"Oi look Roadie! That is just like the show Y/N was talking about that I need to watch. I wonder what they are up to right now. " while being tied up.

"Rat that is not the time to talk about Y/N we gotta scram."

This would also include Jamison daydreaming about you and losing his focus on the battlefield. Mako was once fed up with that behaviour and had to interfere.

"Look Jamison if you do that one more time there might not be another chance for you to see Y/N so be more careful god dammit."

The sole thought of not being able to see you again was Jamison's driving force to how he puts it "get his shit together" and focus more on his actions. Jamie cares about you a lot and not being able to see you one more time would be his worst nightmare. Your beautiful face, the way you laugh, talk about your special interests and listen to his, the way you sneeze or cup his hands when he is injured or hell even being called a dumbass by you all gone because of his carelessness? Nothing scares him more than the idea of losing you.

[yyxandere]

HIII MOOTIE!!! hope youre doing good, thank you for checking in on me!

ive been thinking of the morning glory kids trying to set kiryu and his darling up... like i cant stop thinking about it because its just too cute... each of kids doing something different to his darling because they know how much kiryu loves them,...,,.

especially haruka!! she's their number one fan and wingwoman, for sure!!! she gushes about kiryu to them, she saves her lunch kiryu packs for her lunch to give to his darling to show how impressive his cooking is, just basically everything she can do to impress them!!!

i love them all.,.. they just want to see kiryu happy!! i think that they would all make up excuses to leave kiryu and his darling alone together...

yyeah theres my lil ramble wfshfshs,, i love the kids theyre all such rascals..,,,.

-ˋˏSINCERELY YOURS. . . ->

SXDIHXWIHJSXNWSBUHHWSBHUXDBIHSWXBHISSXBHI YOU ARE SO RIGHT MOOTIE, MORNING GLORY KIDS R KIRYUS ULTIMATE HYPE WOMEN/MEN

Oh man, all of the morning kids absolutely adore you, you're like a mother to them! Plus whenever you're with their uncle Kaz, they see how much he smiles whenever you're around. They love the idea of Kiryu having someone as wonderful and caring as you in his life!

Plus they even have a mother figure, the girls would have someone older to talk to like crushes and even advice, while Kiryu is happy that you're also there for the boys, you show them and teach them to have positive masculinity and even give advice of how to woo a girl.

All the kids are also protective of you! Whenever you go at least one of them has to go with you, maybe even three so if there is any douchebag that tries to flirt with you then they have to be prepared to be violated via verbal abuse (kids are brutally honest ya know…)

Haruka, yes, THE BIGGEST HYPE WOMAN EVER!! She and the other kids would make you guys a small picnic near the beach, where there are candle lights and even cheesy music, and even one of the boys acted like a fancy waitress, it was truly touching and made you so flattered, while Kiryu who never heard such plan was trying his best not to cover himself into a ball for how embarrassed he was, but he ain't gonna lie, he was happy that you agreed to the little date they made.

Like you said mootie, Haruka would pack Kiryu's cooking so you can taste how delicious it is! She would even ask you for your favorite food, so the next day Haruka will ask Kiryu to make some so she can give it to you! Whenever you eat she stares at you like she's expecting something, like a praise that she can tell about uncle Kaz about!!!

aaaa those little sweet rascals, that Kiryu loves them so much <3

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

Thanks: to the little rascals who schemed and kept me pumped the entire time I was whacking my way to fruition on this project: Bri and Elise. And to Birdy and Ally and Christi and all the rest of you darlings who are so dear to me and whose shared love for this man has brought such joy to my life. I hope you enjoy, your feedback means the world to me and there’s nothing I enjoy more than getting to incorporate some of y’all’s schemings and theories into the story itself. So don’t hold back! Xoxo

Caveats are the sign of a insecure author yet here I go…: in this chapter there are highly unflattering references and portrayals of Pricilla Presley and Ginger Alden respectively -they are not necessarily my opinions of them, they are my dramatization of Elvis’ headspace during the summer of ‘77 when many report he was breaking up with his “fiancée” and there was already a substitute picked out to come with him on the impending tour. Y’all can debate those rumors all ya want and I honestly don’t know what to think of them myself, what I do know is that man told his father he was terribly lonely days before he died. And I want to remedy that, so the narrative is unreliable here and it’s in his head. Love at first sight, love that obsesses, love that has a childlike quality to it as presented in this fic is often selfish and even cruel towards the feelings of others. If you’re not fond of Elvis as a flawed, moody bastard of a man on occasion, this fic may not be for you. Cheers.

Warnings: 18+ no actual sex happens but my goodness -it’s sure wanted and thought on so much that sometimes it felt like a fifteen year old boy was hijacking my keyboard -Big daddy was that you?! Apologies for the, uh, crass body descriptions?! Salami will never be the same again…also, use of the word “fat” in the narrative as being thought of oneself, good ole fashioned chauvinism and mild infidelity on Elvis’ part

Chapter 2

“Do ya think it’s too, I dunno, too, too on the nose?”

“E.P., ya have people over here all the time, man.” Charlie murmurs gently from where he sits on the floor, not bothering to look up from the spread out sheet music he’s rustling through. “Why would it be on the nose to do it now, all the sudden?”

“Well I-I-I was thinkin’ maybe havin’ a pool day, maybe that was too forward.” Elvis has been rethinking this since he told George Klein to wrassle up that young bunch again, and specified the pretty young Artemis whose freckles had been covered last he saw her.

“How’s that forward?” Charlie seems genuinely confused and Elvis figures this has got to be one of those times he’s so far in his own head and foggy from pacin’ the pills that he’s not thinkin’ like regular folks.

It’s just that he couldn't take this eager young one turning him down, or shying away from him. It makes him timid in a way he hasn’t been in decades.

“I thought maybe, maybe invitin’ ‘em durin’ the bright light of day would be less, less, ya know, less susp–would raise less eyebrows.” Elvis tries to explain and Charlie really gives it the old college try to understand why his usually very entitled friend is suddenly reverting to teenage levels of strategizing to hang out with some chicks. “But now it seems like it could, could be t-taken wrong.” He’s thinking of Gigi in a swimsuit, he’s thinking of her bouncing through his trophy room headed to the pool like she bounced on the sidewalk, he’s thinking of how knowing Tammy had looked when he’d badgered her for information on her folks. Tammy has him spooked, he supposes, has him second guessing his own motives a little.

“Which nose are we worried about bein’ too ‘on’?” Charlie asks gently, and Elvis hates him for it.

“Ginger’s! And fuck you Charlie you know already, it’s Ginger’s.”

“If it’s Ginger who you’re concerned about being put out by your guests,” Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, “then I suggest you worry about her chin, not her nose. The thing’s huge, bound to be too ‘on’ it no matter what ya do.”

Elvis chuckles weakly out of sheer appreciation for Charlie’s loyalty, “Is that where I been goin’ wrong with that broad all this time? Lordy, I ain’t even tried to sit on that face, what’s she so put out for? Just anticipatin’ me bein’ too on the nose? Didn’t seem to think all that fuckin’ jewelry was too on the nose, coulda bought her one a’those Indian nose ring thingys and I reckon she’d have snatched it oughta my palm fast as anythin’.”

“Some folks are born put out.” Charlie philosophizes and continues rummaging some more in the guitar case, pulling out picks and wadded sheet music.

“I invited them today, they turned me down; they’re busy with somethin’.” Elvis admits softly, because he had tried to put this off for about five hours without her knowledge, then the Bible verse this mornin’ happened to be a little too ‘ the nose’ regarding deceitful intentions and he’d rung her up, been straight up about wantin’ her over.

Ginger said no. Declined. That’s how she put it. She was always havin’ to decline him. Except for his money and his trips. That she had an open sieve of a purse for.

The fact Charlie is as unsurprised by her avoidance as he is, suggests Elvis really is a sucker. He gnaws his cuticles bloody. “I should call it off.” He realizes.

“Yeah, what’s holdin’ ya back?” Charlie doesn’t even sound remotely sympathetic and Elvis thinks maybe he hasn’t been sly about lining up a replacement if even his friends know not to pretend to be sad.

“Her family spooks me.” He admits softly, “I got’a feelin’ about them, like they’re gonna raise a ruckus if I don’t go through with it.”

Charlie looks uncomfortable for the first time in this little gossip session. “Sounds familiar,” he ventures so carefully Elvis immediately knows he’s referring to Cilla and her folks. Referencing the day that won’t be mentioned and the threatened law suits and the getting wrung dry and the whole fuckin’ mess he’d made of what ought’ve been a blessed endeavor. Instead, he married a woman outta compulsion and reaped the seeds of it six years later.

“Reckon you’ve tried this before–pacifyin’ folks.” Charlie sounds scared but whether it’s of his decision or for offering an unasked opinion, Elvis doesn't know. “Reckon you should think about what you want, E. What you want for your life. Hell man, you may be halfway done already, you really doin’ what ya want? Maybe ya are, I'm just sayin’–you’re Elvis Presley! Ain’t anything worse they gonna say about ya than they already have, and nothin’ more tragic than havin’ all you’ve got and not doing what’s good for ya.”

Elvis thinks about the deluge of infamy that’s coming his way in a few months, not a single publisher bending to his coaxing or demands for a retraction of Red and Sonny’s little tattle-tale novella. Bastards. Those disloyal bastards.

Gently ditching a frigid woman back outta his home into her daddy’s paid for and well-furnished house is hardly gonna be the most breaking news. And by that time, ain’t no one gonna wanna come over here for pool parties or game nights or stop him on the street for an autograph. No one’s gonna want him by then, might as well enjoy the company while he can.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today anyway,” he adds in glum summary.

“So?” Charlie tries to cheer him, “I’m sure the gals have noticed the weather and they’ll bring stuff for it, change of clothes and all that. EP, we’ve never run outta stuff to do here, have we? It’s your home, you don’t gotta perform. Can always make it a movie night or somethin’.”

Watching a movie sat next to Gigi in a skimpy bathing suit cover might be worse than watching her frolic in his pool. Elvis gnaws on his thumbnail and smashes the piano keys. Charlie doesn't even jump from the sudden noise. “What time is it?” he asks Charlie even though he has a wrist watch.

“It’s still before noon,” Charlie looks up at him from his place on the floor pointedly, “they won’t be here for another three hours. George’ll be here maybe a half hour before, since ya asked him.”

Elvis's stomach will be in complete knots by then, he knows it, and his mood will be foul for the pinching pain of it and then sitting out in the baking, humid summer heat under a gray sky that won’t rain will sound like shit. He growls and starts playing that classical piece he was trying to learn last tour.

_____________________________

Gigi’s head already aches from the plastered-high ponytail Tammy hair-sprayed her wavy locks into and she knows her face is coated in far too many layers of makeup for a pool party. It’s not what she would have chosen but she considers it a win to be walking out the door of their apartment in something more decent than the nylon scraps suggested to her as a swimsuit by her friends. It’s one thing to be aided in a little primping by one’s gals who seem hell bent on depositing a buddy into Elvis’s bed, it’s quite another to feel more than a little pimped out.

Gigi has a feeling that half of this hilarity may be selfless giggles over one of their own catching his eye, but the other half is definitely some old style sorority cunning. Whoever the mythic, absent and supposedly current girlfriend of the King is, she’s been earning Tammy’s hatred since grade school. And Gigi has a feeling that she herself is but a gilded instrument of destruction for said girlfriend. It gives her pause. About five seconds worth before she’s clambering into the back of the ride sent for them, trying to keep her swim skirt down so she doesn’t flash Lamar.

Gigi may be a bit jaded from personal loneliness, but she figures it’s free-game to pick up something someone left on the sidewalk. Things that are precious to somebody are tucked in pockets or kept in safes or worn around the neck like a talisman. They never get a chance to end up on the sidewalk.

Precious things aren’t sent off to college with no roadmap and only the weekly phone call or left to rot away in their own sprawling houses utterly bereft of company.

She pulls at her ponytail and determines to have fun. And be a little bold. It’s why she wore a skirt and razor back swim top that is more sporty than seductive–she figures that if she can keep his attention by her behavior, that’ll be the only way she can manage to tolerate it. Too much male assessment turns her into an idiot, the other night proved that, and she’d like to feel free to act in a way that might make him laugh like he had at other folks' charades.

She wants to laugh at these flimsy precautions against Elvis’ legendary hypnotizing capabilities. She just tugs at her skirt bottom and admires the way Tammy’s red swim top has her spilling out like a Bond Girl. She kicks at the duffel bag holding their change of clothes hoping it rains, she loves swimming in the rain. Bike riding in it, too, anything but these ironclad skies that trap the thick air down here but don’t send a refreshing shower. She’s got her face pressed to the Cadillac’s window when the wall whizzes by her view and then the car is turning and there’s Graceland, up on its hill, looking a little somber in the pale afternoon light.

They aren’t dropped off at the front this time, “That’s for guests and the boss himself.” Lamar explains as he pulls around to the side and slots into the humongous garage.

“What’s that make us?” Dinah asks, unabashedly enjoying the way she makes the amiable fella wait for her to adjust her bikini bottoms before stepping out the door he opens for them.

“Friends, silly.” Lamar has seen a thing or two and while coral neon high risers on gleaming chocolate skin might be pretty eye-catching, Dinah’s got more work cut out for than that, if she wants to fluster him.

Which Gigi isn’t sure why anyone would, he’s nice and keeps to himself and is good humored. She gives some frantic thought as to whether she can recall meeting a wife of his or not before she’s being herded with the rest through the sea of vehicles parked in Elvis Presley’s garage and in through the back door.

They’re immediately in the cozy dark upon stepping inside. The cool, crisp air-conditioned breeze cuts through the thick of outside and Gigi feels like she’s finally able to breathe. Next comes the unmistakable smell of burgers and through low lighting and dark painted paneling she realizes they’ve stepped into the kitchen.

There’s an immaculately polished black woman at the sink and leaning next to her, beside a row of sweating sweet teas, is Elvis, making conversation and caught by his guests mid-snicker.

There’s something so strangely mundane about the scene to Gigi that her heart lurches. The domesticity of fresh-cut onions and the comfy slouch of yet another tracksuit–it has a powerful effect on her and she finds herself beaming in gratitude at being invited back. The fact the kitchen is carpeted registers about a minute later as she scuffs her sandaled foot nervously across it, her toes dragging against the plush as she waits for the crowd in front of her, one-by-one hugging their host hello, to thin out enough for her to get at him.

She’s gonna hug him this time, she’s sworn to herself she will.

“What? No Keds? Where’d the Keds go, darlin’?” is what happens instead, Elvis frozen with his arms wide open to hug her and his eyes pinned to her french-tip pedicure like she’s Liberace and done forgot her piano.

“I thought this was a pool day.” She scrambles, and that’s enough for him to drag his eyes up the leggy length of her to meet her own blue ones, still looking like he’s in great consternation over her omission. “Is your pool bottom really that rough?” She teases and is pleased when that wipes the silly pantomime of alarm off his handsome face.

His thick sideburns draw up with his smile, pulling towards his ears like the creases around his eyes and he grins, “No doll, neither my pool or its bottom’s rough. You c’mon through right here, make yourself comfortable. You like burgers, honey?”

“I do!” she replies and obeys the outspread arm that sabotages her intended hug, directing her to the barstools at the counter instead.

“Sit yourself down and I’ll get’chu one.” He assures her earnestly before leaving her side and shuffling around the industrious lady he’d been caught gossiping with.

“I’m Gigi,” she offers to the lady from across the counter, watching as she slides the plates around and sets out the usual condiments in a tidy row.

“Mary darlin’, this is Gigi,” Elvis spins halfway through his trek to the fridge , the quick movement belying his bulk and he throws an arm around Mary’s shoulders while making the introduction as if Gigi hadn’t begun it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mary.” Gigi carries on normally as does Mary herself, warmly shaking her hand over the bun basket.

“Miss Cherry Coke?” Mary’s eyes glimmer mischievously up at her boss who tucks his head shyly in response, “Miss, we’ve got the whole top fridge stocked with the stuff, you give the word and I’ll have a case poolside for ya.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Gigi splutters, “and not at all necessary I-I can make my own burger too, let me help–”

“Sit down, you’re in my house, I’m makin’ your burger.” Elvis commands and Gigi’s bottom has barely left the barstool before she flops back down with a plop that makes the deflated cushion wheeze. “What’cha like on it, baby?” He asks then, suddenly soft as butter.

Between the pet names and the unlikeliness of Elvis Presley actually making her a burger while wearing an unzipped track suit and a king's ransom worth of rings in his own kitchen, Gigi is liable to forget whether she likes ketchup or frog legs on a burger.

“How do you like it?” She counters as if they’re in some argument and he looks surprised by that before leaning towards her, belly pressed into the counter, explaining in loving detail his preference for the onion/pickle ratio and the importance of cooked meats. The sheer amount of thought and stubborn preference for his food prep that comes out in this explanation takes her by complete surprise, not expecting him to care so much about something so trivial. His music or his career or films maybe, she might not have been so surprised, but he seems very much in love with cheeseburgers and helplessly she murmurs, “I'll have it however you like yours done.”

The moment is interrupted by the loud slurp of Tammy’s straw running out of carbonated beverage at the bottom of her bottle. Gigi had quite forgotten there was anyone else here for a minute. She spends the rest of the wait trying not to be obvious about the way she drools at his elegant hands as they meticulously pile on diced onion and bacon bits, sparkling ruby rings and glinting emeralds the only reds or greens let near the food.

He slides the plate her way, determined not to be shy but hopes she doesn't notice the way he watches her from beneath his lashes as she bites into his creation. Her cheeks bulge from the size of her bite and her puffy lips strain to keep her manners and after a few workings of her jaw he sees her eyes light up with childlike enjoyment, then roll back in her head with an appreciative moan. He chuckles and pushes his glasses back up his sweaty nose.

Damn affection, he’s in love. Oh merciful Jesus, not again.

Out by the pool, a few folks sit beside it with their toes dipping in, sloshing at the crystal clear water while a few brave and stupid souls take to the loungers as if the sky overhead wasn’t implacably slate colored. Tammy had told Gigi not to dunk her head in, to keep her shoulders at least above water or else the makeup would run. Gigi thought maybe the makeup should have been left off altogether but it’s too late now and it looks like no one’s going in all the way anyway, her little perch on the diving board isn’t conspicuous with everyone else staying out. A pool is a pool in Gigi’s mind, sunny weather or not, but she feels like it would be childish to jump in and no one else follow. She feels young enough here, so, demurely, she hangs her legs off the diving board and makes conversation with Mr. Hodge about Elvis’ army days.

Elvis himself is still in the house, something about cigars and Sam coming over. When he comes out the pool house door he has his tracksuit undone and an added navy t-shirt beneath it, swim shorts replacing the tracksuit bottoms and Gigi’s mouth starts to water from…nostalgia…she thinks. Beside him is a terribly tall young guy with a mustache and two kids trailing after them. And then there’s two young women, followed by a mature couple; their parents it would seem by the familial resemblance in the jaw.

“Y’all, this is my friend Sam, and his lil critters.” Elvis announces for the girl’s benefit, “He’s a cop, so don’t y’all go tellin’ him nothin’ ‘bout the charades the other night.” He taps his nose as if they’d gotten up to obscene rituals and Sam just rolls his eyes before shaking hands. “And these here are the Aldens, Mister, Missus, Ginger and Rosemary; this is Tammy and Dinah and Marie and Gigi–” he points out one bathing-suited beauty after another with studied nonchalance.

“Nice to meet y’all.” Gigi gives a wave, wondering if she should get up off the diving board to greet them or take a cue from Elvis's casualness and stay put.

Judging by the Superman-level beams of hatred forming between Tammy and Ginger, she figures it’s best to hunker down next to Charlie Hodge and keep her head down.

It makes her jump when Charlie outs their little haven by piping up with a, “I thought E said y’all were gonna be busy in Nashville today, Ginger.”

It makes Ginger look over at them and while Gigi has done nothing but have her head patted and swallowed down every greasy pound of the burger made for her, she feels like a skank under Ginger’s burning assessment.

“We didn’t wanna miss it.” She replies off-handedly after her inspection and turns back to Elvis who is shuffling her along the patio towards a lounger like she’s some decrepit grandma.

“Here, Ginger dear,” he’s got the same voice on that he uses with interviewers and it makes Ginger scowl and Tammy smirk, “how bout we set ya all up nice and comfy here, there we go. We’ll getcha all set up and you can watch from here, know ya can’t go in, it bein’ your time of the month and all.”

It’s funny how his tone is discreet while his volume is anything but, reaching even Gigi and Hodge at the far end, making the slight man snicker at some inside joke Gigi resigns herself to not get. He sees her confusion.

“Ginger here happens to have her period about ten times a month.” He whispers conspiratorially and Gigi gasps.

“Poor woman!” She winces at the mere concept, “Has nobody found a remedy?”

“Not yet.” Hodge shrugs, “Elvis has paid for her to be seen but no luck yet. Still, doesn’t seem to slow her down much, a hearty sorta girl. Except for pool days and sleep overs.” He adds before sipping his Coke noisily.

Gigi turns crimson at this backstage confession from so polite and circumspect a man as Charlie Hodge. She feels like Tammy may not be the only one trying to maneuver her into his friend’s arms. She sighs; she’d like to end up there, she’d also just like to swim in Graceland’s pool without a load of drama surrounding it.

“Why are we all out here anyway?” Ginger asks loud enough for it to carry to Gigi and Hodge on the diving board, “It’s been cloudy all day and the forecast is rain, if you wanted a pageant I coulda taken you to New York, baby.”

She pats Elvis' shoulder in that curious way that Gigi has noticed non-tactile oriented folks use to try to make connection with touchy folks.

Pat pat pat.

Body entirely angled away, no lingering weight after the pressure, no squeeze at the end, no dip down that broad back–it’s the sorta touch that’s worse, grating even, than nothing at all, in Gigi’s experience. Isolating, lonesome, a mockery of what it ought to be. Her heart slams in her throat like she’s watching some old trauma, and maybe she is, but she feels a compulsion to put the pressure back on, laying hands on the wound, steady and firm and untiring.

It’s stupid. But so is the silence that follows Ginger’s criticism of the weather.

“Don’t have to have the sun out to swim.” Gigi observes cheerily, looking around hopefully for someone to agree, Tammy won’t stop smirking and glancing back and forth like watching a ping pong tournament.

“No, but nobody likes to without it.” Ginger frowns at her in confusion.

“I don’t get why?” Gigi presses, genuinely confused herself. “It’s not like we can tan when we’re up to our necks in water. I’d know, I had a blistered face and pasty legs in June, last year, from a monkey in the middle game that lasted too long." She laughs and Hodge and Elvis glance down at her mentioned legs before they laugh too, maybe just to break the tension that seems to be forming in the humid air.

“You’re just sayin’ that to humor this guy.” Ginger cracks a joke of her own, thumbing at Elvis who sits at the foot of Rosemary’s lounge, looking as absolutely glum as the rest of them feel.

“No, no, I’m not actually.” Gigi’s soft voice insists and in a frustrated little huff over the way everyone’s behaving like kids but not in a fun way, decides to stand up on the diving board, her posture purposeful.

“Whoa, whoa oh, ok wait, Gigi no!” Hodge takes in her determination a touch too late as those track hardened legs start a bounce on the board that threatens to send him flying like a kid letting go of a see-saw.

The last bounce sends them both, Gigi in a gorgeous tan legged arch into the water with her swim skirt fanning like one of Renoir’s tutus, and Charlie Hodge splatting beside her a split second later, polo shirt soaked and flat on his back.

The spray of their splash dilutes Ginger’s martini and through the haze of her bitchin’ Elvis licks the chlorine drops off his upper lip and lumbers himself up and over to the pool side in time to see her surface.

She’s laughing. Sopping wet and mascara running, entirely in her element now, Gigi’s laughing.

“How’s the bottom baby?” he asks her with a grin, crouching down to her level and desperate for this to be more somehow, for her to be humoring him like Ginger said. He thinks he’ll be done if that’s all, though. He hopes that Gigi just so happens to enjoy burgers the way he makes them and swimming beneath clouds. Like he does.

“Smooth.” she grins back after dragging her eyes away from the spread width of his crotch, something calculated in her eyes soothing the tiny part of him quibbling over her youth. She ain’t a baby, she’s a big tittied young woman. “S’real smooth Mr. Presley.” She's treading water and it makes her voice breathy.

“Well, go touch it f’me baby.” He tells her.

“Why?” she perks up.

“Why?” He repeats, rhetorically, standing up from his crouch and throwing off his tracksuit jacket with all the show he puts into fanning out his capes on stage. It’s too late the little kohl-eyed bambi begins to backpedal in the water, “Cause–CANNONBALL.”

More chlorinated water splashes up Gigi’s nose and into her eyes, making her gasp and wheeze, blinking through a burning film of melting mascara as Elvis Presley surfaces like a leviathan of the deep not even a full two feet away from her. He shakes his hair out of his face and grins at her like a little boy immensely pleased with himself. Jet black hair pushed back and glasses lost in the dive, he looks unbearably soft. Gigi thinks she may have cooed as she tried to clap when he made his appearance.

“C’mere lil one, your eyes’r smartin’, ain’t they?” He swirls his arm out in the water and effortlessly, like scooping up a partner in a tango, hooks his arm around her and draws her closer. Electrified by the beefiness of his arm around her waist, she almost misses when he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks on it before bringing the spit-slicked digit to her face. Swiping at her under eyes, gently following along the water line, returning the black finger tip back to his pink tongue, then back again to her eyelashes. Again and again until he’s satisfied with the tidying and enough of the goopy cosmetic has been removed for her to make out each individual pore on his godlike face. “There, thas’ more like it,” he examines his work and she sways towards him in the water like she’s been hypnotized, her face still buzzing from the electricity of his touch, “more like a pretty Southern peach, ‘stead of a raccoon.”

“I told Tammy it was silly.” Gigi whispers, the bulk of him so near her blocks out the rest of the world and her voice dips accordingly, feeling intimate.

“Tammy, doll,” he spins round and the motion releases Gigi, she floats beside him bereft and suddenly cold in the pool without his nearness, “sugar, don’t go makin’ this pretty gal look like a rodent when God’s given her plenty on her own.”

“I do not look like a rodent.” Gigi protests through giggles as Tammy slithers into the pool with a shrug, careful to keep her own face out of the water.

“Sweetie, I’m the one lookin’ at ya.” He points out in that fatally parental way and reaches for her neck once more, taking a good grip before he dunks her backwards in the pool, with barely time for her to hold her breath. Bizarre and a bit threatening as the action is, all Gigi can feel is his warm hand again, and the press of rings biting into her throat, the promise of his body that she’s not yet been jostled close enough to feel, but looming ever near her.

“Elvis baby, you’ve lost your glasses.” Ginger is saying when Gigi is finally let back up after her extended baptism and, with a little flail, she regains autonomy from his grip as he lets her go like he’s been burned.

He hadn’t seemed that worried about the glasses before Ginger pointed it out, but his hasty movement away from her makes Gigi think that it concerns him.

“I’ll get ‘em.” She reassures Ginger before wheezing back in a breath and arching into the water, the splash of her little footsies upending the last anyone saw of her for a brief moment until she appeared in the shallow, holding them up triumphantly.

The solitary, slow clap that could be heard belonged to Mrs. Alden.

“Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine, ya big–” Tammy was snapping at the older woman suddenly and Gigi, freshly discombobulated from resurfacing, decided against figuring that one out, the feud going beyond her even at her most mentally capable periods.

“Get in here fools, Ricky, Charlie, Dinah, c’mon.” Elvis was motioning to his fellas, conspicuously ignoring the venom spitting between the ladies, “Sam, you’re gonna be our monkey.” He directed the overly tall cop to the accompanying protests of the pool’s occupants. “Lotta sissies you are, can’t take a challenge head on.” Elvis chided them and the game was on.

For the next half hour Gigi treaded water in the deep end and tried to help Dinah and Ricky get the ball past the unreasonably tall cop in the middle. Trying to smack it into the shallow side where Elvis was waded around waist deep, in the water, T-shirt clinging to the dip of his pecs and adhered to the swell of his belly like a second skin, effortlessly hefting Sam’s young kids up to take a smack at the ball themselves from time to time. Gigi didn’t think there’d ever been a fella as entranced by the sight of bikini clad babes bouncing around in aquatic sports as she was with such effortless masculinity displayed in the good humor of his backyard. Her heart hurt at the sudden gaping hole in the house, in the pool, in his life–his little girl! She should be here, his child should be here.

Before Gigi had known how domestic and serene life could be at Graceland, it had made sense the rockstar probably wouldn’t have full custody of a kid. She’d imagined wild parties and coke tidily lined up on the back of the toilet in the bathroom for convenient snorting, stripper poles in the living room festooned with real live women of the night. But instead, there was just a beautiful, vigorous, sweet man throwing pool parties to any who would come to keep him from being lonesome.

That old feeling of wanting to hold onto him and not let go, make him let go first, came back. Maybe she’d been staring too long, or more likely, maybe Gigi hadn’t noticed half the spray sprinkling them was now raindrops and not pool splash–either way, Ginger and her familial entourage made a rather large to-do about the little shower. Encouraged to go inside they refused, and while slightly miffed by the needless interruption, the pool’s occupants varied their sport to a rather unorthodox version of Marco Polo.

Ricky led the way by closing his eyes and calling out “Marco” to which every girl, with the innate sense of those being hunted, tried to flee in the water from his grabby hands while answering “Polo” in barely audible titters.

Dinah escaped a close call by diving underwater and slithering away while Sam went on the defensive and splashed water at the kid’s nose until he could barely call out “Marco.” Gigi wasn’t as lucky, trapped between the steps and Hodge she was cornered on the third round, helpless to do anything but press against the poolside and answer “Polo” to each one of Ricky’s ever leering calls, closer and closer to her.

“Time out, time out!” Elvis snapped and Ginger peered over her glasses with knowing suspense but Ricky, quite caught up in the game kept swashing forward in the shallow towards Gigi, blindly reaching out for her shoulder only for at the first tiny touch to it, he got slapped upside the head by a very proactive Lamar who wanted to save the kid from a more fatal fate.

“Boss called a time out, idiot.” he grumbled loudly, pulling him away from Gigi’s glistening tan shoulders.

“Yeah, time out!” Tammy faked a sigh of exhaustion even though she’d done little moving through the game, “Can we get some drinks out here? Got any papaya juice left, E?”

“Oh I swear to God!” Ginger’s sunglasses landed on the cushion with a clatter, finally losing all patience with some inside barb thrown her way.

“What?” Tammy asks with far too much innocence.

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

“Drinks? What?” Tammy scoffs, “I wasn’t asking you to get them, don’t get all huffy at me.”

“The papaya shit–”

“Hey language, ladies.” Charlie tries to intervene.

Elvis knows Tammy is weedling a fight outta Gingersnap and a month ago he might’ve had it in him to play the gentleman and defend his supposed gal, and an hour or two ago he might’ve found it fun to sit back and watch the cat fight, but there’s rain droplets splattering the pool surface and he knows she’s gonna suggest going in and he wants to make everyone else regret this about as much as he is until he sees her face.

Gigi’s.

Looking for all the world like she’s sad and scared this shitty little party is gonna end. Looking to him to keep her playtime going. Up against the pool wall as the rain splatters her freckles, mostly put out that her turn has been cut short because Elvis's jealous streak can’t take Ricky or anyone else touching her besides him but he can’t bring himself to touch her for fear she won’t purr under his hand.

Gigi’s eyes leave Tammy and Ginger’s verbal sparring and seek his own out pleadingly. His command for everyone to shut the fuck up and go inside or else leave his property dies on his lips. Instead he tries to smile back at her, finding it’s been a little while since he played at accommodating anyone, but he’s willing to try for her, to give her back her playtime. She reminds him of his younger self, such a live wire, attuned and vibrating to every emotion. She needs a calming hand, a weighted presence to tether her. Instead he just reminds the squabbling pool’s occupants,

“Gigi’s it.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Ginger can bitch and Tammy can poke and everyone else can go to hell, he’s gonna play in his pool. With Gigi. It’s her turn to play Marco. Those blue eyes dance back to life and she’s smiling so wide he feels like maybe he’s unleashed the sun, fully cheerful and fully lethal all at once.

Her eyes close but her mouth stays wide and smiling and she utters “Marco” with giddy excitement and Charlie gives him a look he knows, a look of a sure-fire backstage hookup but Elvis isn’t sure, not sure this time until she’s weaved through multiple “Polo’s” and is hunting him down with giggling ferocity. And Elvis is fucked, he’s fucked and his heart is beating in wild excitement and panic as she begins to splash towards him and her palms land squarely on the now squishy mounds of his chest.

He used to have such a nice physique. Strapping, some said, maybe never a real ripped fella but fine and toned and lean. But now all he’s got are man tiddies and his cheeks flame hot under the cool splash of water as her hands splay against his soft chest, the contact winding him, grounding him, making him yearn and shrink all at once.

She’s merciless, hands trailing over the dips of his chest and over his shoulders and down to the beginning of his belly, dragging his wet t-shirt across his sensitive skin, patting him down firmly in the way of someone who savors flesh. He thinks he’s found one of his own.

“Hmm, Lamar?” Gigi guesses but the coy lift of her lips tells him it’s a joke. Still he wants to wince.

Gigi hopes he knows she is teasing, she doesn't even think to make it a barb. Lamar is lovely and so is Elvis and she would do and say anything to prolong the contact she has on the wet material of his shirt, wiry chest hairs faintly ticklish beneath the soaked cotton, the heat and the heft and the way his chest is heaving beneath her hands–Gigi is struck with the reminder of how she fantasized about him, about the bulk of him and the sturdiness she’s now mapping out. If only he was shirtless and–there’s a nipple–his breath is ghosting over her face, she’s so close and she’s being shameless, she knows, but he’s lovely. He’s so lovely under her hands, and she can feel the thump thump thump of his heart soaking up her attention and she knows he’s been lonely for this. She hopes he can feel it through her playful hands–

You’re lovely, this has been lovely, thank you for this, can you feel how fond I am?

–she thinks she hears someone sneeze and she thinks she hears talking but it’s his breaths, labored and fast, that she listens to, senses attentive, squeezing at the soft flesh of his bicep. There’s corded muscle beneath the fluff, she barely gets a squeeze in before she’s palpably reminded that it’s Elvis she’s pawing at when he drawls, thick and forced,

“You got a strong enough grip on that honey? Did I not feed ya enough in the house that ya gonna start pulling meat off the bone?”

She pops her eyes open at that, mortified at first except he looks so pleased by her squeezing, more pleased and happy than he’s been all day and it makes her brave.

“Why, it’s Elvis!” She teases in surprise and is comforted by the hot flare of temper she sees in his face as he entertains the brief concept of her groping anyone else like this, “I could eat you up.” She admits lowly, and it feels like a natural thing to say, the sorta oddball shit you say to cute little babies–or to Elvis Presley when he’s soft and firm and giving and impossibly broad beneath your hands.

“Ya watch y’self lil baby or I’ll eat you first.” He responds careless and calm before snapping his teeth at her in a way that both scares her from its sudden shift and sends molten heat down between her legs at its possibilities.

She chooses to squeal and instead of fleeing in the water, takes refuge from his snapping mouth by scurrying behind him in the water and hunkering down from the threat, plastering herslef to his wet back. The grunt he makes when she pulls herself up by his shoulders is that of a middle aged man playing at being put out over being used as a jungle gym, but like most things he does, teeth snapping and grunting and meticulous burger layering, she finds it obscenely attractive and moans a little herself, finally getting a good press on some part of him, even if it’s just his back.

Elvis has quite forgotten anyone or anything else besides the playful little critter plastering her tits to his back and giggling breathy in his ear. He thinks he notices the way the boys resume the game and Dinah tries to revive the sport while he and this minx just float like mama and baby otter on the sidelines. He doesn’t notice much else beside the fact that she’s taken to tidying him like he tidied her, fingernails rubbing his wet sideburns back down and thumbing at his eyebrow when a commotion on the pool deck gains his attention, tearing him away from the lovely yet mortifying ordeal of Gigi humming over the discovery of too much grease in his rain sodden hair.

It appears Mrs. Alden and Ginger are having it out between each other again on the pool patio, without Rosemary as a referee for once, and Elvis would like to ignore it in favor of thinking of something to talk to this sweet girl about except that there’s a slight tussle on the sidelines and before he–or Ginger it seems–can process anything, Ginger herself is being encouragingly shoved into the deep end by her mother.

Upon surfacing, Ginger makes for him like a downed airman would an atole in the vast pacific, whining all the way like she got dumped in acid instead of saline. He’s always been this way with folks, with women and with men, puzzled as to why he tolerates shit for so long when the breath of fresh air is clinging to his back. It’s a free country, Ginger can whine about pool water all she wants, doesn’t mean he’s gotta feel bad that there’s something about the way that twenty year old gal hasn’t got a lick of child left in her that makes his affection for her curdle like spoiled milk. The giggling limpet on his back laughs before registering that Ginger is unlike her, and the pool is causing her distress. Gigi starts to let go of Elvis’ back in an unconscious reaction to aid her, he finds himself trying to clutch her hands to keep her pressed to his back.

They fumble, they clutch, Gigi slips from his back and it’s as if the water has gone freezing to him. The replacement of Ginger hanging off him does nothing to replace that soothing warmth, though he pats Ginger soothingly, wondering if now would be a bad time to tell her it’s over. It was over ever since a while back, but not being able to make it today, then able to make it only to stake her claim, and now this fawning over him -he’s done. It’s over, he starts freezing and suddenly the raindrops aren’t so playful. He hopes to god his gamble won’t leave him burned and alone again.

“Shh. S’alright honey, gimme your hand.” he mumbles as he leads Ginger to the shallow end, to the pool steps and railing while the rest of the pool’s occupants clear out as fast as rats from a sinking ship when the murky pool water shows she’s not bluffing on her period this time.

Ginger gives him a withering look and he thinks he’s gonna get blamed for her mother’s poor choice in house manners when he finds her staring down at his shorts, and maybe the water wasn’t cold enough cause he’s chubbed up and bent to the side beneath the wet fabric, acting up despite the embarrassment of being felt in his whole entirety by Gigi. He clears his throat and finds himself tugging at his pant leg as they toddle off together, not even trying to act like it’s for her–they’d both know better than that. It’s over, it’s past that. It’s over.

Gigi lags behind in the pool and Elvis doesn’t know why until she’s jogged back up to them, almost to the trophy room doors before she’s kneeling in front of Ginger, her lost sandal in her hand. “Here, I got it, ya don’t have to limp all the way back.” Gigi smiles up at her from her crouch, feckless crinkling and eyes guileless and even Ginger doesn't have it in her to be sour in the face of such unstudied kindness.

“Thanks.” Ginger gets out and digs her nails further into Elvis’ forearm as she leans her weight on him to slip the sandal on, acting as if a dunk in the pool left her mortally wounded.

Fast as lightning, he notices Gigi use the towel slung round her shoulder to dab at a trail of blood running down Ginger’s shin, a womanly little comradery to keep her from being embarrassed but Ginger says nothing and moves on, hastily, Elvis attached to her by her talons, and he hardly blames her. Kneeling -Gigi kneeling- isn’t what Little Elvis needs to be thinking about right now.

In the squelching wet walk back into the big house Elvis feels the compulsion to distract from the menstrual cause of the pool’s evacuation -and his offending boner- by making conversation between the two,

“S’alright,” he repeats, “Hodge and I were thinkin’ movie night or Monopoly if it ended up rainin’. And it was bound to, bound to start rainin’.”

As if that was the reason for getting out of the pool -it’s so gentlemanly of him, despite his palpable exasperation with the whole situation, that Gigi falls a little more in love just watching him be nice to another woman.

“Oh I love Monopoly!” Gigi offers with a genuine little skip in her step, fanning out her sporty swimskirt, half distracted as she passes by the glass showcases housing the awards given to him over his career. They glitter harshly under the low ceiling of fluorescent bulbs. It’s oddly tacky for such a wealthy man. It makes them seem more personal, like a fella got a lotta medallions and plaques for being lovely and stashed them in his pool house. “What’s the longest game you’ve ever played?” She asks since the silent trudge is getting oppressive.

“Lordy, back in ‘66 I think we had one last over three weeks.” He reminisces fondly.

“No way.” She swears.

“Yeah, yeah kept the board all set up in the music room.” He assures her. “Reckon our banker was crooked.” He divulges and Gigi giggles.

“We do a lot of reading.” Ginger offers randomly and Gigi perks up at that bit of information politely.

“Oh? What on?”

“Any and all sorts of subjects.” Ginger smiles sweetly, the sorta sweet smile he used to try to earn, now it makes him wanna shake her off his arm.

“I used to enjoy it but I think college is burning me out on books.” Gigi admits.

“That’s right, you’re in college.” Ginger reminds with a significant look in Elvis’ direction.

“First year.” Gigi nods, looking a little shell shocked.

“Whatcha majoring in?” he asks her earnestly and Gigi realizes they’re near the same height, her long limbs finally giving her an advantage as they lock eyes over Ginger’s head.

Embarrassment floods her as she has to admit to this older and unbelievably successful man, “I still haven’t decided.” She is lost and tired and lonely and that is probably why she gets off to the thought of him telling her he’s gonna baby her. Shame scorches her cheeks and he tsks before reaching over Ginger’s shoulder to pat it calm, rings chilling her fevered flesh, “My parents wanted me to go,” she finds herself purging the sentiment under his kindly eyes despite Ginger’s judicious stare, “but now I’m in, the subject -it’s up to me and I- well I don’t know yet.”

Elvis pauses in his swaying gait to relieve Charlie of the duty of holding open the side door into the main house, ushering Ginger in with a flick of his wrist and Gigi follows, limp necked and chastened. “You’re just a baby.” He is suddenly rumbling right in her ear as she passes him, as if picking up the conversation naturally but it makes her shiver in a hard, wanton shake at the sound of his voice so near. It has his eyebrow raising in some suspicion. “That’s a whole lotta weight to put on youth, ain’t no way you know what you’re fit for this soon honey, dontchu fret over it in the least.”

“Really?” She begs and feels his hand leave the door, no longer needing to be held open, and land on her back, smoothing her wet hair down her spine, rings catching and snarling in the waves.

“I mean it, you’re just a lil peanut, ain’t fair to ask ya to figure all that out right this minute.”

The sentiment mimics the mantra of Gigi’s homework meltdowns and four am panic attacks and she beams at him with utter relief, as if him having spoken what her gut tells her makes it gospel truth. She shudders and melts into that hand, covering an entire half of her face it feels, and the rest of her erupts in gooseflesh from the Arctic levels of AC he keeps in his house. She needs to be closer, she needs him to hold a lot more of her—

“We’re going to change before we get pneumonia.” Ginger announces loudly and they both jump, Elvis once again forgetting that there’s others hereabout, and Gigi from the cold shock of Ginger’s icy hand slithering into her own, tugging her to the hall bath. She trips over her own two feet to keep eye contact with him as long as possible, her cheek still glowing from his touch and reveling in the sight of him in the narrow hall with his belly outlined in stark relief by the clinging, wet t-shirt and his tiny shorts that have a little protrusion of their own…she hadn’t noticed it till now, and she wants to whimper, not from Ginger’s implacable grip on her hand but at the sight of that chubby little package pointing at her while tucked behind his inseam. She’s grinning wide and accusatory at him by the time Ginger hauls her around the corner and out of his sight, grinning as if glad that he was as big a pervert as she was, growing impossibly excited just by little touches and sweet banter.

Gigi’s not proud but she’ll admit she lost some valuable time staring into space, her mouth watering and her lips pursing at the thought of that little bulge. Staring into space as she waited for first Dinah and then Marie and maybe another to finish with the hall bath under the stairs, staring straight ahead at the paneling thinking about nothing but cock, plain and simple cock beneath a pendulous belly, as if she wasn’t currently occupying a most envied space in one of the most interesting houses in America. The portraits and gilding and artifacts were lost on her, catatonic she just thought of cupping it. She was almost entirely certain that she had been able to make out the fat little head of it beneath his shorts, the cone-like little–

It wasn’t any better in the privacy of the bathroom stripping out of her wet things and trying to rub off the cloying wet to slip into her sundress. Malleable and chilly in that post swim haze that often comes over children and dreamy young twenty years old girls, she meandered out of the bathroom and right into a spitting match.

Ginger Alden had deposited her by the hall bath after dragging her away, only to then leave herself and go upstairs to avail herself of the amenities up there. Only to be gently informed by Sam that those weren’t for her use any longer. Upstairs was for family and intimate circle: boss man said she wasn’t that no more. Boss man himself was in the downstairs room to the side that had once been Gladys’ room, slipping on a comfy tracksuit without the hassle of climbing the stairs, thinking about how Gigi relabeled a baby duckling tucking herself into the hollow of his palm and how he’d like to nuzzle at that fuzzy little head and-

So there was a spitting match going on. It was chiefly between Tammy and Ginger, although Rosemary and Missus added their own hits when the occasion afforded.

“Do your friends not mind you whoring them out for your own personal vendetta, Tammy?” Ginger enunciated very clearly in the front hall, just a few feet from the understairs bathroom.

“I dunno Darlin’, does your mama?” Tammy drawled.

“Where’s her boyfriend hmm? Doesn’t he care she’s throwing herself at another man?”

Gigi cracked open the door and hoped to God maybe the discussion was about Tammy’s house cat and not her.

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh great, oh perfect!” Ginger’s bangles rattled as she threw her hands up to the heavens, “Let me guess, she’s a pure as the driven snow virgin too, hmm?”

“If anyone can still be a virgin after getting eye fucked that much in a pool–” Tammy cackles and Gigi winces before slipping out of the bathroom fully and trying to make herself small against the wall.

“Language, young lady!” Mrs. Alden reprimands.

“That’s my fiancé!” Ginger wails, not to her supposed fiancé himself but her rival beauty queen contestant. “She’s all over my fiancé!”

“He sure ain’t all over you for bein’ a fiancé.” Tammy points out without a shred of anxiety over the point, eyeing the damage the pool did to her nails. “Where’s the ring, by the way?”

“Here!” Ginger held up her hand and the massive rock adorning it.

“Nah, I meant like, one he gave ya after that one.” Tammy’s chewing gum smacks with her sentences, “Not the ‘I’m desperately lonely marry me after three weeks and I’ll never mention it again’ ring. I meant like, another one, he’s given you a real promise ring hasn’t he? Oh c’mon he’s gotta, he’s so in looooove! You said so yourself, he’s sooo in loooove he’s gotta be pressin’ you for that date every second and loadin’ your hand up with promise rings. C’mon Ginger, show us, c’mon”

“I'm not above punching you, Tammy Anderson.” Gigi felt in her bones that Ginger meant it and stepped up, trying to gently pry the girls apart in their toe-to-toe verbal sparring just as Elvis issued out of the bedroom clad in a deliciously slouchy baby blue version of the black tracksuit he’d been wearing when they arrived. He looked so soft with his hair drying in tufts and his sideburns too, and the vast expanse of his chest the only cuddly looking thing in this frigid house. The soft tracksuit pants also conformed to every ripple of his steps and jiggle of his obviously unconfined package that was still faintly chubby and Gigi ogles him like he’s the display lollipops in an Ice Cream truck window.

“We have a connection!” Ginger is still protesting to the unfeeling jury that is Tammy’s gum smacking smirk. “A real, soulful connection–”

“–yeah, yeah sure cause reading books on crystals downstairs is a real connection.”

“–you aren’t here for it! you don’t know! We have a soul connection!”

“You sound like you’re talkin’ about someone’s grandpa.” Tammy wheezes, “Like, that’s exactly what some gal who don’t wanna give out talks about, like he’s some ancient little granddaddy and you read him shit while he’s in his rocker–”

“You bi–”

“–because getting treated like a nursing home inmate when he’s in the prime of life has sure gotta help that connection. Lord I’m shocked he hasn’t eloped with you yet, a real keeper.”

Gigi sees Elvis scan the surroundings judiciously before anyone notices he’s entered the main rooms again, clocking everyone’s position and attitude and when they lock eyes over the feuding gal’s heads she can’t help the compulsion she feels to lighten his mood, erase the furrow between his brows. She rolls her eyes over their drama and watches those pillowy cherub lips quirk up in reply.

“I dare you to try to handle what I’ve had to handle with his mood swings and his temper and getting goddamn shot at! I dare ya–”

“Maybe you should take an interest in shootin’ his guns, maybe he won’t point ‘em at you then.” Tammy suggests, “Gigi here’s a pretty good shot, actually. Grew up on her daddy’s big farm.”

Elvis is still smirking at her and she wonders if he is like her, only tiny portions of the conversation actually making it all the way into her ears, too preoccupied with things unsaid to be of any use for public conversation. Watching him walk across the room is only worse, the atmosphere changing as he passes, despite his casual demeanor and bulk he moves with a shocking amount of grace and poise –more than Gigi’s ever noticed another man carry.

“Would y’all like some refreshments?” Mary’s butting into the little squabble with a tray from the kitchen laden with poured up sodas and sweet teas as if anyone needs refreshing in this ice box of a house.

“Cherry Coke? Are you kidding me right now?” Ginger’s voice finally pitches up to near hysteric levels and Mrs. Alden grabs the half empty bottle off the tray to inspect the ingredients as if it’ll give her a recipe for dealing with freckled homewreckers.

“I-I-I didn’t choose it.” Gigi whimpers under Mrs. Alden’s glare, feeling compelled to defend herself under the withering derision.

“Mister Elvis stocked the fridge with ‘em jus’ for her visit.” Mary confirms helpfully with a beaming smile and if Mrs. Alden could turn any more ashen under her pancake makeup than she already is, she’d be positively ghastly.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s out!” Ginger suddenly hisses to her mom, catching sight of what Gigi’s been making bambi eyes at for over three minutes already. It’s amazing how efficiently the ladies put on a mask of decorum for Elvis’ benefit, all simpering smiles and polite acceptance of the drinks. Except in the criss-crossing of arms and the passive aggressive pinching of fingers around bottles on the tray, somehow the Cherry Coke tips over and spills its contents down the light, pretty patterned front of Gigi’s gauzy sundress.

Cherry-pink nipples, pebbled from the cold shock of a refrigerated christening, suddenly replaces anyone's objections regarding Cherry Coke. It’s obscene those breasts of hers, large and pendulous but curving upwards with obstinate perkiness as if preening hopefully for a compliment, salam-sized areolas emblazoning a landing strip for a tongue to lave… or maybe that’s just Elvis’ perception. Maybe they’re just Coke-soaked titties and he’s a gentleman so he disengages from his chat with Hodge about film selections and comes up, solicitously cooing which makes those nipples–somehow–perk even more.

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I wanna do that?”

Gigi really has to focus. This was worse than her attention span on homework. “Come on, let’s be nice.” She begs the girls, succeeding in pushing Tammy and Ginger apart just a little, which also gives Elvis a clear path to her. She’s so humiliated at this point that when she sees his determined gait towards her and compassionate face as he eyes her chest that she goes to him like a child with an owie that needs fixing, utterly sure he has the anecdote.

“Oh darlin, s’alright, we’ll get ya sorted with somethin’ else to wear.” He behaves so familiarly as he comes up to her and tucks her into his side that she melts into the gesture, following his lead as he steers her away from prying eyes as she willingly follows, not processing that they’re nearing the foot of the stairs, “You brought somethin’ else to wear?”

“This was it.” She whispers in defeat because it was supposed to be a swim date and she only brought along something beyond a scrap of fabric to wear–despite Tammy’s protests–because she suspected rain and being housebound.

“S’alright little dolly, I’ll get ya covered again,” he says very gravely and it makes her shiver, “modesty is a virtue, darlin, glad to see ya have it naturally.”

She stalls at the foot of the stairs, suddenly realizing his intention is to take her up there. Her cheeks flame red at the implication of both being invited to his private space for God knows what purpose and being invited while his supposed girlfriend is barred from such spaces. Everything in her being longs for it but suddenly there is a nagging, a real fear she’s doing wrong somehow and that if she gave into this, it would taint what oughta be a blissful first time in the arms of a man she’s fantasized about for years. It isn’t fair and she wants to stamp her feet, instead she feels her eyes pooling with tears and her lip wobbling and that ole cry baby nickname sure proves its mettle as she drags her feet and makes him pause right before the first step.

“Elvis this isn’t–I’m not comfortable with this–I wanna but–” she stares miserably up at the portrait of a young, golden haired version of himself on the landing and vaguely wonders if his sons would look like that, if anyone were to give him one.

“Oh, naw, naw don’t cry lil one, tell me what’s wrong?” his hands flutter over the outline of her shoulders as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. She wants to glue them onto her body but instead she glances back at the crowd behind them that aren’t even bothering to act preoccupied. Elvis gets the message loud and clear. “Aww I see,” he mutters, “let’s step right in here then, fix ya up with somethin’ at least. Won’t be nice and girlish like intended,” he sounds like he’s moping a bit but he leads her towards the room he went into to change into his tracksuit, sidestepping their onlookers, “but it’ll keep ya cozy. And ya won’t have to go to no bachelors room alone, keep ya reputation all clean.” He loads Gigi’s clouded concerns with heavy amounts of motivation and moralisms she’s never even considered but she doesn’t care as she savors the feel of his hand on her waist, guiding her to a lavender-shaded room.

On the purple quilt of the solitary bed lies a rumpled tracksuit jacket, the one he’d been wearing when they first arrived and Gigi seizes it lovingly, like a child might a long lost stuffy, holding it to her nose and smelling it. To her relief it’s every bit as musky as she hoped. Maybe that way she can be surrounded by him without making an absolute fool of herself. Elvis watches her bury her tear stained face in his old jacket and has to heave in a breath to steady himself. There’s something akin to the adoring fan about Gigi that unsettles him but coupled with that unique irreverence she showed him in the pool, he could craft something here, from this young girl, something that would fill the slot he needs filled so badly.

She might as well be a child, his own Yisa, her eyes are so vulnerable when she raises her head and meets his, jacket still clutched to her chin.

“Ya can wear it.” He affirms, helpless in the face of it, addicted to the beaming smile that catches and spreads across her face like wildfire at his permission, despite the watery red rimmed evidence of her turmoil. “Use it, put it on, that’s right, be all right. That’s a good girl.” He cups her freckled cheek, making sure to keep his fat gut far away from her and she burrows into his palm again, hungry for touch and he remembers now that her so-called parents are cold fucks who don’t care about the fact their daughter is alone in a room with him. Maybe if they did she would be more carefree. “You scared of me, lil one?” he asks gently, thumbing at a dappled cheekbone and swiping down to those plush lips he wants to acquaint with his own. All in due time. For now, “You scared of me?”

“No sir!” She gasps, terribly pressed to make him understand her conflicting emotions, “I just worry–Ginger! We shouldn’t be–not if she–I don’t know.” She trails off and is back to crying again and it affects him strongly, far more than female tears usually do.

“Listen to me, baby girl,” he tilts her chin up to his face solemnly, his tone and commanding the utmost respect and she listens reverently. “This is my house; I can do as I please in it, and so can my guests. Now, some folks don’t wanna be my guests ‘till they sniff a competitor. What you and I got lil one, it’s pure and it’s good, ya feel it baby?” And Gigi did indeed feel him run those ring clad fingers over her face like a hypnotist, mapping out each feature and dragging her eyelids shut momentarily. She didn’t know what she felt except for starving hunger and utter surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with our connections, and we ain’t gonna let the world tell us otherwise, are we, darlin’?”

Gigi felt his fingers trailing over her lips, pulling the blush bottom one away from her teeth before trailing further down, back to her chin, releasing it with a wet pop. She sucked in a noisy breath and whimpered in her exhale.

“Tell me ya feel it, come on sugar, if ya feel it, let ya daddy know.”

Gigi would have blamed some substance laced into her drink for the way her body reels like a mind controlled little mouse, except that she was wearing said drink and she could recognize what he was doing but was powerless to argue against it. He could have asked for her help to bury a body at this moment and she would have complied. She had long been prepared to be accepted and wanted for being smart, she had no equipping for how to navigate or negotiate with an established man who found her desirable. It sent her reeling. It set her alight.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm, whas’ tha’?” he coos, his hand sliding to her throat and squeezing a little.

“I -I feel it, sir. Elvis, I, I feel you.” Gigi gasps, tilting towards him only to find him withdrawing now he has her. Playing at cat and mouse when all she wishes for is to be a willing sacrifice, laid out for a hungry god to devour. “Please I feel you!” she pleads, trying to regain him but something has switched in him, he is confident and commanding–and a little cold as he steps back.

“That’s a good girl.” He commends and she shudders again. “You get dressed, then come on out and I wanna see ya wide eyed and bushy tailed for some fun. Ain’t gonna let the bastards ruin our day, are we?”

“No sir!–I mean, yes sir, to–to the first part–” Gosh, she’s adorable and her breasts are huge and ought to be held.

First things first, he’s gotta kick some asses. He tries to put on his most kindly face before backing out of the room and shutting the door fully again to give her privacy. When he turns around, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in his own living room.

“E’eryone currently in this house,” Elvis speaks low and measured when he is in the midst of them, his index finger pointing to the hollowed foundations of his home, “is here at my pleasure and ‘cause I invited ‘em to create a lil fun. Anyone who ain’t willin’ or able to aid in that endeavor needs to go right now. I mean it. I don’t want no bullshit today, gonna deal with schedules and tour dates and all that bullshit another time. I want some fun. That’s all I’m askin’ for, e’ryone’s actin’like it’s hard as hell to have a good time. It ain’t. Just don’t be bitches. That goes for men and women.”

And with this admonition, having said his piece and politely ignored the inflammatory presence of the young lady currently stripping out of her soda soaked dress and donning the silky material of his tracksuit jacket.

“Charlie, Ricky,” he addresses them, “one o’vya go an’ grab some tapes, bring ‘em up here and we’ll have a vote on what movie we’re gonna watch.”

Ricky bounds out of sight and down to the basement with an alacrity that Elvis feels proves he has something to make amends for. With this brief interlude of quiet, Elvis sits himself down in his chair and enjoys a bout of smirking eye contact with Mrs. Alden that leaves the estimable lady shaking in an impotent rage across from him, so much so her vibrations rattle the opulent necklace around her neck. One he happens to have bought for her.

Next girl he tries his luck with will be motherless. Or nearly. He’s had it with courtin’ the family and not getting shit thanks in return for it. Well, that ain’t fully true, Linda’s people are good people. He’s reminded of that as Sam sits down next to him and asks if Elvis wants him to run to get some more refreshments. Ice cream, he suggests, and Elvis would have voiced his approbation of the idea if Ricky had not landed back in the room with a hamper full of film reels at the same moment the opposite door opens and out comes Gigi.

Elvis underestimated the length of those legs of hers. His tracksuit jacket just barely covers what he prays to God are swim panties under that thing. As is, there’s miles of track-sculpted and sun-caressed stems on display and they go on and on, all the way down to the pretty little footsies with the French-tip pedicures and–God help him, before this he never noticed the anklet. Suddenly it’s all he can see, that dainty gold chain encircling her delicate bones and graceful sinews the way his hand oughta be if there was any justice left in the world. When he tears his eyes away from the sight all he’s left with is the sight of her, freshly pool scrubbed and clean wearing just his jacket. Or to all appearances, just his jacket.

“That poor girl was cussing me out and praying I die the other night.” Tammy’s voice shakes him, she’s gotten so near without him noticing, lost as he watches Gigi pour over the selections of movies Ricky brought up. With the way she’s bending over he can only be grateful that she’s got her ass facing a wall and her front zipper fully zipped to the chin. Otherwise Ricky would be dead for having such prime seating.

“Not that lil innocent baby.” He disagrees, sure of it even though Tammy seems to be warming up to a business pitch.

“Oh yes she was!” Tammy Anderson insists, “Praying mighty hard for my downfall and in turn askin’ that a ‘daddy’ somebody would ‘give it to her’ good.” She sips noisily on her straw while leaving Elvis to aspirate on his spit.

“Bless me.” he mutters while patting down his pants for a cigar, unable to take his eyes off both Gigi and Sam–the latter to make sure he’s at a good enough distance not to hear this.

“The problem was,” Tammy goes on serenely, “at least as far as I can make it out, the problem was she thought I was getting to stay the night with her childhood hero while she got sent home like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“Is she though?” Tammy scrunches her nose and Elvis is reminded why he’s not going after this one. Too worldly wise for her own good. “Or just enough?” she adds in a way that makes his cheeks burn.

“I don’t need you helpin’ me feel like a dirty ole man when I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it, Tammy Anderson. You mind your own garden.”

“Damnation, you’re such a gentleman, Elvis!” she laughs loudly which attracts a glare from Ginger for it, “Using all those lofty metaphors while shamin’ me at the same time. Hell of a talent ya got there, ole man.”

“Tammy, I like you,” Elvis begins gravely and Tammy straightens her spine and her mouth trembles with suppressed mirth which attracts even Gigi’s attention from the far corner, “but I like you from a distance. Don’t tempt me to make that distance a hell of a lot greater, you hard up bleached thicket lil hussy.”

Tammy’s eyes go wide and for a minute it seems she struggles to breathe till peal after peal of raucous laughter greets his cutting remark the way it was intended. She’s pretty when she smiles, Elvis can admit, damn dazzlin’ in the bright white of day but it’s like a shark. His eyes drift back to the bambi his heart is set on and watches with a growing frown as she and Ricky tug at one of the films, neither seeming ready to relinquish it.

“What’s goin on?” Elvis demands in a booming voice that can carry to the far reaches of a stadium and is downright deafening in the closed spaces of his home.

Everyone freezes at it and Gigi looks like she’s just seen God on Mount Sinai from his tone alone, so Elvis endeavors to clear his frown and gestures for Charlie to sort it out. By it he means Ricky. The hell is the kid thinkin’?–Playin’ tug o' war with his damn films? And with a guest! His guest!

No sooner does Charlie walk over to the two young folks before suddenly they are allies, when Gigi relinquishes it to Ricky in her moment of fear, Ricky dodges Hodge and when Hodge pursues, Gigi makes a waving motion behind ole Charlie’s back:

“Ricky, Ricky give it here!” Gigi hollers, hands up and body elongated to catch the boxed-up reel like a football at the end zone. The move flashes a peek of white swimsuit bottoms underneath the inadequate jacket. Elvis groans around his as yet unlit cigar. He’s still ineffectually patting his pockets for a light when Gigi makes the catch and for that split second she’s holding it, Elvis gets a glimpse of the slipcover. And of all the movies she coulda gotten her hands on-

Elvis is up and rushing at her before he can even think about what he’s prepared to do, how far he’ll push this, the only thing he can think of besides the acres of honey toned skin caressed by his jacket, is that sweet little baby Gigi is holding his copy of Deepthroat.

“Lil girl!” he growls at her and the way her eyes fly wide as saucers makes him think she’s actually terrified of him right before she breaks into a grin and spins on her heel, headed out the room on those track hardened legs.

He chases, ‘cause of course–what else was there to do?

“Lil girl, you give that here!” he feels the disadvantages of his bulk in this hot pursuit but it’s been awhile since the last tour and his knees have recovered in the time off and it ain’t so bad, he’s still flexible and he’s still got stamina for all that his joints feel like they got hot coals in them most times. Every painful jog is worth it for the happy shrieks she lets out as he lumbers behind her, intent on a takedown.

She’s barely gotten to the foyer and stalls for a brief moment to contemplate taking sanctuary in the kitchen or music room when suddenly she feels the jolting contact of his hands on her waist. It’s fast and grabbing and not a light touch, she’s being gripped and tugged and squeezed by those large, hot, unyielding hands before being spun and tackled to the ground.

Soft carpet and his hand cradles her head, keeping the landing from being too harsh. But even if she’d snapped her neck, Gigi would still be acutely conscious of the feel of him, all of him, so much of him, thrumming with such potent aliveness atop her that she feels herself catch fire at it, her own pulse syncing with his, heightened instantly. It’s brief, horribly brief, that instant of complete contact with his entire weight smothering her, but it’s intoxicating for life. He’s sweaty, even in this freezing house and after so little exertion, he’s sweaty and warm and he smells both so wonderfully clean and manly at the same time she wants to moan. Maybe she does, she isn’t sure, all she knows is that she does fuss, like a clingy baby, she fusses at the way he immediately props his top half up and away from her.

It makes him pause.

Unable to express anything right now except that she will be heartbroken if he pulls away, that it would be worse than those stupid little love pats Ginger gives him if he acts cold now that she’s felt his warmth, felt what he can offer her. Shelter, stability, satisfaction.

She takes advantage of his pause to wrap her legs up and around his hips, caging him in, defiantly attached.

“Don’t leave me now.” She begs softly, unable to keep up with the game of it all. If she wanted that uncertainty she could just go home.

“Oh, Gigi.” He whispers, sounding almost heartbroken, seeing in her vulnerable eyes and clingy neediness a glimpse of his old self.

Flashes of memories and rejections flood his mind, dashing home from school to find she moved, dashing back from tour to find her dancing with another man, invited back to her place just to get shoved into a glass coffee table and breaking the thing with his poor back, finding her fuckin’ the man he paid to teach her how to defend herself… he’s tired, but he remembers how it used to feel, how it used to nearly strangle him, all that youthful hope.

The film reel slips from her nerveless hand, no longer the subject of interest anymore, and she brings it to his face instead, stroking his cheek with all the lingering fondness of someone who wouldn’t rather do anything else at this moment. Elvis wishes he had such restraint, his breath puffs heavily as he tries to keep it contained and not gasp and huff atop her like some lumbering oaf, trying to keep his fat gut up away from the beauteous length of her, but she winds her arms about his neck and tugs him down despite his playful protests and stiff necked obstinance.

If she wants a kiss, she can fight for it, same as the girls at his concerts.

She can feel him slowly bending to her will, hunched over her in an attempt to keep from smothering her and she isn’t having it. She’s not a small or frail little thing, she’s an athlete and she uses it to her advantage, interlocking her legs around his waist and registering with searing satisfaction that his interest for her is dangling heavy and drippy in the silky hammock of his tracksuit pants.

Her sharp smile could rival Tammy’s at this confirmation and with a pounding heart Gigi cranes her head off the carpet and leans, closer and closer to him till her eyes go cross eyed focusing on the cupid's bow of his pouty lips and she can feel the hot puff of his breaths on her lips and–

–the rascal ducks his head to the side at the last minute and burrows that marshmallow mouth in her neck before blowing raspberries into the ticklish skin there.

As if his sending her home, his coddling of her in the pool and his distance in the bedroom had not made her feel like an absolute child, this last bit truly did. To the point where the endearing aspect of his blowing on her neck was lost in the heartbreaking need for assurance. Bucking and writhing beneath his tickles she gasped and begged and thrashed while never once letting go of her hold on his hips with her legs, keeping him near, his belly heavy and solid on top of her butterfly-filled one.

“Darlin’, stop buckin’ like that, ain’t decent.” He took a break from this torture to remonstrate as if he wasn’t to blame.

“Then kiss me.” She breathes out a challenge.

Now it happened that around this time, Jerry Schilling found himself free of commitments to Brian and his Beach Boys and, finding himself in Memphis, decided to call on an old friend and benefactor. Despite what his boss often insisted, Jerry was not an idiot, and so as he opened the front door to Graceland on this gloomy and sticky summer day he came equipped for any and all moods–his muscular arms bulging out of his thin t-shirt under the strain of carrying numerous, loaded bags of steaming Barbecue from Elvis’ favorite local pit.

Jerry Schilling had walked in on many a scene in the course of his run with Elvis Presley, temper tantrums and ecstatic jubilees and the unforgettable instance where a certain chimp was beating off against a poor gals shin much to the drunk audience’s amusement, the air thick with hooting and hollering and cigar smoke–and female shame.

But nothing, nothing had been quite as bizarre as what he saw this day when stepping into the foyer ready for anything–or so he thought. What he didn’t prepare for was the sight of his usually rather decorous boss laying atop a leggy young thing, grappling and necking her like a teenager, and getting it back in spades, which was a little more shocking considering his recent state. Whoever was under him was a moaner and more surprising still was the fact Elvis wasn’t shutting her up, or even getting up off the floor since–and here’s where it got bizarre–they weren’t remotely alone in the place. Or even the room.

Although, unlike that ill fated and depraved chimp, the two horndogs swapping spit on the floor don’t have much of a captivated audience, though Jerry bets they were captivated or at least attentive to the floor shenanigans at one point. That was before the fighting and clawing and kicking and scratching and screaming and–holy shit, Ginger and a bleach blonde are clawing at each other like they’re in for blood, Mrs. Alden beating the gal with her purse in defense of her daughter while Dodger smokes her pipe on the couch keeping Mr. Alden captive by her side with a death glare through the smokey haze of tobacco. Sam Thompson remains wringing his mouth, standing unsure beside Charlie and Ricky who can’t seem to believe what’s going on down on the foyer floor at Jerry’s feet.

It would seem Ginger’s out, and Miss Leggy is in. And Jerry suddenly feels the weight of the barbecue and the whole world pulling on his shoulders as he goes to aid Rosemary in pulling the girls apart, figuring that’s probably the one thing he can do here and not get his head bitten off by Elvis for it.

It’s easier said than done what with Mrs Alden’s purse pummeling the blonde, Ginger’s last vestiges of despairing pain and the blonde’s shockingly strong core when he grabs her from the back and tries to haul her up and away. Blondie kicks at Ginger’s face one last time and succeeds at landing a blow to the nose by the time Jerry staggers back with her somewhat restrained, feeling like he’s cradling a mountain lion to his chest. She’s shredding his forearms with her acrylics and, unsatisfied with the bloody damage she’s done, this little hottie grabs at the bags still hanging from his arms and begins to throw sticky, juicy, red globs of smoked meat at her grade school nesmises.

“Let me at her, ya goddamn sunnuvabitch!” Tammy screams, head butting him to try to make him let her go–and Jerry finds himself feeling a little funny, like the feeling his folks told him to look for when ‘the one’ wandered into his life looking like sunshine and smelling like a spring day washline and holding daisies. Except that ‘the one’ is a dangerous bottle blonde with a foul mouth and his skin cells under her fingernails.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Speaking of, no sooner has he gripped this chick right enough to preserve some flesh on his arm when he hears Elvis voice booming:

“Enough with the goddamn food! For fucks sake, Tammy! Enough! Ginger put that down or so help me–”

Everyone may want to kill each other in this room but no one, absolutely no one, wants to see Elvis grab a gun. And so, just like that, utter quiet and peace is restored.

He looks quite impressive for a man in a tented tracksuit and ruffled hair, a man who just got off the floor with a grunt and creak of his knees, no doubt. But that don’t matter now, none of those human things apply when The King is pissed. And holy shit, Jerry thinks he’s rarely seen him so angry–it’s that chilly blue suppressed sorta fury that freaks the boys out more than the hotel room trashing fits of red rage.

“Jerrah, the hell’s goin’ on throwin’ food in ma house?”

Jerry looks down at the blonde in his arms and his shredded forearms hoping Elvis will maybe take pity. Unlikely. And so he man’s up with, “Sorry boss, so sorry, we’ll get it cleaned up ‘fore ya know it-“

“Goddamn right y’all will.” Elvis seethes and Jerry sees the pretty young thing he had under him shrink behind him in the foyer at this glimpse of his wrath. As if sensing her movement with those eyes in the back of his head that only Elvis Presley seems blessed with, the boss man pulls himself together with all the haughty showmanship that only he can possess and holds his finger up as if to freeze everyone in their current position before turning around to his little sweetie.

“Baby girl, I want you to go outside an’ get in the passenger seat of the Stutz, a’right?” Elvis directs and underlying it is the explanation that the ugly work of throwing out her predecessor ain’t for her pretty eyes to witness or sweet lil ears to hear. “Lamar’s probably still eatin’ in the kitchen, ya can get the keys from him.”

A whimper sounds from behind him, and it’s Ginger’s. The genuine pain of the sound makes Gigi waiver, a pained look of sympathy and torn intentions flashing across her face. Then his ringed hand cups her fresh young cheek and it seals her fate, submissive as a lamb she melts into that touch, and her eyes drift back to his. They’re so sure, those burning sapphire eyes of his, so sure of where her future is and so intense in their intention for it. Someone who looks so beautiful can’t be as cruel as he feels capable of, surely? Surely.

Jerry watches Gigi’s bare feet patter to the kitchen, looking like a kid shuffling to time out in their dad’s jacket. He can’t think on it for too long because as soon as Elvis hears the suction of the back door opening and closing he turns around to the mosh pit that his living room had become.

“When I get back,” he's addressing those of his boys present–they know he is– and Jerry considers himself one of them still, “I expect this mess,” he gesticulates to the spattered food and his once intended in-laws with a single, bejeweled, disdainful finger, “tidied up.”

It’s not until he too has disappeared out back amidst deathly quiet in the living room that Jerry realizes he’s still holding Tammy Anderson. Not that he can think on it for long. Not when he has a PR nightmare sized mess to clean up.

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

Taglist: (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

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@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

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@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

[ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater]

Shed Your Titles (Satoru Gojo x Reader) (NSFW)

Switching it up a little this time with Gojo plus my first nsfw, also reader being a mamaguro of her own because i love megumi with my entire heart

I'm not going to lie to you I almost entirely disassociated to my shuffled liked songs playlist and wrote half the smut section to Life is a highway by Rascal Flatts on accidental loop so I’m sorry if it’s incoherent as fuck lmaooo

warnings: established relationship, smut, unprotected sex (WRAP BEFORE YOU TAP), praise, comfort sex

2.7k words

“Satoru!” You exclaim, “What on earth happened to him?” Megumi’s face is trickling blood and he’s heavily favouring one side of his body, clutching his ribs. You race up and cup the boys cheeks, tilting his head to get a better look as he grumbles, “Stop fussing, I’ll be fine,” His futile attempts at batting your hands away do nothing to deter your anger at the white haired sorcerer beside him, “What on earth did you do?” “Why do you assume everything is my fault?” Gojo says, “Come on, you think I sent him out there because I knew he’d get hurt?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not assuming it’s your fault, but you did send him out on this mission, only for him to come back looking like he’s just stepped out of a fight club, so what the hell happened?” Gojo grabs you by your arm as Shoko appears from her office and collects Megumi, pulling you off to the side, “He was supposed to retrieve one of Sukuna’s fingers,” He whispers, leaning down into your space, “But the boy he met who had it ended up eating it to save Megumi and his two classmates from a powerful curse,” Your eyes widen, “Is the other boy-?” He shakes his head, “It’s worse than what you think, Sukuna manifested inside him,”

You find yourself unable to say anything, your mouth wide open as you stare at Gojo. He shifts a little and then taps your chin up to jokingly close it, shocking you back into words, “Is he okay?!” You whisper-yell. He shrugs, “He seems to have some level of control over Sukuna, the discipline he carries over his body is unprecedented, but the elders are terrified and want me to execute him,” He brings his hand from your chin to his, thinking, “Megumi asked me to protect him, let him live, and I intend to do just that as soon as we figure out his standing when he wakes up,”

Your mind is still racing a marathon, you can’t even begin to imagine the consequences this will have, a thousand year old curse in modern day society. Especially with how powerful Sukuna is said to be, but you bottle up these fears and shake your head, “Have you lost your mind?” You ask. He laughs, a loud sound that carries, “Not recently, I was hoping you’d jump on this bullet train ride with me, see where it takes us,” He lowers his blindfold a tad, just enough to meet your eyes, “Darling, he’s a good kid, I’m sure you’ll love him when you meet him,” He murmurs, taking your chin again in his other hand, “Trust me, please?”

You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut and shoulders slumping, before you push forwards and bury your face in his chest. The blindfold falls to rest limp on top of your head and his arms tighten around your back and waist, “I’ll take that as a…?” He coaxes softly, making you groan, “Fine! I’m on your side, it’s not right to kill a kid when he just wanted to protect others, is that what you wanted to hear?” You grumble against his black jacket. “Great!” He scoops you up and spins around once before putting you back on your feet, albeit a little dazed, “I’m gonna go keep an eye on the vessel, you stay with Megumi,” He pats your shoulder, “See you later!”

You can do nothing to stop him leaving as you shake your head to clear away the daze, resigned to follow after Megumi and watch over him as Shoko treats his wounds. Once finished, you allow him to lean on your shoulder as you take him back to his room, “How are you?” You ask as you sit beside him on his bed. He huffs, “You don’t need to be so fussy, I’m alright,” You put your hand on his knee, “Megumi,” You murmur, “Please, let me be worried about you,” He shifts towards the pillows, moving the covers until he can slip under them, lying on his uninjured side without replying. A few moments of contemplative silence pass by as you look out the window, thoughts elsewhere, when his voice brings you back to the present, “Well, aren’t you going to tuck me in?” He grunts.

You smile softly, “I thought you were too old for that kind of thing,” You tilt your head, examining him, “Tell me what happened, Gumi,” You murmur, shifting up and bringing the covers with you, sitting in front of him with your legs off the bed as he shifts back to make space. He looks up, a shimmer of vulnerability in his eyes, “I wasn’t strong enough,” He sighs, “I told him to run, but he insisted on staying, and then gambled eating the finger to save everyone,” You brush some of his hair back from his forehead, “I suppose I should thank him for that, shouldn’t I?” You say, “After all, he brought you back to me,”

When Gojo took Megumi and Tsumiki in you’d had your doubts considering who Megumi’s father was, and Gojo wasn’t exactly ‘father’ material, but that was fine because he never pretended to be their dad. He simply guided them through life his own way and silently protected Megumi from the Zenin clan, like any reasonable person would. You’d been the only one out of the female sorcerers at Jujutsu Tech to take an immediate affectionate liking to Megumi, much to his chagrin, and that had meant you eagerly secured your spot in the softer maternal role he’d been lacking since his mother died. He liked to pretend he was annoyed when you doted on him, but over the years you learned to read him better than anyone else, making you the one he called if he needed to talk to someone. He’d also been the reason you’d eventually realised your feelings for Gojo, though you thought them to be in vain, Megumi had convinced you otherwise when you caught the pair of them scheming and he’d immediately confessed he was helping the man with his master plan to ask you out to dinner.

Megumi’s face flushes lightly, “Yeah,” He murmurs, “But now Sukuna is back, so was it really worth it? I could have prevented that,” You shush him softly, “If anything, Gojo should have been more alert and ready to step in, especially dealing with those damn fingers, tch,” You snort, “But from what I’ve heard, the boy can suppress Sukuna, so there’s that at least,” His eyes close and he relaxes into the pillow. “I’ll let you get some rest, but there’s one more thing,” You say, “Why did you ask Gojo to spare him if you’re so worried about Sukuna?” He cracks one eye open, “I don’t know,” He mutters, “Just felt like it was right,”

You sigh, “Alright, sleep well Gumi, I’ll see you later,” You murmur, touching your hand to his arm briefly before standing and leaving his room. You take a few deep breaths in the hallway once the door is shut, before steeling yourself and setting off to go let out some steam on the school’s training field.

After a good few hours of training, time well spent since the second years were drawn in and ended up training with you for a while before leaving for dinner, Gojo shows up once more with a pink-haired boy in tow. You can sense the immense cursed energy coming from him even from a distance, it rivals that of Gojo’s energy and you have to calm yourself as they approach. “Hey!” Gojo raises a hand in greeting and you find it in yourself to smile weakly, “Thought you’d like to meet our newest first year, Yuji Itadori,” You bow slightly to the boy, “It’s good to meet you, I’m Y/n L/n, I’ll be your other teacher,” He bows in response before looking up, “Does that mean you’re as powerful as Gojo?”

You look pointedly at Gojo for a moment before rolling your eyes and shaking your head, “No, as unfortunate as it is he’s the most powerful of us at the moment, I just happen to have a proficiency in teaching so I can pick up the slack where he’s lacking,” Yuji looks at Gojo like he hung the stars in the sky and you chuckle, “I’m hope your time here is fulfilling,” You murmur, “Cherish what you love,” He nods, grinning happily, “I will,” “Go on Yuji, go get some sleep,” Gojo waves him off and the head of pink hair disappears off towards the boys dorm.

When he’s out of sight you reach up and gently cup Gojo’s face in your hands, “Thank you,” You murmur, “For bringing Megumi back to me,” He smiles softly, leaning into your touch, “I’ll never be able to save everyone, but I’ll always do everything in my power to save him,” He breathes, “We may not be his parents, but he’s our son,” He leans down and presses his lips to yours, warmth spreading through your body as you sink into his touch. His hands clutch your hips, clingy and fiddling with the edge of your shirt as you reach up and remove his blindfold, stuffing it into your pocket. He is insistent, seeking out your warmth and your skin and tasting you with everything he can.

You pull back only slightly, looking deeply into the hazy blue as he stares back, eyes half-lidded as he pants, “Are you okay?” You murmur, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, “Megumi will live, but you…” You brush his hair back, “Please, promise me you’ll talk to me if you need to?” He nods, blinking slowly, his six eyes taking in excessive information about your body and your energy. It’s strange, you can almost feel where his eyes pass over as he examines you, but it’s never been invasive, he’s always done this to make sure you’re okay reuniting after missions. “I love you,” He murmurs, “I’m so happy you’re alive, so happy you’re with me,” He mumbles, “I promise, I promise you my life, my everything,”

The weight of the Gojo name seems to lift from his shoulders for a brief few moments and you do everything you can to stay in this little bubble, “I love you too,” You whisper, “Satoru,” He tugs your arms lightly and you follow him back to the small house you share on campus before he presses you up against the back of the door, “Please, please, I need you,” He whines softly. His vulnerability is written all over his face and it almost makes you cry, “I need you so badly,” You nod, “I’m right here, Satoru, I’m yours,”

He pushes his face into your neck, licking and biting as tears drip onto your shoulder, his hands grabbing at your curves through your tight fitted clothing. You become pliant under his touch, one hand buried in his hair and the other over his shoulders as he lifts you and carries you to the bed you share. “You’re so pretty,” He mumbles against your skin, lifting his head to reveal his eyes, almost entirely black with a thin ring of the bright blue you know and love barely showing. “Satoru,” You coo softly as you softly undress one another, quickly becoming a heated tangle of limbs and tongues. Your fingertips trace down his chest and he shivers lightly, taking your hand and kissing the back of it before crawling over you, caging you beneath him. He watches you intently as his hand trails down, fingers dipping slightly into the wet heat between your legs, “So wet for me, huh doll?” He smiles, giddy with love.

His pupils are practically heart shaped as he gently works one finger into your warmth, making you gasp and arch your back up off the bed. His other hand kneads your breast lightly, tongue flicking out to caress your nipple. Soft moans and breathy repeats of his name fall from your lips as he works you open on his finger, curling it inside you to graze the spot that makes your vision blurry with ecstatic tears. “Y/n,” He groans, pushing a second and third finger inside with little to no preamble, making you grit your teeth a little as you squirm, “You can take it, I know you can,” He murmurs, lips trailing over your bared neck, “Such a good girl,”

You nod breathlessly, moaning as you screw your eyes shut with pleasure, “Satoru!” You cry out as his thumb pushes up against your clit, kneading the area softly. “Good girl, say my name,” He rumbles, swallowing your moans with his mouth for a moment as his hips rut against your thigh, desperate for some contact. You moan and tug him away from your lips with your hand knotted in the hair at the back of his head, “Please, please, Satoru I need you so bad,” You whine, trying to close your thighs as you feel the knot in your stomach build up, “Wanna cum with you!” He looks just as wrecked as you feel and his hips stutter against yours again, his hot length slipping through your folds with ease.

He blinks and shakes his head, dislodging your hand which falls to rest on your own chest, his hand reaching down to grab the base of his cock and pumping it a couple of times to spread the precum. He bites his lip as he properly shifts his knees between your legs, pulling your hips up towards his with his exceptional strength and then lining himself up. “I love you so much,” He whispers, “Never wanna let you go,” He groans as he pushes the tip inside, your toes curling and back arching. His hesitation only lasts for a moment before he drags you to him by your hips and pulls you into a seated position on his thighs, sinking you the entire way down his cock.

You slump against him, arms over his shoulders with his fingers digging into your hips as he lifts you up slightly so he can thrust shallow and hard, “Fuck, so pretty, this pussy’s all mine,” He grunts, slurping his tongue all over your neck and chest as he leaves teeth marks and bruises in hectic patterns. You’re lost in the feeling of his cock pressing insistently against the sensitive places inside you and dragging against your walls, “S-Satoru~” You moan, “M’ close!” You cry out, gripping the hair at the back of his head as he increases his pace, his eyes drawing you in almost hypnotizing you, “Me too doll,” He mutters, “Can you come with me? Be a good girl,” He leans in to whisper against your ear, his muscles tensing. You nod, “Yes, yes, g’nna cum with you, please!” You whine, clenching hard around him as the knot in your stomach snaps, your walls pulsing around him.

You go limp in his arms as he pushes himself to the hilt, crying out and burying his face against your neck as he holds you close, letting his body fall forwards so he’s resting on your chest. His warmth fills you and then spills out past where you’re connected, trickling down your ass and onto the sheets, but you can’t find it in you to care right now. You slowly remove your fingers from his hair and rub his scalp gently as the two of you find your way back down to earth, his heartbeat thumping against your own and his breath hot on your neck. “Satoru,” You whisper, voice hoarse, “I love you,”

His only reply is a hum and the softest butterfly kisses with both his eyelashes and his lips on your skin, pushing himself closer to you despite the combination of sweat and cum that slicks your skin. Right here right now, he is allowed to just be Satoru, and can shed the titles and the responsibility that he’s carried since birth. Being the strongest means nothing if you have nobody to love, and you vow to make sure that he will always have someone to love, be that you or Megumi, so he doesn’t ever come close to losing himself.

I hope y'all enjoyed my first nsfw work, I don't often write nsfw because i get halfway through and get writers block or don't write it very long so I hope what I wrote here is of sufficient length :)

remember my requests are open if you have something in mind! &lt;3

[quitealotofsodapop]

I can imagine in slow boiled stone egg AU Jiuweihuli is more upset with Macaque than she is with Wukong because 1) she expected him to be more professional 2) he could have injured the baby/induced a miscarriage on Wukong and 3) he's technically wedlocked Wukong

referencing my idea for Jiuweihuli/The Nine-Tailed Vixen in the LMK verses.

Oh yesss

Even though the vixen doesn't care for Wukong on a good day (he did break her kit's heart and bonked her on the head with the staff), her attitude flips immediately when she hears about the Egg.

Since she sees a lot of herself in Macaque (a creative demon flung from their place in the Heavens), she immediately goes Beast Mode on him when the news gets to her about the Stone Egg (most likely recounted by the twins). For her perspective, her understudy is inacting betrayals on Wukong that she felt many centuries ago.

*(Macaque, trying to set up for "Shadow Play" when he meets the theatre owner)* Macaque: "Wait... Madam?" Jiuweihuli: "Oh Mihou! My darling! It's so good to see you!!" *(embraces Macaque in a big mom-hug before violently whacking him with her ornamental fan)* Jiuweihuli, speaking in-between hits: "YOU! IDIOT! CUB! Have I not taught you better? You left that poor boy pregnant and alone for how long?!" Macaque, trying to hide from her wrath + also has no idea whats going on: "Eh!? So he is pregnant??" Jiuweihuli, chasing Mac around the lobby like he's a cat: "Everyone knows it!! Sun Wukong himself confirmed it when he was captured by the Spider Queen! My twins were In. The. Room!!" Macaque, trying to defuse the situation: "Jin and Yin? How are the little rascals?" The Twins, blocking off the exits: "Just as mad as our Mum!" "Yeah!" Macaque: "shit."

Jiuweihuli is super insistent that Mac makes it up to Wukong, or at the very least be present in the Egg's life. To her, Mac abandoning his former mate in this state is tantamount to throwing him to the wolves. And she def tosses in a few extra whacks for fighting Wukong while he's in this state, even if Mac didn't know at the time.

Wukong is the most confused, cus he hasn't recieved a kind word from the Vixen in the entire time he's known her. Of course once he realises that the wider demon public assume his Stone egg is of Mac's doing (which SWK figures kinda is), he torments Mac by visiting "Grandmama" at the theatre with all the baby shower stuff PIF has already planned out. Jiuweihuli literally showers the expectant monkey with gifts and supplies for the baby, and has even more she gives to Mac to pass on to Wukong and/or MK (who the vixen suspects is another secret grand-kit of hers).

Macaque secretly keeps a pair of baby shoes the vixen gave him to pass on to Wukong throughout S2 and S3. They're coloured auburn and white like the feet of a baby fox.

It's not just the possible connection to her understudy that makes Jiuweihuli soften to the Monkey King. She remembers when she had the twins; Single, very limited support system, and going through a high-risk pregnancy with the father nowhere in sight. Even when she learns that the Stone Egg was essentially "spawned" by Wukong singularily, she'd still consider herself an honourary grandparent/aunt to the infant.

Also in the au timeline, she deliberately sends the twins + the accountant cousin to follow Macaque during S3 to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. They end up catching up to the Monkie Kid gang to warn them that Mac's very soul/the safety of the Egg is on the line after the twins witness the shadow monkey being tormented by LBD.

[808airsoftbros]

Life of Two Vampire Queens (IU/CL)

Author: Just another AI-written story that I came up with. Hope you enjoy and do check out my Masterlist

CL's POV

I took a deep breath as I stepped away from the throne, feeling the weight of centuries of ruling finally being lifted from my shoulders. The decision to retire had been a difficult one, but with my one-year-old baby, Y/N, growing up so quickly, I knew it was time to focus my attention on him.

As I moved into a cozy beachside mansion, I found joy in watching Y/N learn to walk and say his first adorable words. But the realization quickly hit me—now that I was retiring, I would have to homeschool the little troublemaker. Oh, how naive I was to think it would be a simple task. Life with Y/N was a series of near-disasters and constant mischief.

No matter how vigilant I was, he always seemed to find a way to stir up trouble. One minute I would turn my eyes away, and the next, he'd be dangling precariously from the chandelier.

It was one restless night when I woke up, sensing something was amiss. My heart raced, but instead of panicking, I trusted my instincts. I gently slipped out of bed, careful not to alert Y/N as I crept through the dark house.

His presence guided me, his scent like a compass, leading me to his whereabouts. I found him in the kitchen, sitting on the countertop, his tiny fingers tracing the edge of a sharp knife. The sight brought forth a mix of relief and frustration. "Y/N! You naughty rascal," I scolded, sweeping him up into my arms. "You could've hurt yourself!"

In that moment, I realized that raising Y/N would never be easy. But, as I looked into his innocent eyes, I couldn't help but find his mischief amusing. Life had become an adventure, filled with laughter and the occasional scream of terror. And somehow, amidst the chaos, I found joy.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months as Y/N continued to explore the world around him. Each day brought a new challenge, a new opportunity for him to test my patience and creativity.

Teaching a two-year-old was no easy feat, especially when his attention span rivalled that of a caffeinated squirrel. I tried to instill knowledge in him, from basic mathematics to the beauty of language, but his mischievous nature often got in the way.

One day, as we sat at the kitchen table, trying to learn the alphabet, Y/N decided it was an ideal time to toss his cereal across the room, creating a sea of colorful letters. I sighed, on the verge of exasperation. "Y/N, baby, we need to focus," I pleaded, desperately trying to regain his attention.

He giggled mischievously, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cherwee!" he exclaimed, pointing at a random letter on the floor. I laughed, unable to resist the infectious joy that radiated from him. "It's not 'cherwee,' darling. It's 'three.' Can you say that?"

Y/N scrunched up his face, contemplating the word. After a moment of silence, he erupted with a high-pitched shriek. "Thwee!"

"Yes, close enough!" I praised him, clapping my hands.

Life with Y/N continued to be a whirlwind of laughter and chaos. Each day brought new adventures, from building pillow forts to attempting to bake cookies (which ended up resembling charcoal briquettes). Y/N was a constant reminder of the joys and challenges of motherhood.

One evening, as we snuggled together on the couch, Y/N cuddled into my arms, a contented hum escaping his lips. I watched him sleep peacefully, his tiny frame rising and falling with each delicate breath.

In those quiet moments, I reflected on the love that enveloped us. Yes, Y/N was a handful, constantly bringing mayhem into our lives. But he was also the embodiment of my love, a tiny piece of me that I cherished.

As Y/N dreamt, I tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, marveling at the beautiful mess he had made of our once orderly lives.

And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of yet another adventure, I knew that the chaos was worth every scream, every giggle, and every hum.

Years passed, and Y/N grew from a mischievous toddler into a curious and spirited child.

Together, we navigated the ups and downs of parenthood, finding joy in the simplest of moments.

The beachside mansion stood witness to our journey, bearing the marks of our laughter and the echoes of our adventures. It continued to be a place of endless discoveries, where love flourished amidst chaos.

Author's POV

Lee Jieun, the newly crowned Vampire Queen, sat upon her majestic throne, adorned in her regal attire. Her royal duties took up most of her time, but there was one task that proved to be an even greater challenge: raising her two-year-old toddler husband, Lee Y/N.

As she presided over her kingdom, surrounded by advisors and courtiers, Y/N would cling to her leg and tug on her garments, yearning for her attention.

Jieun would force a smile, stifling any frustration that threatened to bubble up. After all, it wouldn't do for a queen to lose her composure in front of her subjects.

Her older sister, Lee Chaerin, observed this scene with amusement. With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she leaned in closer to her sister, whispering, "Jieun, you're doing such a fantastic job ruling over these bloodsuckers. But perhaps it's time to call in reinforcements. Why not let Princess Kim Taeyeon look after the little troublemaker for a while?"

Jieun considered the suggestion. Taeyeon was a trusted ally and a capable babysitter.

Maybe it was time for her to take a much-needed break from the demands of parenthood. "You know what, Chaerin? I think that's a splendid idea. Let Taeyeon have a turn at keeping Y/N entertained." 

And so, during a particularly intense negotiation meeting with the neighboring werewolf clan, Princess Kim Taeyeon took charge of the mischievous toddler.

She carted him off to the playroom, where toys and distractions galore awaited.

Jieun breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the momentary respite. With her mind now free from the worries of hearing a tiny voice during important discussions, the queen focused on the matters at hand.

She deftly addressed each concern, displaying the grace and wisdom befitting of a ruler.

But just as she thought she had found her equilibrium, a shrill cry of longing pierced the serenity of the throne room. Jieun's heart sank as she recognized that unmistakable wail—it was Y/N.

She hurriedly excused herself and raced to the playroom, finding Y/N tucked in a corner, surrounded by toys he had flung to the floor during his tantrum. Her heart softened at the sight of his tear-streaked face, and she couldn't resist the urge to scoop him up into her arms. 

"There, there, my little one," Jieun cooed, gently rocking him back and forth. "Mama is here. Mama will always be here."

She kissed his forehead and carried him back to the throne room, where he nestled against her shoulder.

As she settled back onto her throne, she addressed her advisors, exuding a newfound determination. "From now on, I will manage both my duties as the Vampire Queen and my role as Y/N's guardian. I will show him the love and attention he deserves, regardless of where life takes me."

And so, Lee Jieun embraced the challenges of ruling her kingdom and raising her two-year-old toddler husband.

With a balance of patience, love, and the occasional interruption, she found a way to fulfill her responsibilities with unwavering grace.

As Y/N grew older, he became more accustomed to the courtly affairs, often joining Jieun during important meetings.

Together, they thrived, their unique dynamic becoming the talk of both vampire and human realms alike.

And so, the Vampire Queen and her remarkable toddler husband presided over their kingdom, leaving an indelible mark on the immortal world and proving that love knows no boundaries, even in the unlikeliest of circumstances.

"Yes! I shall conquer this throne!" Jieun proclaimed, hugging Y/N close, laughter filling the air.

[astridhoff03]

Some cute Married/ Parents Hiccstrid Fluff I tought about in the natural sciences lesson. Enjoy the wholesomness of the Haddock Family!

"...And so Toothless and I saved the egg of the Dragon King," Hiccup proudly completed his story. Zephyr and Nuffink, both lying in their mother's arms, looked at their father with wide eyes. Astrid smiled lovingly at her husband, then turned to her children. "It's bedtime, rascals." "But I want to hear another story," Zephyr begged. "That was so great." Hiccup took his daughter in his arms and put her in her bed. “Tomorrow again, my darling. Promised. But you have to sleep now.” His little daughter nodded with a tired smile. He tucked Zephyr in as she snuggled into her pillows and kissed her goodnight on her forehead. He turned to his wife, who was giving her son his little dragon stuffed animal that looked like Toothless for him to cuddle with. He massaged her shoulders and leaned his head against hers and looked with her at their youngest child, who was now also snuggling into his warm pillows, holding Toothless cuddly toy tightly to him, his eyes almost closed. “I love you,” murmured the little one. Astrid and Hiccup exchanged a smile, then looked back at Nuffink's tired face. “We love you too, baby,” Astrid said and gave her son another kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well, little warrior.” Hiccup followed suit and briefly stroked Nuffink through his shaggy blonde hair. He watched as Astrid walked over to Zephyr, a few strands of her golden hair falling over her face as she leaned down and gave her daughter a kiss, who was already deep in her dreams. “And good night to you too, sweetheart.” She noticed her husband's loving look as he stroked her son's back for the last time, then stood up and held out his hand to her. Astrid placed hers in his, looking into his emerald green eyes that she loved so much. They linked their hands together and walked towards the door together. Before closing them, they smiled at each other once more as they looked at their two wonderful children. Hiccup put his hand around his wife's waist and the two went upstairs to their shared bedroom.

Astrid loosened both of her braids so that her long hair fell in soft waves over her narrow shoulders. Through the glass of her mirror she saw Hiccup pulling his light green shirt over his bare torso. The fine contours of his thin but muscular torso disappeared beneath the green fabric. Apparently he had noticed her look, he put his arms around her waist, he gently pushed her hair to the side and pressed a kiss to her neck. As a sign that he would wait for her in bed. Astrid felt his warm hands leave her again and he lay down in bed. She smoothed down her floor-length white nightgown and ran her hand over the small curve of her stomach. For a moment she was trapped in her thoughts. "Are you okay, Hon?" Hiccup asked. Astrid sighed heavily. "Yeah, everything's ok." Hiccup patted the empty, cold side of the bed next to him, where Astrid immediately sat down. She snuggled into his side and enjoyed the gentle touch of his hand on her stomach, giving her a loving kiss on the forehead, his other hand stroking her hair. "Don't worry, we'll manage, just as we've done everything so far." Astrid laid her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, drawing small circles on his upper body. "I know. When do you think we should tell Zephyr and Nuffink?" Hiccup hugged her tightly and leaned his head against hers. “Whenever you’re ready.” She smiled to herself, looking at the large window. Small white snowflakes trickled down behind the velvety black sky lit by the northern lights. “Mmmmmm. Maybe tomorrow.” “Tomorrow,” Hiccup repeated. “Yes, why not?” He nodded to her in agreement. "Good, then tomorrow." They gave each other a deep kiss on the mouth before snuggling up close to each other, Hiccup's hands around her stomach, in the warmth of their large bed. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you too,” she whispered back.

[totokoismyfav]

Hi! I would like to request a Headcanon of the sextuplets, DaddyMatsu please! , something fluff/Funny where the children of the sextuplets find their Dad old sweaters (You Know with The Matsu Simbol) and put them on because they seemed comfortable, and when the S/O of the matsus sees her Son/Daughter she can't help but say something like "Awww my baby look like her/His Dad! so cute!" and the son/daughter, to play along with his/her mother, does or says some action or word typical of his/her father, imitating him.

(Sorry if it was not understood or if it is too much, I was really excited about something like this)

Have a Good Morning/Afternoon/Night!

wahhh this request was so cute, tysm for submitting! also sorry this is my first time writing for most of the brothers (i mainly wrote for Choro in highschool loll)

osomatsu san sextuplets /reader | daddymatsu! shenanigans

Osomatsu: A little chip off the old block, that’s what Osomatsu’s son was. The little rascal was digging through one of the many closets in his home when he found the red sweater his dad wore for so many years back then. “Whatcha got there kiddo?” The young boy looked behind him as he saw his dad leaning against the open door frame of the closet, smiling warmly down at him. The little boy had his father's hoodie on over his small frame, his smile reminiscent of his father. Osomatsu’s s/o walked into the cute sight, sighing as they laughed softly. “It’s like I’m seeing doubles. You look just like your father.” Just then, their son rubbed the top of their lip with their index finger, “Ha ha! That’s my boy!”  Karamatsu:  His heart swelled with affection and pride when his little girl found his old blue sweater while looking through some old boxes in the living room, her small hands picking the large lump of fabric up and grunting up at her daddy. “Oh my little dove, you want to wear it?” His oh-so-smart girl nodded her head, she was growing so fast. He chuckled and complied, putting the hoodie over her head and draping it over her tiny form. “So cute!” Karamatsu heard from behind him as his s/o walked into the room, their eyes glued to their daughter. “She looks just like you hon.” He smiled and nodded, “Although, it’s missing something dear.” Karamatsu then dug through another box, pulling out an old pair of sunglasses and put them on his daughter, smiling as they were too big for her and ended up being lop-sided on her head, earning a few giggles from the toddler. “There, now she’s perfect. Although, my little darling was always perfect.” Choromatsu: Choromatsu about died when his toddler daughter walked into the room, wearing his old mint green hoodie from back in the day. The hoodie was too big for her, dragging across the floor as she tried to walk around in it. He smiled as she waddled up to him, holding her arms out to him as she smiled. She was definitely his little girl, triangular-type smile and all. He, of course, took her into his arms as his s/o walked into the room, handing their baby off to them as they smiled. “She looks so much like you,” They remarked, “So cute!”. The adorable moment was interrupted by the little girl shouting, “Fappymatsu!” with a heap of giggles. “WHO TAUGHT HER THAT?!” Ichimatsu: Oh, he felt like he was going to throw up. Not because he was disgusted or anything, far from it. He was overflowing with pride and joy, a bit too much for his liking and body to handle. He’s definitely not used to these feelings, he’s been feeling it so much lately but he’s willing to put up with it to see his little girl happy and thriving. The sweater, which was way too big for the small toddler, was draped across her body as she walked around the house; pretending she was her father, even messing up her hair and slouching a bit. Ichimatsu thought he had locked the old ratted piece of garbage up in the attic but apparently not. His s/o watched from the couch as they laughed, “She looks just like you!” Just then, his daughter brought her fists up to her face and did a signature cat pose. Ok, now he’s really gonna throw up. Jyushimatsu: Jyushimatsu had walked into an interesting sight, his young son had found his old yellow hoodie in the pile of laundry in the laundry room. He let out his signature laugh as he picked his son up, spinning him around as the pair of them giggled and laughed. “Ha ha! You look just like me!” Just then, his s/o walked up with a basket of laundry and laughed alongside them, “How cute Jyushi, it’s like a mini you!”  The young boy shouted “Hustle hustle! Muscle muscle!” He had heard his father's signature catchphrase before from him shouting it throughout the house. Jyushi let out another laugh, “Yeah, that’s right! Hustle hustle! Muscle muscle!”  

Todomatsu:  Where was his phone, he needs to find it right now. His little girl had somehow pulled his old pink hoodie off of one of the hangers in the closet as she walked around the house, trying not to trip and fall over the long fabric. Todomatsu scrambled off the couch as he searched for his phone, “Stupid thing! It’s too small, I need to upgrade that piece of shit.” “Mind your language hon.” He looked behind him to see his s/o holding his phone, already taking pictures of their daughter. Totty smiled as he kissed his s/o on the cheek and took his phone back, already taking more pictures. “So cute, she looks just like you!” They proclaimed, just then his daughter pretended to take pictures with her own pretend phone just like her daddy. Time to switch to video!

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mine Cart

Debut: Donkey Kong Country

What an important and influential box on wheels this is! It feels like everyone and their symbiotic Demodex mites have been putting mine cart levels in their games forever! We take them for granted like the air we breathe and also like the other stuff. It’s good we get to experience mine carts so much through games, since today’s youth and even today’s old people would rather use a SHOPPING CART and that is what is wrong with the modern world

Sorry. I fed the beginning of this post to the goats. I do not actually want to talk about the whole history of Mine Cart. Please just pretend I have just finished discussing all the appearances of Mine Cart between 1994 and 2010. Thank you.

Name: THIS Mine Cart

Debut: Donkey Kong Country Returns

Finally, in 2010, the Mine Cart was perfected! You can tell because it has a face now. The headlights are its eyes, and the grill is its toothy smile! It’s so happy! Happy to have a face. Now that the mine carts are little guys, I bet they have so much fun zooming along the tracks!

Mine Carts appear quite commonly in Cave levels, where they are seen often being ridden by mischievous mining moles! What rascally rodents! (moles are not rodents)

Upon being hypnotized by the Tikis, the Mole Miners fill the mine carts with copious amounts of bananas and- hey! HEY! These are different mine carts! What happened to my beloved gray grinner? The easy answer is “this is a different kind of cart made to be interlocked with others to form a train and we see this happen in the game”. But there is a better answer! In this game especially, bananas are shown to have magical properties, transforming empty wooden husks into real living Bad Guys. These bananas are, I assume, being transported to the factory for this very reason. But maybe these are the original mine carts! Maybe some of them, upon being full of bananas just right, spontaneously transformed into the happy, joyful vessel I am so convinced has feelings. Are you going to argue against that, in the world of this Magic Bananas Game? Punk?

Looks like THIS Mine Cart has struck it rich! It found and mined these crystals itself, fair and square. Good job! What’s it going to buy? None of our business! What is our business is that Donkey Kong cannot ride IN this one, but rather, surfs on top of it!

Honestly, what really made me so attached to Mine Cart like this was Tropical Freeze, where it has its own collectible figure! This was the first time I got to actually see its darling face, and to top it all off, it’s in the Kong Family section of the figure list! Mine Cart is part of the family! Back with 64 they seemed like they were stretching it by considering an orangutan part of the family, and here we are, with a Vehicle as part of the gang. It’s really quite nice, how it seems to imply that to the Kongs, as long as you help each other, you’re basically family!

Rocket Barrel is also part of the family. Rocket Barrel was in the Super Mario Bros. Movie! Mine Cart was not. But that is ok!

Mine Cart, this very Mine Cart with the darling face, is, as far as we know, planned to be the star of the mine cart roller coaster coming to Super Nintendo World! The one that’s supposed to feel like you are really jumping off of the track! I have been seeing a lot of excitement over the potential thrills, and I agree that it sounds really cool and fun! And best of all? All that fun and excitement, courtesy of my friend, DKCR Mine Cart. Everyone hyped for this roller coaster is, knowingly or not, hyped about Mine Cart (”character”)!

This is a Weird Mario Entity that is becoming real, and has quite a lot of hype about its introduction to reality. Just think about that. Isn’t the world beautiful?