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precious-little-scoundrel · 5 months

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Gigi -the unbaked thots:

• Bath •

Summary: I’ve had so many requests for this universe (including a bath time which this includes) and I appreciate all of y’all’s patience. I find this universe the hardest to write for and create entire scenes and fics out of so in order to keep it from dying out I intend to loosen up a little and start throwing out headcanons for y’all to enjoy in the meantime, you can watch for them with this header above. For now enjoy a trash bit of nastiness I wrote in under an hour in the middle of the night last night -kudos to the minxs @eliseinmemphis and @stylespresleyhearted

Warnings: Explicit! 18+ Bath sexy times, grinding, fingering, praying during sex, age gap, slight degradation, voluntarily drinking bath water containing cum. Yup.

Era: September 1977

Well here they are. On the dreaded tour.

But for now -there are bubbles. So many bubbles. And the heavy rumble of the bath’s jets and the golden glow of the dimmed bathroom lights in the hotel suite and the slippery bulk of Elvis as he grumbles beneath Gigi while she writhes amidst the foam of his rinsed shampoo.

“Sloppiest lil rider I ever-“ his face is shining in a heated glow, he is awash in pink cheeked arousal and Gigi persists, wearing herself out for his little gasps and the twitches of an eyebrow here and there. Bouncing adamantly atop his thick thighs in the swirling water and trying her avid best to slip his fat length inside her. She’s been trying since day one and every time it’s

-“not yet, Gigi, not yet, s’posed to be special and you’re special baby girl, not somethin’ to rush with someone special like you, see, I uh, i-i-it’s special-“

Gigi thinks having his rock solid cock inside her would be special enough.

“ ‘member the other night,

daddy?” She asks him in a huff, winded from the exertion as she pins his throbbing length against himself and grinds her clit against the hairs on his rounded belly, full of desperation born of youthful overexubernace, “remember how -how - when you were teasing me -and you pressed against my little hole?”

Elvis lets out a long groan in reply, slapping his hands against the sides of the tub in sexual frustration, causing his rings to clank and his bracelets to jangle against the porcelain. He can feel himself swell even more, the ache in his balls nearly unbearable at the proximity to snug tightness that he’s been denying himself for a myriad of reasons that are making less and less sense now, the more Gigi’s glossy wet tits slap his face silly.

“Oooh, oh I feel you-“ she gasps, as that redundant piece of meat between his thighs gives a hearty little twitch at the memory of her tiny hole and it’s fluttering need.

“You son of a bitch,” Elvis hisses to his traitorous little friend who’s acting very stalwart in his determination to find nothing but a tight cunt sufficient stimulation for release -it was easier back when little Elvis was a limp and useless dong: “this is the one time i’m asking you not to work. C’mon, don’t fail me now I-I- hell… O-o-our father. Who art in heaven-“

Gigi buries her face into the steamy crease where his cheeks meet his throat and licks at the salt there that not even the bath can remove. His hands fly to grip her hips and he yanks her up and down, grinding harshly against her raw little center as her breasts smash against his broad chest.

He regularly complained to the boys about her voraciousness and got no sympathy, not even when they saw it for themselves with the way he could barely get his seat in the limo, have his water handed to him and a towel before she was taking off his belt, unzipping his jumpsuit and inevitably giving lil Elvis some strong mouth suction. The boys had gotten used to ignoring him dumping a load down this little girl’s throat in the blurry blaze of street lamp lit nights and cranking up the radio to hide her moans every jet flight. Nothing about it was fitting and it wasn’t even to his tastes -so Elvis insisted- but it was real nice to be so wanted, even if the voraciousness of it was all a little alarming and out of hand.

Yet, God knows Elvis wanted Gigi badly. It half scared him sometimes and the rest of the time it kept him alive.

As did Lisa in an entirely different way and between the two girls tearing up his sedate plans for self mortification and permanent hermitage, Elvis found some zest for life returning to his soul as August became September and tabloids went from calling Gigi “the new girl” to calling her his whore and the colonel went from not answering his phone to leaving a perpetual red light on the message box and it went from kisses and snuggles in his Graceland bed to frantic grinding like this after every show that had her caterwauling in his arms begging to be torn open by his cock and him grunting like a bear in heat as he spurted against her belly and smashed the button for the tub jets to stop.

Wouldn’t do to circulate superstar spunk in a Cincinnati hotel jacuzzi.

“Mmm, that feel good daddy?” her sweet voice asks as the singing angels dim and the sense of time and space and his spent cock bring him back into consciousness.

“Uhuh. Feels real good.” he admitted sheepishly and felt her plump lips pressing to his bashful grin.

He returns it, pouring his love into her with the cradling of her head in his hands and the flick of his tongue against hers and the languid massaging of lips.

Gigi swirls the milky strands of his spend in the bath water between them, giggly and invigorated. She gets this way after climaxing and Elvis can only blearily smile and indulge the way she drags him around and makes him stand and get out of the tub, how she pats him down with towels like he’s a boy child and chitters to him about backstage gossip, praises for his performance of the night and Tammy’s latest tips for making Jerry’s life a living orgasmic hell. All while pressing kisses to every single part of his body as she goes along.

She’s found goosey places on Elvis that he didn’t even know existed.

Gigi is drying his shoulders when she sees the last remnants of the tub water cycloning in a swirl towards the drain, precious pearly strings cavorting like ribbons in the eddy.

Her conversational chatter ceases abruptly with a regretful -“oh no!“

She drops the sodden towel.

He watches her kneel, crouched and bent and glorious in a soft line of naked beauty from the back. Thought his maidenly idyl is shattered as she faces away from him and in what seems to be an impulsive moment of adoration, Gigi leans over the tub, hard porcelain lip digging into her sternum as she ducks her head and dips her mouth to the tepid bathwater.

He can hear her slurping.

Her graceful bracing in position and the greedy working of her throat suggest competency at this vile practice that makes his stomach lurch and spent cock swell thickly against his thigh. Without autonomy he hears himself grunt appreciatively.

“Fuuuuck me.” he drawls in disbelief, shuffling closer to watch the whole of it, the working of her sweet mouth sucking up his diluted seman and the arch of her back showcasing pink little pussy lips glistening from the back.

It’s sick and he’s terribly in love.

“That’s my good baby girl,” he finds himself praising this heinous degradation, hand coming to rest on the dip of her lower back, “not lettin’ m’lil contrition go to waste.”

It makes her strain to get as deep in the tub as she can, legs taut and face red from the blood rushing downwards to her cheeks as she chases gravity against the flow of the drain, his hand heavy and encouraging as it palms her ass, the pinch of his rings and the grunting, savage, male appreciation for her wantonness making her squeeze her thighs together in hopeless dissatisfaction.

A sting jolts her as his hand collides in an approving slap across her plush backside. The desire to make him proud eggs her on and she crawls further over the ledge, hair dragging in the drain.

Elvis’ hand once groping her butt moves until he’s peeling her apart and sliding in the long lengths of his middle and ring finger into her tight heat, meanly stabbing inside her as she’s bent double, tonguing at the drain for the last of his essence.

“You done this before.” Elvis’ voice is low, without a shred of questioning.

“Yes.” she moans, rosy cheek pressed to the wet floor of the now empty tub. “I always do this when you leave some left over, daddy.”

Elvis watches his fingers sink into pink plushness again and again, rings acting like stoppers at each culmination, spearing her until Gigi is sobbing and spasming over the tub edge, mouth wide open screaming for him with a tongue white from his spend, as broken as he is over the need to fuck her.

Sore and puffy, he assumes he’s learned her a lesson.

Standing her back up tenderly with all gentlemanly grace, Elvis wipes at her slimy cheek with his hands, pleased to find her smile as irrepressible as ever, the only thing on this godforsaken tour that hasn’t disappointed him yet.

“When is soon?” she whines into his kisses as he presses against her, bath quite redundant with the way he has her pinned between the door and his weeping cock, freshly spluttering his devotion against her bare pubic mound like he’s twenty years younger and fit to be such a minx’s lover.

“What?” He questions, murmuring in happy confusion.

“You said you’d make love to me soon.” she insists like a child reminding their senile parent of promises for ice cream after a trip to the dentist. “When is soon?”

Elvis grins through his grunt as he slides against her puffy clit, effortless from her slick and close to coming from images of her drinking his bath- “Soon, little baby,” he pronounces with all the gravity of a wiseman and the authority of a deadly opponent who his hand engulfing her fragile jaw, “-means soon.”

🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷🏷

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198 notes · View notes

kaiscumsock · 1 year

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“i just put hand sanitizer on” 😭😭

evan peters ily for this

1K notes · View notes

aconflagrationofmyown · 8 months

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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

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #70’s elvis #Elvis #elvisaaronpresley #elvis photos #elvis the king #70s elvis #elvis fans #Elvis smut #austin elvis imagine #big daddy Elvis #big daddy elvis fic #but then…Gigi

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mmmichyyy · 14 days

Note

hey michelle, 19 or 91? have some fun :)

#91: "tell me you need me."

"say it."

"fuck you," mickey spits out. "i ain't sayin' shit."

"fine." ian shrugs. spins the knife between his fingers, the silver blade glistening under the moonlight. "your funeral."

the zipties around mickey's wrists and ankles dig deep into his skin, slowly cutting off his circulation. he's running out of time - the rest of the mafia will be back soon, and his only way to escape is the ginger motherfucker in front of him.

"three words, milkovich. three words and you're free."

the smug asshole. if he doesn't die tonight, he's going to kill his partner.

ian presses the tip of the knife under mickey's chin, forcing him to look up.

"tell me you need me," ian whispers.

the sound of footsteps grows louder.

fuck it. fuck it all.

"ineedyou," mickey mumbles.

ian cups his hand around his ear. "can't hear you."

"oh for fuck's sake–i need you, okay gallagher?" mickey yells. "now are you going to cut me free or not?!"

ian grins, and mickey knows his partner is never going to let him live this down.

#thanks gigi for the prompt <3 #gallavich ficlet #gallavich fic #gallavich #ask game #my words #michy ficlet

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reagans-malewife · 11 months

Text

I know I mentioned this in shitpost-adjacent blog before, but I feel like I really have to give a better explanation here.

It is so very possible that Inside Job and Gravity Falls take place in the same universe, it's not even funny.

I've got little theories and essentially one of those conspiracy corkboards in my brain, but the one thing I really want to talk about is in Myc's Hiveschool Reunion.

In that episode, the gang all travels to Oregon (you know, where Gravity Falls takes place) to get down into the earth. And I'm like 90% sure it was just a throwaway line, but Reagan says, "if we go too deep, we'll hit [...] some wacky gravitational bullshit."

Well. You know what else is underground and makes some "wacky gravitational bullshit" in Oregon?

Ford's portal. Booyah.

#anyways would anyone like a fic where dipper works for the deep state?#OH! OR THE TEAM MEETS THE PINES TWINS #idk let me know though because i love both of those woth my entire heart #inside job #brett hand #inside job netflix #reagan ridley #breagan #rand ridley #gigi inside job #andre inside job #myc cellium #glen dolphman #gravity falls

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cognitosclowns · 1 year

Photo

I couldn’t choose which hand position looked cutest so. have all of em I guess :o

#spoilers in tags #I PERSONALLY LOVE THE LAST ONE. BUT I COULDNT CHOOSE SMDNSMD #pspspspspsp abfuckers get over here your man is blushing #alpha-beta #robotus alpha-beta #fanart #the fact that we didn't get to see AB's Real Face (tm) when tamiko cupped his cheek is a CRIME!!#AND A CRIME I AM GOING TO RECFITY DAMMIT SMDNSMDNM #outis art #inside job #SDMNBSMDN I've been writing out bits and pieces since part 2 released but #my brain is just rotating AB and Gigi in my head. no coherent thoughts just bisexuality #who knows maybe ill jam my 11k words of WIP into some cohesive fics MSNDAMSNDMA #ALSO. /LOVING/ THE CURRENT AB RENAISSANCE RN #looking in my notes seeing u clowns rbing my AB hronyposts. i see u i love u. more love for the robot man YES!!!#THROWS THIS AT Y'ALL LIKE A GRENADE AND SCAMPERS AWAY SHYLY

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clovariia · 6 months

Text

we can finally publicly post our pieces for @raedafanzine!!! here's my raeda fic i wrote for the zine, which also features king and luz. thank you so much to breezeharr on twitter for the three beautiful pieces of spot art and the zine's writing mod aritalks1 on twitter for helping with beta reading!!! and of course...thank you to the entire mod team and all of the super sweet contributors for making this such a wonderful experience!

🔗 https://archiveofourown.org/works/50659537

besides my fic, i contributed a drawing for the polaroid charm merch item. i also did a little raine doodle for our thank you note to avi roque because they supported the zine so much! ❤️❤️❤️

i'll always be grateful for the incredible opportunity of participating in my first physical zine!!!

#the owl house #toh #raeda #raine whispers #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #luz noceda #the owl house fanfic #toh fanfic #other people's art #my writing #my art #zine #i'm so glad i can finally post this!!! i prepared the ao3 draft for upload weeks ago LOL #i've been so excited to share this stuff #rare gigi clovariia raeda content...cherish this once in a lifetime event #this means i've hit 50 fics total on ao3 🥳 exciting

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anonnluvver · 1 year

Note

brett with a very shy reader ? most x readers have a too bold personality for me to relate too lol, gender is unimportant and just headcannons pleaseee :) ty

HIII OMG YALL REQUESTED A WHOOOLLE LOT AND IM SO SORRY IVE TOOK SO LONG TO GET TO THEM BUT I PROMISE I WILL! I’ve just been so busy lately but I’ve finally got some free time on my hands so be ready for looots of posts. ANYWAYS let’s get to it, thanks so much for requesting! (Btw this one is a long one…and cheesy)

Brett x shy reader fluff(gender neutral)

“Deep breathes, okay. You can do this.” You quietly whisper to yourself, nervously fiddling with the seams of your shirt. It’s the first day of your new job in the shadow government at Cognito inc. taking one last deep breath and push the doors open walking up to the front desk. “Hi, im Y/n. Im new here and someone named Reagan said to ask you for instructions.” The secretary just looks you up in down with the blankest expression you’ve ever seen and simply said “go to the 2nd floor, conference room.” You awkwardly look away and thank the lady. Geez so much for good first impressions. Following the mean ladys instructions you stand right in front of the conference doors and give it a quick knock. “Come in!” You hear a women shout. Opening the doors you see who you assume is your boss, Regan. “Hi, I’m Regan your boss . Since of now you are part of the task force.” That was super brief, you thought. You’re a little shocked at how quickly you had been assigned to a job. “Oh um okay, well when do I get to meet this team of mine?” You question her a little scared to meet the rest of your co-workers. “Ah sorry I called you in a bit earlier than everyone else just so you could adjust to your office a bit. I’ll show you the way there then you’ll come back here when your done settling down to meet everyone else.” Regan walks you out to your office and leaves soon after. Your body slumps and your bag falls onto your desk as you sit down. “Well this hasnt been too bad. Regan doesn’t talk too much, which is kind of awkward but I mean so am I.” You talk to yourself in your small office hearing your voice echo a little on the walls from the emptiness in the room. Well I guess I should start heading back I’ve been here a while, sighing you stand up and hesitantly go to the conference room once more. You open the doors to find more people sitting down at the large table in the conference room, all suddenly turning their heads to look at you. In embarrassment your face flushes a little and you look at the floor awkwardly. “Oh, sorry everyone um hi I’m Y/n.” You quietly introduce yourself. “Oh my gosh!” *SQUEEL* “You must be our new co worker!” *gasp* You sharply gasp, surprised by being pulled into a tight hug and squeezed up into the air. Your face grows even hotter and flustered not knowing who is touching you or what to do. You look down to see the person hugging you so tightly and see a tall and really attractive guy. And suddenly your even more flustered if that’s possible. “Brett how many times do we have to tell you, you don’t hug people who don’t know you.” Reagan sighs tiredly, clearly this isn’t the first time he’s done this. “Oh! Right sorry… I’m just so excited to have a new addition to our gang!” He quickly puts you done and apologizes. “Y/n you can come sit down with us now, everyone just introduce yourselves normally please.” Wow, Regan already seems done and the day just started. “Oh okay.” Shit, well where am I supposed to sit? You look to the right and see that weird guy who hugged you patting the seat next to him. You just quickly look away and sit next to Regan on the opposite side from him. You don’t mean to be harsh but you’re just nervous to be close to him. And strange enough he looks sad you didn’t sit next to him. “Alright well I’m Andre Lee, the tasks force one and only biochemist. I also got the good stuff-if you know what I mean wink wink.” He elbows your side while dramatically winking. “You are such a weirdo Andre.” The next girl rolls her eyes at Andre “whatever, I’m Gigi Thompson, best looking one here and PR of the media manipulation department. I’m sure you’ve seen my work because I am everywhere.” She laughs at her own flattery. “And I’m Glen Dolphman, Cognito Inc’s supersoilder and responsible for managing the company’s arsenal.” He says while firmly saluting to the American flag. “Oh and I’m Brett Hand! And uh I guess I just work here.” He laughs awkwardly at the last part as it seems he doesn’t even know why he’s here. “Okay now that everyone has introduced themselves let’s get to business.”

Regans voice just fades out slowly from your head as your distracted by a certain someone. You just stare at him in confusion and curiosity, Brett seems like such a strange yet normal guy. Though as your staring at him you can say he is really cute. Lost in your thoughts you don’t even notice when Brett catches you staring at him at first. He smiles at you and you quickly look away in embarrassment.

Eventually the hours pass you by and your first day on the job was over. You’re glad it was nothing crazy but planning things and paperwork. Reagan promised you’d be safely at the office, just for your first few days. You collect your things from your office and head to your car in the parking lot. Content enough with your first day you decide to get a quick pick me up at Starbucks. You sit at a table by yourself waiting for your vanilla with extra sweet cream foam cold brew, your regular. “Oh hey Y/n, it’s me Brett!” You look at up from your phone in surprise. Brett stood smiling right in front of you. Immediately filled with awkward nervousness you look away from him and down the the table. “Um hi…” you quietly respond to him, clearly not matching his energy. Brett immediately frowns with sadness. “Hey, I’m sorry that I hugged you without your permission. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I was just so excited to meet you! From now on I promise I’ll always ask before touching you.” Surprised at his apology you look up to see him smiling sweetly at you. You feel your cheeks warm up and little and you start to smile just a little. “Thanks, I really appreciate it Brett.” You finally spoke to him while making eye contact! Brett’s eyes light up with happiness, just glad you accepted his apology. Before either of you could say anything else the employee called out your order. “Oh that’s me, sorry Brett I have to go now but um it was really nice to see you.” You grab your bag and coffee and wave goodbye to Brett. Finally at home lying in your bed trying to sleep, you find yourself staring at the ceiling unable to stop thinking about something. Or more like someone. You couldn’t get Brett Hand out of your head and it was unbearable. What was so intriguing about him to you? I mean surely you cant like him you just met. I’m sure it’s just cause your excited about having a new friend. Yes of course, that’s the answer. All these thoughts rush through your head for the next few hours of you sleepless night.

You wave lazily at the front desk lady on your way into the office this morning, tired from you lack of sleep from last night. You drop a few things off at the office and report to the conference room shortly after as Reagan directed. You walk in and it’s just Reagan, seems like your a bit early. “G’mornin.” You mumble and take a sit next to her slumping tiredly in the chair. “Woah you look just like me, what’s wrong?” Reagan questions your tired face knowing it a little too well. You slowly lift your head off the table to look at her with half closed eyes. “Hm? Oh sorry, im just really tired. I couldnt sleep last night and I forgot to get coffee this morning too.” You slur and mumble all your words but it’s clear enough for Reagan to understand what your saying. “Ah I get that but my question is, why were you having trouble sleeping?” And before you could fumble over your words trying to make an excuse the answer bursts right through the doors. “Hey guys! How’s it going?” Brett’s energy is way too much for you this morning so you just put your head back down and doze off as Regan and Brett talk for a bit. Yet before you can fall asleep Brett calls out your name. “Y/n, look up.” “Hm?” You hum and left your head of the table once more to look up at whatever Brett wanted. He was holding out a coffee to you. You wake up a little from the shock and slowly sit up straight. “Is this for me?” You look at him confused. “Yes of course, I swinged by this morning to get you it. it’s a vanilla cold brew with extra sweet cream foam!” He gleefully beams at you. “But that’s what I always get?” You look at him stumped “how do you know my order?” Still confused you question Brett. “Oh well I I remember what order the employee called out yesterday when I saw you.” He smiles once more and you gently reach out your hands to grab the cup. And suddenly your sense of touch heightens when your fingers brush softly against Brett’s as you grab the cold cup. You share one last look with Brett before he quickly jolts up. “Oh! I just remembered I should go find the others. I know they’re here probably just running late.” He smiles and heads off to find the rest of your co workers. You just sit there starring off into space from where Brett last stood. “Hey Y/n” “hello?” “Y/N!” Regan yells at you to wake up from your day dream. “Oh regan, sorry I spaced out.” “Yea I could tell. Now let’s get ready for another stressful meeting.” You fully turn your attention to helping Regan prepare for the day.

Once again the work day is over and it’s time to leave as your walking out to the doors of your office you’re stopped by a certain someone. “Hey Y/n! Great work today.” It’s Brett. “Oh, thanks Brett…” fuck you’re internally screaming. Why does this guy make you so nervous? Hiding your face from Brett inevitable feeling the heat flush to your cheeks once more. “Um by the way, thanks for the coffee. It was really cool of you.” Cool? Gosh I sound like a dork. You internally beat your self up for your stupid choice of words. “No problem! Anything for a pal.” He giggles a little from his own statement and winks at you playfully. “Okay we’ll see you tomorrow Y/n!” And with that you both exchanges waves and goodbyes. Once finally out of eyesight you mentally face palm and groan into your hands. Gosh. That was embarrassing “Honey, I just saw that whole thing and whooh that was awkward.” You quickly turn around to see who saw your embarrassing display with Brett and it was Gigi. “Ugh I know but I just can’t figure out why I’m so awkward around him.” You cringe at just remembering your interaction. And yet you find yourself weirdly comfortable talking to Gigi. “Mmhm I think I know exactly why.” She just gives you an all knowing look up and down. “Really? Please tell me why.” You plead do her to enough you so you can just solve the issue already. “It’s because you like him.” “WHAT?” You accidentally yell out in shock covering your mouth quickly. “I mean, why do you say so?” This time whispering so no one near could hear. “Honey it’s written all over that little face of yours.” You groan loudly at her claim. Could that really be the reason your social skills suck more then usual when talking to Brett? “But I just met him, how could I already like him?” You ask Gigi since she seems to be much more knowledgeable in this aspect. “Well I couldn’t tell you. After all how am I supposed to know why YOU like him? All I know is lover boy seems to be developing a few feelings of his own.” And with that mind breaking statement she leaves you alone with just you and your thoughts. Brett like me?? No way. Not in a million years. These words echoing through your head the whole way home. Throwing yourself over your bed with exhaustion more over your conflicting emotions rather than your heavy work load and eventually passing out.

A few weeks pass and your now comfortable in your new work environment, strange but now familiar. Yet one thing has not changed, the awkwardness you feel when around Brett. And yes those feelings Gigi talked about have not left one bit, in fact you’d say they’ve grown over time. Brett’s nice gestures always make your stomach flutter with butterflies and your heart face like some 3rd grade crush. “Y/nnnn, Come on! He clearly likes you, why not just make a damn move already. Everyone in the office practically knows already! It’s so obvious.” Gigi shouts at you while your just trying to enjoy your sandwich. You asked to have lunch together not a therapy session… “Gigi shhh! Don’t say that so loud!” You sigh and put your sandwich down “look, I like him sure but we don’t know for sure if he does and-“ “OH PLEASE!” Gigi cuts you off abruptly shouting and throwing her arms in the air. “He’s always extra nice to you and trust me Brett’s already way too nice. Plus he’s always bring you little gifts all the time.” She huffs and rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever Gigi, I’m not making any moves so sorry to dissatisfy your office romance fantasies.” You roll you eyes back at her and clean up since your lunch break is over leaving back to your office and go finish up some paperwork for Reagan. “Oh I will get my office romance wether you want it or not.” Gigi talks to herself planning a ‘special’ surprise for you.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* you sigh getting up from your chair to open the door to your office. “Oh hi Gigi, Reagan, What do you need?” You see the two girls standing in front of your door. “Hey Y/n we were hoping you could help us find something in the chemical closet.” Gigi asks in a weirdly high pitch voice. “Sure,what is it?” You ask wondering what it was they couldn’t find. “Oh follow us then we’ll tell you”. So you follow Reagan and Gigi to the chemical closet and go inside. “It’s called fizzyflupflurp acid.” You can hear one of them trying to hold in a laugh behind you “Really? That sounds kind of stupid.” But before you can say anymore they quickly leave in a rush saying to just call them when you find it since they’re so “busy”. Huh, weird. But I mean this whole place is weird. You just think to yourself as you look through the various viles for ‘fizzyflupflurp’ acid. Suddenly you hear lots of giggling behind you and hear Brett stumble into the closet falling right on to you. He lets out a grunt from the impact of you two colliding and before either of you can get a word out you hear the lock click and Gigi and Reagan giggles burst out into laughter. You push brett aside and rush to the door trying to open the door but it’s locked, pounding your fist on the door in frustration when it doesn’t open. “Let us out!” You yell at the other two behind the door. “Yeah, What are we locked in here for?” Brett chimes in. “Oh I think you know why you’re in there. And we’re not letting you out till one of you spits it out.” You can just hear the smirk on Gigi’s face. You freeze in fear and feel your face turn completely hot and red. “Gosh no.” You breathlessly whisper to yourself not wanting to turn around and face Brett. “AH OKAY I ADMIT IT,” Brett suddenly yells out “I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE STALKED YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA TO LEARN YOUR FAVORITE THINGS.” Brett winces as if you might yell at him for what he’s done. “Brett what? No, this isn’t what this is about. And that’s not a horrible thing Brett im not mad at you for it but it is kinda weird…” you sigh preparing yourself to ruin your small friendship with Brett and make it awkward for the rest of your career. “Then what is it about?” Brett asks confused to what other secret needed sharing. “Well it’s… it’s- gosh um” SPIT IT OUT ALREADY internally yelling at yourself to get it over with. “I like you.” You say extremely quite almost enough for Brett to not hear. “Oh well I like you too Y/n! You’re a great friend, that’s no secret.” He laughs at you for your ‘silly’ secret that he just doesn’t seem to understand. “No, Brett. I like like you. As in romantically.” You muster out clarifying things for Brett. It’s silent. Way too silent that you look up to see his expression and he looks so, shocked? Panicked you start apologizing “look Brett I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable I jus-“. Oof is the noise you let out from being knocked back into the closet door. “Brett?” “I’m sorry, I know I said I’d ask next time before hugging you but I just really needed to this time.” He whispers softly and your heart just melts. You hug him back tighter than ever happy he isn’t upset. “I like like you too Y/n” he quietly says nuzzling into your neck and gently squeezes you reassuringly.

I AM SO SORRY I TOTALLY READ THIS REQUEST WRONG I DONT KNOW HOW 😭. well regardless I hope some of you like it but I am truly sorry anonymous hope you can forgive me🙏.

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amourkive · 7 months

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EXPEDITION| MYG

a/n: erm....hit a writers block with this one NGL...and I feel like I made it too long at the end. Also added Jungkook bc of the circumstances of the fic lol, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless !! Stay Gold⁷ -miri

masterlist

/ᐠ• ㅅ •ᐟ\

"Hey, you ready?" Yoongi asked, leaning against his car, hands cradled in the warmth of his hoodie pocket. You had just walked out the house, eyes squinting at the assaulting brightness that your house lacked a few minutes prior.

With a single nod, you dragged your suitcase down the driveway of your house, hauling it into the trunk, as you pushed yoongi away to start the car; it was cold and you didn't care for a "gentleman's gesture" at this moment.

"I'm so tired! I should have chosen a later time to leave." You buckled your seatbelt with a whine as Yoongi let out an amused snort, putting the car in drive, slowly leaving the side of the street.

"that's why I'm here...so you don't have to drive yourself, just close your eyes, I'll wake you up when we arrive at the airport, okay? Let Min Yoongi handle this." He stated, pulling a blanket from the backseat, over your lap.

"....okay, min yoongi. I'm trusting you." you muttered, poking the side of his arm, and with that you lowered the seat, covered yourself better, and went back to dreamland.

"Hey, uhm, baby?..." You heard, and you couldn't tell if it was from your dream or not. "baby..." you heard again, and realized it was yoongi. Which, was alarming.

He only ever called you baby in two conditions:

1. when he really wanted you to do something

2.when he does something that he knows is going to upset you so he tries using the baby card

You opened your eyes, face to face with a sheepish looking yoongi, who had his lip in between his teeth. "you called me baby, what did you do." and he put his head down, with a sigh.

"it wasn't my fault! totally out of my control!" he defended himself immediately, pulling away from you, placing his hands on the steering wheel, "the car broke down." he muttered, and you sighed, leaning back into the seat.

of course it did.

Before you could say anything, Yoongi was already next to you again, head on your shoulder, and you knew he felt bad. "you know how the battery gets when it's winter....i should have asked Hyung for his car like you said, and I'm sorry about that, but- then what would be the point in having our car? I thought it would at least make it to the airp-"

"gigi...nicest way possible, shut up." you spoke softly, placing your hand on his cheek, rubbing it comfortingly. "you didn't know it was gonna break down at this moment...did you call anyone?"

you feel him nod his head, with a sigh, "yeah I called a tow company, and Jungkook-he's the closest so he said he'll take you. I'll have to wait for them here." Even though you figured that much, you still frowned hearing it out loud. Yoongi wasn't going to see you off back home.

"well come on...it's cold, and I'm still tired." you sat up, him moving away from you in the process, watching as you, quite difficulty, went to the back seats, with the blanket. You turned to face him, as he sat in his seat, and rolled your eyes.

"I want cuddles, gigi. C'mon~ before I leave, please?" you griped, holding your arms open, for him. (he was going to whether you asked or not, but he liked the extra effort)

once he made it to the back, like a koala to a tree, you clung to him right in-between his legs, his warmth stopping the cold that lingered. Sighing with satisfaction, you leaned into him more, as he ran his fingers through your hair. It was like you forgot the car broke down and you had to make it to the airport in less than an hour.

"how long are you staying at your parents, baby?" he asked, him trying to keep conversation for he felt a little drowsy now himself. "just a month...maybe less, depending." weakly shrugging, turning to face him,

"are you gonna miss me?" and really, him laughing was not the answer you expected. "of course I'm going to miss you. who else is gonna bother me-" "hey!" "sorry not bother, keep me company! who's gonna keep me company?"

You smiled, "Jungkook."

yoongi tsked, shaking his head, "yeah right. more like he'd keep me up more than I already do." "no, baby, Jungkook's right there." In a swift motion, yoongi turned his head to see Jungkook drawing hearts around his head, and he had to force himself to not roll his eyes.

"oh, yay, how nice of him to arrive." he muttered sarcastically, patting the side of your leg, for you to get up, so he can get out and help.

"hello you two lovebirds! having fun ? I bet you were~" with a smack to the head, he pouted, crossing his arms. "I was just kidding! gosh, can't take jokes anymore? what a loser."

At this point, Jungkook was talking to himself, because yoongi had all his focus on you, clambering out of the backseat, and right into his arms.

"can't Jungkook stay with the car, and you take me? no offense kook-" "none taken, really." "-i just...I really wanted you to be there when I left."

Yoongi pursed his lips, looking down at you, wishing he could. "you know I would if I could...but they're gonna need me for the information. I'm sorry, baby."

you nodded, understandingly, because once again, you knew that. But still the circumstances sucked. "it's okay, I give good hugs too hyung." Jungkook added, with a shrug which made you laugh a little. He was trying to lighten the mood, but you don't think yoongi appreciated it.

"you want to get smacked upside the head a couple more times don't you?" he asked, looking over towards Jungkook, his grip tightening on you. "be nice, gigi... he's only trying to be nice. Plus-" you look down at your phone that you pulled out from your pocket, "I should be going now."

yoongi sighed, "how about I just take you instead? Jungkook give me your keys, I'll be back before they even come." jungkook shook his head, "not possible! it's a 30 minute drive there and back! that's more than an hour! I highly doubt you'll be back before they come."

You nodded in agreement, "he has a point, yoongi. Just do what needs to be done." he frowned, "but if we go now-" "Sorry to interrupt but any of you Min Yoongi?" With a look towards you, Yoongi nodded, walking up to the guy, "yeah. that's me. Just- can you give me a minute?"

Once the guy nodded, Yoongi turned back to you, grabbing your face in his hands. "I'll miss you." You nodded, grabbing onto his sweatshirt, "I'll miss you too...I'll call you when I make it there." He smiled, "I know you will...please be careful. If anything happens to you I will-"

"-be on the first plane to me." you laughed, "I know. you say it all the time. I'll be careful, you know, all that good stuff. So, don't worry so much."

"augh, my sweet girl has to leave, what will I do for the next month?" Yoongi muttered, leaning down placing a kiss on your nose, before placing two on your cheeks. You smiled, relishing in his kisses, giggling as he placed one on your lips.

"you won't have to worry about her leaving if you guys don't finish this goodbye. Sorry to ruin this cute moment of course-" "we were getting there, Jungkook! Read the room sometimes man, just go before I might actually keep her here." Yoongi whined, letting you go with one last kiss.

As you walked with Jungkook to his car, Yoongi kept his eyes on you, until you disappeared in the car. As Jungkook drove past, you blew yoongi a kiss, smiling as he pretended to put it in his pocket, finally turning to face the tow guy.

You sat back in your seat, smiling softly. A month. Then you'll be able to give Yoongi all the kisses you wanted.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts fluff #fluff #soft fic #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #yoongi fluff #bts yoongi #bts suga #gigi

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skywriter97 · 2 months

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Farewell, My Friend💔😭

(PSA: Possible spoiler warnings for The Murder of Me by the Zielo Cave. Only a couple panels, but still...)

So, on Monday night, I was at work, and I checked my phone, mostly out of habit. (I don't recommend doing this, btw, it's a good way to get you written up or worse.) And I saw that I had a YouTube notification on my lock screen. So I open my phone and pull down my drop bar to have a look. And literally saw the absolute worst news.

TMOM is over from The Zielo Cave

Now for those of you that don't know: The Murder of Me, AKA TMOM, is a Sonic the Hedgehog fan comic that first debuted I think 15 or so years ago, give or take, and as much as I would love to claim that I've been a fan since the beginning, I only discovered TMOM about a year or so ago. (I have the worst luck when it comes to finding things; I'm always late to the party 🥺)

When I discovered TMOM I was in a terrible rut. I hadn't posted anything in YEARS, and the writing I had done I kept locked away in notebooks, never to see the light of day. I had no inspiration, no motivation to tell stories. It was a horrible place to be. (-10000/10 recommendation.) Then I was scrolling through Pinterest one day, and I saw a panel of this random comic.

You could probably imagine my reaction. It's so random. Then more cropped up:

My thoughts went HAYWIRE. "Why is Sonic fighting his mother? Why's he dressed like that? WHY IS HE DROWNING?? WHY ARE KNUX AND TAILS LETTING HIM DROWN??? WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING???" So I went hunting, and came across The Murder of Me by Gigi-D on DeviantArt.

I was HOOKED. The plot was so well thought out, the characterization was incredibly done, and as you can see, the art itself was BEAUTIFUL. I couldn't get enough. I flat out ignored life and read through 14 issues in one sitting. It took me all day but it was so worth it. AND THEN: I discovered the dubs on YouTube, and found that Gigi-D had decided to put together a creative team to produce the issues of The Murder of Me as episodic dubs, and I fell head over heels. The cast and editing was absolutely phenomenal, and The Murder of Me had my heart, hook, line, and sinker. What was even better was that they turned Issue 15 into an animatic episode.

Episode 15 Part 1: Purpose released on October 30th, 2022, and since then I have been anxiously awaiting the next episode by rewatching the series and all the prequels and bonus episodes I could get my mouse on. I even forced my best friend one night to binge the entire series with me, and she's not nearly as much of a Sonic fan as I am!

TMOM was more than a great watch or story for me. It was inspiration. I had an itch in my fingers that grew from writing a TMOM fanfiction that would stay hidden away into it's own complex project who's rough draft is now in production. (And could very well be released this summer if all goes well.) It was life breathed into my creativity. It was hope. For the first time in a very long time, I wanted to write. To tell a story like Gigi-D and the Zielo Cave.

And then that notification came. It was like a punch in the stomach. I was terrified and without watching it, I reacted and sent it to my best friend, wailing that once again, a story that I loved was being abandoned. That the writers were giving up. I was indignant. Screw that, I was angry and hurt.

Then I watched the video. I listened to Gigi's story, and immediately felt shamed by my own reaction. The Zielo Cave had been saying that Part Two was taking a while because of personal situations, and when Gigi revealed what had happened, that her inspiration was gone and couldn't bring herself to even sketch these characters that she loved so dearly...my heart shattered for her. While I might not really know or understand the pain of her personal situation, I do know what it is to completely lose the passion for your story. For the characters you still love, but can't bring yourself to engage with.

And while my heart of hearts aches, I know Gigi is doing the right thing. No one wants a story that it's writer is dragging their heels to share, can't bring themselves to write. God knows I've tried that, and trust me, it only hurts everyone. The writer, the fans, and the story itself. By ending TMOM here, she's protecting TMOM and its fans, and even though my heart breaks for TMOM's fate and (mostly) for her, I couldn't be more proud of her. The courage and strength it takes to walk away from such a huge part of your life in search of something more, something better?

Not only that, but honor the work and effort her team has given for Part Two and post it anyway, even though it's unfinished? To offer a written conclusion for the series for the fans that want to know what happens? I've never heard of any creator doing that, ever. All that I have seen would NEVER post any unfinished content, or unveil the unwritten plot and ending. And while I'm devastated for what that means, that TMOM is well and truly concluded and Gigi will probably NEVER return, as a fan of this series, I'm so grateful that what happens to these characters won't remain a mystery.

And to repeat what I said in the comment section of the announcement video: I pray a future that is bright and beautiful for you, and you discover what an amazing person you on this journey of healing. You're going to be magnificent because you are already an incredible person, Gigi. I can't express how important TMOM has been for me, how inspiring the story has been when I was down and unable to pursue my own creativity in my writing, and I just want to thank you for the years of dedication, passion, and love you and your team have given us through The Murder of Me. I bless all the paths you walk from this day forward, and all my love and support for you goes with you on your journeys for all the rest of your days.

The Murder of Me is over. I will always be a TMOM fan, and I will always love Gigi-D and the Zielo Cave for giving me inspiration, passion, and hope for my writing again. It's because of TMOM that The Three Sovereigns even made it to development and is now currently being written with the hope of release this summer, and The Three Sovereigns will always be a tribute to The Murder of Me and the hope this story has given me.

Thank you so much, Gigi-D, the Zielo Cave, and The Murder of Me, and fare thee well, my friend.

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claymorexpunisher · 9 months

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Behind Closed Doors (18+ One-Shot)

Pairing(s): Cody Rhodes/Fem. Reader

Summary: Fem. Reader is a member of The Bloodline, and her job is to cause distractions. It's her mouth that lands her in hot water... and in the enemy's hotel room...

(So sorry if I forgot to tag anyone! I don't usually tag folks these days unless I explicitly remember that they've asked to be tagged loil! and I don't plan to going forward. If I’ve mistakenly tagged you, feel free to ignore!)

Tag(s)/TW(s): 18+, oral sex (male receiving), enemies to... nope, still enemies, pain kink, pain slut!Cody.

Word Count: 1,030

Flirting in the name of distraction brought me to this very moment… as a member of The Bloodline, my job was to distract opponents any way that I could. Even if that meant wearing the skimpiest outfit that I could find, smiling flirtatiously, kissing said opponents, etc.

But there was one opponent Roman currently had that made my blood boil like no other.

Cody fucking Rhodes.

He walked around in his immaculate tailored suits, dimpled grin, and perfectly styled hair… it was like nothing could shake him. Hell, he didn’t even seem to be brought down by Brock Lesnar beating him within an inch of his life damn near every week.

Nothing fazed him and that pissed me off to no end and he fucking knew it. If it wasn’t in the ring, it was in the halls of whatever arena we were at, or during press tours, Cody would flash his usual insufferable smirk that said, “you can’t get me, and I love how much it pisses you off.”

I wanted to kis- I mean, wipe that smirk clean off his face. So, in the middle of one of our usual bickering sessions, I foolishly said- “Oh, please, Wonder Bread. I bet this “”””” loudmouth”””””” would have you cumming within two minutes. Five at most. Don’t sit here and act like you haven’t thought about it.”

For a moment I was proud of myself. And then my heart plummeted. The smirk on Cody’s face clearly told me that I had said too much and that he was more than willing to test that theory.

I stopped breathing as he sauntered closer to me, pressing me against a hallway away from any prying eyes.

“Is that so?” Cody whispered. “Five minutes… alright. Why don’t you- “His eyes flittered over mine and flickered down to my lips and his gaze penetrated mine again. That action alone had my breasts arching into his chest reflexively until I caught myself, but it was too late, that stupid self-satisfied smirk was back on his face and my own face burned hot.

“-come to my hotel room tonight and prove it. You can ride on my tour bus if you’d like. After all, I am a gentleman.” Cody murmured, his eye lighting up with amusement over my obviously conflicted thoughts. My body continued to betray me the second his hand came to rest at my hip, giving it a firm squeeze before his hand relaxed.

And of course, I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge so, I looked him in the eye with defiance and said, “It’s the least you can do.” ….

Cody’s smile got insufferably wider, and the absolute asshole leaned in and brushed our lips together- barely touching- and once again my body had a mind of its own. I instinctively leaned in further but was sorely disappointed when my lips suddenly met with nothing but empty air.

I no longer met Cody’s gaze, feeling that relentless shit-eating smirk penetrate every part of my being from my peripheral.

Tonight, I was determined to win. What was the prize exactly? I had no fucking idea…

“If I hear anyone in the locker room even hinting at what’s about to happen, I will come back and I will bite it off. Do you understand me?” I hissed at Cody, midway between stroking his hard length and lapping at a bead of precum already forming at the tip. I emphasized my words of warning by gripping his cock harder, until Cody hissed in pain.

But the little pain slut’s eyes darkened right after… figures he’d be into that shit.

I had smirked to myself from the moment I noticed that I wasn’t the only one affected by our little moment in the hallway earlier. I knew I had this in the bag.

“I mean I don’t usually go around talking about my sexual escapades with anyone. Even the guys. I’ve never seen the appeal-“Cody’s words cut off into stifled groan of pleasure as my mouth went down on him again, the head of his cock comfortably resting at the back of my throat. Lewd sucking and slurping noises coming from my own mouth filled my ears and for the second time that night my face- and my entire body- grew hot.

I wasn’t expecting to enjoy his pleasure this much, but I wasn’t gonna think about that for too long. Nah… this wasn’t about him (I told myself). This was about proving a point.

I went to work like a champ, my hands twisting and stroking as my mouth worked at the reddened tip before it covered the entire length once again. I could hear his breaths speeding up and I couldn’t help but smile around his cock, anticipating his imminent orgasm.

“Ah, fuck! Shit, wait-“ Cody grunted as my throat squeezed his cock as I sucked, practically milking him for all he’s worth. My glossy lips stretched a smile as he pulled me off of his cock by hair and I watched his toned chest heave.

“Whatsa matter, baby? Almost there?” I cooed mockingly, my hand never stopping its strokes. I was on a fucking mission, and I was going to see it through.

Without thinking, the nails on my other hand grazed along his lower stomach, sinking into firm flesh in response to his increasingly moans. Instead of answering me, the bite of my nails against his skin apparently only heightened Cody’s pleasure and my mocking laughter was cut off by him practically feed his cock to me again, which I took gladly.

For shits and giggles, Cody had set up a timer on his phone and a quick glance at it through watery eyes told me a minute left.

Testing the waters, I allowed my nails to sink into his flesh again, and I heard Cody hiss before ribbon after ribbon of the salty taste of his release hit my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

Cody let out another curse as I let his release sit on my tongue, only swallowing when his eyes met mine again.

Just as I swallowed, the timer went off.

“…I win.”

#cody rhodes one shot #cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes #cody rhodes smut #cody rhodes x female reader #cody rhodes fanfic #wwe fic #wwe smut #gigis wrestling fics

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precious-little-scoundrel · 4 months

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Note of credit to my babies @stylespresleyhearted & @eliseinmemphis -much and many of these thots originate from their juicy little brains and the chats we have on our unhinged discord, they magnanimously agreed that it was worth sharing with any of y’all who might get a kick out of it.

Main Fic Masterlist

“Biopic”

Sofia makes her Priscilla Film.

But despite this, somehow, Gigi becomes friends with Jacob. So instead of the pitting Austin and Jacob against each other because of Elvis portrayals -and, as Gigi likes to call it “Miss Beaulieu’s Latest” -we get pap pics of Austin, Gigi,

and Jacob out for breakfast/dinner dates. Jacob may entertain petty notions of stealing Gigi from Austin due to Kaia Revenge Syndrome. Gigi assures him she likes him just fine, even if he’s too tall and pinched faced to play her man and much too skinny to really carry any real gravitas. ☺️

she just collects Elvises. it’s what she does.

In fact, older MILF Gigi, who has come out of her long reclusion and is now wreaking havoc on the world with her pretty toy boy actor boyfriend, is now a fiend to Young Hollywood. I mean, this is the woman who Elvis bought Vogue Mag for, just to feature her more often. Now sharing rights with Lovey, she retakes an interest in those editorials and in art and fashion in general. Our world suffers benefits from it. She has a group chat with just about every eligible young man clique, a girls gossip one and a very messy and lurching one of Baron (her son’s) exs.

Then, imagine who might tackle a Gigi Biopic?

Uncensored and unrestrained, a fuckfest of unapologetic love and insanity between a twenty year old and a man over twice her senior who she loved without boundaries all his life? Hmm.

Maybe Emerald Fennel. We do already have tub slurping, c’mon now.

A scene of Gigi practicing on a random truck driver makes it onto the film. Casting difficulties arise when Baron objects to anyone who he’s had relations with playing his mother. That nixes 89% of the blondes in Hollywood.

Tags:

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

@gonnagoandfangirl

@kelssssxd

@octobers-snow

@velvetelvis

@blursedblegh

#gigi thots #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis imagine #fic #big daddy elvis #big daddy Elvis fanfic

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shipperqueen6 · 10 days

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Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @hippolotamus @dangerpronebuddie @daffi-990

"About what?" His little girl was quite inquisitive.

"I've always liked peaches. Now I'm wondering if I like eggplant too." Dev phrased it in a way that went over Gigi's head.

"It's okay to like more than one thing, Uncle Dev. At least that's what Daddy always tells me."

"Why thank you Miss Gigi."

"You're welcome." When Dev was truly ready Conrad would be here from him.

Np tagging: @honestlydarkprincess ,@monsterrae1 ,@spotsandsocks ,@ksbbb ,@kitweewoos ,@aromanticbuck , @loserdiaz and anyone else who wants to 🩵💙

#fuck it friday #fic : (i don't wanna be) one of your girls #gigi hawkins #devon pravesh #conrad hawkins #thanks for tagging <3

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aconflagrationofmyown · 11 months

Text

but then…Gigi

a future forward one shot, circa 1979

Snuggle me Tender

Trust me I laughed and cringed every bit as hard as you over that title but after the strain of pushing this mushiness out of my brain in under twelve hours I haven’t got any sensible titles left in me, ok?

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: next to none? complete fluff and no rancidity for once, just Big Daddy Elvis with a very young baby and a very young wife and tour life and mentions of his health concerns…so much baby talk which I do not apologize for, if you’ve never done it I suggest you do, it adds years to your life. To quote Alex Turner: “I’ve been feelin’ foolish, you should try it.”

Word count: 2,884 is my version of a blurb, ok?

Notes: this is dedicated to my baby Bri whose devastating prompts lead to this whole Gigi endeavor and whose sweetness lightens up my life

Blaring horns end the set with its iconic flourish, their brassy notes echoing in his ears as he exits. It was a good show, a lively audience and Ronnie kept the rhythm together this time and even the sound system was decent for such a packed out stadium. Elvis is satisfied as he takes his final farewell of the sea of glossy, enamored faces, the frenzied send off of their ovation thudding into his veins so thickly he thinks his pulse will jump straight outta his wrists.

He flicks his writs irritably and hooks his thumbs into his belt, hoisting it just that little bit from where his exertions made it creep down and down and ever down, keeping it where it’s not pinching him as he lets the boys hustle him off the stage and into the back hallways in a well worn maneuver. The clapping and roar of the crowd is still deafening and he’s still attuned to it, vibrating like a leaf and the shake, rattle and roll of it pounds along with his chest and more worrisome still is the way his vision flickers with it, like some damn techno scene. But it’s just the fluorescents, and this interminable hallway leading to his dressing room.

And to his girls.

He takes a deep breath and tries to begin the effort of steadying himself just a little before foisting himself on them. It’s easier, so much easier, with them here, but his blood pressure still skyrockets each time he performs and it doesn’t seem like there’s a pill or a regimen out there to prevent it. It might be the death of him one day and awhile back he might have flippantly hoped so.

Now he’s got his girls to live for

and he tries his hardest to moderate himself, to temper himself in between to be the man he wants so badly to learn he is, not just the icon he’s perceived to be. Every step takes him closer to the anecdote and he breathes easier, hiking his belt higher so he can really gulp in those belly expanding breaths and he feels Charlie patting his back, his boys murmuring in an affirmative babble that it was a good show.

Elvis knows it was. He doesn’t need them to tell him. There’s only one persons opinion he gives a shit about right now and she’s probably conked out asleep or at the tit. Both of which sound like damn good options to mimic, in Elvis’ opinion.

Little Miss Erin Love Presley.

She’s become his life and between her and Gigi and Yissa he is bombarded with the insistence that he is wanted to the point that he’s gradually had to assume that, well…that he is -wanted, that is.

He’s wanted. Not just needed.

And so he allows them to fret over his pulse and he agrees to less stimulants when possible and he endeavors to be a more cheerful bastard despite the persistent urge to bite heads off most days.

Ricky jogs ahead of him, opens the door that Sam’s been standing in front of and ushers Elvis inside hurriedly before closing the door behind him, leaving him alone with his little family. Nearly blinded by the change in lighting, Elvis staggers towards where he knows there's a couch in the gloomy dressing room Gigi so considerately dimmed for his sake.

“You were magnificent, daddy!” her soft praise registers more profoundly than all the applause out there and Elvis sinks into the couch utterly spent, yet entirely satisfied.

“Thanks darlin’.” He murmurs with his head tilted back, winded and a thousand miles away but he’s trying to come back down. His hand reaches out for her hip and the give of her soft flesh tethers him to earth.

Gigi doesn’t skip a beat before she’s bending down and unclamping the large buckle from his belly single-handedly with practiced ease, delighting in the relieved groan Elvis lets out as she removes the heavy ornament. She swings it away from him only to replace it with the soft weight of their baby girl.

“I’ll get your medicines, you hold tight.” Gigi soothes, her hand lovingly pushing his hair back from off his damp forehead before she bends to kiss it and he chases her wearily for a taste of her lips which she presses to his ardently before pulling away to go find his pills.

Baby girl is perched on his belly in her tiny sequined onesie, balancing like a Pilates teacher on a ball, her wobbly little neck doing its utmost to stay straight and fix him with her appealing stare. It’s devastatingly effective when paired with her pitifully frustrated little squeaks.

Elvis knows what Lovey wants and a few months ago he might’ve been appalled at the notion of it despite being an utter sap for his daughter. It had seemed too gross to subject her to the post-show sweat and musk that cling to him in moments like these. But like her mommy, the little girl wouldn’t take less than the deepest of intimacies and so he has learned that Lovey will continue her fussing until she feels the warmth of his skin beneath her.

The tiny wrist golden chain around her wrist jangles as she tries to pull herself up the ornate expanse of his jumpsuit front, clawing determinedly up the exquisite sundial motif towards the heaving expanse of his sweaty chest. ‘Return if found’ her bracelet reads and Elvis smirks at the notion of her being put down long enough by either of her parents to be misplaced.

“Hey cuddle bug, hey how’s it goin’, hmm?” he coos to her and finds his voice is fried and gravelly.

Without having to even reach he finds Gigi pressing a plastic cup into his hand that he ravenously accepts along with blood pressure regulators she presses into his palm, small and round and white. He throws them back with exhausted gusto and his baby nearly wobbles backwards in her arc to follow his movements with her big ole baby head.

They made a pretty baby, he and Gigi, how could they not? -but even the prettiest of babies have bowling balls for heads compared to the rest of their body and it still tickles Elvis immensely. He wheezes a laugh into the last of the water while catching her head with his other hand and crushes the cup with something bordering a burp and a groan.

Lovey’s bright little eyes expand just a fraction more at the vibrations against her belly. “ ‘scuse me, miss.” he teases, eyes still wavering blearily as he tries to focus on Gigi rummaging for something at the far end of the dim room. The water makes him feel at least partially alive again and he runs his hand beneath his nose to catch the sweat and what all that is collecting atop his lip.

Heaving in a big breath he feels his hands calm their shakes enough he looks down at Lovey’s valiant attempts to reach the apex of his unzipped suit, clammy baby hands snagging the hair on his belly and tugging. He’s gonna have bald patches down there at this rate, he’s told Gigi this and she just lathers more hippy oil on him and says he’ll be alright -so he guesses he will be.

“Look at you baby, so strong, yes you is, fightin’ gravity like a champ, got yo’self halfway up the sun, yes you has. Want daddy to help ya? Hmm? Yeah? You want a kiss, don’t ya? Me too, I want kisses from my bestest girl.”

He hooks his thumbs beneath the giving flesh of Lovey’s armpits and pulls the floppy length of her higher till she’s balanced on his broad chest, in between his gaping jumpsuit front, watching as she crows and grins the minute she feels his tacky skin beneath her palms. The swell of his belly keeps her high up and her little elbows dig into his soft chest, it’s a well worn ritual to spend her “belly time” on his chest, fascinated by her daddy’s face. It holds her interest more than any gaudy toy or tv show ever could.

Elvis pats her bottom gently with his ringed hand, careful not to pinch her delicate thighs as Lovey kicks and shudders in delight at getting her way. She’s a little masochist, his baby, she drools and coos even as she grips significant portions of his chest hair and tugs in glee as if it’s her own personal shag carpeting to aid her towards scooting up that last little bit needed for her to kiss him on the chin.

“Das it, das it almost there, gonna give daddy a kissy? Gonna gimme kissies? I wan’ ‘em so bad, yes I do!” Elvis pickers his lips and she strains every ounce of her little self to grab ahold of his sideburns. It’s all over then, Lovey is triumphant in her grip, a pack of wild horses can’t tear anythin’ that baby has once she’s grabbed ahold of it. With a gurgly little crow she scoots herself up till she’s able to devour his chin.

She’s quite coordinated when preening her angelic little face up to receive a kiss but upon dishing them out she goes about it like a starved man would a set of pork ribs, open mouthed and with the goal to slobber as much as possible on the recipient. Elvis can’t bear to turn her away ever and in his after-show state of permanent dampness he doesn’t even think twice as a sloppy, gummy and fervent baby adds to the sweat rolling down his throat.

“Fank you.” he murmurs, tilting his head to facilitate her attack, “Fank you so much, ooh, I love your kisses, ya know that? Favorite kisses in the world, yes ‘dey are! Better than any of those out there, Mhmm, way better. Yes, yes better gimmer another -aww thank ya!”

Gigi watches from the side as she finishes her breast pumping by the dimmed vanity as Elvis puckers his cherub lips and pecks at their baby’s matching glossy pink pair. In this moment with their bobbing heads and tender coos and the nearly identical soft forms of them both slouching in their matching jumpsuits -they could be twins. The thought makes her smile and right in this moment there’s a belonging she feels so strongly and richly that her eyes burn with it.

“I thought it went pretty well, mhmm, what’d ya think about the new song, hmm?” he always does this, consults Lovey’s side-of-stage perspective on his show and he swears to Gigi that her feedback is essential for the success of what has been a certainly well received comeback tour. “Yeah I thought so too, ‘could tinker with those background vocals but the bass was tight. Yeah, yeah man, I know, I told ‘em, but they don’t listen, no dey don’t! I know! I know I told ‘em! Can ya believe that, Lovey? Oh well.”

With each of his heavy breaths and remonstrances Elvis’ chest heaves and sends Lovey tilting further and further up to his face till she’s careening alarmingly into the crease of his neck, wedged between it and the couch back. The tip of her tiny body makes Elvis die laughing with a fit of those genuine, hiccuping laughs that their baby loves to mimic until they both end up dry coughing from their mirthful wheezes. He gets them both situated again, Lovey firmly back on the safe expanse of his tacky chest with his hands criss crossed over her tiny back. One of his hands can span the entire width of her little ribcage and folded over each other as his hands are now, they looks like a bejeweled turtle shell sheltering their Lovey’s delicate back.

Gigi packs up her kit and rummages through her sack for Elvis’ glasses before they’re needed for the camera-flash-lit trek back to the hotel.

Lovey lets out a vigorous yawn, suddenly utterly tuckered out from watching her daddy perform and waiting up to kiss him backstage. It catches Elvis’ attention and yet again he’s amazed by the fact he feels even remotely weary himself, like he’s able to tap into his girl’s calmer systems and regulate his own just a little to match them. Not so much a family as a trinity of souls so intertwined they’ve long since lost where one ends and the other begins.

“You sleepy, hmm?” Elvis hums to her and strokes over her head soothingly, “How bout we go back to that nice hotel then, we can eat somethin’ and yer mommy’ll call up Yissa to say goodnight. How’s that sound, hmm?”

Lovey rubs her face into his chest to emphasize how much she needs this sleep plan to be enacted speedily, the tired rub backfiring as his chest hairs tickle her sensitive little nose. Without fail it makes her sneeze violently and afterwards she’ll gaze up him dazedly as if asking for explanation as to her own bodily functions.

“Hutchooo, bwess you.” he thumbs at her sloberdy chin. “Dat was a big one, wasn’t it? Mhmm, daddy’s sorry he’s so fuzzy. Don’t got that problem when ya snugglin’ wif mommy, do ya? Nu-uh, smooth as marble, that pretty girl, ain’t she? Mhmm.” he ponders Gigi’s loveliness with a dreamy look of appreciation and his baby resignedly lays her head in the sweaty thatch of chest hair, wadding it away from her face with a tiny fist, Elvis stares over her head at Gigi who he knows has been playing at being busy to let him wind down.

They share a knowing little smile and Gigi shoves off from her perch on the vanity and clip clops over to him in her strappy heels, bending at the waist and offering him a lovely view down the neck of her dress as she gently fits his tinted glasses on his face. “There, all set.” she murmurs fondly while fiddling with his hair, dabbing at the mess of sweat and drool that the now sleeping baby has left in her wake.

Ricky cracks open the heavy metal door with great care but it’s not enough care to please Elvis who barks

“Gently, for God’s sake, there’s a baby sleepin’ in here!”

and Gigi smirks as she herself gets manhandled by her new husband to sit beside his bulky manspread, for no other reason perhaps than to keep her ass pointed away from Ricky. Gigi suspects that Elvis likes to bark at his traumatized entourage just because he enjoys getting to cite the baby’s needs. He has a baby again, and it’s turned him into more of a bear than a man on this tour. That thought makes Gigi sigh dreamily and she lays her head on Elvis’ shoulder and watches as Lovey’s sleeping breaths stay even and calm despite his outburst, utterly secure in her daddy’s love.

Gigi gets her thigh patted in recognition and she shudders as always from that promising touch, feeling how torn he is between winding down or thrumming off into the astral sphere. Only once they’re in the hotel and snug in the white sheets with Yissa on the phone will she know which way the night will go.

“Car’s all set.” Jerry quietly delivers the message that Ricky fled before he could finish delivering.

“Thanks man.” Elvis nods and after exchanging a look with Gigi asks her, “Ya ready, baby girl?”

“Yes.” she nods and gives him her arm as an aid to heft himself out of his burrow in the couch, his one arm still occupied cradling Lovey to his chest.

Gigi helps him drape his coat around his shoulders, flapping around him like one of his capes, allowing him to pull it over Lovey’s face in the ensuing glare of the photographer’s flashes as they speed down the hallways and into the parking lot, hand in hand.

Lovey is used to the racket, the screams and the pounding of an audience a natural backtrack to her young life. Nevertheless, Elvis moves gingerly, stays calculated in his movements lest he jostle her as he follows Gigi into the car, scooting into his seat as methodically as possible, his exhausted thighs quivering from this last ounce of endurance demanded of them. He succeeds though, Lovey still snoozing and drooling onto his chest by the time the Limo door shuts and they’re off in a streak of light and motion against the night sky.

He can feel Gigi slip her smaller hand into his own on the seat between them, tugging until he surfaces from his trance and turns his face towards her with a relieved sigh to find her always there beside him when he needs it.

“You alright, daddy?” she checks in with him and he watches as her features, so lovingly crafted by a generous God to make her appear young enough to be his baby much less have one herself, are gently lit by the occasional street lamp glowing into their speeding haven.

“Yeah darlin.” Elvis rumbles from deep in his chest, rubbing the back of his knuckles against her soft cheek, watching as Gigi leans into his affections as eagerly as that first night they met, “Never been better. I mean it, gonna need to make this the order of business. You and Lovey waitin’ for me, end of show -I could go on forever like this.”

TAGLIST: (drop a comment below if you’d like to be tagged in all installments for this universe)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

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aces-and-angels · 11 days

Text

Title: Not My Birthday

A/N: what the hell is up, gang? i've been dying to share this one with y'all for weeks and now it's finally here 🎊🎊🎊 please enjoy the thing that's been plaguing my very being for hours on end 🖤 @choicesficwriterscreations

p.s. a big thank you to @noesapphic for helping me out with some of the spanish dialogue

Characters: Xiomara Calloway (oc: @a-cloud-for-dreams), Ryan Cortazar, Amalia de León (oc: @itlivesproject), Beau McGraw, Enid Mendoza, Cameron Rose, Tommy Rose, Gigi Sinclair, Martin Vanderweil, Wind Velez (oc: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

Pairing(s): Martin x Wind (not yet official), Gigi x Xiomara (oc: @a-cloud-for-dreams)

Summary: Set sometime before Magnus gets hired; Wind does their best to get through another birthday.

Content Warning(s): brief mention of blood, language, childhood trauma

Word Count: 3.9K

read below cut or...

AO3 LINK

---

McGraw Byrne, morning…

It’s just a day. A set of numbers written in the margin. Zero three zero two. Yet Wind’s calendar remains flipped to February, its page marked with thick black lines crossing off each date. What they’d give to be able to take a sharpie to the day and scribble it out entirely. But they can’t- not for another 14 hours and 32 minutes. Not like they’re counting or anything.

Amalia saves them first.

“Mx. Velez, I know you’re busy with that case for Landon, but can you-”

“Yes,” they say all too quickly.

Amalia blinks, perplexed by their eagerness. “You don’t even know what I’m about to ask for yet.”

“Does that matter? You know I’d do anything for one of my favorite paralegals.” Their desperate need for distraction aside, the sentiment was sincere. Without Amalia, completing any case would be nearly impossible.

“Wasn’t fishing for compliments, but I’ll take it,” she breathes with a hint of a smirk tugging at her lip. “Hopefully, you’ll still hold that sentiment after this conversation.”

“Pretty sure I will. What can I help you with?”

“It’s a bit… Es una tontería, de verdad,” she warns, absently toying with the hem of her wine red blazer.

Noticing her nerves, Wind pushes their notebook aside. “Amalia, no te preocupes, puedes decirme lo que pasa.”

The warmth and reassurance in their tone do something to soothe her nerves, as her hand noticeably stills. “Mr. Vanderweil tasked me with redacting these documents yesterday. Simple, right?”

They nod along to her story. “I’d say so.”

“I thought so too, but then I had an issue with loading the PDFs on my computer, so I…” she pauses, sucking in a breath. “I took an alternative approach.”

“What kind of approach?”

“Converting all the files to Word docs so I could highlight all the info in black instead of contacting IT like I should have.” Her words fly out of her mouth faster than she can speak, jumbling into a mess of syllables they barely manage to catch. But they do- and oh, how their stomach plummets to the floor.

Panic cracks through the otherwise calm demeanor they’ve maintained thus far. “Amalia-”

“I know- I know,” she laments, rushing up to the foot of their desk. “Ryan already told me how wrong that was half an hour ago, which is why I haven’t uploaded anything yet.”

“Oh, thank God,” they sigh, visibly slumping into their chair. “This’ll be easy to fix then.”

“Except it won’t be because Mr. Vanderweil wanted this done before the partner meeting, and he’ll definitely chew me out when he learns that it isn’t.” Whatever nerves were kept at bay came rushing back in full force. Amalia began pacing, her heels scuffing up the floors beneath her with every anxious step. “This is the easiest thing to do, and I found a way to mess it up. It’s no question- I’m gonna get fired. And what respectable law school is going to accept someone who can’t even-”

Wind jumps from their seat to block her path. Their hands fly to her shoulders, stopping her in place with a firm grip. “Amalia,” they say gently, careful not to agitate her any further. Her dark brown eyes dart around the room, desperate to cling onto something- anything. Wind squeezes her once, steadying her frenzied gaze at them. “Inhala. Exhala.” So that’s what they do. They breathe.

In and out.

Inhala. Exhala.

Eventually, the dust settles and Wind’s arms fall back to their sides. “Better?”

She nods. “Better.”

“Good. Now, how much work do you have left?”

“I managed to fix around half of what Mr. Vanderweil sent me, but there’s still over a hundred pages left to deal with.”

The wheels in their head spin, formulating a plan. “Okay- here's what we'll do. Forward the files to me. I'll take the first 50 or so, you get the rest. Can Ryan pitch in? That would really speed things up.”

“He’s tied up with logging discovery for Ms. Tanaka. That’s why I came to you,” she grimaces.

“That's fine. We’ll manage on our own.”

“Are you sure? Even with help, it'll take some time.”

The honest answer was that they weren’t. Meetings at McGraw Byrne are notorious for being pushed up at the drop of a hat. There’s no guarantee Martin wouldn’t decide to do just that; he certainly flaunted his authority to do so around the office enough. But Wind knew one thing: they can’t cross today out, but they can redact a few dozen documents. And that was enough. “Positive. Hand the files over- we've got work to do.”

—

It’s a tricky thing- pretending to be fine. Until it isn’t. Their smile is a reflex. Their lies, sweet little things, mask the bitter truth buried deep inside them. It’s almost scary how easy it’s become.

Almost.

Gigi nearly crushes them next.

It starts with a playful hip check by the break room counter. Nothing more than a soft bump that Wind returns as a greeting. “You avoiding me, Velez?”

“Of course not,” they reply automatically. Not on purpose.

“Then why is this the first time I've seen you all day?”

The corners of Wind’s mouth pull upwards. “You’re exaggerating. Our offices are across from each other, glass windows and all.”

Gigi scoffs, a fond yet exasperated look on her face. “You know what I mean. How much work did Martin stick you with?”

Actually, he didn't. I asked for more. And I would've stayed in my office, but I physically can’t ignore the gurgling in my stomach with paperwork anymore. “Not much, really. Guess it’s just been one of those days.” There’s a part of them- the smallest, stupidest part- that wishes she, or anyone, could see through their cheery disposition. Lift the mask they’ve clutched onto for years.

It’s a hollow victory when she doesn’t.

“Tell me about it. Linda roped me into working on this painfully boring property dispute,” she complains.

“Think of it this way: maybe the land is haunted.” They wiggle their fingers spookily, throwing in a few ‘oo’s and ah’s’ for good measure.

“That would explain the urge to blow my brains out anytime I redraft these contracts.”

“Poor little Millie. She’s just trying to protect her property from the grave.”

Gigi stifles a laugh. “Millie?”

“Judging me only angers her spirit,” they retort, their own bout of laughter bubbling to the surface. A moment of silence passes between them before they both lose their resolve, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“Whew, I needed that,” Gigi says, still chuckling.

They take a bow. “I’ll be here all week.”

“Perfect- just enough time for you to join me for lunch.”

“You’re shameless.” Despite their light ribbing, they still take a seat at the nearest table and begin to unpack their own lunch. A small break can’t hurt, right?

“I just prefer to have some entertainment with my lasagna,” she corrects in a light, teasing voice.

“You made lasagna?”

“Xo made lasagna. She's been cooking a lot more since her show wrapped.” The glow on her face at the mere mention of her wife is undeniable.

“Seems like you’re enjoying a lot more than her cooking lately,” they grin suggestively.

Her daze sharpens into a challenging glint in her eye, her smirk unwavering. “So what if I am?”

They raise their hands in surrender. “Then good for you, boo.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” she hums triumphantly as she walks over to the fridge. “Seriously, you’ve got to try some. It’s- oh damn it.”

“What is it?”

Gigi pulls out a large pink box and sets it on the table, slightly miffed. “Beau’s leftover birthday cake knocked over my containers. I told him no one but him likes coconut.”

Wind’s pulse quickened. It’s fine. You’re fine. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“How would you know? You couldn’t eat any because you’re allergic to coconut.”

They shrug. “It looked pretty.”

“Last time I let a man plan an event. I don’t care if it’s his birthday,” she mutters, more to herself than at them- too occupied with reconstructing her toppled lasagna with a pair of plastic forks. Wind turns their attention to their own lunch, a heaping portion of arroz con pollo, hoping to swallow down their bout of birthday-induced anxiety with each savory bite. It almost works.

They’re mid-bite when Gigi unknowingly moves in for the kill.

“I’ve decided,” she announces, sliding into the seat across from them.

“Hm?” It’s all they can manage to say with a mouthful of rice.

“I’m putting myself in charge of all birthday parties at the firm from here on out. Who better to plan a party than a party-lover like moi?” She cuts a piece of her lasagna with the side of her fork, still talking animatedly. “Ooh, I can start a group chat to organize any after-work festivities-”

“Mhm,” they hum along, trying to ignore the lump forming in their throat. It’s fine. You’re fine. Their eyes fixate on the grains of rice stuck to their spoon. Three on the front. Two on the back. Three on the front. Two on the back. Three on-

“Wind? You still with me, boo?”

Their head snaps up, only realizing now that they had tuned out their friend. “Sorry- can you repeat that? I zoned out.”

Another smile. Another lie. But it’s enough.

“I asked what kind of cake you like,” Gigi repeats.

“Oh- uh… I’m fine with anything, really. As long as it’s not coconut for obvious reasons.”

“C’mon, everyone has a favorite. Lemmie guess, you’re a cheesecake girl, aren’t you? No wait- red velvet.”

They force out a chuckle. “You got me. I love a good red velvet.”

Gigi’s eyes narrow, assessing them like she would a witness on trial. “You’re just being nice, aren’t you?”

“I-I’m not! I really love red velvet,” they reassure her, but to no avail. She only shakes her head, leaning back into her chair.

“I’ll figure you out eventually, Velez. Cake preference is a science. And I just so happen to be a mad scientist.”

“You really don’t have to put that much effort into this, Gi.”

“The hell I don’t! There’s no way I’m going to plan a subpar birthday party for one of my best friends. When is your birthday anyways? Before you judge me for not knowing, I did try. I just couldn’t find it listed on any of your socials.”

Her determination in any other context would flood their chest with a friendly warmth. But now it pierces through their ribcage, sending their heart into an unwanted frenzy- its beat pounding in their ears.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

It’s fine. You’re-

It’s-

They stand abruptly, the chair behind them screeching against the floorboards. “I need to go.”

Gigi glances down, concern etching onto her features. “But you’ve barely eaten anything.”

“There’s a call I’m expecting from one of my clients. Can’t miss it,” they explain, hastily packing away their food. “Let’s catch up later, yeah?”

Another smile. Another lie. But this time, they don’t stick around long enough to know if it’s enough.

—

Calm. They need to stay calm. Yet the air grows thinner and thinner until Wind is gasping, pulling at their collar in a feeble attempt to ease the tightness coiling around their throat. Everything is too loud. Too bright. Too exposed.

On their first day at McGraw Byrne, Wind marveled at the grandness of it all. How its name glimmered as rays of golden light shone through the floor to ceiling windows, hitting the platinum just right. How every hallway felt like a brand new world waiting to be explored. But now? Now there is no glimmer. No hallways left to be discovered. Only a crushing weight resting atop their chest.

Forget calm. They need to hide.

Wind shuts the door behind them, then the blinds to their windows. It’s a small shield, so they strengthen their armor. Soft, pillowy cushions cover their ears, silencing the wars raging outside. A dark quiet descends over them. Not quite calm, but numb. Numb lets them breathe. Slow their tired, weary heart from running rampant. Here, underneath a cherry wood desk, they can rest.

—

The thing about a closed door is that it can always be opened.

So Martin does just that.

He strides in without any warning, preoccupied with typing out a quick response to yet another email, all while hoping to find a certain report waiting in his inbox. “Velez, I need an update on Landon.” Three more notifications- nothing of any true significance, but it gains his attention nonetheless.

Eyes glued to the screen, Martin doesn’t register the empty office chair in front of him. “I don’t have all day,” he huffs out, already bracing himself for whatever teasing remark Wind has in store for him. But none come. To his surprise, instead of a toothy grin, he sees a pair of pink heels carelessly kicked off to the side.

Martin pockets his phone and takes a cautious step forward. “Velez?”

A pitiful sniffle, amplified by the stillness of the room, hits his ears, freezing him in place. Part of him weighs the merits behind turning around. Then he hears it again- that sorrowful hitch in Wind’s breath- and before he even realizes it, he is by their side.

Months of working alongside each other allowed Martin to experience the many sides of Wind. Infuriatingly righteous. Overly-energetic. Perplexingly kind. Wind got under his skin- crept inside and made it impossible to stay away. None of that prepared him to witness them like this- curled up underneath their desk, unwilling to even look at him.

At a loss, he simply asks, “What are you doing down there?”

A few harrowing seconds pass before they mumble a reply. “Hiding.”

“From whom?”

“Just… from today.”

Martin hums in acknowledgement, unsure how to take that answer. “How long have you been hiding?” They give a weak shrug. “Can you at least tell me why?” He waits, more than he should’ve, then sighs. “Go home, Velez.”

Wind snaps their head up. “W-what?”

“I said go home.”

“Y-you… you can’t do that!”

“I can and I am. Clearly, you’re incapable of-”

“-I’m plenty capable-”

“-You’re under a table.” He chooses not to mention the redness in their eyes or how they shine with unshed tears.

“I- I can…” Wind sputters, their voice no higher than a whisper, “I can do it.”

“I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t mid-cower.”

“I’m not-” Martin cocks his eyebrow, effectively killing their argument. “This isn’t any of your concern. So just leave me be.”

“Not my concern?” he scoffs, almost in disbelief. “As your supervisor, I’d have to firmly disagree. I’m responsible for your successes and your screw ups. And I work very hard to mitigate the latter. So, I’m asking you again. What’s this about?”

“It’s… personal.” Martin folds his arms, indicating them to elaborate. But much to his dismay, they don’t. He peers down at them, searching for something. The infuriatingly righteous. The overly-energetic. The perplexingly kind. Something he can work with. It’s surprisingly disappointing when his search comes up as empty as Wind’s chair.

“Send whatever you have on Landon to Aislinn. She’ll be taking point for the remainder of this case.”

“But-”

“Save your breath, Velez. You can sort out whatever it is you’re dealing with now or never. I don’t care. You just can’t be here.”

—

Wind trods through the city past several storefronts and food carts, crestfallen. Their aimless journey eventually leads them to a random dive bar- the perfect location to get good and drunk. Its unassuming exterior paled in comparison to its rich interior. Spacious, yet cozy.

An unoccupied podium greets them at the entrance. “Hello?” Their voice travels beyond the stacked chairs and strings of exposed lightbulbs casting a golden glow over the room. A few minutes go by before they try calling out again. “Hi, are y’all open?”

They venture further inside, ignoring the big, bold letters indicating patrons to ‘please wait to be seated.’ A plethora of memories line its walls. Polaroids of patrons captured in various states of inebriation- all in good fun, they figure. Along with those are news clippings throughout the years, most of which feature the NYPD in some capacity.

“I bought every copy of that issue.” Wind yelps, coming face to face with an older man. The faint lines on his bronze skin deepen as his face stretches into a friendly smile. He points at one of the officers pictured. “This one’s my niece, Cameron.”

They take a closer look at the photo. Despite its grainy quality, Wind can see the resemblance between the two. Same brown eyes. Same round nose. Her skin, however, is about three shades darker than her uncle’s. Youthful. “She looks beautiful.”

“I like to think so,” he says, pride beaming from his features. “She’s always begging me to take this one down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Ya only graduate from the academy once, y’know?”

They nod politely. “Sorry for walkin’ in like this.”

“The sign’s flipped to open, even if we don’t look like it,” he chuckles. “Grab a seat, I’ll be right with ya.” Wind slides into an empty bar stool while he makes his way behind the counter. After rummaging through a few drawers, he pulls out a menu. “Ha! I knew I kept a few back here.”

“Thank you.” They skim through the appetizers, not retaining much.

“I promise, if ya catch us during our peak hours, we’re more lively. Anyways, welcome to The Drunk Tank. I’m Tommy- owner, bartender, and your server for today. Most of our food items won’t be available till our cook arrives, but I can try to whip up something simple if you’d like.”

“That’s alright. I only came in for a drink.”

“Perfect. What’s your poison?”

“Whatever’s strongest. Neat,” they answer flatly.

Understanding flashes through Tommy’s face. He works with silent precision, pouring a long stream of amber liquor into a glass. “Here ya go. Spirits to lift the spirit.”

Wind raises their drink to him before throwing it back in one gulp. The burn is immediate, slithering down to their chest and warming them from within. “Hah,” they wince, wiping the stray droplets from their chin. “I’ll have another.”

Tommy’s eyebrows jump, unable to conceal his shock, but he complies and slides over another shot. It goes down just as quickly. This process repeats two more times before he finally pulls the plug. “Why don’t we pace ourselves for a bit? Happy hour doesn’t start for another thirty minutes. Save yourself a few bucks.”

“Money’s not an issue,” they say, their words slightly slurred.

“Alright, I’ll level with ya. I’m not as concerned about your wallet as I am about any ‘accidents’ I may need to clean up.”

They huff out a hollow laugh. “I can hold my liquor, promise.”

“Just indulge me and drink some water.”

“Fine,” they grumble, taking a tentative sip from a much taller glass.

“Ya wanna talk about it?”

“Huh?”

“Ya wanna talk?”

“About what?”

“Anything. The weather- the Yankees- oh, I can show ya my collection of wine corks.”

“That’s… okay.” They gulp down the rest of their water, casting a hopeful glance at him, then at their empty shot glass.

He purses their lips, thinking. “Tell ya what- I’ll pour another shot if ya tell me one thing about yourself.”

Their eyes narrow at his deal, but his face remains steady. Fine, they can play along for now. “My name’s Wind.”

A quiet grin spreads on his face. “I was hoping to hear about a hobby or something.”

“A deal’s a deal.”

Tommy raises his hands in surrender. “That it is.” He serves another shot, which doesn’t last very long. “I like baseball, if ya couldn’t tell,” he jokes, gesturing to the several pieces of baseball memorabilia displayed.

“You play?”

His belly shakes with laughter. “Not well, I’m afraid. My ol’ man still put me in Little League, though, right next to my brother. I was one hell of a benchwarmer.”

“How ‘bout your brother?”

“Oh, that asshole? He was a mini prodigy. Bastard went on to play varsity. Won the state championship and everything.” Despite his light, jovial tone, Wind notices the distant look in his eyes.

“... And now?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers. “He doesn't play much of anything anymore.”

“What happened?”

His lip twitches upward with a smile that’s not all there. Dimmer than the one he first met them with. “I’ll need a few drinks before ya pull that story outta me.”

“Sorry,” they apologize quickly, “I didn’t-”

“No- you’re fine. Just felt like talking ‘s all.” He busies himself by wiping down the bar with a towel. “Ya don’t need to tell me anything, but a word to the wise: it feels a helluva lot better when you finally let it all out.”

Wind stares at him, their thoughts- all the pain, anger, and confusion threatening to spill out of them like a faucet. Kind brown eyes stare back with a patience that says, ‘Everything’s gonna be alright,’ without uttering a word. “Well, I-”

“Pop some champagne, Tito. I just got promoted!” They both startle in place. A woman strolls up to the bar, carrying a faint scent of ginger and citrus as she approaches. Wind’s eyes immediately flick to the golden snake adorning her neck, drawn by its intimidating beauty.

“Nini! That’s wonderful,” Tommy rejoices, clapping her on the shoulder like an old friend.

“I know. Now, where’s that champagne?”

“Hold on, I’ve got some in the back.” He moves to grab a bottle, but stops in his tracks when he sees them. “Oh- I’m sorry, Wind. You were about to say something.”

They shake their head. “No- actually, I should head out.”

“Stay for the toast at least.”

“Are you serious?” the woman complains.

“Yes,” Tommy hisses at her underneath his breath, which to Wind’s surprise, is all it takes for her to stand down.

“Alright,” she concedes, peering at them through her curled lashes. “Enjoy it, blondie. I’m usually not this generous, but today is a celebration. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

Their body seizes up. “What?”

“Or a late one. Not like I’d know the difference anyway. It’s no cake, but it’ll do.”

Glass shatters. A cacophony of shrieks and curses follows. Wind registers nothing- lost to fragments from the past. Their senses recall the piercing sound of their baby brother’s inconsolable wails. The desperation in their father’s pleas. They remember the cool tile on their knees- how sticky their tiny fingers became with pink frosting as they tried to push chunks of uneaten cake back together, ignoring the shards of fine china mixed throughout. All the while, their mother’s broken voice pounds within their ears. A haunting chant they can never forget.

“No puedo más- no puedo más- no puedo más-”

“Ya alright, pal?” Tommy’s worry warbles through their nightmarish haze.

“This fucking idiot got glass everywhere.”

“Ay, Nini- just grab the broom. It’s in the back. Oh- and the first aid kit.”

First aid kit? They glance down- mortified by the crimson stains on their sleeves. “Oh God-”

“Hey, take it easy-”

“NO-” Their sudden outburst sends them back several feet. “I- I need to- I need to go.”

“Hold on-”

Tommy’s words fall on deaf ears, or rather, no ears. They’re gone in a flash. No warning. No goodbye.

Just like Mamá.

---

tag list: @choicesmc, @win-chan, @brycesgirl, @stars-are-within-me, @inlocusmads

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