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saintobio · 6 months ago

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⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹ ON TRACK.

when being the WAG of a rookie MotoGP rider earns you the front-row seats to a thrilling race and... an unsightly amount of groupies.

▞▞ pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

▞▞ genre. fluff, established relationship, biker boy au, motogp rider au

▞▞ tags. biker!sukuna, motogp rider!sukuna, sukuna rides for ducati, WAG!reader, ooc, profanity, mentions of reckless driving, jealousy, insecurities, accidents, mentions of injuries, sukuna gets a little touchy in the end

▞▞ notes. 1.8k wc. do we miss biker!sukuna? i think we all miss biker!sukuna !! bahaha the influx of biker!sukuna fanarts made me write this. and also bcos i watched motogp clips on tiktok. rbs and comments highly appreciated! :D

Have you ever imagined Sukuna as a MotoGP rider?

Well, his passion for bikes didn’t just stay confined to the open road. He knew he was destined for more than just the city’s freeways and the thrill of 1000cc machines. He was, as a matter of fact, made for the track.

Yes, the scary, dangerous, exhilarating world of high-speed competition.

When he had first told you about competing in MotoGP, you were thrilled for him. Truly, because you knew that the series had been his lifelong dream. Before, he was just a little boy who collected bikes for toys, and now he had the chance to make his dream a reality. So, who were you to stand in the way of that?

In fact, you were incredibly supportive—always present at his races, always cheering for him from the stands. It didn’t matter if you’d lose your voice the next day. You had to be his biggest supporter. And today was just another one of those days where your duty as his #1 fan called for you to be there and root for him with all your heart.

Today’s MotoGP race was in full swing, and your heart pounded in rhythm with the thundering bikes tearing down the track. They all passed by in a resounding zoom! where your eyes could barely keep up from their otherworldly speed. From your vantage point in the VIP section, you watched intently as the riders navigated the circuit, your eyes never straying far from one rider in particular—Sukuna, your longtime boyfriend, riding a Ducati Desmosedici GP24.

“I’m so nervous,” you murmured, hands clasped together as your eyes remained glued to your lover.

Sukuna was a sight to behold on the track, and he always told you that his bike was an extension of himself as he maneuvered with precision and aggression. Honestly, it must be scary to be the one riding such powerful superbikes, especially when the roar of engines alone was a symphony of speed and power that sent chills down your spine. And while you were filled with anxiety watching your boyfriend on the circuit, the red and black Ducati eventually flashed past, neck and neck with the Aprilia rider, and the two bikes locked in a fierce battle for the lead.

You could imagine the commentators keeping a close eye as they narrated the race on live television.

But you trusted in Sukuna’s talent. His ability to escape from cops with his old R6 back in his college days was proof enough of how ridiculous he could get with his speed. He didn’t get a single ticket because he managed to outrun them all. Though, of course, that wasn’t something you should be mentioning to anyone. He wasn’t actually proud of notoriety and history of reckless driving before, especially when he recalled having endangered your life once before while you rode with him as his backpack.

And since Sukuna upgraded to being a professional rider now, you had your fair share of an upgrade, too. That manifested in the form of being part of the so-called WAGs—or wives and girlfriends of the racers. Life as a WAG wasn’t drastically different from your previous one, except now your boyfriend was a huge global sensation in the biker community, and you had become somewhat of a fashion icon yourself. That wasn’t even an exaggeration, because every time you were seen with him publicly, people would soon be talking about your off-duty looks and outfits all over social media.

But going back to the main star of the show, your hands clenched around the railing, knuckles white, as the race progressed. It annoyed you that the Aprilia rider was pushing him to the edge but never quite managing to overtake. Tailing the two were the riders for Honda, Gresini, Pramac, and KTM among the few.

Cupping your hands around your mouth, you cheered for your boyfriend. “Go, baby! Let’s go!”

The giant screen above the track zoomed in on Sukuna, his Arai helmet fitting the aesthetics of his big, red bike. The effortless way he handled his bike sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. There were lots of cheering, screaming, roaring, and… well, squealing. Your head naturally turned to the group of girls nearby who were the very cause of the high pitched noises, their squeals of delight making the other WAGs around you shake their heads in amusement.

“Oh my God, he’s so hot!”

“Look at him! He’s perfect!”

“Sukuna, marry me!”

“I’ll give you my number later!”

“God, I wanna hook up with him.”

“Girl, me too!”

“You think we should wait outside his hotel later?”

“Count me in!”

Groupies. You felt a surge of pride mixed with a twinge of jealousy as you watched their frenzied adoration for your boyfriend. Literally. Your fingers were itching to gouge their eyes out. You wondered if he had ever been tempted to cheat, that when you were busy with your own corporate life outside of being his girlfriend, he might have rewarded himself by sleeping with an influencer or two. Probably models, too. Those tall, gorgeous women who often get partnered with him on ads and photoshoots.

But the thing was, you couldn’t blame them—yes, your boyfriend was undeniably handsome, and his chiseled features and intense gaze made him a magnet for attention. A true eye-candy if you may add. Not to mention, he had the most attractive tattoos you had seen in a man. Ever.

But he was yours, and that knowledge filled you with a sense of triumph over the hundreds and thousands of girls that were fantasizing about him.

Then, in the middle of your trance, an accident struck.

It was a blur of red and black as Sukuna’s bike suddenly wobbled after the rear wheel slipped on a patch of oil left behind by another rider. You held your breath in, praying to every saint that he remained safe, as you watched him struggle to regain control while the bike fishtailed dangerously.

“Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh.” Your brain rattled with anxiety as you gripped onto the railings. “Baby, no. No, be careful! You got this!”

For a moment, it seemed he might manage to stay upright, but then the inevitable happened. Sukuna went down in a matter of seconds, and his bike skidded out from under him in a shower of sparks.

“Oh, shit!”

A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and your heart was lurching in your chest as you saw how your lover hit the tarmac. The medics immediately rushed onto the track, while you were still awestricken as you stared at the screen displaying his fall.

“Please be okay, baby! Please,” you muttered under your breath again and again.

A fellow WAG eventually placed a hand on your shoulders, rubbing you comfortingly. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Their gears are made for this.”

She spoke like true champ, and you knew you could put some trust in her words since she was a seasoned WAG. She had probably seen worst accidents that her husband had gone through while on track.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself. What if Sukuna sustained really terrible injuries? What if he broke a bone or two? What if he experienced a concussion? And if he did, what if he’d no longer remember you when he wakes up? Oh, Jesus. Your overthinking was the true culprit here. Yet there was nothing you could really do but wait for good news and hope that nothing too serious happened. Seconds felt like hours, and you were almost about to faint until you saw Sukuna finally standing up between the medics that surrounded him, waving to signal that he was okay albeit limping a little.

“Thank fuck!”

“See? I told you he’s fine.”

Relief flooded through you, but unfortunately, such joy ended up being short-lived. Sukuna had lost precious seconds in the fall, seconds that allowed the Aprilia to pull ahead. And by the time he got back on his bike and rejoined the race, the gap was already too wide.

He crossed the finish line in fifth place, a position that felt like a heart-shattering defeat after having been so close to victory.

As soon as the race was over, you didn’t even think twice when you made your way down to the paddock, pushing through the crowd and the throng of zealous fans just to reach your boyfriend. Your heart was still racing, almost akin to the superbikes that were speeding on the track moments ago, as you desperately looked for the love of your life. Only when you rounded the corner did you finally see him, helmet off and leathers dusty from the fall, talking with his team.

“Lovey!” you called out, face full of worry.

Sukuna was quick to turn at the sound of your voice, his expression softening the very moment his eyes landed on you. With long strides, he removed hi’s gloves and closed the distance between you two, and before you knew it, you were wrapped in his arms, the scent of leather and motor oil enveloping you in a comforting hug.

“Are you okay?” you asked, pulling back just enough to search his face for any signs of injury. “I was losing my mind back there!”

As if he didn’t just experience a dangerous fall, he had a mischievous smile displayed when he looked at you. “I’m fine, baby. Just a little bruised ego.”

“It’s not a joke,” you whined, arms crossed at his lack of seriousness to the matter. “I was so scared when I saw you go down."

Very sweetly, he cupped your face in his hands and nuzzled his nose against yours. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m still alive, right?”

That’s true, you thought. But also… “You came in fifth,” you said, letting out a quieted sigh.

But the Ducati rider himself was merely chuckling. Not even an ounce of heartbreak was shown on bis face. “Fifth place isn’t the end of the world, babe. I can live with that.”

You shook your head, not understanding how he could be so calm. Really. “But you were so close. You could have won!” And you’d blame it on your hormones, but you remembered the group of girls who cheered him on and decided to bring it up. “By the way, you had all those girls ready to throw themselves at you earlier. One of them even suggested waiting outside your hotel to hook up with you.”

“Really? Where are those baddies?” he joked, looking around and trying to spot the girls until you flicked his forehead. “Ow! I was just kidding, babe. You’re the only one riding this dick day and night.”

“Not funny.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re jealous.” He started attacking your cheeks with squeezes.

While you, you tried your best to swat his hand away. “I’m not. Stooop—! You’re so annoying!”

“Okay, okay!” He let out a deep chuckle as he raised his hands in surrender. “Anyway, I don’t care about them. I’ve already won the most important race of all."

You blinked twice in the same second, not comprehending his words. “What do you mean?”

Sukuna’s eyes soon softened into a teasing gaze. “I have my beautiful girl in my arms right now. That’s the only victory that matters to me.”

As much as you tried to contain it, a smile eventually broke across your face. “You’re such a sap!”

“Only for you,” was his elfish response, pulling you closer.

The celebrations continued around you as the media and the crowd swarmed into the paddock. Sukuna held your waist tightly the entire time, all while acknowledging the people that greeted him and asked him for signatures. While in his arms, you realized that he was right. Winning or losing on the track didn’t matter because he already had you—and that was his true and greatest victory.

As cringe-worthy as that may sound.

“I do have a request, though.” Your boyfriend focused his attention back on you, giving your bum a playful squeeze in front of everyone before he moved his face closer to your ear. “Make me feel like a winner in bed tonight.”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #biker sukuna #biker au #biker boy au

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anomalyaly · 2 months ago

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right where you left me

Summary: You died. Sebastian secretly had a portrait of you commissioned.

I profusely apologize for the pain.

Inspired by @sychenb for the prompt idea. Also crediting @sloanesallow for her headcanon about Sebastian keeping track of numbers.

(also sort of inspired by Unus Annus - iykyk - and Taylor Swift, if you couldn't guess by the title)

Tags: Angst, F!Reader POV (you), unreliable narrator, vague ship (Sebastian x reader/Ominis x reader), Sebastian was in love with you but never confessed, death, grief, ambiguous ending, overall the sads in general, I cried while writing this

AO3/Wattpad

It had been 279 days since you died.

At least, that’s what Sebastian tells you — your portrait, anyway. It was all that was left of you after the devastating battle you had fought and never walked away from. You hadn’t even known he’d had a portrait of you commissioned when you were alive until you woke up, your body cold, your face illuminated by the flickering candles of the Undercroft.

He comes to visit you every day — some days, he simply sits in front of you, cross-legged and silent. You creep into the frame and study him, the shadows on his face, a haunted look in his eye — unfamiliar. You can only recall a bright, talkative, charming boy with whom you were once close. You didn’t recognize him the first time he visited you, yet his presence brings you comfort.

On other days, you see traces of the boy he was before. He bursts in through the gate talking nonstop about everyone who misses you, about something he saw that you would have liked or that reminded him of you. Sometimes, he even brings you gifts and places them in front of your frame so you can admire them when he’s away.

That’s where he keeps you — hidden behind a wooden crate in the Undercroft like a sacred shrine, untouched by anyone but him. He only speaks with you when he is alone.

Another boy comes in on occasion, and you only know because of the sound of his voice and the pulsing red light of his wand that you can see from behind the pile of crates. Ominis, you remember Sebastian telling you, another friend from when you were alive. Sometimes they argue, other times they refuse to acknowledge each other. But Sebastian always keeps you tucked away, his own personal secret.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he sighs as he plops down in front of you. “300 days since you…well, since— ”

He could never bring himself to finish that sentence, even after almost a year. You never finish it for him.

“Are you going back to Feldcroft?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. I couldn’t do that to you.”

You knew he probably hadn’t been back since that dreadful day. He had only spoken of it once to refresh your memory. He never brought it up again.

“Sebastian,” you say, and he perks up at the sound of his name leaving your painted lips, “how come you always hide me away when Ominis comes in? Doesn’t he want to talk to me, too?”

His eyes flash with something — anger, perhaps, it was hard to tell from your two-dimensional world — and he stands, approaching your portrait. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m only a portrait,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not like you’ve been practicing necromancy.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but you don’t completely understand why. He turns away from you, fists clenched, shoulders tense and hunched over, before running his fingers through his hair and repeating himself more adamantly. “He wouldn’t understand.”

You remember him uttering a similar statement throughout your short life at Hogwarts — secrets that only the two of you shared, unbeknownst to Ominis until it was too late. “Surely he misses me, too— ”

“Did you love him?”

The question takes you by surprise, though you think it’s not the first time he’s asked it. “What?”

Sebastian whirls to face you, his gaze intense, demanding. “Did you love him? Or did you love me?”

Your portrait blinks, confused. Truthfully, you hadn’t been alive nearly long enough to confirm your feelings for either of them, but you knew that both boys had been important to you during your last few months of life. The portrait of you had only been a time capsule of your fifteen-year-old self — undecided and immature. You’re not even certain if the emotions you feel now are real or remnants of what you experienced when you were alive. “I…I cared deeply for both of you if that’s what you’re asking.”

Your answer nearly breaks him, as if he’s heard it a million times before. He tugs at his hair, the movement causing him to look frenzied and mad. “That’s not what I asked! Who did you — ”

“Sebastian?”

The voice of the intruder causes both of you to freeze. Sebastian pulls himself out from behind the crate and holds a finger to his lips before pushing it in front of you once more.

“Over here, Ominis.”

You hear footsteps and see the red glow of the other boy’s wand, then shuffling as Sebastian strategically places himself in front of the wooden box. The echoing footsteps grow closer, and you straighten at Ominis’s frantic tone as he speaks.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks. “I…I thought I heard…her.”

“No one else is here but me,” Sebastian says, guarded.

You can practically feel Ominis’s internal struggle to believe him. You decide that there have been enough secrets between the three of you — you’re not going to let it carry on post-mortem.

“Ominis? Is that you?” you call out. You hear Sebastian press his body against the crate in front of you. Ominis pushes past him, and they both tumble into it, knocking it over and exposing your portrait.

Chaos ensues at Ominis’s realization. The two boys are shouting at each other in front of you as you are helpless to stop them — Ominis, for having yet another secret kept from him, and Sebastian, for defending his reasonings. You aren’t sure if it’s because of jealousy, grief, or some combination of the two, but all you want is for the noise to stop.

You call out helplessly from your portrait, wishing you could step between them, just as you had done time and time again all those months ago. Before everything had gone so wrong.

Suddenly, hot, angry tears are pouring down both of their faces, and you are overcome with just how useless you are at this moment — a fragmented memory, trapped within the confines of your magical canvas. You want nothing more than to hug each of them, to let them feel your arms around them in comfort and take their pain away.

But you are gone.

The two boys now stand solemn and silent in front of you. Ominis takes a step closer, his wand hovering over your portrait before he runs his fingers along the gilded frame. “Is it…really you?”

“No.” You can hear the flatness in Sebastian’s voice, how tired and worn he truly is. He repeats exactly what you thought only moments before as if to confirm it. “She hardly remembers what happened, or even who we are. She’s just a fragment. A memory.”

You want to argue that it is you, but you know that he’s right. You barely remembered your living self until Sebastian explained everything to you on his daily visits. Whispers of your personality still shine through on occasion, but you are otherwise simply existing.

Ominis sighs, and you can hear the weight behind it, as if he had been holding his breath and finally allowed himself to release it. He traces his fingers along the divots of the frame once more, and you try to will yourself to feel it.

The two boys exchange an unspoken conversation that thickens the tension in the air. They seem to come to an agreement, and you let out a small breath — if you can call it that — of relief when they sit down in front of you and appear to bask in your presence. You stay quiet and allow them this moment — it’s the only thing you can do.

The days that follow are the same. No longer is Sebastian coming in alone for covert meetings with your portrait. Now, you see both Sebastian and Ominis at the same time every single day, a religious appointment that they’ve set aside just for you. They take turns talking to you, even if they can only manage a few words, and you learn to appreciate their company, knowing that you were loved by both of them in life.

Just like old times, Sebastian says, and the three of you laugh.

Christmas approaches quickly, or that’s what they say when they come to visit a short while later. They bring your favorite things from when you were alive — chocolate frogs, flowers, even books, which Sebastian reads to you — and they tell you stories about you and the kind of person they knew you to be. You wonder if it’s true, or if they have created an idealistic image of you since you are no longer there with them. Not really.

Kind, they say that you were, thoughtful, loving, self-sacrificial, and maybe a bit idealistic. You were friends with both of them, after all, the mischievous pair that they were, before everything was taken away from them, before life was unfair. They try to smile for you and remind you that Christmas at the castle is a time for celebration, but you can tell that it’s a weak facade.

You smile back at them anyway.

The anniversary of your death approaches. Neither of them can bring themselves to say anything, aside from a few words to honor you. So the three of you sit in tearful silence, admiring the flowers that they decorated your portrait with. You think you can almost smell the sweet aroma of the bouquets.

Something changes in the air — you can sense it — though you aren’t sure what. You notice it when their visits become shorter, with fewer stories to tell, and fewer presents left in front of your frame. Sebastian and Ominis start showing up at separate times, stopping in for a brief hello before leaving with an excuse. You start to wonder what they are doing when they are gone, but you are unable to leave your frame — only one portrait of you was ever commissioned.

Soon, they start missing days, returning at a later time with profuse apologies about how life was busy, but they still miss you. Difficult classes, detention, studying for NEWTs, and preparing for a career — all of these seem to take precedence over you. But they still manage to make time in all of the hectic day-to-day activities, and you look forward to the days when they do come.

You wake up one morning and realize you are in a different location — Feldcroft, most likely, though you hadn’t seen it since that fateful day. Sebastian hangs your frame up on the wall, promising that he and Ominis will come to visit you more often now that they have graduated.

They don’t.

The length of time in between seeing them grows longer, you’re certain of it. Each time one of them arrives, they look a little bit different — sometimes they have longer hair, other times a bit of scruff around their chins, but they always come in looking more weathered than they had when you last saw them.

You realize that they are doing something that you will never again be able to join them in — growing older. You start to wonder about their lives outside of you, yet your painted mind cannot comprehend what an adult life looks like, forever frozen in your adolescent state. You find that you are unable to relate to any of their stories, and they seem to be holding back in what they choose to share.

I wish you were still here, they always say before they go, and you start to wonder if they mean it.

At long last, the visits from your once two closest friends become scarce, and you aren’t certain how much time has passed since someone last spoke to you. The bright flowers that once decorated your golden frame wither and die, and the little gifts they used to leave stay untouched and unopened. The tiny cottage in Feldcroft becomes a sepulcher of your essence — a permanent reminder that you are no longer among the living.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you did, if their reasons for not returning were your fault. You can feel the stories that they used to tell you fading away, unable to retain the memories in your current form.

You decide that it’s time to rest.

In the quiet house, just south of Hogwarts, your portrait closes its eyes. You do not wake again.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #angst #hl fanfic #hl angst #hogwarts legacy angst fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy oneshot #reader pov

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confessedlyfannish · 1 year ago

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Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #bruce wayne #jason todd #danny fenton #my writing

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sleepyeepyp3rson · 18 days ago

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wwe/pro fighters!141 x announcer!reader

John Price, former two-time Wold Champion, the Bear of the Ring, back from retirement. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, a newcomer, moving on up to the big leagues. The Golden Boy of London. John "Soap" MacTavish, the Street Fight Champion, the half of the most menacing duo in WWE history. And "Ghost," the Shadow of the Ring, who won last seasons duo Championship with Soap.

an: i JUST got into wwe, so sorry for any inaccuracies! correct me, it's always fun to learn more :3 also also! my first full fic 😭😭 got SO SCARED posting this so sorry if it low key sucks, if it doesn't, i have plans for a second one + shoutout to my awsome beta reader (my best friend)

(masterlist, 2)

Recently, one of the announcers retired after a long career, and WWE scrambled to find a suitable replacement that wouldn't cause an uproar in the dedicated fanbase.

They chose you. A person with an impressive resume and a quick wit, willing to be accidentally trampled if need be. And the best part for the company? The fans love you, some even making compilations and edits of you. Of the few moments you get shown on camera at least. (The wrestlers are the main event.) And the wrestlers seem to like you just fine. Better than the refs and each other, at least. The 141 seem to like you the most, though.

Price, just coming back from a short retirement, was the first match you narrated. You loved him growing up, the finishing moves, the walkout song (Thunderstruck AC/DC,) everything. He put the attitude in the Attitude Era, the main event, the headliner. Then he retired.

You cried during his final show. Being one of the live announcers for his comeback now is huge for you.

He walked out on the ring, fought like hell, and at one point he slung his opponent over the net and the guy crashed into your table. Admittedly it was a little frightening, but seeing John Price drag the guy kicking and screaming back into the ring by his hair was enough of a reward. And the gruff "Sorry, dove," he said to you certainly didn't make anything worse.

But you thought that was it for the nicknames.

Until Gaz. Every match he has, whenever he has the mic, he's referencing you at least once, with an added "Love" or "Sunshine" to it. That alone gave you a thousand more followers on your Instagram, but the post he made on Twitter? At least ten thousand. And it wasn't anything major, but being the "Golden Boy" comes with certain privileges, and he uses them well. You start researching him after that, and he hasn't done that for any other announcer.

Soap and Ghost’s first team-up of the season has them against the men they stole the Duo Champions titles from. Graves and Makarov. Match made in Hell, the two of them. They can't stand each other, but they hate the 141 boys enough to justify a team-up.

During the match, Soap broke Makarov's arm. Maybe he just forgot it wasn't his usual rules, or maybe it was the reference he made to you during the pre-fight trash-talk session. Either way, Ghost had his back, as always, and covered for him by throwing the rest of the match as the script told them to. Either way, they were disqualified.

And you? You're having the time of your life. The fights are right up by your face, the adrenaline rush right there, and this time you actually get to chase it.

Maybe you're egging them on a bit. Grinning like mad during Price's first match, responding to Gaz's tweet and comments with nothing short of glowing praise, giving colorful commentary during Soap and Ghost’s fight. But who can blame you, really? For liking your job, for entertaining people.

Maybe that's why this match, the grand match between Task Force 141 and The Shadows is packed. You entertain people just as much as the wrestlers.

The lights flash, Thunderstruck plays, the 141 boys walk out. Then here comes Graves for a rematch against the ones who broke his arm, complete with his entourage behind him. Surprisingly the whole broken arm thing fits the storyline well, after some panicking from the writers and producers.

"Your boy broke my arm." Graves starts, grin sharp, canines poking out. Grinning despite the red-hot pain in his arm.

"We do what we have to. Keep your mouth shut next time, aye?" It's a measured response from Price, but the headbutt Soap does as soon as the sentence settles is definitely not.

"Grab your popcorn people, the world's Street Fight Champion Soap is jumping right into the fight!" And there's your voice, over the speakers. Sounding thrilled.

The fans both cheer and jeer and Ghost’s chant is started up, a steady thump, thump, of boots on the floor of the stadium.

The fight starts without much else, men thrown and chairs cracked over heads. With the disadvantage Graves has, it's clear who will win, but the play-by-play is still fun to give.

"Oh! And Graves has got Soap on the ropes, can he break his hold- and Ghost runs up behind him, always on his six, yanking Graves away! This is the Champion duo ladies and gentlemen."

And maybe it's distracting the boys a little. Maybe Johnny puffs up a little when you point out his title, maybe Ghost looks over at the booth for a little too long. Just maybe. And just maybe that gives the Shadows an opening for a takedown move or two. And just maybe, the 141 loses twice in a row.

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #tf 141 x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod x reader #ok i think thats it people #tags are hard #sigh

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foldingfittedsheets · 10 months ago

Text

One of my favorite adventures from my twenties was a trip I took alone up to Canada. Neil Gaiman was doing a reading for the release of Ocean at the End of the Lane, and I was living three hours south of the venue.

None of my friends could make it and it was before I had GPS but I decided to go by myself. The day before the event I had nightmares about being lost in Canada, but I woke up and still got in the car.

The drive was awful, and I clutched the printed out Mapquest directions like my life depended on it, lurching through stop and go traffic with my manual transmission car. But when I arrived I found parking easily. I had tried to be there early but between traffic and the border crossing I was barely on time.

When I got to the door it turned out there wasn’t any seating left. My face fell, and the lovely worker refused to let me go away disappointed. She snuck me into the area reserved for staff to watch the event.

I sat oddly isolated in the very back row, listening to Neil’s calm narration. Midway through a boy my age came over to join me. We chatted while the line moved to get things signed. He lived in China, and India, went to school in Scotland, and was here couch surfing just for this event.

He asked about my YouTube channel and I laughed and said I didn’t have one. He paused in confusion and said, “You should, you’re such a gifted storyteller!” Later his certainty that I had one made me imagine he was a multidimensional traveler and this iteration of me didn’t have a channel that he was familiar with on his world.

I got my copy of the book signed and we left together. We wandered the city at night, making our way toward the ocean. We were both surprised to have our way blocked not once but three times by skunks, wandering blithely through the metropolis.

We clambered over the breakers by the water, watching the boats and listening to the waves crash at our feet. I offered him a lift back to his couch and he agreed.

I got lost trying to find the way home, well off my printed directions. My nightmare had come true, but at 2am lost in a foreign city I had a feeling of serenity that everything would be okay.

I pulled up next to some mildly intoxicated guys walking along, asking if they knew the way. Later, relaying this story to my wife they were appalled by this decision. But a moment later a cop car interrupted us, clearly thinking something illegal was transpiring. I flashed my dimples and asked for directions and he set me back on the right path.

I only spent one night carousing, but I still think about that boy, hoping he’s doing well. I remember the surreal peace of the sleeping city, full of skunks and waves on the breakers.

#ramblies #story #writing #I know that he asked me for a kiss down by the water #but I can’t remember if I gave him one #I don’t think so but I might have just for the laugh and the night of adventure

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lowkeyrobin · 10 months ago

Text

JUICYFRUITSNACKS ; asylum

summary ; you're mully's friend and tag along to explore a haunted mental asylum

warnings : language, ghost talking bullshit

disclaimers ; I only referred to him as juicy bc idrk if he's cool w us calling him his real name and I'm not trying to be parasocial 💪

word count ; 2.2k

y/f/I = your first initial

masterlist

Juicy enjoyed spending time with his boys, a lot. They were the best of friends, after all. But he also really enjoyed spending time with both them and you.

You've known Mr. Mully since you were young. You didn’t know the rest of his friends super well, but you took a liking to Juicy. You and Juicy weren't tight or anything, but you were friends nonetheless.

Tonight, you were exploring a haunted asylum with The Boys and Sam and Colby. You tagged along, wanting to experience some paranormal shit because why not. You’d binge-watched all of The Boys’ previous videos at haunted places and wanted to get a slice for yourself.

The group of you plus the camera people sit on the floor around one of the REM pods, with Sam acting as the communication between worlds. The blonde had sound-proof headphones on, connected to the spirit box in his hand, and a bandana wrapped around his eyes for proof that he couldn't see nor hear anything you guys were saying to the ghosts.

You sat next to Juicy in the corner, being the only person, other than Mully, you really knew out of these people. You intently listen as the guys hold a full conversation with whatever spirit/s were in the room for a solid hour or so, watching as they all freak out after receiving creepy replies or ones referencing their names.

You and Juicy would often share looks or glances, usually scared, confused, or curious.

After that, you split up into two teams to complete challenges around the building. You were with Colby, Mully, and Eddie, while Sam hosted the opposite group with Josh, Juicy, and Narrator.

"We're team Demon"

"We're gonna catch a big demon"

"Yeah, we got big D"

"We're team C(y/f/i)EM." Eddie nods, "C-(y/f/i)-E-M"

"Stop stalling"

"Fuck"

The four of you head over to the men's infirmary, Eddie, with the camera around his neck. Last time The Boys were here, they went down the dark, scary, main hallway with only the flash of their phone cameras. You go all the way down the hall, and all the way back, your only source of light being the camera flashing for a split second.

You and Dos, as the three were heading back, were moving around as the camera flashed to mock a spirit. The boys were laughing about it, still scared a spirit would jump out and attack them. Once they got back and looked over the pictures, they didn't find anything and considered it a mission complete. You, however, wanted to go down by yourself as you'd been hearing whispers almost the whole time you'd been in this area.

You couldn't tell if it was you hallucinating from exhaustion or if you were actually hearing things, but you wanted to see what it was as curiosity always got the best of you. You graciously take the camera from Eddie and line yourself up at the start of the hallway, the boys turning off their flashlights for you.

"Dude, you're acting like a horror movie character" Colby comments with a chuckle, "This is the dumbest shit ever"

"Says you," you whisper, making your first few steps down the hallway.

You can whispering belonging to Eddie behind you, but also some other, unintelligible whispering sounds that definitely didn't belong to one of the guys, nor was it even behind you. It sounded like it was more in front of you if anything.

You squint in the dark, then take a picture, using the flash to illuminate your way forward. You look into the doors on each side of you after progression another couple steps, unable to see, though. You're just trying to find where all that whispering was coming from. It was like someone was moving through the rooms to lead you down the hallway.

You continue, taking pictures every handful of steps so as not to walk into something and know where you were.

"You okay?" Mully calls, your silence giving him a weird feeling in his stomach.

"Yeah" You reply quietly, taking another few steps forward. "I hear whispering. Like, it's not stopping. I wanna find it" You mumble.

"I swear to God, if you go missing, we are not liable!" Eddie exclaims, "Why the fuck are you investigating?"

"I'm curious!"

"Curiosity always kills the cat, but okay" Mully chuckles.

You make your way to the end of the hall, whispering as loud as it possibly could be, like it was directly in your ears. You feel a shiver trail down your spine, and a wave of cold, like the feeling after just opening the freezer, hit you out of nowhere.

"Holy shit!" You exclaim, quickly stepping back while taking a photo, "Uh-uh, nope! Pussying out now, bye-bye!"

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Dude, what happened?"

You quickly run back down the hallway, not bothering to use the camera flash as they turned their flashlights back on after hearing you yelp and your footsteps running back to them. You quickly hand the camera back, the uneasy cold feeling not having left you at all.

"Holy shit, what the fuck?" You speak, catching your breath as you lean against the door, looking down the hallway. "Dude, I got to like, the end of the hallway and the whispering I was talking about, it was like, in my ears. Then I felt like that kind of cold feeling like when you open a freezer up, like how it just hits you and sometimes gives you goosebumps instantly. I swear I felt like an actual force on my shoulders, I can't even make this shit up"

"Bro, what the hell?"

"You're kidding"

"No way"

"Dude, I can not be more serious right now." You nervously smile, shaking your head. "That's one of the freakiest things I've ever experienced. Like, I'm genuinley scared now, I've never been this fucking, like, paranoid over something like this"

"Nah, I'm getting the fuck outta here" Eddie shakes his head, reaching for the door as you move out of the way for him. Mully quickly follows in agreement, as both of them wanted to go home the most out of all of you.

Dos follows them as they shout for you and Colby, trying to jog away and go find the others in the main building.

You and the leather wearing brunette walk side by side in silence, following the trio in front of you fairly closely. You stand in a circle, waiting for a text back from Juicy as to where they were, not wanting to walk around the whole building in search of them. He quickly makes his way down to you guys, deciding to lead you all back up to where they were located.

Mully and Eddie strike up a conversation while Colby listens, standing next to you, who's staring down at his feet and the grass. You were mostly trying to make sense of what you felt in the men's infirmary, feeling confused and shocked, as that's the most paranormal action you'd ever felt for yourself. Juicy arrives, picking up on your nervousness in silence, yet decides to not point it out while he talks to Eddie, Mully and Colby before you all walk up a million flights of stairs.

Juicy, unknowing to you, was staring at you again. He'd been doing it all night. You were the only person oblivious to it, however. Eddie and Mully quickly catch onto his attracted gazes towards you, though staying silent as they'd definitely be joking about it soon enough to the others. They were talking about it with Colby once you were far enough away, trying to get more people to help with the job of wingman-ing. The brunette quickly notices he's staring and that the others have caught on, and quickly joins in on the conversation, wanting to try and hide the fact he was doing it again.

From sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor earlier, back to even at lunch outings earlier this week, he’s been doing it for a while. He’s a little surprised you haven't noticed, or at least brought it up.

He was so clearly head over heels it wasn't even funny anymore. He was downright in love.

You look back up and then behind you, looking around just to take in your surroundings again. You listen to their conversation, rocking on your heels. Juicy's mind races a million miles a minute, mind cluttered by you, the conversation at hand, and the video being recorded tonight.

On the walk up to Sam's group, or Group Demon, you're the first to walk up the stairs, leading the other boys towards them. You were good at following directions, leaving Juicy to talk to his friends behind you. Juicy and Mully walk up side by side behind Dos and Eddie, a light conversation between them before Mully shakes it up.

"What's with you and Y/n? You got a crush on them or something?"

Juicy, flustered and a bit embarrassed, quickly shakes his head no. "No, no, not at all. What? Why? They’re your friend"

Mully rolls his eyes and Eddie quickly shouts back. "Yes you do! Stop lying to yourself!"

Mully nods, “They’re your friend to, y’know”

You clearly had no idea what any of them were talking about, still leading them onwards.

"Shut up!" Juicy whisper-shouts.

After finding Sam, Josh, and Narrator, you walk into the church and sit down on the wooden benches. Eddie stands at the podium, a large cross behind him. You sit next to Juicy on the right side of the room with the other members of The Boys. Colby and Sam sit together on the left side of the room.

Eddie recites a prayer in Spanish before speaking. "Tonight we party"

The room explodes into boyish cheers and laughter, all of you standing up. Eddie laughs before speaking again.

He shouts, "Sit down!"

You all go quiet and sit down.

"Fuck God!" You exclaim.

"Yeah, screw Jesus!" Juicy shouts

"God can suck my balls" Josh comments with a shrug.

"Oh my God, you're swearing in the house of the Lord!" Colby dramatically gasps

Eddie quickly recites another prayer, asking for the forgiveness of your sins. The REM Pod in the bench in front of you begins beeping, signaling some motion.

"Oh fuck no, bye guys!" Eddie quickly speaks, running back to sit next to Juicy.

"Bro, Mully, sit up" Josh laughs, watching you walk up to the podium after agreeing with the others to have a mini main character priest moment. "Sit up, dude. Service is commencing"

Mully groans. "What?"

"Sit up!"

He groans again as he sits up, no longer laying on the front bench. Josh and Narrator both mock his groan, playfully shouting at him as you clear your throat.

"Good morning everyone! It's..." You look to Juicy as he had his phone on him, which you knew.

"4:25"

"It's 4:25 in the morning. Early service today" You chuckle, "Coffee is right over there" You point to the side where a few trashed cans of energy drinks lay on the floor.

"How much do you dare me to drink it?" Juicy asks you.

"You blink for a moment. "You're gonna get AIDS if you even touch it, but be my guest, man"

They laugh, chanting Pope Y/n as it echoes off the walls.

"Today, my friends, we confront Juicyfruitsnacks and his undeniable crush on Y/n" Eddie laughs, looking over at the brunette next to him.

"Yo, what?"

"Huh?"

"Oooo his ass got caught!"

"You can't hear it but I'm cackling right now"

Eddie quickly pulls Juicy up to the podium with you, pushing you to the side. He stands at the podium with the younger brunette in front of you/to your side, as you both stand confused.

Eddie nearly raps as he speaks. "Today we are bringing this lovely couple together to wed in holy matrimony. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, bless, preserve and keep you; the Lord mercifully grant you the riches of his grace, that you may please him both in body and soul, and, living together in faith and love, may receive the blessings of eternal life. Amen. Juicy, Y/n, would you like to read your vows?"

The Boys laugh as you and Juicy share a smile and laugh as well.

"Since when were we getting married?" You question

"Since I had to become a wingman" Eddie shrugs as he replies. "So did they. Mostly Mully." He points towards the crowd of boys watching.

"What is happening right now?" You awkwardly laugh.

Juicy laughs as well, "I mean, he isn't lying"

The room is now silent.

"Wait, what?"

"Can I take you out sometime?"

You glance over at Eddie and then the boys, then look back at Juicy.

"Uh, sure"

The others explode into cheers you'd probably be able to hear outside, and the older brunette quickly wraps the both of you in a hug.

"Dude, too much has happened tonight, I got creeped on by a ghost and now I have to mentally prepare myself for a date"

"You love me!"

"Love is a strong word"

"They're already having couple-fights!"

"Eddie, I swear to God"

"No swearing in the house of the Lord!"

#lowkeyrobin #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader #gn! reader #juicyfruitsnacks #juicyfruitsnacks x reader #content creator x reader #twitch streamer x reader #juicy x reader

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roxygen22 · 2 months ago

Note

can i request any beautiful boy writing and thank you love your writing

Aww - thanks, anon! I can't believe I haven't written for Nic yet, so thanks for the nudge!

Context: Nic has been sober for a while and is holding down a steady job in the city, where he meets the reader.

<><><><><>

Bus Stop

"I have a crush on a stranger," you blurted out at dinner with your BFF. She stared at you like you had lost your mind. Maybe you had.

"Okaaaaay. Tell me about said...stranger," she replied slowly, skeptically.

"I take the same bus every day heading home from the office. Same bus. Same route. Same time. Every weekday. This cute guy - dark brown curls and cheekbones that could cut glass - always gets on two stops later and sits across from me. Every day except Wednesdays. Sometimes, if we happen to lock eyes when I look up, he'll nod and offer a closed-lipped smile. The looks have started to...linger. I've noticed that I have started to look forward to it."

At some point while narrating your story, your focus drifted off into the distance. When your eyes returned to your friend, she was grinning at you like a cheshire cat.

"Oof, you've got it bad."

"I know....," you groaned and dramatically dropped your forehead to your hands.

"What's the big deal? Ask him out." She shrugged nonchalantly.

You stared at her wide-eyed, jaw slack. "How?" You asked incredulously.

She laughed. "Start by asking his name. The rest should take care of itself."

<><><><><>

The following Monday was a federal holiday, so you wouldn't see the beautiful mystery boy again until Tuesday. The last hour of work crawled by at a torturous pace. At closing, you grabbed your coat and bolted out the door, determined to catch the bus on time. It dependably arrived at your stop like clockwork.

You sat in your usual spot, knee bouncing from nerves and excitement. Two stops later, a slew of people stepped onboard. With each unfamiliar face, you grew more and more disappointed until finally, the object of your affection appeared. He took his normal position across the way and down a few seats. He always looked so nice and put together in his button-down shirt and slacks.

You were eager to talk to him but didn't want to come off as a stalker, so you waited a couple of stops before scooting over to sit directly in front of him. Your movement caught his attention, prompting him to look up at you.

"Hi," you squeaked and froze as you locked eyes.

"Hi," he replied slowly, both confused and amused. He flashed a smile that frazzled you further.

"I- uh, I've seen you here almost every day for months. So this isn't like talking to a stranger. I, uh, don't usually make it a habit of talking to strangers. I've been wanting to meet you." You paused and caught your breath. "I'm [Y/N]." You stuck out your right hand to shake. Smooth, real smooth.

"Hi, [Y/N]." You felt electricity run through your fingertips as he took your hand in his. "I'm Nic."

"Nic," you breathed, holding his hand probably a little longer than a customary handshake. You weren't sure what to do next, except make a note that your BFF gives terrible advice.

He cleared his throat. "I- I've uh, noticed you, too. On the bus every day, I mean."

All you could do was blush.

"Getting off work for the day?" Nic asked as you settled back into your seat, nodding toward the laptop bag at your side.

"Yep, the daily grind. The best part is the bus ride home."

It was his turn to blush. He ducked his head down sheepishly. You were dismayed to look up and see your stop was next.

"This is my stop coming up. The day crept by while I waited to finally talk to you, but the ride blazed by once I did." You sadly half-smiled as you looked into his jade-hued eyes, while also admiring your own newly found confidence.

"Oh." You detected a hint of disappointment in Nic's voice. "If...hopefully this doesn't sound creepy...if you'd like, I can get off here, too, and walk with you. My stop is just the next one down," he offered.

Your heart beat rapidly - slightly wary since he was still effectively a stranger, but mostly exhilarated by the prospect of having more time with him. Your words failed, so you just nodded.

When the bus stopped, you both stood and walked toward the front. Nic stepped off first, then turned and offered his hand to help you down.

"Thanks," you responded, blushing at the gentlemanly gesture.

"Where to?" he asked as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

You froze as rationality hit you like a ton of bricks, finally realizing that you would be leading this guy, still essentially a stranger, to your apartment. No matter how much you liked him, that wasn't a smart move.

"Well, I...I," you stammered nervously. "I barely know you, so I'm not going to show you where I live. Not yet, no offense."

"None taken," Nic replied, holding his hands up in surrender.

"But I want to get to know you, and I don't want that to stop here. Want to duck in somewhere and grab a drink?"

"I- I don't drink." His brow furrowed, and his eyes cast downward slightly. "B-but I do eat!" he added. "Hungry? My treat."

You smiled and nodded, pointing at the diner across the street. "How about there? They make a mean cheeseburger and milkshake."

Nic grinned. "Works for me."

<><><><><>

Part 2

Masterlist

@croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

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chaotic-iguana · 1 year ago

Text

Refuge | chapter one.

prologue/previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

chapter one: tainted homecoming

wordcount: ~1k summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? what if just another mundanely late night at the office on the night of the outbreak separated them for a decade? warnings: fear, panic, passing out, reconciliations, estrangement, unwanted touching (not joel ofc), slightly unreliable narrator because she isn’t doing too well, angst boys i just binged good omens and i have thoughts ^tm. a/n: so, this was supposed to be out two days ago. life got in the way, unfortunately. kinda bummed me out because i was SO excited to share this but didn’t get to finish it on time and yada yada anyways. its here now, as usual please let me know what you think!!

When you gasped awake, you’d been moved from the harsh tile of your shop to the worn couch you kept on the first floor. Your jacket had been taken off, leaving you in your flimsy tank top. The room was uncharacteristically dark - a menacing omen looming over your head and shrouding your senses in a sense of danger as you came to a realisation.

There was someone in your kitchen. Multiple someones.

Eerily familiar voices were whispering rapidly from behind you; hissed exchanges you had to tilt your head to make out. Your panic from before had melted away, and in its stead was the cold emptiness you had taught yourself. Sheer focus honed by the desperation to stay alive. Who the fuck are these people?

“…didn’t tell me she was with ya, could atleast’ve told me she was alive…”

“…hardly gave a shit, don’t fuckin’ lie to me now…”

“…married?…”

“…didn’t know you were that much of a family man…”

Your fingers inched towards the pencil on the coffee table before you, body tensing up not to let the couch groan. Thoughts racing at a speed just beyond your grasp, brain struggling to catch up with what you were hearing, forcing you straight into a fight-or-flight response. Tucking the pencil into the palm of your hand tightly, you silently inched to the ground, crouching to shuffle to the edge of the sofa and crane your head to catch a glimpse of whoever the hell was sitting in your home.

Taking in the scene, you felt a laugh bubbling in your chest for the first time in years. Fate’s cruelty makes for masochistic amusement, does it not?

Before you sat a ghost. One that had haunted you day and night; one whose smile, eyes, hands, mouth, everything lingered in your memory like a scent from your childhood sticking in the back of your mind - never quite there, but never quite gone, either. Like a word you wouldn’t dare voice that sitting smug on the tip of your tongue.

When your eyes met his, everything else turned into static. An afterthought. Air was punched out of your lungs, your own heartbeat echoing in your ears, eyes blinking quickly to let the illusion dissipate. Except it didn’t. You could barely comprehend anything beyond him; barely realise that someone was behind you with his hands under your shoulders and his chest pressed against your back. The arm wrapping around your waist and the bullshit placating words whispered in your ear failed to register, too.

Your last moments before the blackout flashed through your mind - Fred’s curiosity as he told you about Jackson’s new residents. Tommy’s brother - Joel. If there was someone with him, it had to be Sarah. You hadn’t even let yourself think of his name all these years, let alone wonder whether or not he was alive. It was easier to convince yourself you didn’t have time to care. Easier to convince yourself that you had the strength to slide your eyes two inches to the left and see your daughter again, too. Suddenly, your clothes felt too tattered, your hair too tangled. The jut of your cheekbones and the tremble in your fingers just felt too inadequate to face them again.

Didn’t he once say my smile could light up a room?

Even my laugh has a bitter edge to it now.

You doubted you’d ever find it in you to crawl back to that version of yourself again. The one you had been when you had it all, when you had them with you. Radiant, carefree, so openly loving.

She had been your first kill. You had ripped her to shreds, just so no one else could. The ache of loneliness had then made a permanent home on your shoulders, and you had welcomed it if only for the protection it offered.

You blinked, and the moment shattered just as suddenly as it had come. Air rushed down your throat, making you choke as you clawed at the arms restraining you in a frenzy, but they refused to budge. A grating voice was in your ear, telling you to just calm down, baby, foul breath fanning across your cheek.

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the scraping of a chair rung out and heavy, swift footsteps making their way and coming to a stop before you, a hulking figure looming over you and your captor.

How the hell was he still so…big?

What the fuck had he been eating?

This had to be a nightmare. This cannot be real. Tommy would have told me if he was alive, because Joel would have reached out. It’s just a dream, I need to wake up. Just a second shy of your plan to attempt pinching yourself - in what you considered a fool-proof test to see whether or not this was, in fact reality - you were wrenched out of the grasp of the man behind you, a larger, more firm pair of hands gripping your wrists and pulling you to put himself between you and the man who- no fucking way was that Fred. No goddamn way were his hands just all over you, his voice trying to calm you.

A wild panic began taking over your senses - the fight-or-flight instincts returning with full force. And as if even after all those years he could still feel it, Joel stood unyieldingly like a physical wall between you and the idiot. The idiot who was currently yelling about his “relationship” with you in your husband’s face.

A snort and high-pitched giggle sounded from behind you, the adrenaline forcing you to turn and locate the source immediately. When you finally looked into the eyes of your girl; the one you had desperately hoped to see again for the past decade and a half, your heart stopped. Cold dread dropped heavy like stones in your gut as pure fear burrowed into every single cell in your body.

This isn’t my fucking daughter.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopblues22, @breakfastatjoels dividers are my own!! series taglist: @spookyxsam, @obscurexsorrows, @planet-marz1, @lunxramour, @anavatazes, @joeldjarin, @stunkbiggu, @joels-darlin

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skyguys-princess · 10 months ago

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Way Down We Go

AJ x Private Security/Crime family reader

「 You 」

I sat up on the rooftop of the building next door of the club my brother was currently at. With his friends… If you could call them that. More like work acquaintances, without the work. His little thief friends, Takers. Is what they call themselves, the dorks.

Was I spying on my brother? Sure. But in all fairness, he isn’t always a good judge of character. Hence why I’m here now. Because the knuckle head and his stupid plans are going to be the death of me.

I pull up my laptop, that had been running background checks on my brothers new crew. Alderige, Alexander James. Cute… perhaps my brother doesn’t have bad taste after all-

Ping!

I jolt, picking up my phone hastily. To see a notification from my brother, speak of the devil.

Thorn in my side

Need help.

No hi how r u?

Usually u leave me on read. Anyway hurry up and get ur ass here. We r waiting.

And where would here be exactly? And whose ‘we?’

Christ how dumb do you think I am? Actually don’t answer that.

I snicker at his response, before typing mine.

Fine, I’ll be there. Tell ur boy band I’ll be there soon.

Thx sis x

eww don’t ever call me ‘sis’ again

ok… sis

I leave him on read, maybe he does have a point. Chucking all my equipment back into my duffle bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Making my way to the stairs as I head to the club my brother and the rest of the Takers were at.

「 Narrator 」

Meanwhile…

Aj was lounging on one of the various couches while Gordon and your brother, Alec were discussing the plan for the upcoming heist. Though he appeared to be in a world of his own, Aj was paying more attention than it seemed.

He visibly perked up after hearing your name, he knew Alec had a big family. He’d mentioned it before, from your two other sisters. Him, your parents and obviously your dog named Flash. But he never mentioned you, at least never around Aj. He couldn’t help the curiousness that crept up inside of him, Gordon was usually very picky about allowing outsiders into their plans.

So what was so special about you?

Aj jolts after taking an elbow to the ribs, grimacing at the feeling. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said for the past hour?” John asks annoyed, though a small smile tugs at the blond mans lips. Not at all surprised by Aj’s brazen behaviour.

Aj picks up his fedora that had fallen to the floor, smoothing his hair back. Before placing it back on his head, “yeah man of course.” His gaze averts to John. His friend’s face held a look of disbelief, busted.

John chuckles at Aj’s obvious distraction. “You might wanna be a little less obvious when your eavesdropping man.” He grins, leaning back against the lounge. Crossing his arms over his muscular chest. The muscle of his biceps straining against the sleeves of his shirt.

Aj lets out a huff, “no clue what you’re on about man.” Trying to dismiss John’s eavesdropping accusation against him.

John raises a brow in amusement, clearly not believing a word that came out of Aj’s mouth. “Yeah, whatever you say.” He smirks, before standing up. Heading over to Gordon and Alec, giving Aj a teasing wink. Who just gave John a playful glare in response, before slumping back in his seat. Crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. Looking like a toddler throwing a tantrum, making John chuckle.

While the Takers were distracted you managed to sneak in through the back entrance. Watching as they all bickered amongst themselves, oblivious to your presence. You decided to remain undetected for now, placing your duffle bag down on the countertop of the bar. Heading behind it to make yourself a drink.

Grabbing a cold martini glass, pouring in a shot of vodka. Filling the rest up with cranberry juice, before topping it off with three maraschino cherries. Hopping up, you sit on top of the bar. Cross legged, siping on your vodka cranberry. While looking through the blueprints of the bank someone had so callously left on the bar countertop.

Hearing the faint sound of heels clicking you turn your head. Lilli approached the bar, jumping slightly as she made eye contact with you. Sitting there sipping on your cocktail, the blueprints laid across your lap. Her jump scared expression making you giggle, she placed a hand over her heart. A smile tugging on her lips. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hello,” she replies. Her voice soft, as her kind eyes bored into yours. She moved towards the counter, extending your hand for support. She takes it, propping herself up on the counter beside you. “I’m Lilli, and you are?”

You give her hand you were holding a shake. “Y/n, nice to meet you.” You see her eyes avert to the blueprints on your lap. “Wanna see?” She nods enthusiastically, making you chuckle softly in response to her enthusiasm. Picking up the blueprints, holding them out in front of both your faces.

“What are you doing here?” Lilli asks curiously, while scanning the blueprints.

“Alec asked me to come,” you shrug nonchalantly. Pointing at the best points of entry on the blueprints.

“How do you know Alec?” She asks, while you take another sip of your cocktail.

“He’s my brother,” you pick up a maraschino cherry. Popping it into your mouth.

Her eyes widen in obvious surprise, “Alec is your brother?”

“Unfortunately,” you grin playfully. “Speaking of which…” you pause, turning to face the group. That were still engrossed in conversation. “Earth to boy band can we get this show on the road? I have shit to do.” You raise your voice loud enough to grab their attention.

Watching in amusement as their heads snap in your direction, fast enough that they could’ve gotten whiplash. Making you and Lilli laugh, “so oblivious.” She chuckles.

Looking through the group, you see John’s familiar face. “Johnny boy, long time no see.” A soft blush adorns his cheeks in embarrassment.

“Huh?” The blonde man beside him, looks at him bewildered. Which you recognised to be Aj. John just looks back at you and chuckles.

“Y/n, good to see you again.” He waves, as Aj mutters something under his breath. Though your attention is pulled away by a soft tap on your shoulder. You turn to see Lilli with a sheepish smile on her face.

“Can you make me one of those?” She ask hesitantly pointing at the drink in your hand, making a smile tug at your lips.

“Of course,” you slide off the countertop. To behind the bar, hearing someone clear their throat. You look up, meeting the familiar hazel eyes of your brother. “Hey big bro.”

“I didn’t ask you to come over so you could drink.” He quips, with a sly smirk tugging at his lips. Causing you to narrow your eyes at him playfully.

“Well I was bored,” you retort. Ruffling his dark hair, making him let out an annoyed grunt.

Lilli leans a little closer to the both of you. “To be fair, she was sitting here for a while. Not that you guys noticed.” She added in your defence, as you mixed up the vodka cranberry.

“Do you want the cherries?” You ask, raising a brow. She nods in response, “yes ma’am.” You say with a salute. Making her let out a soft giggle.

Alec clicks his fingers in front of your face trying to get your attention, “uh hello? Back on topic please.” Making you roll your eyes at his behaviour.

“You’re so dramatic big bro, relax. Take a breather,” you tease. Hearing a chuckle from behind Alec, then a mop of blond hair peeking through. A big toothy grin on his face, as he steps to the side of Alec. In front of you, holding out his hand. Gently taking yours, bringing it to his soft lips.

Placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Aj.”

A soft chuckle befalling your lips, amused by his irregular behaviour. “Let me guess, you have a thing for the Godfather?” You tease, looking up at his fedora. Alec’s hand immediately shoots to his mouth, muffling his snort. Aj bites his bottom lip gently, giving your hand a soft squeeze. Before you pull it out of his grip, popping the cherries into Lilli’s drink. Sliding it over to her, she whispers a ‘thank you.’

“I do actually, have you watched it?” He leans onto the bar, practically looming over you. The low lighting in the room reflecting off his blond hair. Making him look almost… angelic. Though his playful smirk suggested otherwise.

“No, though if you like that thing you should come to our family reunions. The resemblance is impeccable,” you quip. A wheezy laugh erupting from Alec. Aj seemed undeterred from his friends reaction, leaning even closer. His long lean fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out your face, tucking it behind your ear. With the utmost gentleness, as if you were made of porcelain. His eyes so transfixed on his movements, it was like he was in a trace. So were you, not that you’d admit it. Alec and Lilli observed quietly, aware of the tension. Eyeing the display of affection with curiousness. It was no secret that Aj was a flirt, but this was something that even your brother hadn’t witnessed from him. After a moment you pull back snapping yourself out of your trance like state, withdrawing from his gentle caress. Clearing your throat, “well… Let’s get on with it. We have a lot to do.”

#takers aj x reader #aj x reader smut #takers aj imagine #aj x reader #takers aj #aj fic #aj takers fan fic #aj takers x reader #aj takers drabble #aj takers chapter #ch: aj #hayden christensen #forced proximity #heist #crime #slow burn #aj fluff #aj takers fluff #[ mistress amidala works ]

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charles-leclerizz · 11 months ago

Text

TRAILER : THE BEGINING

🏁 Content warnings : Swearing.

🏁 Spoiler alert : Please read the masterlist, Character sketch and Team sketch to understand.

🏁 Genre : Drama, Action, Sports

🏁 Reading time : 15 minutes, 6 seconds

🏁 Word count : 3.0.k (3021 words)

🏁 Chapter summary : It all begins now.

🏁 Author's note : So, this is it, welcome to the beginning of this wild ride. Just wanted to explain a few things [so skip this right now if you're not really interested, no hard feelings !] Now, this format is probably confusing, basically the first part of this is the trailer, how it would look on Netflix, the actual video/film. And the writing after the banner, Behind the Scenes, is literally behind the scenes, what isn't shown on camera. Second, this whole series is meant to be very dramatic, it's entertainment made by "Netflix" [not really, please don't sue me] for God sake. With all that said, Enjoy!

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

[Please play this song whilst reading the trailer & feel free to stop once we get behind the scenes with the drivers !]

The screen fades from black to show a Porsche F1 car skidding down the track, the sound of screeching rubber against the tarmac harmonises with the energetic music that pumps behind the video.

Circular shots of a driver climbing out of the car from different angles flash across, and just before they tug off their helmet the scene changes to the paddock, pit crew, mechanics and drivers rush past in a blur, their differently coloured uniforms merge together like lights in a city scape. Suddenly, everything stops and the music fades away momentarily.

“In the fast-paced world of formula 1,”

Scenes of driving legends hoisting up their trophies with happy grins and champagne soaked racing gear flash past. Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher, Kimi Räikkönen.

“Where every second counts and emotions run high.”

The grating sounds of cars speeding past bursts into the frame, Max Verstappen shaking his fists ambitiously as he wins, yet another grand prix, Charles Leclerc as he wins in Spa and Monza, Carlos sainz and Lando Norris partnering up in the Singapore 2023- “Yeah, it’s on purpose.” The Spaniard grits out just as the narrator begins to speak again.

“Our team is about to redefine the game,”

The narrator is revealed, a woman, tall and proud as she sits in front of a grey backdrop. Her blonde hair is cut to a sharp bob and her glasses, astute and black sit high on her nose as she laughs jauntily and arches a well-managed, bleached brow at one of the three camera’s recording her, “Is that good?” she huffs out, thick Manchester accent shining through her cheerful words.

Black takes over once again, and the Indian flag, flapping in the wind from a tall pole that reaches high into the sky is shown, the bright, proud colours shining against the pale, blue sky. The camera pans down to the bottom of the ground, where the same driver,who was emerging from the car in the begging is looking up, at their flag.

But instead of their helmet securely fastened around their face, it’s held between the crook of their elbow and waist. The white base is glossy as multiple sponsor logos are littered around the entire frame, along with the black, bold letters “PATEL” being showed off at the back, currently visible to the camera along with the behind of the driver’s racing suit.

The shot pans up, revealing long flowing hair, black thick strands a contrast to her off white racing suit. The same flag peeks out from between the chunks of her fluttering locks, large and proud on the expanse of her back. The driver begins to turn and just as her red painted lips come into view the scene changes and a different narrator begins to speak again.

“From the makers of 'Drive to Survive' comes a new Netflix Original Series that takes you behind the scenes of the most exhilarating sport on the planet.”

Scenes of the woman running across the paddock and into her garage, her teammate not far behind overlay the announcement.

Another moment is revealed, this time of her ducking into her car, glove covered hands braced on the halo as her face turns upwards towards a racing engineer who speaks to her. She nods before turning to look directly into the camera and lowering herself into the cockpit.

The woman begins to speak again, "Aisha is our trailblazer in Formula 1.”

The iconic lights of Formula one begins to count down as the mechanical ticking echo throughout the grand-stands and the camera goes to shoot the anticipatory lull in the air as spectators hold their breath whilst the engines start up and the last light dims.

“She’s smashing stereotypes and racing towards victory.” The team principal shakes her head, a soft, proud smile playing on her light pink lips.

The team car revs menacingly as the gaggle of drivers manoeuvre their way through turn one of Bahrain.

The Porsche chassis glows between the unmanageable scuffle of the other 18 cars on the track, as both team racers attempt to come out on top in the dangerous pile of engines, the expectant victor of the throng doesn’t appear, the deep blue red bull is yet to emerge. The crowd gasps and cheers as the true victor begins to approach the next turn, speeding down the straight.

The camera catches the proud logo on the side of the car, “Porsche” and on the back, as the DRS begins to activate, the opened flap reveals, “Patel”.

“I just hope people are ready to see her in action. Because she isn’t stopping anytime soon" She stares into the camera as her name appears on screen, a small box enveloping the words, “Katherine Anderson, Porsche team principal.”

Finally, the rumoured driver comes into the scene, walking up to the stool as the camera drags up her slack clad legs, the cream material swishes by her ankles along with the golden payaal that jingles with each step of her stiletto heels against the floor. Her torso is revealed slowly, a tight top hugs her bust whilst the printed Porsche logo morphs against the curves of her chest. The varied tennis barcelets and charmed jewellery around her wrist titillate together as she takes a seat on the chair, and her face is revealed.

She squints her eyes and brings a manicured hand up to push away the straightened hair from her lips, her mouth purses as the unintelligible voice of the producer talks to her, whilst her eyelashes flutter and she hums in agreement.

“So, I just talk?” She asks, pointing a finger at the camera that faces her before blotting the lipstick on her lips. She nods once as the cameraman confirms.

“My name,” She tilts her head as she smiles, perfect, white teeth shining underneath the light, “Is Aisha Patel, and I drive for Porsche F1 Team.”

The camera cuts again, showcasing Aisha on the podium, pushing a large trophy up into the air as her teammate, Pierre cheers and sprays champagne on her stomach from his place on the “2nd” platform. She shakes her head and laughs as her entire head becomes soaked with the bubbly, sweet drink. Multiple identical shots are placed one after the other, of her standing proud and sweaty on the 1st place podium.

“I’ve worked my ass off,” Aisha’s voice over-runs the music, “And I’ll be damned if anything stands in my way.”

She squares her shoulders as she unzips her racing suits and bunches it up at her waist as she stomps over to Max Verstappen, the Dutch man looking equally malicious as his blue eyes roll with annoyance and already red face puffs out intimidatingly.

She pokes a finger into his fire-proof covered chest as she begins to shout, ignoring the worried stares of the crew around her in the Red-Bull garage. Max spits out the long, twirling straw from between his lips and begins to argue back.

Her mouth moves angrily as she goes to snatch the can of branded drink from his tense hands, throwing the sugary drink in his face, thoroughly dousing the shouting man and reducing him to a spluttering mess as she stomps away, flipping off one of the camera’s that eagerly follows her.

The narrator returns, his deep timbre rumbling through the video, “But the road to victory is never easy, as Aisha navigates through rivalries, scandals, and the pressure to perform.”

The scene switches to Aisha rushing out of a hotel in England, the night before Silverstone and the odd, overwhelming flashes of hounding reporters seem to be tuned out of her gaze as Lando runs behind her, grabbing helplessly at her hand whilst tears stream down her flushed face.

Her hair is mused and makeup runs haphazardly across her tan skin, she wretches her wrist out of the man’s grip, shaking her head as her lip wobbles. She covers her eyes before dodging and weaving through the paparazzi, barely able to mumble polite, “excuse me’s” from between erratic sobs, as she unlocks her expensive car and slips into the driver’s seat.

The second shot is of her and Carlos, hand in hand as her shoulders begin to shiver in his hold whilst she adjusts the heavy cardigan that hangs limp from her shoulders. The Spaniard’s face is tough and rocky as his hands comes to embrace her upper arm, cradling her against his side whilst the rest of the drivers begin to flee the racetrack, already tired from the latest qualifying session.

Yet, the papparizzi continue to hound the pair mercilessly, Aisha hides her face as the man beside her stops his firm footsteps and turns to a reporter from a less respectable news channel, the sleezy jounarlist gulps but stands his ground as he pushes his microphone forward. Carlos glances down at the tech with disgust, and just before he opens his mouth, the scene ends, and we’re taken back to Aisha who sits contently in the interview.

“In this world, you must fight for every inch. And I'm ready to fight, no matter the cost.” She smirks at another camera, her side profile showing off noticeable details over the expanse of her face like the sharp cut of her nose and the splattering of freckles across her cheekbones along with the odd beauty marks spotted above her lip and a few inches from her nose.

The final shot is off Aisha climbing out of the Porsche car, removing her helmet, allowing her hair to flow over her shoulder and down her back as she tilts her head at the camera and leans back against the pale white halo of her car.

She then crooks her finger at the viewers, gesturing for the cameraman to follow her hand as she holds up a singular finger, and points upwards towards the sky.

The shot is then of the of the expansive indiago above, and through the magic of editing, the Porsche logo takes up the screen.

“Get ready to experience the thrill, the passion, and the drama of Formula 1 like never before.” The narrator ends his sentence powerfully as the crescendo of the song reaches its peak.

“This is 'Formula for Love'.” Aisha ends the trailer, waving at the camera before the video is overtaken with black once again.

The title card appears, “Formula for love – A netflix original series”.

As the words disappear, a shot of Aisha’s car speeding off into the distance after which a mechanical, “Streaming soon, only on Netflix.” ends the trailer.

Aisha sighed, tapping her thighs as the filming concluded and many on-set employees rushed to her side, patting at her face along with offering her a can of thumbs up, the condensation runs down the metallic container and onto her fingers.

“Thank you, guys so much,” Aisha sipped at the straw protruding from the can in her hand before smiling at the people who merely stared at her, already putting away their various tools. A compact snapped shut, a damp towel thrown over a shoulder and a camera cover flipped closed.

Aisha sucked in a breath, flicking her eyes over the workers before looking over at Kate, who was signing a paper handed to her on a writing board.

She chuckled at Aisha’s worried expression and the silence that hung in the air, “It’s okay,” she assured the driver, who looked relieved as the people recovered and retreated away from the filming set, going back to their stations.

“They aren’t very used to people thanking them.” Kate shrugged, “They reacted like that to me as well,”

“Oh, thank God,” She patted her chest as she waved at the director, who smiled back and showed her a happy thumbs up, “This is all so new to me.” Aisha tugged at her hair as Kate pulled up her phone and scrolled through her calendar.

“Don’t worry too much about its Aisha, you’ll get there.” She rubbed the nervous driver’s arm and hissed when her phone vibrated, “I have to go, so much to get done before our first season,” Kate shook her head, wishing Aisha goodbye as she walked out of the trailer and out towards their still concealed garage.

Aisha hummed distractedly, before realising she had no idea what to do once Kate had walked away, “Wait!” But the team principal had already left, “Damn it,” She bit her nail once, handing off her empty can and plucking out her phone from her pocket.

“Oh, there you are.” A media manager bounded up to Aisha, surprising the woman as she jumped and whipped her head around to the approaching worker, “The driver’s briefing is about to begin,”

The man waved a hand at his face before pinching his Porsche x Adidas apparel between his fingers and forcing air between the material and his chest. He was likely middle aged, and sported dark brown hair with peppery roots and salted strands that peeked out from between the chocolatey curls.

He showed her his F1 team ID and stopped fanning himself to usher her with his hand.

“Shit- okay,” Aisha stuffed her phone away, following him out of Netflix filming trailer, out to the dark murky sky above the paddock, towards another building.

The office was tall and white, covered with floor to ceiling windows that were shielded with a layer of reflective film, “Oh God.” Aisha murmured beneath her breath as she took a few calming breaths, already forgetting to trail behind the man who was staring at her impatiently whilst holding the door open, watching as she stared at the building by straining her neck upwards.

She prepared herself, flapping her hands around slightly and jolting when the manager cleared his throat.

“Please hurry Miss. Patel. It won’t look good if you’re late.”

“I know, I know.” Aisha repeated, assuring the increasingly nervous man who walked up to her.

“It will be okay,” He laid a hesitant hand on her shoulder, taking an exemplary deep breath for her to copy. He continued when she did, “I’m Harry, sorry for not introducing myself, and I will be in charge of all media at Porsche.”

“Okay?” Aisha shook her head a few times to clear her mind, “Meaning?”

Harry chuckled and hung his head, “Meaning. That I’ll be with you in there. You won’t be alone.” He pointed a finger at himself, “See, you already have a familiar face to look for,” His slightly aged face wrinkled happily when Aisha smiled at him and relaxed visibly beneath his comforting hold.

“Thank you, Harry,” She huffed and stood straighter, “Let’s do this.”

Her heels clicked beneath her confident steps as she thanked the man who held the door open for her and Harry, who walked contently behind her.

Aisha craned her head around the bend, following the acrylic signs that read, “Driver briefing – Conference room 1.” She adjusted her shirt, feeling, for the first time in forever, conscience of her clothing and slipped a thumb beneath the waistband of her slacks to adjust them slightly.

“Let’s do this,” She pushed at the milky white door, steeling her face with a bored, neutral expression just as her name was called out, most likely for rollcall.

But, Aisha stopped in her tracks, the door barely nudged open when a flurry of deep chuckles and whispers erupted at the sound of her name.

“Seriously? Is this what fans are doing now?” The speaker rolled his “r’s” whilst shaking his head.

“How much do you think that cost them?” An oddly familiar British voice mumbled whilst crossing his arms and nudging the man next to him.

And one of them groaned and slapped his thigh once, complaining about “-needing better media stunts.”

Aisha scoffed quietly, so these were some of her heroes? Assuming that a woman could never possibly be selected to race, instead she was an obsessive fan who had shrines for each of the men stashed in her closet?

She pushed open the door, causing a few drivers to rustle and shift in their seats and turn minutely towards the sound of the door hinges, opening and closing.

Aisha walked forward and planted a hand on her hip, leaning onto one leg as each of the men looked towards her with annoyed expressions.

“I’m sorry, fans aren’t allowed here.” A French man, dressed in glaring red began to stand up, nodding discreetly at the security men flanked at either side of the doors- who glanced at each other hesitantly and barely moved at his guidance, obviously recognising her, “How did you even get in?”

“Ridiculous what they’ll do for an autograph,” Another one stood, and stared at her thunderously, his Dutch accent causing him to lisp his angry words, “All right, time to go.” He was the first to directly address the security, “Guys, get her out.”

Aisha held up her hand, between her fingers a prestigious card stood proud, the F1 logo bedazzled in gold foil, shimmered beneath the yellow lights, she glanced over her shoulder at the burly, guards who relaxed at her identification.

“Aisha Patel?” She looked to the FIA officer who stared at her, amused with her entrance before ticking off her name, “Porsche F1 driver.” She announced her title, smirking with slight arrogance at the gob-smacked expression on both the French and Dutch men, both of whom flushed an embarrassed red and muttered apologies whilst returning to their seats, next to both of their teammates.

“I’m here for the briefing?” Aisha prompted the officer, before smiling at the rest of her fellow drivers, most of them attempting to suppress their cackles at the other two’s mistake.

“Yes, of course Miss Patel,” The man greeted her, gesturing to an empty seat next to Pierre who smirked at Aisha.

She began to walk down the walkway between the sets of chairs filled by F1 team personnel and racers, waving at a few of the managers from other teams who knew of her position and staring darkly at some drivers who looked her up and down with curiosity.

“Sorry for being late, I was busy paying of my debt. Do you know how much it costs to get your name on the register?” She leaned forward on her crossed knees, looking down the row with a sarcastic expression. The ones who did dare to meet her eyes mumbled in agreement and slumped against their seats.

“Fuck-“The driver who made the comment doubled over, hiding his freckle covered face in his hands, causing his bright orange athleisure jacket to stretch prompting his teammate to chuckle whilst patting his back.

honourary tags [for special pookies] : @disneyprincemuke, @weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam

A/N : And that's that, the first ever episode [trailer really] of this series is done and dusted. As always please show some love to this tinker-bell minded writer and remember to comment and reblog <33

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tokiro07 · 28 days ago

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Ichi the Witch ch.17 thoughts

[Lemme Get That Neck]

(Topics: character analysis - World Hater, speculation - narrative progression)

Hoo boy, this was a good chapter for both of our guys!

I was really worried about how Ichi was going to deal with the backlash of using Ultra Amplification since he hasn't had an opportunity for resistance training, but to think he'd find a way to use it to his advantage!

Playing Possum

By making of a show of passing out from exhaustion, Ichi deliberately gave World Hater an opening to get in close, which in reality created an opening for Ichi to strike. An extremely risky move, since not only did Ichi have to fall out of the air for it, he also had to rely on a) stabbing himself in the leg to actually keep him conscious, and b) for World Hater to care enough to check on him afterwards

Fortunately, Ichi's read was spot on: even World Hater has a sense of pride, and having his Lancemen stopped in their tracks was enough of a slight on him that he had to make a point of telling Ichi his efforts were wasted. Ironically, in trying to chastise Ichi for his hubris, World Hater showed his own, believing himself to be so far above Ichi that he didn't even consider the possibility that Ichi was luring him into a trap

But being overconfident comes with the territory of being a villain with godly powers. The part that really interests me is what comes after Ichi stabs him

A Crack in the Facade

I've spent the last two reviews going over how dispassionate World Hater looks to be, his complete lack of expression or interest in what anyone says or does, but this chapter adds a whole new dimension to it!

After Ichi gets a good hit on World Hater, he passes out for real, and misses World Hater's face finally showing an expression: he smiles. Not a huge toothy grin or a sinister smirk, but his lips undeniably curl and, though subtle, his eyes flash, not unlike the sparkle we frequently see in Ichi's eyes

For the first time, there's passion on World Hater's face, intrigue even, like he's finally found something he's been looking for

But it doesn't stop there, or rather, it does stop there - the smile doesn't simply fade once the moment passes, World Hater covers it up. He brings his hand to his mouth, like he's either trying to hide his feelings from the world or like he's trying to suppress them from himself. He either doesn't want anyone to see him feeling, or he doesn't want to feel at all

The next panel focuses on the return of his scowl, his lips once again turning downward as he returns to business. Whether he's taken a liking to Ichi or sees potential in him, World Hater ignores his feelings and proceeds to dole out Ichi's punishment: by specifically warping him out first

But again, World Hater is taken by surprise! Whether he was distracted by Ichi or simply not concerned with the possibility of a sneak attack, World Hater is stabbed through the back and subsequently blown up by none other than Desscaras!

Ceiling Battle

I don't know about the rest of you, but this is the moment I've been waiting for! I've said before that Desscaras vs. Uroro was a ceiling battle because it was billed as the strongest Witch vs. the strongest Magik, but it didn't really accomplish what a ceiling battle should because we didn't actually get to see the extent of what either of them could actually do

This time though, there doesn't seem to be any restrictions like "only men can hurt me," so while there is almost certainly some hidden mechanic to this fight, both parties should be lobbying a good portion of their best moves at each other. Even if World Hater barely breaks a sweat, all that matters is that we get to see what it really means for Desscaras to be the strongest Witch and get an idea of how she earned that title

My guess is that we'll get some narration from Shirabedonna and Monegold about how many Magiks she's acquired and some discussion about one of her most impressive feats, similar to what we saw for Togeice a few chapters back, culminating in her using her strongest ability to force World Hater back in a way that even Ichi couldn't manage

We'll also likely hear about Desscaras' backstory with World Hater, though it's hard to say how much detail we'll get right now. It could be an entire chapter dedicated to the full event from her perspective, or it could just be a vague description with some inconsistencies to be elaborated on later. Either way, Desscaras is undoubtedly about to get a lot more interesting

Now that we have an established antagonist, I expect we can say the same for the plot as well

The Aftermath

Once Desscaras saves the town from World Hater (though possibly not without some casualties), the question of what to do about Ichi will remain. His actions will ultimately be what allowed Desscaras the time to break into the dome and fight World Hater, but technically World Hater's point stands - Ichi could have guaranteed saving some lives if he'd focused on doing so, but instead he focused on his own gratification and went for an attack that, by all logic, was destined to fail. He prioritized his own bloodlust over helping people, and thus put more people at risk than he needed to, so even if things turned out "for the best," his decision-making is still highly questionable

The introduction of Togeice and her concern for Ichi's personality always struck me as kind of oddly timed. Not only was Ichi's reveal being proposed after one mission, but an ice-themed Witch was being introduced immediately after Ichi acquired an ice-themed Magik. It felt kind of...redundant, in a way, to pit Ichi's most recent acquisition against someone who specialized in that very field without doing anything to draw comparison between them. I thought maybe Togeice was just mad that he beat her to Uruwashi, but no, it was never brought up

I think with this week's chapter, though, my question has been answered, and all the pieces are falling into place. The world doesn't know about Ichi, but you know who they do know about?

The Silver Snow Witch

The townsfolk didn't see Ichi squaring off against World Hater, they saw an army of giant monsters approaching them only to suddenly be encased in ice. Moreover, those same townsfolk already know that Togeice is present, and saw her summoning an ice dragon to destroy the giant mushrooms that were previously threatening their town. For all they know, Togeice is doing all the work

Ichi's acquisition of Uruwashi was merely a convenient setup for Nishi to cover up his battle with World Hater, allowing Ichi to fight his hardest without revealing himself to the world as a whole and undermining Togeice's concerns and challenge

If I'm right, then I'm pleasantly surprised how elegantly this allows Nishi to transition into the training arc phase without compromising the logical progression of the story. Ichi's nature is still a worthwhile concern while also being more nuanced than Togeice anticipated, Ichi has the opportunity to see and accept how he needs to grow, and the fight that facilitates both is executed in a way that neither point is invalidated! My assertion from early on that Ichi the Witch is a masterclass in story structure seems to once again be relevant!

Assuming I'm right, of course

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

#ichi the witch #madan no ichi #fouryearsandananime #4y1a reviews

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moonshynecybin · 2 months ago

Note

Feels like I haven't sent you anything FCO related in a while and I don't have much to offer but I was thinking about those first days/weeks after the announcement when things are still very fraught between them and Valentino is on edge because he truly wants this to succeed and Marc is just being a terrible actor, even when he lets Valentino take the lead (which, 95% of their joint interviews, let's be real, but whenever Marc is asked something on his own? yeah, that baby knows how to lie now but back in early 2016? with his feelings written all over his face? yeah, no).

So. Cue to the two of them in one of their motorhomes, post whichever event where it was obvious Marc had issues pretending he wanted to be there (it gets better with time and with Valentino's support, etc etc, but, bad day) and as usual, just a vision, of Valentino looking at Marc and going "Fuck's sake Marc, you need to learn how to lie properly."

Because every now and then, it's my favorite thing in the world to picture Valentino saying the most insane shit. I'll let you pick Marc's reaction.

Although, I will say, in my mind there is one version where Valentino is really tired/annoyed (could be because of exterior circumstances that have nothing to do with Marc, bad night of sleep, bad race, whatever) and he goes "You know what? Maybe we should practice. Come on Marc. Look at me and lie to me. [pause] Do you need me to start with an example or do you need me to provide you with text?"

[It's not my forte or my favorite thing to do to think of mean™️ Vale, but, well, happens.]

valentino in fco au fully believing marc’s ability to lie at the beginning bc he’s crazy and then being forced to be close to marc who has recently been cracked open like a lil egg and realizing that his face looks different a lot of the time now. at times terribly young and terribly fraught and still reaching out for vale in awkward half aborted little touches that he jerkily pulls away from and vale is TRYINGGG to use his smoke and mirrors magician in the press abilities to keep the lie going but marc hasn’t quite learned how to do that yet. is sort of in the thick of the transition to the marc we know today. and after one weird day where they’re so awkward together that a journalist gives them a considering little look like he MIGHT know something, vale is like okay well. if this doesn’t come easy to you marc (marc fully SO mad that vale can read him here, plays it off with an awkward laugh of COURSE) how about we practice.

so it’s like. truly they’re already doing so many dates/PR blitz thingies but now vale is narrating them (he loves to teach……) with little ways they can help the performance. little ways to lie (imo they aren’t lying rlly they wanna fuck BAD. in some ways this is weird roleplay). so he’s whisking marc away to dance and placing one of marc’s hands on his back and murmuring in his ear to tell him to smile when the cameras flash. he’s chillin in marc’s hotel room with him going over tape of their presscon like u shouldn’t even be answering that question, you should be inventing your own question and answering that one. he putting a gentle hand on marc’s cheek and asking him to lean a little like he wants to hear what vale is saying. it’s all very much a crash course on how to be a charismatic little clown that can wiggle out of questions, and marc has most of it already bc hes a liar boy he’s just also very DIRECT and DICHOTOMOUS in how he sees the world (part of why fake dating hurts his ass bc he dosn’t quite know where they stand….) and he’s being somewhat tortured by being in love with this guy who hurt his feelings bad but is also doing rlly nice stuff for him all the time and is ALSOOOO acting like he wants to fuck him comma, meanly. stop teasing me when you know im still in love with you kinda beat. anyways. by the end unbeknownst to vale, marc is internally fully just like fine. i’ll be fully back with vale for this EVEN IF HE HATES ME, and when it backfires i’ll want to die but i’ll have it for the time being. and vale is spending all this awful time watching marc perfect the performance. close himself off in public. face smooth, eyes too-wide, big smile pasted on. but eventually he realizes that its directed at HIM, not at the press. and it occurs to vale that he might’ve just taught marc some skills that could be used against him

#i alsways think of them like. appearing cheerful when they’re being mean to each other. laughing as they fight but they’re dead serious #and you could cut the tension with a knife #motogp #callie speaks #asks #rosquez #forced coming out au

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year ago

Text

but then…Gigi

Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction

Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off

I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.

Enjoy

💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄

Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.

Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.

As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.

Her tanned butt cheeks.

Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.

He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.

Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.

He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,

“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.

“Who’s that?”

“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”

“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.

“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.

Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”

“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”

Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”

“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”

Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”

“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”

“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”

“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.

“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.

“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.

“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.

“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.

“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.

They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.

“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.

“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.

“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.

He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.

“Are they?” she sighs with relief.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.

“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.

He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”

“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”

“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”

“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”

“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”

“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.

“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.

Gigi moans at his slight pressure.

“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.

“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”

“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”

“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.

“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.

“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”

“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”

He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.

“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.

“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.

He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.

“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.

“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.

“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.

“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.

A more mature option; interesting.

Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”

“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”

“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”

Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.

“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.

“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”

He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.

It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.

He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.

Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.

“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“

Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.

Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.

He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.

She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.

“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.

Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”

“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”

Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.

Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.

“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.

“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.

She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.

“Sorta.”

“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”

“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.

“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.

“Hold me, please?” she whispers.

“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.

“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.

He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.

Elvis is quite good with his tongue.

He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.

It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.

He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.

She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.

“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.

Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.

He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.

Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.

“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.

“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”

“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.

“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.

She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”

“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.

She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.

“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.

She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.

“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”

“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“

“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”

“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.

“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“

“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”

“You sure? I-“

“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”

“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.

God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.

“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.

Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”

“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.

Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.

The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.

She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“

Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.

She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“

Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.

Eventually there is no more.

Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.

“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.

“It was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”

His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”

Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.

“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.

“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.

She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.

She asks him if he needs a drink.

“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.

Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.

“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.

“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.

“Promise.” he repeats.

“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.

“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.

“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.

He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”

As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.

“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”

There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.

“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.

Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.

She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”

Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.

The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.

She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.

Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.

She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.

Cheap drug store shit.

“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”

“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.

It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.

“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.

“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.

“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”

Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.

Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.

She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.

Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.

“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.

“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

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