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luvtak · 7 months

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sandcastles, lfx x reader

✧ genre/ tw f2l <3!! sugary sweet fluff, angsty confessions, a couple pet names, a very sweet kiss, and felix and mc being unbearably down bad for each other, unedited <3

✧ w/c 2586

✧ a/n okay so i am writing this at 2 am after basically throwing this up, I've had this idea in my head for a couple days and finally had time to execute it, I am a sucker for f2l!felix and I hope you enjoy this very sweet confession, as well as the fun summery vibes I hoped to embrace the story in, happy reading! mwah <3!!

The first time you saw him you thought he was a daydream, sun bright and shiny–a made up boy for a lazy sunday afternoon. He came with golden hour, everything orange and yellow and the floral july smell was creeping around you. At twelve, you’d never seen a boy so sure of himself or so kind. Usually, the boys at school were listlessly mean or energetically cruel–ever patient in their mission to bother you. But here was Felix, funny and sweet and asking to be your friend.

The summer passed in oceanfront days and popsicle covered nights, pop songs on the radio as you talked from the backseat. Goofy and glamorous months spent together as you awaited Fall. You remember those days like the lines of your palm, linen sheets wrapped around your bodies as you told scary stories and held each other to ward off nightmares. Some days, going to bed with the sun still high in the sky–naps on the beach with his head on your tummy.

Felix’s sister’s hands in yours while you played ring around the rosie, giggles loud when you let go. The little girl’s voices as they yelled they all fall down! And Felix's own little voice asking if you were all okay, always worried about skinned knees and chipped nail polish. Childhood flashed with bandaid kisses and sandy shoes, freckled skin and ocean covered giggles.

You’d never forget when you realized he was beautiful–stepping out of the ocean like Aphrodite herself, a boy born from sunshine and seafoam. His wide eyes were crinkled with sun, surely adding more stars to his golden skin, and he was smiling. Smiling at you of all things, bright and incandescent Felix grinning at you like the happiest man on earth.

You think of that boy now as he sits next to you, watching the movie with an almost exaggerated delight. Taking in the action and the humor like someone just shown technicolor after a life of black and white. He’s grown up so much, grown up and away from you as you’ve gotten older. Those summer nights are just an origin story for who he is now, a big bright star like you always knew him to be.

As his very first fan, you always saw in him this man he could become, but sometimes under the cover of midnight you selfishly wished you could have kept him to yourself. He was always just yours; until he wasn’t… Always your north star, leading you on your journey since you were just a little thing, and now he’s that to thousands of people–none of them knowing he was yours first.

If you told him this he’d giggle up a storm and tell you he was still yours, but he wasn’t, not really… not in the way you wanted him to be. How could you tell him you loved him when in an instant he became bigger than you or any childhood wish.

“Silly, why aren’t you watching the movie? It’s the best part!” eyes gleaming and mouth pouty, Felix looks so pretty in the tv light, “I know we’ve seen this one like a billion times, but that doesn’t mean you can’t pay attention.” He huffs, undeniably pretending to be annoyed with you. He can’t really, couldn’t even if he wanted to. You’re just so dear to him, one half of his heart, and he could never attribute any negative feeling to you, even if you deserved it.

When he came home and saw you, more grown up and more beautiful than his phone screen allowed, he couldn’t believe he ever left you. He was so excited to watch your movie together, and while Ponyo had lost the astonishment of childhood, it still held its charm. The film was the background of so many childhood memories–putting it on after midnight nightmares or days spent sick in bed; children versions of you wrapped up and watching every sleepover.

It was silly, he had you there right next to him, but he still missed you until the movie was on, and here you were not watching it.

“Sorry, Lix, I just can’t believe you’re actually here.” your voice trembles a little, hiding the true emotions and fear that he’ll find you out. He would never stop being your friend just because you had a little crush on him, could never abandon you for something so little as a flutter in your tummy. But this wasn’t just a crush or a flutter, this was a stampede. You’d been in love with him for so long now, kept it hidden away in teenage diaries and grown up journals. A secret between you and the moon. You could never be sure how he’d take it, that for years now you’d been cowardly and afraid of him, a boy so brave he conquered his dreams.

“Well, believe it baby! And watch the movie… or else…” He said it in a funny voice, and even though you knew he meant well, the pet name pushed an ugly feeling in your gut.

Quietly and painfully you looked back to the screen, avoiding the way you can feel his body breathe next to you. For so long you missed this, the knowledge that your best friend was next to you, but now you think he should go home. Back to Seoul where he doesn’t hurt you by being him, sunshiney and starlit him. “Hey, seriously, are you okay? Where’d you go?” Felix is genuinely worried now, a sinister feeling arising in his chest that you’re not okay, and that it’s because of him.

Sure, he’s been gone a lot the last couple of years, but he never forgot the way your eyes got misty before you cried. He grew up alongside you, nursed bloody knuckles and broken hearts and he could feel when you were sad–knew like the back of his hand when you were devastated and hiding it, but was this just because you missed him?

“I’m fine, star boy, I just always get a little sad when I watch Ponyo. You remember don’t you? The way I would cry and cry when Sasuke promises to love and take care of her?” you mutter, softly without any conviction, and while the boy knows this to be true, he can’t help but notice your fidgety hands and the way you won’t look at him.

You’re so worried, crushed beyond belief that one night home and he’ll figure you out. You could never keep a secret from him, running to tell him as soon as someone told you a whisper of hidden truth. Since you were twelve you told him all your innerworkings and private feelings, all but this one. It was easy when he was gone, easy to train your voice to sound happy over the phone, but you couldn’t hide anything with his eyes so close to you.

Shoulder to shoulder you sat on the sofa you grew up on, right in this position with this beautiful boy. Watching this movie at 12 and 15, holding hands to ward against scary movie monsters. You couldn’t keep this secret here.

“You’re a shitty liar, Y/n, is it some boy? Do I have to defend your honor?” it was so silly to him, you were so silly. How could he think any other boy mattered to you but him? Him with his golden hair and bright eyes, star studded cheeks smiling at you in the sunshine.

You would never forgive yourself for that day on the beach. The day he became more than Felix, your best friend. You used to gag when your parents teased you about him, winced when one of your girls would say you looked cute together, and then all it took was the sun hitting him just right.

You would never forgive yourself for this night either, you had to tell him. Had to make sure he knew it didn’t matter if he couldn’t feel the same. Who were you other than his friend? He was an angel and you were just someone he knew before he ascended.

“Yeah, I guess. Some boy who I just can’t get out of my head.”

“Oh, my silly sweetheart, is he devastatingly handsome.” he was giggling, the way he always did when you brought up boys to him, like it was ridiculous you would think a boy was cute.

“I think so, he’s handsome and sweet, and I’ve never known anyone like him.”

“This sounds intense, Y/nie, you must really like him…”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

You can’t help but notice his body language shifting, turning inward and hesitant. His voice got quieter too, shifting back into his normal voice. You wonder if you transferred some of your fear to him, then dismiss the thought–your Felix has always been brave.

The movie still plays, little kid voices filling the otherwise silent room. The picture can be seen in his eyes, lighting the dark with bright oranges and blues. They're looking at you, and some tiny part of you can tell he seems sad. That piece of you that always knows how he’s feeling; attuned even when he’s in South Korea and you feel with all parts of you that you need to send a message to cheer him up.

You feel that now, and reach out to take his hand, calloused and warm in yours.

You stay like that for a while, finishing the film hand in hand like you did when you were both still small. Until finally, he asks so quietly you can barely hear him,

“Do you like him more than me?”

Shocked, you can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, which stuns Felix enough to pull his hand from yours–rubbing with his other hand where yours touched. He’s hurting, and you’re laughing at him, and this is enough to pull all of his bravery into you. Deep breathe in and out until you are sure every ounce of courage he’s ever had is running through your veins. You need to tell him, and even if he never speaks to you again, it's better than if he never knew he spins your whole world around.

“Oh my god, Felix, it is you.” it comes out in a breath, faster than you’ve ever said anything and more relieving than any sentence you’ve rattled out before. The tears you’ve been fighting off all night come tumbling down, cascading over your cheeks with reckless abandon into your shaky hands. He’s silent for so long, barely even moving from his place next to you. The only indication he’s still hear the shaky breaths he’s releasing, and still you don’t look at him.

You’re waiting for him to leave, to walk out the door and go home, waiting for him to walk out of your life and back into his place in the sky, when finally you feel his hand on your wrist. His hold is so delicate, nervous as he moves your hands from your face and can finally see your eyes. Eyes sad and exhausted and so familiar to him, even through the tears their lovely–a reminder of home and unconditional love, and growing up. He can’t believe you would like him, Him with all his idiosyncrasies and softheartedness, you were so beautiful and so strong and you liked him. Thought he was handsome and sweet, you’d never known anyone like him…

How long could this have been going on, how could he have been living never knowing you felt this way? Never knowing he felt it too, not just butterflies in his belly, but falcons, wings so strong and so big they started hurricanes.

He looked at you like he always did, like you were the most important thing in the room. Eyes on yours and a smile of disbelief rising on his face. Slowly, without any reservations he brought his forehead to yours, looking down at you in all your snotty glory and lifting a hand to swipe at the falling tears. His voice is a whisper, deep and familiar, the same voice he used to tell stories and secrets,

“It’s me? You promise?”

“It’s always been you, Felix, how could it be anyone else?”

He shudders, the hand sitting atop your cheek bone falling to your neck before he moves closer, settling his lips next to yours. Eyes lifting in a silent question, is this okay? With a nod and a close of your eyes he’s leaning in, moving to kiss you with all the desperation the moment requires. His tongue wiping up all the fallen tears as his lips moved with yours–when you were children he always kissed your wounds better, sweet pecks over bandaids and foreheads, and here he was now fixing up a broken heart–putting it back together.

When he comes back up for air his eyes settle over your frame, flushed and hair messy from his hands, and he smiles. He’s loved you since he was a boy, since you asked to build that sand castle, 12 years old and braver than anyone he’s ever known. He’s loved you through teenage tantrums and silly crushes, it’s always been you.

“We’ve been so silly, sweetheart.” he finally gets out, laughing at the impossibility of it all. The one secret you kept from each other being the same. Like always, exactly on the same page–telling the same story over and over again until you met in the middle. “When did you know? When did you know you loved me?”

He’s so happy, you can feel it in the way he’s holding you, in the way his hands haven’t left your skin since they arrived. You can’t believe it, this beautiful boy is holding you.

“That day you told me you were gonna audition… you came from the sea smiling and covered in sunshine, and I saw you for the first time–larger than life, my dream.”

His eyes closed, and then he laughed. A great big wonderful laugh that took him away from you, falling onto his back with happy tears streaming. It was such a lovely sound you couldn’t help but join in, giggling with him even if you didn’t know why.

When he finally speaks again his voice is still twinged with laughter, breathless and happy when he says, “You were so late” pausing to laugh, “I loved you since we were 12, you were covered in sand and I was in love.”

You move to him quickly, settling your body on top of his as gently as you could manage, and you take in his happy face. This is what he looks like in love, not any different than he’s ever looked, but the shock of it–the fact that it’s you who he loves and is loved in return makes you want to cry again.

This is where home is, here in his arms with your movie playing, smiling at each other in awe. There's so many moments you can share with him now, moments you shared with the moon and shooting stars, things you never thought you could tell him. Days and weeks holding a secret that he carried too. How silly you’ve both been, to deny what everyone has told you since you were children–two humans made for each other, sculpted out of the same sand. Lives entwined since that day on the beach when you asked him to build a sandcastle, how funny looking back, that you never did.

#felix x reader #felix fluff #skz x reader #skz fluff #lee felix #skz felix #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix imagines #felix x you

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thatmexisaurusrex · 3 months

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Summer BuckTommy. Going to the beach together. Maybe making the most structurally sound sandcastle as Buck infodumps about architecture. Hanging out on the peer. Buck teaching Tommy how to surf. Maybe going to Joshua Tree to camp. Hiking. Looking up at the stars. Buck talking about camping at parks in between jobs on his cross country road trip to find himself. Buck teaching Tommy the constellations. Maybe Tommy talking about looking up at the night sky while he was on tour. Tommy talking about his own made up constellations. Muay Thai lessons with the garage door open. Book club with only the two of them and the books are all about the history of cars and how to assemble and disassemble them. Flirting at harbor station before flying lessons. Lasagna nights. Helping Bobby during a barbecue at Bobby and Athena’s rebuilt home. Buck and Tommy playfully arguing about grilling methods before Bobby steps in and they watch and take notes on Bobby’s technique. Going to Disneyland with Eddie and Christopher. Arguing about the better Star Wars films. Taking Jee-Yun to the local YMCA for Chimney and Maddie to bring her to swimming lessons. Hanging out with Chimney and Maddie in their backyard, making s’mores with Jee and Chris and Eddie and Denny and Mara and Karen and Hen too. Double dates with Hen and Karen. Karaoke with Chimney and Maddie. Summer-Themed Trivia nights together. Kissing under the soft light a summer sunset. Summer BuckTommy.

#911 abc #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy headcanons #tevan #kinley #summer bucktommy

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slut-taylorsversionnn · 8 months

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hey, I love your work so much! It’s so cute and sweet! I was wondering, and if you don’t like it feel free to totally ignore it, it won’t hurt my feelings. But I was wondering how you would feel about Dad Tom. Like reader and Tom have like a little girl who he loves with his whole heart, or something like that. I don’t really know. Thx love!

i love this idea so much, tom would be such a good girl dad so here you go!

summary: tom, his wife y/n, and their three year old daughter eleanor blyth take a trip to the beach

i was so excited to see eleanor’s reaction to the beach. she had only ever been when she was a couple months old so not old enough to remember the sand or the ocean. she was so used to being raised in new york and with tom’s filming schedule we hadn’t been able to get away to one of my favorite places, nantucket. it was so gorgeous there and i had fond memories there of growing up so naturally i wanted to take eleanor there. we had flown in last night and today was our first day.

i rolled over in bed and was greeted with tom’s blue eyes. “good morning love.” tom said groggily, “are you excited for our beach day?”

“you bet! i can’t wait to have eleanor in her adorable little swim suit running around the beach.” i said grinning. tom leaned in and kissed me gently.

“i can’t wait to see you in a bikini,” he smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

“watch in blyth, we can’t be having too much pda in front of eleanor. i know you get carried away..”

“i do not! it’s definitely you that gets carried away.” he retorted.

“well sorry if my hands can’t stay away from those gorgeous abs, all that time in the gym really shows when the shirt comes off.” i smirked.

“i’ll make you a deal, whoever gives in to a kiss first on our beach day has to cook dinner the rest of the trip.” tom said.

“oh you’re so on. you better start searching up recipes because i don’t lose blyth.” i grinned.

“DADDY!” eleanor gushed as she ran into our room and jumped on the bed.

“guess what???” she squealed.

“what is it darling?” tom said as he scooped her up into his lap.

“i had a dream that i got to swim with dolphins last night!!” eleanor told us all about her dream as her face lit up. “do you think i’ll get to swim with them in real life today?”

“only one way to find out!” i said as she crawled over to me and i swept her into a hug. “are you so excited for the beach today?”

“yeah! and daddy promised me he would build sandcastles with me and you promised you would scare the sharks off in the water.” she said animatedly.

“of course i’ll only let the dolphins swim next to us.” i said kissing her forehead.

“how about we go make some pancakes for breakfast?” tom offered.

“yes! i will be your personal helper!” exclaimed eleanor.

eleanor and tom went to the kitchen so i threw on a pink bikini with some jean shorts and an oversized shirt. tom knew i got some new clothes for this trip but man this bikini was sure to make him lose our little bet. i quickly put my hair up and made my way into the kitchen. tom had pulled up a chair to the kitchen island for eleanor to stand on so she could help mix the pancake batter. eleanor had both hands on the whisk with tom standing behind her and occasionally having to step in to help her mix.

“y/n i seriously think we have a master chef with us! eleanor i might as well be your assistant now.” tom said and that earned a giggle from eleanor. they were too cute.

we ate our breakfast and packed a picnic lunch for later and set off for the beach. luckily the little beach cottage was close enough that we could walk. unfortunately for tom, me and eleanor were a little too good at overpacking and that led tom to be hauling beach chairs and a beach bag overflowing with towels, buckets, and shovels. it was quite the sight seeing tom loaded up like a pack mule as eleanor was racing down the pathway to reach the beach.

“hurry up mommy and daddy!” eleanor squealed.

“we’re coming sweetie.” tom replied as he juggled the beach gear and picked up the pace.

“i’ll race you there el!” i shouted as i started jogging to catch up to her.

she immediately giggled and started running full speed towards the beach. once the beach was in sight i ran up behind her and scooped her up.

“i think i won that one,” eleanor beamed as she took in the waves and salt air.

“at least i beat your daddy.” i said as tom finally made it to the sand.

“well maybe if i wasn’t carrying 100 pounds of beach gear i would’ve beat you both.” tom said grinning.

i set eleanor down and helped tom set up the beach towels and chairs. i then pealed off my shorts and shirt revealing my pink bikini that hugged me in all the right places. tom stood there looking me up and down.

“it’s a little early in the day to be losing a bet.” i said slyly.

tom proceeded to peel off his shirt leaving him in just his swimming trunks. “who said i was losing?”oh my gosh he looked so fine. he just smirked at me checking out his abs, “take a picture, it’ll last longer babe.”

“you’re so full of yourself.” i retorted and rolled my eyes.

“guys come on let’s get it the water!” eleanor said running towards the ocean. me and tom went and joined her.

“now el darling, be careful and watch out for jellyfish, i don’t want my girl getting stung.” tom warned.

“ok daddy.” eleanor said and she grabbed tom’s hand and began wading into the water. eleanor made it about waist deep and then i saw tom whisper something to her and before i knew what was happening i was being splashed by eleanor and tom.

“eleanor!! why would you team up against me with daddy?” i screeched while splashing them back.

eleanor was full on belly laughing and tom couldn’t stop laughing either.

“i feel personally hurt, maybe i won’t scare off the sharks now.” i said.

“no no mommy i’m sorry we’ll get daddy back, please protect me from the sharks.” eleanor came running to give me a hug.

“better watch your back mr. blyth.” i said smirking.

eleanor wanted to go make sandcastles so tom got the buckets and shovels out and i showed eleanor how to make a good sandcastle. it basically turned into tom doing all the work and eleanor putting shells on top of the sandcastles. tom started building another one and i whispered to eleanor, “you should go knock over daddy’s sandcastle.” she giggled and began to sneak over to tom. she kicked it over and started belly laughing.

“oh eleanor you better start running!” tom teased as he started to chase after her. she ran away but tom caught her and scooped her up as she was screeching. he started tickling her and she couldn’t contain her laughter. i sat watching the two of them laughing and was so thankful for my wonderful little family.

after we ate our picnic lunch eleanor was all worn out and fell asleep curled up in her beach chair.

“does the pda count if eleanor’s asleep because you look SO good in that bikini y/n i don’t know if i can keep my hands off you much longer.” tom said.

“that depends tom, how much of a sore loser are you going to be since you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“oh i don’t even care anymore i just need to kiss you right now,” tom said as he leaned in and captured my mouth. i kissed him back and raked my hands through his brown curls. he grinned sheepishly and pulled back.

“i don’t even care if i have to cook for the whole year, i just needed to kiss you.” tom smiled and i snuggled into his chest.

after a little bit i carried sleeping eleanor back to the cottage with tom carrying the beach stuff behind me.

“i think i can say that was a successful beach trip.” i said looking back at tom.

“agreed, can’t wait to do it again tomorrow with my two favorite people.” he replied.

hope you all enjoyed, i tried to make this one a little longer! <3

#tom blyth fluff #tom blyth smut #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth angst #tom blyth fic #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tbosas #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #billy the kid

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precious-little-scoundrel · 10 months

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Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldn’t it be Nice?

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a child’s sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a man’s member, someone’s hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddy’s injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.

Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .

It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful you’d think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stone’s throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.

They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the evening’s meal of s’mores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldn’t keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sun’s full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that he’d swiped from Edith Head’s costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.

“Those’ll make for some crazy tan lines.” Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.

She’d just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their baby’s breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.

The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, he’d been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..

It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been “just a baby” but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisy’s little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribner’s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.

It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasn’t that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisy’s masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because he’d caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.

Uncle Rex’s kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year old’s painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his child’s grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.

In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.

“Aww now darlin’ it’s alright, it’s alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,” he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, “he’s awfully sorry, didn’t mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, he’d never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.”

“Just sick.” Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, “I’m ever so sorry, Daisy dear.”

It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoon’s work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddy’s arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.

That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, “Daisy, was this goin’ to be where they keep the wolves?”

Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where it’s first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddy’s shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:

“S’posed to be.” For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rex’s foot.

“We can help finish it!” Jesse insisted. “Look here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and it’ll be good as new!” He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her father’s arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, “Whatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this ol’ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two ‘bout buildin’ things, don’t we now, Rex?” He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisy’s head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.

“Oh sure we do, I’ve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ain’t that right, Elvis?” He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. “I’ll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?” Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, “Lick-en-stine Castle doesn’t have vines that hang down…but it has trees that grow on the side.” Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.

“What’s going on down there?” Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.

He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t have another baby yet. “They’re all over the place.” She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.

They weren’t that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosalee’s tiny fingers. Rex and Betsy’s son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.

“Your man has got the boys rebuilding it.” Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. “Only Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year old…and with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didn’t he?”

Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the water’s edge. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.

Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaine’s breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jack’s favored vocabulary consisted mostly of “mama” and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his father’s son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,

“Cat’sup?”

By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.

“You can’t possibly be hungry, little man.” She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.

“Cat’sup.” Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. “Caaaat’suuup.”

“Well, ya heard him,” she giggled to Betsy. “The man of the place says he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame him one bit. I’m a little hungry myself,” Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. “What do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?”

Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasn’t much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with s’mores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.

The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisy’s satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the s’mores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered children’s delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?

This is Jesse’s thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesse’s stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerry’s beautiful blonde mop of hair.

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

“No, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!”

It’s absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.

“Dunk him in the ocean!” Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.

“No, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-“ he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.

“There’s a giant body of water right behind ya.” Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.

“The salt will ruin my flow, man!” Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.

It’s no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.

“Jerry, just stick your dumb head in God’s teacup, man.” Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.

“You’re gonna lose more than your flow if ya don’t.” Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.

She can tell it spooks him but it’s not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their s’mores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.

The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. There’s frisbee’s being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the family’s famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaine’s diaper bag.

“Mama, can I?” he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.

“Sure, darlin,” she grins from her sand casement, “Rosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? It’s gettin’ in my mouth, thank ya baby.”

“Alright,” Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, “gimme your best smile ladies!” he imitates his father’s tone so well that Betsy let’s out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.

“I want a mermaid tail!” Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.

“Of course you do!” Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, “Lay down beside mama, sweetie. Y’all got enough muscles for one more, right?” she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: “No, Jesse, the camera -don’t, not on the sand! -oh well.”

It’s just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesse’s guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.

“It’s fine, darling,” she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mama’s.

After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, “Do y’all need me to get you anything? Y’all hungry again?”

“Yeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?” Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.

“No, we’re good,” Daisy replies serenely.

“Ya sure?” Betsy’s face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.

“Yeah.”

Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, “How long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?” she asks Betsy.

“With those men as the sailors?” She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, “An hour max.”

Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesn’t have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.

“Ow goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!” The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like he’d been shot.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” Little Jesse is at his father’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvis’s hands covering his privates and understands what’s happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. “Is it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?”

“I think I’ve got sand in my…” Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his father’s unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvis’s face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.

“In your scarf, papa?” Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks they’re being discreet but really they’re just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.

Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they can’t help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesse’s little boy fascination with his father’s “nozzle” that wore a “little scarf” came from the fact that he himself didn’t have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.

Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.

And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their “little men” didn’t have a scarf like their daddy’s did.

Such was Jesse’s preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.

Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, “Want me to carry ya to mama, EP?”

“Help me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I don’t wanna hear it,” Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvis’s arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddy’s hand resting heavily on the little boy’s shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvis’s tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells he’d been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Elbis’ wocket owie?” Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man “rocket,” a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldn’t be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascal’s hair and saying, “Ok, my boy. I see I ain’t gonna change your mind on this one.” Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.

“Oh now, what’s all the fuss about, hmm?” Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husband’s disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her son’s face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerry’s trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his leg’s been shot clean off, and she can’t quite make out where the injury lies. There’s no blood, no bruise, no showing bone…she runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.

“Elvis, what’s wrong?” she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvis’ teeth gritted glare at his friend. “What’s broken?” Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and it’s Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,

“Daddy’s nozzle is broken.” Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesse’s faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddy’s copy. He’s a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mama’s expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.

“Broken?” Elaine repeats and she’s already gathered enough comfort for Schilling’s mirth to figure that this isn’t life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvis’ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, “Really, honey? We’ve talked about you runnin’ round with a stiffy.”

“It ain’t broke or stiff!” Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, “There’s a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in my…business!”

“Oh.” Elaine’s mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerry’s suppressed attempts and that’s just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.

“Woman, I’m in agony over here!” Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.

“Do somethin’ mama!” Jesse urges, mimicking his father’s faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.

“Umm ok, yeah of course I-“ she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. “Can’t you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?” She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. “Just pull the legs out a little and…shimmy in the water..”

“I could barely walk to you!” Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.

“Yeah, uh, Boss Lady, it’s like -up, UP his …scarf.” Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.

“And it hurts?!” Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, “Oh Mopey, no, oh dear, I’ll fix it, I-I’ll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?”

“What am I supposed to do about a dick injury?” Jerry asks, offended at the notion he’d know anything about dicks.

Elaine’s eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. “I need to rinse the poor thing!” she hisses, “And I need some privacy from our folks while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, she needs to rinse it!” Elvis repeats in a small voice that’s very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.

“Elvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,” she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldn’t find so cute but she can’t help it when he turns into a big baby for her.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.

“He’s got a boo boo and I’ve gotta rinse it out.” Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. “Like how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?” Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, “But daddy’s owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need y’all to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?”

The words are barely out of Elaine’s mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosalee’s hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if he’s gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Sam’s mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon they’ve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like it’s a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.

Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh it’s so silly, she thinks, he’s so silly and she loves him so much and can’t believe she’s humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.

“I shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,” she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when he’s so dreadfully wounded.

“Mama I’s hurtin,” Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jack’s and somehow she’s gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience it’s best to just kiss it better.

But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing what’s best and doing what’s asked of her. “My poor pretty baby.” she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. “Lemme just grab-“ Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, it’s empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. It’s chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.

“Here Butnin, open up,” she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke she’s grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.

The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon it’s turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jack’s been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish it’s severity, when God fells a man it’s his due for a woman to fuss over him.

Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaine’s hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where he’s tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,

“Careful woman, it’s burnin’ like hellfire, don’t need your maulin’ on top of it.”

“Sowwy, so sowwy baby,” she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a man’s flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. There’s nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when it’s in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine can’t help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. “We’re gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,” she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.

Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. It’s more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.

“Goddamn it, Tink, that hurts!” Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.

“I’s gotta gets to him, Naughty,” she says, loath to make it worse but now she’s looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. “Let mamas take care of ya, hold still an’ it’ll be over soon, pretty baby.”

“Hurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-” her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl that’s not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesn’t appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, “-hell I’d wager a couple grand it’s worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?”

Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.

“Hellfire woman that’s ice cold!” Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.

“You said it was burnin’?” she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he can’t quite manage it, it’s an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesn’t so easily condone is the way she’s still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like it’s a wiper on a windshield.

“Y-yeah I did,” he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that can’t be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. “But in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.”

“Is daddy gonna live?” Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes she’ll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.

Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mama’s snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, “Elbis still alive, Woslaee.”

“But-but he’s crying, he’s crying like you do!” Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvis’ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.

“I’m fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mama’s bein’ silly.” Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.

“Elaine, enough with the Coke,” Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.

“But look -it works!” she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and she’s tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.

“You ain’t got the brains of a lil bird,” he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.

“You say the sweetest things, E,” Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. “Someone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell ‘em he was spot on. See look, it’s workin’, the sand’s coming out.” She sounds pleased.

“No thanks to you!” Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mama’s care ain’t cutting it.

“Hold still while I rinse this last bit out!” Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe she’s right.

“Why’s it takin’ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?” Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that child’s nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.

“You can’t bweed oudda yer wocket,” Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddy’s rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. “But a wocket can snap off.”

“Why’d his rocket snap off?” Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam let’s go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.

“‘Cause God doesn’t lub Elbis.” Jack clarifies.

“We should just snap it off all the way, then it’ll stop hurtin,” Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.

“I can’t lose him, I can’t lose daddy! We jus’ got him back!” Rosalee’s grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaine’s work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.

“Then we should snap the wocket clean off,” Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.

“Pete’s sake! It’s not his rocket doin’ this, it’s his scarf!” Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.

“I hate Daddy’s scarf!” Rosalee screams about something she doesn’t even understand, straight into Betsy’s red and soothing face.

Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaine’s ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosalee’s neck.

“Schnucki, my Schnucki I’m gonna be fine!” he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.

“I don’t want ya to die!” Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvis’ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare that’s firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.

“What ya lookin’ at boy?” Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.

The yelp breaks Ella’s resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. “Mama, where’s it hurt?” she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all that’s gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-

-yeah, they’re done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,

“I’ll clean ya up at home!” Elaine fortifys him with a wink.

This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, “Does it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?”

Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that she’s gonna have Daisy “chop off his rocket” so it never happens again. “No, Trouble, I’m all better ‘cause mama loves me and fixed me up” Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.

Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jack’s ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. “Ya ok, daddy?” he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.

Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. “Scarf’s fine and gonna make it.”

“No i’s not! We gonna chop it off!” Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rex’s k-bar.

“Oh, honey now, that won’t solve nothin,” Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.

Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, “Is’ better this way, daddy, s’never gonna hurt ya again. Promise.”

“It’s for de bestest, Elbis,” Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his children’s wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. “Wosalee knows it’s gonna wot off odderwise,” he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.

This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her father’s entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesn’t mean that she’s immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.

“Rex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!” he yells.

“She said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!” Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.

“Rex!” Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.

“Be a man about it, Daddy!” A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where he’s pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.

“Nope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!” Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. “Nobody is gonna chop off anythin’,” she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.

“But what about it wotting?” Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.

“It won’t rot,” Elaine sighs, “It’s not that badly hurt at all.” And she adds that for Rosalee’s benefit as the girl’s cheeks are so smashed to Elvis’ own that there’s no discernible edge to the flub.

“But we wanna be careful,” Rosalee protests, “This can neber happen again.” And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldn’t make it in a nuclear age.

“Lil Elvis is my little friend, I don’t want him hurt either!” Elaine insists and between his children’s misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.

“Daddy’s my best friend too, but I gotta help him,” Rosalee insists.

“But darling -I did help him!” Elaine mutturs.

“Didn’t sound like it got better,” Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.

“Billy says men can still pee without them,” Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosalee’s ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.

“How do ya-“ Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what she’ll defend him with next, “-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!” Elaine reasons.

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

“But if he don’t have a rocket it won’t hurt to pee-pee!” Daisy vehemently enunciates. “And Rosalee’ll stop cryin.”

It’s that simple for the twin.

Elaine looks up to her friend Besty who’s still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. “We aren’t cutting off my lil friend,” Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

“Why don’t ya care that daddy’s hurt?” Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.

“It’s gonna wot off.” There goes Jack again.

Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.“Hush up, Trouble. I’ve had just about enough outta you.”

“Do y’all want more siblings or not?” Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. “Cause without that nozzle there ain’t any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Y’all could manage without your noses far easier.”

Jack rallies to declare, “I’m baby, don’t want more sibwings,” and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

“It’s true!” she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and he’s maybe to blame for the fact she’s got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now she’s half savage about these things.

“Rockets don’t rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,” Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.

“I can’t wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,” Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.

“Serves ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.” Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. “Consider it payment for Rex’s K-Bar,” she adds and watches as Betsy’s face pales again at the recollection of her husband’s stupidity.

“That man…” she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaine’s hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary “thank you” and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Come on baby, let’s get you dressed, hmm? It’s time to go home,” she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roselee’s tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. It’s been such a lovely day, but suddenly she’s bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyone’s scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, “Help you up, Boss?”

Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, “Don’t need no help, Jerrah, it’s just a scratch. Actin’ like I’m too wounded to stand on my own. I’m not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.” He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.

Elvis watches him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.

“Ok Laney, let’s get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,” Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.

Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if that’s possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.

“For what, E?”

“Whatcha mean, ‘for what?’ For-for always takin’ such good care o’ me. Even when I’m a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.” Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.

“Oh Mopey, I’ll always take care of you. Sweet man.” Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, “What now, Jerrah?”

“Sorry boss, but everyone’s all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.”

Elaine smiles at Elvis’s look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. “Oh now, don’t look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Mel’s Drive In on the way home?”

Elvis’s face brightens at that. “Can I have strawberry?” Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driver’s side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just us then,” Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. “Just like old times. Almost.” She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaine’s shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.

“Now it really is like old times. ‘Member when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,” he chuckles gleefully. Elaine’s eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.

“Oh goodness. Elvis! I’d completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,” she muses.

“Then I drove ya home, real proper like,” he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. “And then,” he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, “I kissed ya, right…here…” His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Elaine shivers and swallows. “Naughty,” she whispers.

The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. “Hi there! Can I take your order?” Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.

“God, how long has it been since I’ve had a milkshake?” Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a good long while, that the Colonel doesn’t allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesn’t want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvis’s knee as she slurps her chocolate one.

Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvis’s shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvis’s thin shirt, it’s even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaine’s face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.

“Oh! Elvis…baby! I…” she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvis’s blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.

“You taste good, honey,” she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure she’s ok and by some miracle she’s untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.

“Aw hell! My leather seats!” Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.

“Shawbewies?” A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. “I want some.” Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.

“Just perfect. Here Trouble, here’s some for ya,” Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. “That’s enough sugar for today, boy.”

Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. “Why’re we never alone in a car, baby?” Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.

“You’re the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?” she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvis’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.

“Yeah, with somethin’ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis #fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis and me #elvis presley fic #welcome home elvis #elvis presley fan fic #elvis fans

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zacksnydered · 1 year

Photo

HENRY CAVILL as CPT. SYVERSON Sand Castle (2017) | Dir. Fernando Coimbra

#henry cavill #cpt. syverson #sand castle #netflixedit #filmtvedit #filmsourceedit #cineampix #henrycavilledit #hcavilledit #cavilledit #sandcastleedit #mine.#edit: gifs.#film: sandcastle.

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springsylph · 4 months

Text

bodyguard.

[bodyguard!john price x rookie actress!reader]

extension of this blurb. || minors, do not interact.

read on ao3

this was supposed to be a one-off thing but uh. my hand slipped? had to cut down the "price wouldn't do that" monster with my "i can do what i want" sword, and we got 3k of an unedited brain dump that i typed on my phone at six in the morning. also my first time writing something for price! woo!

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?"

Yelling secures you your first big project.

You can’t pay those bills until I land a job. A real job.

You’re almost certain your agent thinks you’re throwing a tantrum, and it leaves a coarse grit in your molars. You don’t like to pick fights. Hate it, really. But pushes are usually succeeded by shoves, and you can’t afford to get knocked out of the ring this time around.

The worst they can do is say no, right?

Thankfully, one yes is all you need to beg for. Your chariot arrives in the shape of a surprisingly low-budget rom-com, in simple terms. You and your C-list costar (flanked by a squeaky clean track record, thank god) are swept up in a soundless spiral of table reads and filming and wrapping before you can really, truly process.

But a warden stands guard at the eye of your perfect storm. John Price, assigned to you through your agency without so much as a proper word.

(“Squeaky clean,” apparently, didn’t take a history of overzealous stalkers into account.)

The peephole to your dilapidated apartment can barely contain him. blocks him—or attempts to do so—like a child might shield their sandcastle from the pulsing tide. Only, you think the tide might be more forgiving. He’s rooted in place, made harsher under the cracked fluorescent bulbs out in the hallway. They hum along with him. Faint, unless your breathing stills.

You’d feel a little more at ease if he were actually ex-military; the scraps of information you’ve been fed tell you that he’s been discharged, but you don’t believe it. Not for a second. You hadn’t been given much else apart from that and a face, but you could put together that he was disgustingly overqualified—not that you were complaining, though. Not yet.

You watch as John Price—Price?—gazes with a deceiving sort of apathy toward the end of the hall, then to the other, and back to the other end in three smooth seconds.

You think he’s seeing things till the apartment two doors down produces a tenant from its depths and price is turning, warding the disturbance off with an easy mornin’ and a wave of a large hand. He says nothing when they shuffle off awkwardly without a response, and the slow crawl of his opposite hand away from a flash of metal at his hip draws your pupil like a magnet.

It’s then that you note the suspiciously white shirt—rolled up to his elbows, tucked neatly into dark denim. hands tucked into pockets. Beard trimmed. Everything not protected by the skin on his body squared away just so, with just enough of his bulk on display to prompt that second spike of wariness.

A meticulous problem, then.

You peel yourself away from the door after an inhale and swing it open regardless.

The smell of tobacco and cologne hits your nose like a hammer the moment the door hits the bolt behind you, but you recover the feeling in your knees quickly. The fisheye lens doesn’t quite do him justice—you have to look up a bit to take another quick scan, cheeks cramping with the sudden momentum of your smile.

“I don’t see a bible or a pamphlet, so I’m assuming you’re not here to preach?”

The joke doesn’t fall flat, but it does sail into one of the weaker bulbs before it shuts off with a buzz.

“…Captain Price, right?”

His eyes crinkle with a hint of what might be a grin. Under different circumstances, maybe. “Right on the mark. A pleasure to finally meet you, Ma’am.” But that thrum of irritation is there, as is the narrowing of his eyes when you extend your hand in greeting. “Just Price’ll do though.”

Hm.

He reaches up to fix his beanie just above his brow before giving your hand a firm shake. Definitely military. And hot as a furnace. You’re more than a little dizzy when he pulls back to check his watch, the inside of your wrist now raw from the grazing of a fingernail.

You can feel the skin he’s taken with him when he looks you in the eyes. Assessing. You don’t know why, but think you’ve won until he’s looking back down at his wrist.

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?”

Nine in the morning.

Or, at least it was thirty minutes ago.

“I—yeah. Lost track of time, sorry.” You scratch just under the collar of your shirt, straighten it out when the itch turns into a tingle you’re willing to overlook. You realize after an embarrassing beat that he’s probably asking for the actual time. “I sleep like a rock,” you add anyway. Your agency had actually given you three things, not two: a poorly put together profile, a face, and a meeting time.

It dawns on you now that a thirty minute “test of patience” with your back pressed to the door may not have been the way to go.

Price looks up, finally. Rolls his shoulders back as if to shed the pileup of gravity that’s compressed his spine in the half hour you’ve kept him waiting—and somehow, someway, seems to double the amount of space he takes up.

“That so,” he questions. Low in his throat, and a tad exasperated, because you’ve studied exasperation. Went into debt to have that understanding feel like a second skin. Which is why you observe, perplexed, as he gestures to the entryway. You think you feel your head nod, and he brushes past you to push through the door. “‘Nother habit we’ll have to kick.”

Any objections you might’ve had are killed in your throat the moment his prowl begins, and your socks catch on the scuffed linoleum as you flounder in after him.

The door slams back against the bolt while Price’s boots press the air out of your hardwood floors, squeals escaping with each heavy step. You squeak out a feeble excuse me alongside them once or twice, but to no avail. He can’t hear you, too intent on following some internal rhythm that takes him to the open window, the dusty cabinets, slipping fingers into the creases of a space you’re barely acquainted with yourself.

Something like nausea begins to bubble. You planned this. You’d planned out your introduction. Picked out your clothes, your shoes, where you’d grab coffee so you could build up your integrity and explain to him that you’re not looking to be coddled, he’d just get in the way. And now you’re wringing your hands, abject unease burning in a dense knot between your eyes while you figure out how to melt into the poorly hidden pile of dirty laundry.

There’s a delay in your processing, and you don’t start to catch up until Price finally slows down enough for you to realize he’s been talking.

He’s stooping over your dining room table, swiping a finger over his tongue before using it to card through old mail. “Real sorry ‘bout this, Ma’am. Not the most ideal introduction, I know, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch. Standard protocol—’m sure you know how it is, yeah?”

Price moves to turn over a stack of magazines on your dining table, and you wonder: were you supposed to know? You’re sure his question is rhetorical, and you’re certainly not inclined to answer. But something about the way it hits the water stains on your ceiling justifies the way he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

Concern. An uncut gem, plucked from some cavernous fissure that might be closer in proximity to hell than your own flesh and blood.

The crease between his brows deepens. “You have had security before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t get out much. I do my work, come right home.” You shrug, but your shoulders can’t seem to come back down. Perhaps this was why they’d put him on leave—he couldn’t do math.

You shuffle a bit in place, kick aside a ratty tennis ball left behind from one of your pet sitting stints. It hits your refrigerator and he’s still looking down at your feet, so you look with him.

—at the last two toes sticking out of your sock.

You rush to cover it with your other foot while Price sucks his teeth. He doesn’t move, hands still planted on the table, but each time he blinks his eyes are trained on something different.

Price lets out a sigh before he finally stands upright, perching his hands on his hips. “I'm surprised your people waited this long to call someone in. Right idiots they are, I’ll tell you that.”

Your people. You wrap your arms around your middle, pinch the fabric of your shirt between your fingers.

“I can't really blame them,” you say after a moment. Tip your chin up, a last ditch attempt at salvaging what little of your farce is left to cover yourself with.

Price tuts, strangely unconvinced for someone you’d only known for around ten minutes. “You’d be smart to blame them.”

“Don’t think I can do that when I'm working for them, Price.”

“Can’t you? S’clear they’ve done fuck all to look out for you.”

And you could. Should. Want to. So, so desperately need to. But you’re already saddled with enough things to hate. Hope of catharsis is an outbound ship, a blip on the horizon that you don’t have the funds to board.

“…I don't follow.”

Price doesn’t flinch when the table rocks without the weight of the magazines to keep it steady, and neither do you.

“You don’t follow,” he repeats. Like a crucial detail has been lost in translation.

You shake your head.

“Well, that’s no good.”

Cigar smoke snakes its way into your headspace again when he strides past you to put his hand up against the door, muscles in his forearms flexing when he pulls at the doorknob. He beckons you closer, and you’re pulled out of orbit when you skirt close enough for him to reach, guiding your hand to the cool metal while he stands just behind you.

“Here,” he mutters. Your chest is a cushion, and the rumble in his chest is a bright red pin.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if the crackle of a walkie-talkie might bury how frighteningly human he sounds.)

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

He takes his hand off once you’ve stopped throwing glances at him, and your knuckles sizzle in his absence. What was he looking for? Nothing…looks different.

You can’t focus. His eyes are on your neck, and you can’t focus.

And suddenly, you don’t like how close he is. You’re reminded of how he’d shoved his way into your apartment. Barely spoken to you before driving a stake through the bubble put together with your blood sweat and tears. Made you feel ashamed in your own home.

Righteous indignation flares up, and you’re spewing words you’re certain you believe in until they tumble out.

“If you’re just here to poke fun, I’m not—”

Pop.

You look down. The keyhole pokes just out of the doorknob and you look to Price, his face remarkably passive.

“Lock’s been tampered with.” He runs a thumb over the offending protrusion, watches as it slots back into place. “You should see some scratches on the other side of it. Thought I noticed something when the door first slammed, but I didn't want to startle you in case my eyes were playing tricks. Can’t quite see like I used to.”

Why not get glasses?

“I would’ve put up less of a fuss if you’d told me up front.”

He looks at you, eyes a perfect congruence of something just beyond what your fingertips can touch. But he smiles, and you think you can understand. Maybe mash the pieces together. A distending warmth. Nepenthe sinking into every orifice until you’re expelling your woes through your nostrils.

Your axis tilts when Price puts a solid hand on your shoulder.

“It’s not good to lie, mm? Not to me.”

Not good to lie.

When you slide out from under his palm, his callouses snag on the exposed seam of your shirt. You toss him a grin, a bone. “Noted.”

Insecure seconds pass, but not without movement.

It begins like this: Price walks away from the door, and you’re almost grateful for the squealing underneath his feet to fill the silence. He takes your stack of mail and magazines, sets them exactly as they had been before he’d entered. The table is righted, and he works in reverse from that point on.

Closing cabinet doors. Angling that picture frame you’ve been meaning to adjust for weeks. He’s putting things into their proper place, like setting bones before they’re enclosed in a stiff cast.

You, though, are still standing awkwardly by the door.

“You really don’t need to—”

He holds out a hand. “Relax. ‘M just having a second go around.”

You bristle, but your decision to pad over to the couch is of your own volition. It caves in when you sit, and you wiggle to get the cushions to realign with your hips. Your hands feel around blindly for the remote to your TV before remembering you’d dropped it out of the window in a fit of anger some weeks ago, so you sit back, spine hitting the hard frame of the couch. Price’s noises pair well, somehow, with the wind sliding over the glass and the neighbors downstairs.

Until you feel his presence at the back of the couch, and a thought smacks you right across your forehead.

You shoot up, heart rate suddenly inflamed by panic. “Price?”

The movement stops, and you turn around, peer over to find Price prepped to duck his head under the couch. “Hm?”

“Uh.” You hesitate. Shit, think—

“H-how much are they paying you, anyways?” Good save. Maybe a little less than good.

You feel a little bad that you’d stopped Price mid-crouch; you can’t quite remember how old he is, but you know he’s old enough for knee pain to be a concern. He looks up as if crunching the numbers in his head. Hums. “Enough.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Saw the picked lock, didn’t you?”

“Were you really discharged?”

“Depends. There something under this couch you don’t want me seeing?”

Looks like you can knock “interrogation skills” off of your list of special skills on your resume.

Your jaw snapping shut is enough to send his arm sliding under, and you can only watch in horror as his clutched hand emerges holding a scrap of thin blue fabric. He pushes himself up off of his knees. Takes his sweet time wringing out his back while your eyes track his hand like he’s got a thumb over the button of a detonator.

If he had any shred of decency—

“Another thing I caught on my way in,” he huffs. He holds out his hand and allows the blue fabric to uncurl. A flag, hung full mast right between your eyes. Another one of his tests.

“Price.”

“C’mon, now. Take it from me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; your arm shoots out and you win it back in one go. Stuff your lacy underwear into the pocket of your pants and wait for your ceiling to collapse in on you.

“Can’t leave pretty things like that layin’ around.” And Price stops, watches as you curl in on yourself. Voice like the push of velvet shifting underneath your palms. “Likely to rip if you’re not careful.”

You pull your head into your shirt and curl your knees into your chest. It’s a shock when you find yourself face to face with your heartbeat, the skin over your left breast jumping underneath your nose. “I think we’re done here.”

Price makes that sucking noise again with his teeth—agitation, you think it’s agitation—and you trace the hazy shadow of him through your shirt as he steps around the couch to walk to the window. He snaps twice, and you’re beginning to entertain the thought of what might happen if you had enough strength to push him out.

“What now,” you croak.

“Eyes up.”

Slowly, you muster up enough spite to bring your head just above the collar of your shirt. Military men and their incessant need for…whatever the hell this was.

“You’ve gotten better at this. Quick study,” Price remarks.

“Better at what.”

“Listening. That’s good, real good. That’ll make this a whole lot easier,” he says, a note of appreciation that you haven’t heard yet stirring that tiny pool of filth just underneath your navel. You hum.

Price crosses his arms. Flicks his stupid eyes toward the fluttering curtains. “How often d’you leave this open?”

Your face pinches. “I mean—pretty often? It’s hot, Price. And in case you haven’t noticed,” you wave your hand to the general state of disrepair, “I don’t exactly have good circulation in here.”

This gives him pause. Whatever plan he’s recalibrating, you want no part of it. You do notice that he hasn’t put his hands in his pockets since he showed up on your doorstep, instead favoring the use of his left hand to rub his chin.

“Come over here and close the window.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. “...Close the window? Price, you can’t be serious.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Can’t…can’t you close it?”

“It’s not my window. Can’t do everythin’ for you.”

He stares at you expectantly. Your tailbone is beginning to throb, and for some damning reason, that note still ringing bright in the back of your skull. That’s good. Good, good, good.

Price catches that eager glint the moment it surfaces.

“Go on then, love.” He tips his head. “Close it.”

The rest of you surfaces slowly. You look back for a moment at the indent left on the couch, think about how long that imprint will be there until you feel inclined to fluff out those cushions again.

(Later. You’ll get to it later.)

Shutting the window doesn’t take much effort, but the swampy temperature is noticeable. You turn around a little too quickly, so you hold an arm out to the now sealed vault in an exaggerated show of bravado. I did it, see?

Price slides past you to look outside. He purses his lips when he finds what he’s looking for, and you can almost see the note being stashed into some faraway file.

He turns to you. “Keep this window closed till further notice,” and a hand reaches out to tug the curtains shut, and yellow from the lamp you’d left on last night washes over the room instantly.

“Price.”

“I take my work seriously. You take yours seriously, you’ll need me.”

It feels like a slap in the face. “I do, but that doesn’t mean—”

“My job,” and he points to himself, then to you, “is to keep you out of harm's way. Can’t do this if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re asking a lot for someone who hasn’t—”

You go silent as he reaches a hand into a back pocket, pulls out his hand and you count one, two, three square devices around the size of a nail.

“Busted lock, three faulty cameras, all outside. You’re lucky these people are idiots.” He shoves them back into his pocket before returning his focus to you. “You need me.”

You blink.

Price smiles, raises his eyebrows as if the conversation is already over. “Hungry?”

You stumble back. “But what about—what about the apartment?”

“S’fine,” he says. He checks his watch. “I know a couple guys, you’re in good hands.”

#i literally didn't plan for any of this to happen #THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SCENE IN A CAR AND NOW I HAVE TO WAIT #but who am i to deny price #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #call of duty #cod #bodyguard!price

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jaegeraether · 10 months

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 20)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (20)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN had just received an email from the company she now worked for, Lumos. She tried to research the company and the first thing that popped up was a popular charity, followed by several other companies sharing the same name. Eventually she found her company which had nothing beyond a basic internet site and new social media accounts, so she knew they were being honest when they said they were brand new and starting up.

The salary they’d offered her was already high, with the promise of increase based on performance, both hers and Lumos’. The amount of money they were putting into the business and expenses were also much higher than she expected. Someone really wanted this to work.

She looked over at Lucy who was making her own sandcastles and smiled. Once the email had come through, Lucy had insisted she read it and took her time to mull it over. YFN loved that she was doing anything she could to let her make a future in the country, and especially around her profession. That was her Lucy. Always three steps ahead.

She took her phone out to film a little snippet of her as she made her giant sandcastle. She couldn’t help the smile on her face looking at how happy she was. Lucy’s big kid was shining through. She looked up and saw YFN filming her and grinned, gesturing to her sandcastle as if to show it off. YFN ended the video and put it away, looking at Lucy sitting in the sand, a leg either side of her creation. She was wearing black shorts, her whole body tanned from Spain, abs shining with the sunscreen YFN put on her, regardless of the clouds. Her heart felt full just watching her.

“Admiring the view?” Lucy grinned.

YFN felt her face reddening, though she didn’t know why. She wasn’t ashamed to look. She nodded, pressing her lips together to hide a cheeky smile.

“Can you send me that video, little one?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She sent the video and went back to the email on her laptop. The email was promising, and she found herself excited at everything she read.

Her phone rang and she looked at the number, Lumos. She answered it, putting it on speaker, knowing Lucy would be interested.

“YFN speaking.”

“Hi YFN, it’s Joe, how are you?” She sounded lovely, like a mum.

“Hi Joe, lovely to hear from you again. I’m great, just at the beach soaking in all of the sunshine the UK has to offer.”

She laughed. “I dare say it’s nothing compared to what you’re used to in Australia. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“No, not at all. I was expecting this today, I’m free to chat.” She smiled at Lucy who gave her a supportive thumbs up.

“Excellent. Okay, well I thought we’d just go through the basics of what we’re hoping to accomplish as a company, our goals and along those lines. If you have the email open, we’ll just run through it together. Also, how’s the work Visa coming along?”

“Perfect, I have it open now. I’ve also spoken to my Visa agent and he’s confident they’ll have it approved by tonight. They’re happy with the contract and 6-month minimum guarantee that you’ve sent through.”

“Outstanding, that’s what we want to hear! Just send that through as soon as you receive it, or if you need any other information. Fingers crossed! Okay, let’s get started. So firstly, as you know, I’ve wanted to start this company for quite a period of time. I have a lot of friends and acquaintances in and around the industry, and we’re not seeing the movement in female football that we’ve wanted, so Lumos is a plan to change that. Now, the World Cup has been brilliant for progress, and we plan to latch onto that and keep the momentum building. Over the past year and especially the past few months, I and my friends in the industry have put our feelers out, gotten some feedback and have established interest by a lot of the players. Now, I understand it will start slow, but we’re willing to put the work in and definitely also put the funding into it.”

Lucy looked impressed, nodding as she was talking.

“That sounds fantastic, Joe..”

“I’m glad you agree! To be quite honest with you, YFN, you’ve been the lynchpin I’ve been looking for. I’ve been looking for someone with your experience and after reading your columns and seeing the interviews you’ve conducted, I’m beyond impressed. The research you put into your work, and the way you speak and ask questions to your interviewee’s are smart, and incredibly respectful. I can see that’s important to you, and it’s very important to me. We shouldn’t be asking the same boring questions, or we’ll get the same media trained answers.”

“Oh I completely agree. I was a bit worried at first that this job would encourage me to ask those simple and sometimes far too personal questions, so I’m really happy to hear you say that because people don’t realise that we can go beyond the norm of interviewing, and still remain just like that. Respectful. Not only that, but players will be more willing to open up, accept interviews, and request us if they’re comfortable around us. They’ll also want to use us to get their messages across and I know that if we do this right, the momentum will build and more players will be using us to fulfil their media duties.”

“Outstanding, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear! We’re so, so lucky that you happened to meet Katie so she could recommend you to us. We’ve been looking for you for quite a while.”

YFN was a little embarrassed, she didn’t know how to accept compliments and blushed. Lucy reached over and squeezed her leg in support. “Thanks Joe, that’s lovely to hear. I hope I can live up to your expectations, and I’m excited to get started! It’s a blank slate which means so much opportunity for the company.”

“100% agree. Any chance you’ve found our website and social media accounts?”

“I did just before you called..”

Joe laughed again. “Of course, you have. Straight into work! Excellent. We’re going to get along so well, I already know it. Our IT guy is Noel, and his contact details are in the email. Right now I’ve asked him to make the accounts all bare minimum, as I imagine you’ll want to create a theme to follow..”

“Yes! Absolutely, so I plan on organising a meeting with the whole team for Monday, I just wanted to make sure you were happy with that first..”

“Yes, please! And just for the future, this is your team, your baby. Anything involving the creation of this, meetings, team logistics, etc, all of that is yours. Obviously I’ll still like to be kept up to date with the progress and the plans, but to be completely fair with you, YFN, I run several businesses so I’m quite busy. This company is still in its start-up stages, so I’ll have much more time for it, and I do have a soft spot, this is always going to be one of my priorities, however I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page with this.”

“That’s perfect, I’ll send you through weekly updates and expenses, planning, coverage and everything we change or create along the way. I appreciate the honesty and the communication also, I think until we establish that solid footing, you and I will have to be in a lot of contact to ensure we’re achieving the expected goals, and keeping everything in budget.”

“You don’t know how much this is music to my ears.”

YFN laughed, feeling positive and happy with the plan thus-far. Joe seemed perfect, offering her everything and having the blind faith in her to start up the business almost from the ground, up. “I think we’re starting at a good time, though. We’re catching the start of the seasons, so it gives us time to iron out any issues before the finals for both the WSL and the Conti Cup. A good timeline will be for us to have full coverage by Round 5 on the Conti Cup, and January for WSL, covering both through to the Final. Then we should be fully prepped and running smoothly for the UEFA Women’s Champions League.”

“That’s a very respectable timeline and exactly my thoughts. January will be perfect if we can have full coverage by then.”

“I think it’s achievable, I’ll have a better idea after I research a bit more and talk to the team. I’m sure everyone’s keen to get started! Also, it’ll be quite a heavy work period as we start up, and then when we finally start to get footing, we’ll be expanding to make sure we have the people to cover all games and the email also says you’re hoping for international team and coverage of the other leagues in Europe?”

“Yes,” Joe sounded a litte sheepish. “I know, I know, it’s quite a high expectation, but we’ll get there eventually. Let’s start with the WSL and Continental Cup. Definitely want to be all over the UEFA Women’s Champions League, that’s the first major goal. From there, you and I can talk about expanding to cover Tier 2. Then, depending on the timeline, we want to cover Tier 3 and Tier 4 so we can encourage grassroots and young girls upcoming through the leagues. Then we want Liga F, Serie A, Feminine, etc, also following the national teams, NWSL in the US, A-Leagues in Australia and onwards.”

“Very large goals! That’s great, a lot to look forward to and to aim for. We’ll make sure to split the goals up to feel more achievable for the team, but I think if they know the long-term goal, it’ll make everyone determined and ready to settle down into the job.”

“That’s exactly what we want. The team building and team trust in each other is vital to make this business a success. Anything you need, let me know and we’ll work through it together, that includes extra positions or professionals. I imagine a recruiter may become useful if you become inundated with the logistics.”

YFN nodded, even though she couldn’t see her. She was taking notes eagerly, excited by the conversation as she responded, a little distracted as she typed. “I’ll definitely let you know if we need anything to help us expand..”

“I heard you’re meeting some of the players, also?”

YFN stopped typing and tilted her head. Lucy groaned. She looked over at Lucy who had a frown on her face, gesturing to the phone. “Um… Joe I have Lucy close by who wants to say something I think?”

Joe was aware that YFN was dating Lucy. YFN had made sure she’d told Joe, fearing a conflict of interest, especially with the need to visit Spain. Joe had had the opposite reaction. She thought it was great that YFN was so involved in the industry, knowing that dating Lucy made her closer with the inner circle of football than just being part of a media group. As for Spain, she’d encouraged her to go, offering to pay for flights and knowing that the more she was involved with Barcelona, the easier it would be to expand into Liga F and onwards. She was particularly interested in Alexia Putellas and Aitana Bonmati as they had so much influence in the sport. Joe’s ambition was multi-faceted, but positive on all fronts. She wanted to encourage the young female footballers of tomorrow, give women strong rolemodels to idolise, and to bring much needed attention to all of women’s football in general, all around the world. Popular footballers like Lucy, Alexia, Aitana, could help expedite their growth and influence.

“Of course! I assumed she was there with you and then Lucy’s post confirmed it.” She laughed.

Lucy’s post? She looked at a now cheeky looking Lucy as she passed her the phone and stole Lucy’s to check on said “post”. She’d posted the video of her building sandcastles on the beach and grinning at the camera, but more importantly, she’d posted a selfie Lucy had taken of the two of them, YFN sat in-between her legs and being pulled back by Lucy who was kissing her cheek as she smiled. Her mouth dropped open. Hard launch. She looked at the caption.

“Happy place with my happy little Australian” *red heart*

She’d tagged her and YFN looked at the phone in Lucy’s hand, unsure how it hadn’t blown up from all of the notifications it must have had. Lucy winked at her as she moved next to her, resting her hand on her thigh and stroking her thumb there.

“Hey Joe, it’s Lucy.. funny you should mention that, I actually hadn’t told YFN that just yet..”

“Hi Lucy… oh, I’m sorry! I’d heard a few little whispers from a few friends..”

Lucy laughed. “That’s okay, she had to find out eventually.” She looked at YFN who looked curiously at her gorgeously tanned athlete. She couldn’t help reaching out and playing with a few strands of Lucy’s hair that were wildly playing in the wind. “I might as well tell you both.. YFN said a while ago that one of the first things she’d want to do is to have a get-together with a few players to ask them what they want, their likes and dislikes and to start building those relationships.” YFN’s fingers stroked down the side of Lucy’s face from around her temple, down to her jaw as she watched her speak. Lucy leant into her as she did. “So a few of the girls and I made a few phone calls to get some players together for dinner tonight.”

YFN’s fingers paused on her jaw, her eyes softening and heart filling. How did she get so lucky?

“That’s fantastic! A very strong start to everything! Relationship building is the most important thing for us, we want to build and maintain those special relationships with all of the players, so this dinner tonight is going to be the perfect start for that. I speak for our whole company when I say a big thank you to you, Lucy. This is just… beyond the start I was expecting.”

“You’re welcome, and to be fair, I know a lot of the players are excited for this. As you said, word has been spreading for a while now and heating up in the last few months so we’re all excited to see this come to life. The girls I’ve spoken to have been so under represented and misrepresented for so long that they’re excited for this to happen. YFN’s going to have a lot of work, but I know she’s going be the most amazing asset for you and create magic, like she does with everything else.”

YFN’s hand dropped and she looked at Lucy with an embarrassed but thankful expression. Lucy touched that little dimple, her eyes unable to leave it. She handed the phone back to YFN who was almost crying. So much work. She wondered how busy she would be in 13 days when she needed to head to Spain. Joe was aware of it, of course, and immediately approved, reminding her that she didn’t need her permission.

They spoke for a little while longer, talking about the email and the team members they had. The call ended and YFN folded up her little note taking book, pulling the band over it. Lucy’s mouth on hers was surprising, but not unwelcome. She kissed back eagerly, tilting her head and their tongues meeting. It grew a little bit more desperate as their hands tangled in each other’s hair, and Lucy pulled her on top, straddling her in a sitting position. YFN groaned into her mouth at the feel of Lucy’s body against hers. Then her phone rang again.

She jumped, assuming it was Joe calling back and looked at the phone.

“Nan calling. Baby bro calling.”

“Oh shit, Joe really distracted me.” She answered the phone on loudspeaker, sliding off of Lucy, noticing her confused expression. “Hi Nan, hey bro.”

Lucy understood and settled herself behind YFN, legs either side of her and pulled her back to lean on her body. She pulled a blanket around them.

“Hello!”

“Hey sis.”

They changed to Facetime and it was impossible for them to not see Lucy. YFN’s nan adjusted her glasses to better see and her brother looked surprised and unbelieving.

“Oh shit, you weren’t joking.” He choked.

Lucy laughed. “Hi! It’s nice to finally meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you two.”

“Oh, YFN, she’s stunning.” Her nan said, making her choke out a little of the water she was sipping. Lucy and her brother laughed as she coughed the water out of her lungs.

“It’s not just about looks, nan!”

“No, but it certainly helps, doesn’t it?” She laughed.

YFN could feel Lucy’s whole body vibrating as she laughed behind her. She rolled her eyes knowing that Lucy loved compliments.

“Oh and I saw the photos online, very nice!”

Her nan was far past retired, she was a pensioner who spent most of her time playing games on the iPad YFN had bought her, and looking through Instagram and Facebook she’d installed on there for her. She had no idea how to use them and only had a few friends and followers, but that’s all she needed. After that, Lucy took out her phone and followed them both, making sure it was okay first and warning them about random follows that would ultimately pop up.

They spoke for a while, Lucy immediately loved by both, of course. Everybody loved Lucy. Lucy and her brother clicked surprisingly well, perhaps even better than YFN did with him, though she suspected a part of it was his idolisation of athletes and Lucy was nothing if not an athlete. She felt Lucy’s abs against her back, her strong biceps cradled around her own arms and she held her and laughed with her family like this wasn’t the first time they’d all spoken. God, that woman.

By the end of the phone call, Lucy had already managed to convince them both to come over and watch a game, offering to pay for their flights and accommodation. YFN made a mental note to argue with her about that later, or pay before Lucy could. Somehow she’d even convinced her nan who had always said she was too old for flying, Lucy managing to sweet talk her about first class and how much room and food you got. She was excited at the prospect of seeing them both. She’d seen her nan only a few weeks before, but the distance was cruel. Also, she hadn’t seen her brother in 8 months as he was living in Japan, exploring and doing god knows what.

They ended the phone call after a good period, both agreeing to come and watch England play at some point in the near future. She was excited at the thought of seeing her family soon and wriggled back into Lucy to show her happiness.

When the call disappeared from the screen, she saw the notifications and groaned nervously. She opened the post.

*Lucy Bronze MBE tagged you in a post*

*Caitlin Foord liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Caitlin Foord commented on a post you’re tagged in.*

*Jordan Nobbs liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Jordan Nobbs commented on a post you’re tagged in.*

*Alexia Putellas liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Ruesha Littlejohn liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Millie Bright liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Ridley liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Ridley commented on a post you’re tagged in.*

*Leah Williamson liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Mariona Caldentey liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Katie McCabe liked a post you’re tagged in.*

*Katie McCabe commented on a post you’re tagged in.*

She didn’t finish reading the notifications before she cleared them and put her phone away. She’d look later. Right now, she was with Lucy, and she was more than aware that she only had her for one more day. Lucy hummed her approval and kissed her temple.

“Busy third date, hm?”

“Cute lunch, majestic sandcastle, exciting work call, successful first meeting with my family… I’d call that a brilliant third date.”

Lucy nodded against her. “It’s getting late, little one. We need to go; I want us to get unpacked and showered before we go out for dinner.”

“Okay…”

“What’s on your mind? I can hear you thinking.” Lucy nuzzled behind her ear.

“I was just thinking about how I need to say goodbye to you in a day..”

“Don’t think about that.” She whispered. “Let’s enjoy it.”

“I am. My heart is starting to feel sad already though..” She turned slightly to look at Lucy. “Also, just out of curiosity, are we going to not have sex tonight, or just be quiet so Jordan doesn’t hear us?”

Lucy’s head fell back as she laughed. It was one of YFN’s favourite sounds. “Oh, we’re having sex tonight. As for the noise… I’m going to make sure you’re thinking about it for the next 13 days so… good luck staying quiet.”

#lucy bronze #jordan nobbs #lucy bronze x reader #woso #engwnt #lionesses #lucy bronze imagine #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer

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jinx-s-things · 4 months

Text

Scream characters at the beach

Characters: Sidney Prescott, Billy loomis, Tatum Riley, Mickey Altieri, Jill robert, Amber Freeman

Amber Freeman

•She detests the beach but still goes because you love it. She brings all the stuff like: sunscreen, towels, sunglasses but most importantly; food.

•Wears a black sunhat to Match with her black one piece swimsuit and her sunglasses.

•Sunbathing the entire day but forgot to put on sunscreen so she got a sunburn.

•Went with you to get ice cream

•hates the sand getting everywhere and in her hair.

•Complains about how hot it is and there too many people.

•Watches the sunset with you

Sidney Prescott

•Sidney enjoys going to the beach and having fun. She brought a picnic and activities while you brought the towels and other stuff.

•you and Sidney never have time to chill out and have time together so going to the beach was perfect.

•She wore just a simple dress and sunglasses, she brought sandals but took them off when you two got there.

•Loves the ocean but doesn’t go deeper than past her knees.

•Collects seashells to give to you

•You both go for a walk around the beach

Tatum Riley

•Tatum likes the beach but also doesn’t she only goes to tan. She brings all her stuff with her like sunglasses changes of clothes water and more.

•Doesn’t really go into the water she only sits on a chair with an umbrella reading magazines.

•You then had a picnic and chilled until it was time to pack up.

Jill Roberts

•Jill doesn’t mind the beach she would rather be somewhere else but she only goes because of you.

•of course she brought her phone and skin care.

•takes pictures of you and her to post, she brought a ton of clothes to change into

•Just like Amber she forget to wear sunscreen and was absolutely mortified when her face was red as a tomato.

•goes into the water for a while before going back to lying down.

Billy loomis

•He hates it so much all the people, the sun and the horrible sand always digging into his feet.

•Lyes on the blanket the entire time does not go anywhere but to get something to eat .

•Complains a lot

•put way to much sunscreen on

•He had sunglasses on the whole day

•Watches the sunset with you then you both went home.

Mickey Altieri

•Mickey likes the beach, he brought loads of stuff like a surfboard, towels, even more towels, food and his most favourite thing; his camera.

•He likes to surf, not very good at it

•Films everything and everyone, he got on everyone’s nerves.

•Builds a sandcastle, he killed the person that knocked it over.

•He caused a commotion because he yelled SHARK everybody then dashed out the sea

he got escorted off the beach.

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hydrobunny · 1 year

Text

sweet nothing

tags: songfic, established relationship, no dialogue (kinda? its italics not quotes), taylor swift songs

wc: 2.2k

i spy with my little tired eye, tiny as a firefly, a pebble that we picked up last july.

the beach has always been you and sae itoshi’s safe place. there are no prying eyes, no bloodthirsty paparazzi, no nothing.

its quiet. the way it should be, you think. it takes you back to simpler times, times when sae stood a chance against the overwhelming tide of devoted fans.

you two had been here before. actually, the two of you had been to dozens of beaches before. but this one is special.

this particular beach lies barely an hour away from sae’s hometown, barely an hour away from junior high football fields filled with overgrown grass and memories. if you two wanted, you could visit sae’s parents this very day.

but you two don’t want to. and that’s not the only reason that makes this beach significant. some ways down the shoreline, past the well-populated sands and discarded sandcastles, there’s an outcropping of rocks.

by themselves, the rocks aren’t necessarily anything to gawk at. but they’re where sae told you he loved you; where you heard sae laugh for the first time. you lean into his solid form as you reminisce. his arm gently wraps around your shoulders.

it had been a hot, almost scorching day in july. the two of you had somehow escaped sae’s overbearing manager, sprinting down the burning sand holding nothing but each other’s hands.

you were the first to need to stop, of course. sae could have likely ran down the entire beach if he wanted to, but you weren’t even close to that stamina level. you had doubled over right by those rocks, clutching your side like you would never breathe again. (you did.)

while you recovered, he collected an assortment of pebbles, kicking some an outrageous distance away and skipping the rest into the water. it was glaringly juvenile, the way he narrowed his eyes and felt each rock for that perfect shape.

you had watched him until he told you to stop. with a smile, you joined him in the endeavor to skip one rock five separate times before it could sink into the dark blue waves. (neither of you could do it in the end.)

when the sky began to bleed into pinks and reds, you climbed onto the largest rock there, sae watching your movements warily. you told him to come on, get up here and he did, rolling his eyes all the way. the two of you watched that sun set, dipping below the horizon until all that was left of it was the rainbow of colors left in the sky.

you looked at sae and told him you loved him.

you never even gave him a chance to respond, immediately diving into the cooling sea in a whirl. you’re still not sure why you did it, why you had seen his mouth open and decided you couldn’t bear to hear his answer and would prefer getting your clothes wet.

he had jumped in after you with barely any hesitation. he didnt need to - you were surprisingly quite the swimmer - but he did, arms wrapping around you, legs kicking toward the surface.

you opened your eyes through the hazy and stinging film of saltwater and saw sae laughing. you doubt if anyone (well, maybe rin years and years ago) had ever seen him like that before. his laugh was just as beautiful as him, and it had gotten you to laugh as well.

when all traces of laughter had ebbed away, he met your eyes and told you you were an absolute idiot. and then he told you but i love you and then you two were kissing in the sea, tasting the salty tang of seawater on each others’ lips. (he tells you later the salt came from your tears. you refuse to believe him.)

his manager almost killed you when you both returned dripping wet.

his manager might still kill you today, you think. you’re pretty sure sae was supposed to be in some tv interview twenty minutes ago. but he doesn’t mention it, and you don’t want to break this peace anyway.

the seagulls swoop over your heads, and you whisper another i love you into the world.

they said the end is coming, everyone’s up to something. i find myself running home to your sweet nothings.

sae itoshi knows he’s talented. he knows that there are millions of people that would kill to be who he is currently: a football genius with clubs throwing money at his feet in hopes he’ll bless them with his skills.

but he doesn’t need all the fucking bootlicking. he has one goal after all: to be the number one. there's nothing he can gain from the interviews his manager pushes him into, the photo shoots they make him stand for.

sae wonders what would happen if he were to suffer some career ending injury. would japan still love him? or would they tell him it was his own fault, his failed responsibility of becoming the best?

despite anything and everything that could happen to him, despite the way the money grabbing ceo’s want to milk every last drop out of him, there exists one certainty in sae’s life.

you love him.

you tell him so just about every day, in person, a phone call, or even a hasty three letter text message.

and he loves you.

it's the one thing that will forever stay constant in his life. it's more predictable than shidou asking him for just one chance, more predictable than rin being able to flawlessly score a goal using sae’s passes.

he doesn't have to think about it anymore. he calls you right after practice ends and right before it starts. he presses a kiss onto your lips every morning before his run and another when he comes back home.

you greet him with nothing but a smile and a missed you. you ask him about his day, and he actually enjoys doing the same to you. you answer him happily as you run your fingers soothingly over the knots in his back. he lets you talk and talk, words barely ever leaving his lips.

neither of you hold any expectations from the other. there’s no criticism, no frustrating questions that leave him irritated and snippy.

its just a relationship. an exchange of mutual trust and affection. its the promise of forever, the assurance that nothing will ever change.

so when you laugh near him with a flush in your cheeks, sae thinks that's all he could ever need.

on the way home, i wrote a poem; you say “what a mind.” (this happens all the time.)

the car is silent. you stare out the window, watching the trees blur by. it's been a while since you've felt so…melancholy. something about the way the scenery leaves as fast it appears makes you sad.

sae asks if you're feeling okay from the driver's seat. its not often you get the chance to drive together, but you're glad for every extra minute. even if it means he can tell when you're feeling off.

you're honestly not sure what to respond with. you shrug, a quiet just thinking leaving your parted lips.

he slows the car down, shooting you a look that tells you you better find a better response. you look at him helplessly in turn. it's just so strange to think about, isn't it? the trees they blink by in a matter of seconds will continue to grow for centuries, while you and sae will be gone from the world. you and him will never get to see the beauty that blooms on earth after your lives.

sae looks at you in disbelief. he’s never heard you be so cynical before, and it’s quite uncharacteristic. you give him a smile and turn back to the window with an exhale.

four turns later, he tells you that you’re unbelievably idiotic and shouldn’t be so negative. everyone knows they’re doomed to die from the start, so why get so moody about it? you’re both in the prime of your lives; at least give him another fifty years to show you the entire world before you start complaining about being in the wrong generation.

you laugh and tell him that it’s a promise, that he’ll let you drain his bank account if it means you get to see some architectural miracle.

he grumbles that you’re already taking all his money, but gives his agreement anyway. (it’s not like he would ever actually have financial problems in this lifetime anyway. all those sponsorships and games won makes sure of that.)

thirteen minutes away from your home, you murmur out a thank you and sae squeezes your hand three times in reply.

outside they’re push and shoving; you’re in the kitchen humming. all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.

when sae asks you to marry him, he does it in your shared apartment before you've even had your morning coffee.

there’s no fanfare, no obnoxious cheering and photography. he just looks at you from the bedroom door- looks at your messy bedhead, the way you sway from side to side as you insert one of those coffee pods- and gets down on one knee. he doesn’t even have a ring yet, for god’s sake. it’s still in his nightstand drawer besides a photo album.

it takes you much longer than it should to process. you blink at him with wide wide eyes and the cofeemaker starts pouring behind you but you just stand and stare. sae doesn’t get nervous often, but this might be one of those times.

finally, after what feels like hours, you ask if he couldn’t have at least waited until you brushed your teeth, if he was going to even get you a ring, and takes his hand.

he shrugs and admits that it’s in the bedroom, and you push him away with a screech of do it again.

so sae begrudgingly shuffles back into the bedroom, smiling at how you frantically pat down like your hair like people are watching.

a minute later, he kneels down before you for the second time that morning with a velvet box in his hand. he opens it slowly, revealing the much too expensive ring in it.

you gasp with enough surprise that it really does feel like a first proposal, but he can see the laughter twinkling in your eyes.

sae slides the ring onto your finger carefully. it’s a perfect match (he made sure of that), and sits snugly next to your knuckle.

you stare at it- and him- with stars in your eyes, and coffee overflows past the cup and onto their kitchen floor with a tap, tap, tap.

and the voices that implore, “you should be doing more,” -to you, i can admit that im just too soft for all of it.

the public doesn't like it. when do they ever like anything? but they especially don't like how he refuses to let a single reporter on the church grounds, how he almost cancels the whole thing and flies you to vegas instead.

it's rin that convinces him to stick with the goddamn proper wedding, surprisingly. because you deserve it, the younger itoshi hisses out into sae’s ear.

and sae knows he’s right. rin has the tendency to be right.

so even though he knows you wouldn't care where or how they exchange those rings, he stands at that altar, the smell of roses soothing his nerves.

when you walk down that aisle, you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. all other senses are drowned out by the sight of you, all rosy cheeks and long lashes.

he swallows, hard, when you finally reach your place at the altar. the officiant announces the exchange of vows, and sae braces himself.

the first sound out of his mouth is a hoarse whisper of nothing. he coughs immediately to clear his throat, and your lips twitch upward.

sae stands up straighter (his spine is already ramrod straight), and starts again.

he’s spent the last month and a half poring over these words. he wants- needs you to know how deep his feelings for you are. he needs you to know he would never hurt you, how he would fall from grace just to feel your touch.

so when sae concludes his vows with a dedication of all his future wins to you, he’s almost proud to see tears glimmering in the corner of your eyes.

and then you begin your vows, and he thinks he's been sorely outdone. every one of your words go straight to his heart like an arrow, and he can feel himself bleeding out.

but you revive him over and over again with each confession of love, each tiny moment shared, and he somehow falls even deeper in love with you.

when you finish, sae itoshi realizes it's hopeless. for the rest of his life, it will always be you. no other person will ever hold his heart in the palm of their hand like you do. even football pales

in comparison to the thought of forever with you.

and you two kiss, husband and wife, and he realizes that’s perfectly fine with him.

a/n: happy 50 followers !?!?! this is a songfic so its a diff writing style than my usual stuff, but this kind of writing will only be for songfics.

reblogs and feedback appreciated!

#blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock #hydrobunny #songfic #my magnum opus fr

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