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lovewithmary · 8 months

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THE ENGINEER | MCU X FORMULA ONE CROSSOVER

summary: hell hath no fury than a woman scorned. or, where viviana is pissed.

fc: gabbi garcia

author’s note: I lowkey want to write viviana doing interviews solo and with other drivers? like a 'who knows me better' with mick, max, and viviana then mick and max compete to see who knows her better. would you guys like to see that?

btw i put the potential guys viviana might end up with as tags, so if you want to see who she might be with, go ahead.

twitter (i WILL NOT call it the other name)

"Mick!"

Mick turned around upon hearing his name being called from behind, only to see Lando and Oscar. "Have you been on Twitter today?" Lando asked, and Mick shook his head no.

Lando sighed, causing Mick to worry about what could possibly be on Twitter to make him and Oscar go to him. "It's bad, mate. People have been accusing Viviana of boosting you and Max," Oscar informed him.

Mick's eyes opened wide, not expecting that. He expected more of the dating rumors considering it's all he's been able to see on his timeline. They were admittedly funny but also concerning, considering they ranged from Viviana dating one of the guys on the grid behind his and Max's back to Viviana being in a poly relationship with all the single guys on the grid.

He had to block the person who made the latter rumor since the image was too specific for him to not think about it. Mick could barely make eye contact with anyone that day.

"Do you think Viviana has seen it?" Lando questioned, and Mick shook his head no.

"We would've known by now if Viviana had seen it, she hates whenever someone says that one of her friends used her for an advantage," Mick told them.

There was one and only one time that Viviana had been genuinely used by someone for their own benefit. She had met someone in Peter's High School (she was in college at that point, getting her 2nd degree) and she had thought that he genuinely liked her and vice versa.

But it turned out that he just wanted her to put in a good word for her dad, and she ultimately dumped him and blacklisted him from getting any Stark Industries job in the future. To her, she claimed, "If he had to use me to get a chance with the company, then he wasn't good enough to get in by pure skill."

Mick looked at both McLaren guys and hesitantly asked, "do any of the other guys believe the rumor?"

Both Oscar and Lando shook their heads, relieving Mick since he didn't want to ruin any friendships he had with the guys just because of a baseless rumor. "We all agreed it was a pretty shit rumor, to be honest," Oscar commented.

Mick quirked a smile upon hearing that, amused at the Australian. He then felt his phone buzz, which made him realize that he had to look for both Viviana and Max in order to warn them. "Sorry, guys, I need to go find Viviana and Max," he excused himself.

But before he could leave, Lando blurted out, "Are Viviana and Max dating? I know they said they weren't but they act like boyfriend and girlfriend,"

"Viviana and Max... have a different relationship. I don't really want to say a lot because it's not my story to tell, but Viviana helped Max with a lot when it came to Jos since she was the only one willing to stand up to him. And when Tony became Iron Man and then the Avengers happened, Max was a really big help to Viviana," Mick tried to explain.

"And how about you?"

"I'm the one that helps out the both of them, just like they do to me,"

Viviana was currently on a phone call with potential investors for Stark Industries, which was why Max offered his driver's room for her privacy. And in an effort to try and waste time while he had nothing to do, he was walking around the paddock.

Which was where Carlos, Pierre, Charles, Daniel, and Alex saw Max, which prompted the Redbull driver to talk to them.

"Did Viviana come today?" Carlos questioned, and immediately, Max was suspicious of the two Ferrari drivers.

"She had a call for her company, so she's currently in my driver's room," Max explained.

"I thought she wouldn't come because of the rumors about her," Charles carelessly said.

"What rumors?" Max questioned.

"Oh, you haven't heard the rumors yet..." Charles awkwardly said.

"What rumors?" was all Max repeated.

"People have been saying that Viviana is the reason why you and Mick are in the position you guys are in," Alex explained.

"What?! That's ridiculous," Max said.

"Which is what we said, but a lot of people on social media are saying otherwise," Carlos said.

"MAX!" Mick yelled out, capturing the attention of the group of drivers.

"Did you see—"

"Let me see the tweet," Max demanded and Mick wordlessly gave him his phone, which already had the tweet up.

"No way FIA would investigate something based on a rumor,"

"FIA have investigated for less,"

"Do you think?—"

"Parang hindi nila alam na kahit wala ako, magaling sila. Mga bobo." It's like they don't know that even without me, they're still good. Idiots. Viviana said, practically marching towards the growing group of drivers, evidently mad.

"Nakita mo to?" Did you see this? Viviana said.

"Vi, you're speaking in Tagalog again. And no matter how much we try to learn, we still can't understand it whenever you speak fast," Mick told her, reminding her she had to calm down.

"The tweet. Did you see the stupid tweet? I mean come on, we only revealed that we're friends this year but suddenly I'm the reason why the teams aren't performing the way that they should? It's not my fault other teams aren't that good!" Viviana ranted.

A cough from behind Viviana was heard, making the girl freeze. She swore silently to herself before turning around, only to see a couple of drivers that belonged to said teams that weren't good, according to her.

She awkwardly laughed, amusing some of the drivers who thought that this was a nice change compared to her usual composed professional self they'd always seen on the rare time she was being interviewed. "I'm sorry, but only because you heard me and not because of what I've said," Viviana honestly told them.

"Good save, Vi," Max said, enjoying the fact that his best friend was making what was originally an angering moment for her turned awkward.

"Shut up, Max. Anyways, what should I do with the rumors?" Viviana asked.

"I don't think you should say anything," Daniel spoke up, causing everyone to look at him.

He looked unsure for a second because of the sudden amount of eyes on him, but once he looked at Viviana, who was confused at what he said, he elaborated, "Whether or not you say something won't change anything. These people are convinced you did something, so you should stay quiet for now since you did nothing wrong,"

"Who are you and what have you done with Daniel Ricciardo?" Pierre jokingly said, causing the other drivers to laugh.

"Hey, I can give out good advice!" Daniel tried defending himself.

"Yeah, but they usually come with back up plans A-Z," Charles said.

"Well, it can't be any worse than my original plan," Viviana thoughtfully said.

"What was your original plan?" Alex questioned.

"Make a F1 Team and buy my way in," she nonchalantly said, shocking those around her.

"What?!"

"Well, I'm obviously not going to do that. But, I would try to prove people wrong and it'd send a message of, 'you'd know if I did something' but people would probably get angry because of who I am and my last name," she rolled her eyes.

#f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 ig au #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #carlos sainz x reader #mick schumacher x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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suhnflowerstay · 1 month

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game night

bang chan x afab!reader

a/n: this is based on a real life situation so it might not be super relatable (no description of what reader looks like besides the fact that they're afraid of sitting on his lap)

and it is not representative of any characteristics the idols have or anything lol it's moreso therapeutic. it does require the knowledge of Jackbox Games. quiplash is a game where you get a prompt and you anonymously write down what you think is the funniest answer and everyone votes for the funniest one. i'm posting this twice because i originally wrote it for mark but my sister thought it was well suited for chan as well soooo yeah!

wc: 2.9k

tags: toxic situationship vibes (like really toxic), smoking, high emotions, angst, smut, sad ending

You and Chan had known each other for a few years. You had initially met on vacation and got each other's contact information to keep in touch. You were talking all the time and FaceTiming nearly every day. You were friends, such close friends that you decided to go to the same university. Once you moved to his area for college, you were spending all your time with each other. Eventually, the sexual tension between you began to build and before you knew it, your situationship began.

A few months before your friends with benefits relationship with Chan began, he had been sharing with you how messy his previous arrangement was. You had seen other girls come and go because they could never handle him sticking by his word and refusing to commit to them. You were also not interested in commitment, so you felt comfortable going into it. You knew exactly who you were friends with, so you assumed you would be fine. You were just friends who had a sexual attraction to each other. There was no reason that having sex would have to complicate things, right? Wrong.

Yes, there are people who can have a healthy friends with benefits style relationship. Sex is easy to detach from for some more than others. Your relationship with Chan was anything but detached. You were best friends who had sex, and the gray area was extremely gray. You were practically dating without the label, and that brought a lot of negative feelings bubbling up. But you both didn't want commitment. You were terrified of being vulnerable in that way and he, well… he just loved the attention.

Chan's cousin Felix was hosting a game night with some friends, and he wanted you to come along and meet everyone. When you two arrived at Felix’s house, you introduced yourself, and the first words out of his mouth were:

“Are you the one that called on Christmas?”

Immediately, Chan jumped into action to try to shut Felix up. He stood in front of you and blocked Felix from view, mumbling, “No, that was someone else.” You knew he had a previous situationship leading up to your current situationship with him; this was no secret. You knew this because you were the one to talk him through the end of that relationship. You just hadn't realized how intense it must've been if Bang Chan was bringing that "friend with benefits" to meet the family.

You had small talk with Felix, asking him what his major was, and he asked you yours. He offered you drinks and snacks, and you took a seat on the sectional with Chan taking the seat right next to you. You two were in your own little world, giggling about god knows what while he had his arm around you, when all of a sudden the door behind you swings open.

“CHAN PLEASE TELL ME YOU HAVE DONE THE ENGINEERING HOMEWORK!” the disheveled boy yelled. You giggled because of how insane this random man appeared with his backpack barely slung over his shoulder, hair a mess, running up to take a seat on the couch diagonal to you two.

“Y/N, this is Minho. Minho, this is Y/N.”

Minho’s brain is going a million miles an hour, and the first thing he thinks to ask is:

“Are you two dating?”

You and Chan look at each other, and he says, “No, we’re just friends.”

“Oh," the disheveled man says, "Well, it looks like you two are dating.”

Minho proceeds to talk to Chan about whatever homework they had, and his whole demeanor has you nearly falling off the couch with how hard he has you laughing. He has major himbo energy and says everything with so much passion. At one point, he ends a story he's telling with, “WHATEVER FUCKOOO!”

Soon, more of Felix and (kind of) Chan's friends start showing up. A taller guy who catches your eye greets you. He says his name is Hyunjin and makes light conversation with you, asking how you know Chan and Felix and asking how long you've lived in the city. There are also three guys in the corner smoking, and one of them catches your eye as you hear his distinct giggle while he laughs with his friends. Is Chan only friends with hot people, you think. The last guy walks in and very quietly says hi and immediately walks across the room to sit between his friends. Chan lets you know that the shy guy, also known as Jisung, is really shy with strangers, but he's sure Jisung will warm up by the end of the night.

Felix loads up Jackbox Games, and your group plays Trivia Murder Party for a few rounds, and then, a guy named Seungmin says he thinks the group should play Quiplash. There are a few rounds where you make some pretty good jokes, and all of the guys hype you up, telling Chan he brought someone super funny to game night. You even make a quip at Chan's expense, and Minho high-fives you for doing so. At this point, you've had a few drinks, and you aren't drunk, just tipsy. But you absolutely need to pee. You ask Chan where the bathroom is, since this is his cousin's house, and he leads you to the bathroom, waiting for you outside the door. Once you’re done, he drags you to the empty bedroom across from the bathroom and lays back on the bed, pulling you down you on top of him.

“Are you having fun?” he looks up at you.

“Mhm," you hum, "are you?”

“Yeah."

"Your friends are nice. Minho's super funny. I can't believe he's real,” you giggle.

"Yeah, he is... ok, c'mon. Let’s go back before they think we’re having sex or something," he says abruptly. You thought his response was weird, but you didn't think too much about it.

Upon returning to the living room, you see your seat on the couch was stolen by a few of the guys, and you are now forced to sit on a recliner in the corner to watch the game from there. There’s only one seat though, so you just stand while Chan takes the seat.

“What are you doing?" he questions, "Come on. Sit down.”

You pause. “I-I'm okay. I don’t want to like hurt your legs or anyth-”

Chan pulls you down on his lap, so you’re forced to sit down on him. He asks if you want to smoke, and you take a singular hit, not really interested in doing that, and watch the game from afar. Minho has his eyes trained on you two, and you feel his stare. You turn to look at him, and he yells from across the room, “Are you sure you guys aren’t dating?”

You giggle saying, "Yes, we’re sure we aren’t dating."

He tilts his head to the side like a confused kitty and proceeds to ask “So, are you guys cousins?” and you cannot stop yourself from keeling over because what does he MEAN?? What kind of line of questioning is that? Why would his brain jump from dating to cousins? You look at Chan incredulously as you both laugh and confirm once again that you are just friends.

You two keep watching the game, rather than participate, and go back to your own little world until Chan decides he’s ready to go home. You follow him out, saying a single goodbye to everyone in the room. Everyone bids you goodbye in their own way with many of the guys saying how nice it was to meet you and how you should definitely come to game night again. You two walk out and Chan unlocks the car before remembering he has to go back in to get something from Felix. You sit and wait in the car, smiling to yourself, and text your best friend about game night. You make sure to mention the beautiful man you met and how funny it was that he asked if you and Chan were cousins.

Once he enters the car, he slides his hand onto your thigh.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, leaning in to give you a kiss.

“Yes, actually. I really didn't think I would, but that was so nice and all of your friends seem so cool! Minho is such a himbo it’s so funny... I can’t believe you guys are taking the same classes.” you add.

You don't notice, but Chan's hand clenches the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything and begins the drive home. You stop by the grocery store on your way home to pick up some snacks, and everything between you and Chan seems pretty light hearted.

You get back to his place, shower, and change into pajamas. You two sit on the couch for a bit longer watching shows and just snacking, cuddled up together. You get up to go to the restroom, leaving your phone behind on the coffee table, and when you come back, Chan is in a noticeably different mood. His body language is tense, and he’s moved away from your original spot.

“Channie… what’s wrong?” you ask, still standing.

“Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“It just seems like... like there’s something bothering you,” you insisted.

“Why would anything be bothering me? You’re literally making something out of nothing!” he snapped.

Now, you're officially in a bad mood.

“Fine then! Forget I even asked,” you huffed, collapsing onto the opposite side of the couch to go through your phone.

Half an hour later, your anger has subsided, and you're back to being invested in the show you’re watching. Then, the leading man betrays his love interest.

“Ughhhhhh," you drone, "Why does every man suck? Like even him? You have to be joking.”

“I bet Minho would never do that…” Chan mumbled mockingly from his side of the couch.

“What the actual fuck did you just say?” you snarled.

“Nothing.”

“Please do not fucking tell me that you’re upset over Minho, a man I only just met a few hours ago,” you scoffed.

“Oh, so you’re counting the hours,” Chan said, not even looking at you.

“Chan, shut the fuck up! What are you saying right now? What is your deal? I don’t even know or care about Minho!”

“You sure seemed to care when you texted your friend about how hot and funny you thought he was,” he said, finally looking up at you to see your reaction.

“Motherfucker, you went through my phone? Again? Are you fucking joking? Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t! I saw you texting it,” he tried to say, but you knew that was a lie because you had texted your friend right when you got into the car. He absolutely went through your phone, but this was not the first time.

“You’re a fucking liar, Bang Chan. I know you didn’t see me texting it. And either way, what does it matter to you? Newsflash! In case you weren't aware, I’m not your girlfriend! You made sure of it, and you also made sure everyone knew that tonight!”

Chan scoffed, “What did you want me to say to them? 'Oh yeah we’re fucking’?”

“it doesn’t matter what you say to them because we aren’t anything. And that means you don’t get to be upset over me texting my friend that i thought your friend was attractive," you emphasize, "You’ve done far worse or would you like me to remind you about your sexting with Soyeon or sending good morning and goodnight texts to Sana when you couldn’t even find two seconds to text me back even if it was just to let me know you were busy?"

Chan sits there knowing he can't say anything to that.

"You have even less of a right to be upset because of all the shit you pull all of the time, so I’m not going to apologize for sending my friend one text about a cute boy I will probably never see again." you finish.

“So you would want to see him again?” he tries to say steadily, but his voice cracks.

You look up and see that Chan is looking at the ground now and has tears in his eyes.

“Chris…” you put your arm around him and embrace him.

“I get it, though, like he’s so much more than I could ever be," he sniffles, "He’s so funny without even trying, and he’s just so cute and attractive and everything about him screams 'y/n's type.' I don’t blame you for being interested.”

He pushes himself up to lock eyes with you. “It’s only you, you know? I know you saw the texts or whatever with other girls, but I only care about you. No one else could ever be you. I promise that at the end of the day, no matter what, I only want you.”

He looks down at your lips and hesitates before he kisses you. The kiss starts off slow and slowly progresses into a more passionate, needy one. Chan is grabbing at your hips, your stomach, your arms, whatever he can get a grip on. He starts whining and pulls away, “Please take off your clothes, babygirl. I need you.”

You both strip down in his living room. Chan carefully lays you down on the couch and lines himself up with your pussy before slowly pushing himself in all the way without any issue. You guess high intensity and emotional situations just make you wet now after all the arguments you've had with this man.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight," he praises, "You always make me feel so big. it always feels like the first time.”

You moan and beg Chan to move, and slowly, he does. While there’s still a desperate neediness in the air, Chan is moving slowly and intentionally. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours while caressing your body. He praises every inch of you that he touches, littering you with compliments. He traces a finger along every curve and focuses on tracing circles on your tits, teasing your nipple ever so slightly before finally taking the buds between his fingers. He squeezes them, eliciting moans from your "pretty little mouth" as he calls it. He keeps one hand focused on your breast while he uses the other arm to hold himself up as he leans down to kiss you, maintaining the slow but steady rhythm. You wrap your legs and arms around him, pinning him to your chest. This position makes it so much more intimate, and you swear that he's hitting even deeper. The combination is pushing you right up to the edge. By the way Chan starts moaning, you can tell he feels the same.

“Fuck baby, I'm so close,” he groans

“Please cum inside me, Daddy. I need it so bad.”

“Ugh, f-fuck, beautiful, I can’t until you do. Please cum with me baby girl and- fuck- and I’ll fill you up as much as you want.”

His words send you over the edge, catapulting you into a strong radiating orgasm. Your hands are grasping at his arms and back, leaving scratches in their wake, you're sure. It’s very different from what you’ve previously experienced, muted but long lasting, and you can feel it all over. Your orgasm triggers his, and he continues to fuck you through it until the overstimulation becomes too much. He pulls out of you and grabs some wipes to wipe you and himself down. He lays you down in bed and makes his way to lay down right alongside you. He sits up and places his hand on your cheek, turning your head to make you look at him.

“I-" he hesitated, "I’m sorry I went through your phone again,” he says, rubbing his thumb back and forth along your cheekbone.

“It’s okay, Chan,” you reassure him.

“I just- I knew you’d like him. I could tell from the way you were looking at him and how he was looking at you. Minho is never interested in other people let alone other people’s relationships. I knew if he was asking if we were dating, it was so he could ask you out, and it made me freak out," he sighs.

“You have no way of knowing that, Channie,” you reason.

“Regardless, I meant what I said. I know we aren’t official, but I'm only loyal to you.”

He lays back down, and you say nothing.

You say nothing because this is a conversation you have often.

You say nothing because as much as you want to commit to Chan, you probably also aren’t ready.

You say nothing because the previous statement is probably a lie you tell yourself to make yourself feel better in this relationship you have with him.

You say nothing because you know there will be more instances of you finding text messages with other people in which he gives them more compliments/attention/time than he gives you.

You say nothing because you know he isn’t loyal to you at all, and you’d rather not start another fight tonight.

You say nothing because there is nothing here to fight for.

You say nothing as he falls asleep in your arms, and you see his phone light up with a text.

minho: hey can i get y/n's number

#chan #bang chan #christopher bahng #christopher bang #chris bang #bangchan #bangchan x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #christopher bahng x reader #christopher bang x reader #chris bang x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz #stray kids #bang chan smut #bang chan angst

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lulublack90 · 19 days

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Prompt 10 - Only One Bed/Room

@wolfstarmicrofic May 10, word count 860

Sirius and Remus had been sent away to a conference. They were to stay overnight and take notes of future implementations that could benefit the company.

They didn’t know each other well, Remus only having been at the company for a month, but they got on well enough. Remus, Sirius had found, was a tough nut to crack. He didn’t like to give up personal information, and small talk didn’t come easily to him.

Sirius pulled into the hotel's car park and turned off the engine. They got their bags out of the boot and headed to reception.

“Okay, Mr Black. I’ve got you and Mr Lupin in room 210. There is a lift to your left or stairs to the right if you prefer. If you need anything else, there will be someone here at all times.” The smiley receptionist beamed at him with bright red lipstick coating her lips.

“Wait!” Remus exclaimed. “Why is there only one room?” He looked horrified. The smile had faltered a bit on the receptionist's face as she double-checked with her computer. “We were almost fully booked when your office booked in, you got the last room in fact.” She looked at Sirius with a worried look on her face. “Erm,” She paused, trying to find the words. “There’s only one bed in that room.” She flinched when Remus slammed his hand down on the desk.

“Well that’s just peachy.” He growled. “Is there seriously nothing else?” She typed away on her keyboard.

“No, Sir. We’re fully booked all weekend.

“Let's at least go look at the room. You never know we might be able to make it work.” Sirius picked up Remus’s suitcase and purposefully walked towards the lift. Remus eventually followed once the doors pinged open.

They stood in silence as the lift travelled the short journey between floors. Sirius fumbled with the key card and opened the door to their room.

The bed was tiny. It was meant to be a double, but Sirius was certain it couldn’t be a standard one. There wasn’t even a sofa, just a metal chair.

“Nope,” Remus said and turned to leave. Sirius grabbed the back of his jumper before he could get very far. “Hey, let go!”

“It’s only two nights,” Sirius said. “Do you really have that much of a problem sharing a bed with another man?”

“No, Sirius,” Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s just—Oh, never mind.” He stormed past Sirius and dumped his bag on the bed. That seemed to settle it.

“Right well, I’m going for a quick shower and then do you want to go down to the restaurant?” He asked as he pulled out his toiletry bag. Remus just grunted, which Sirius took as a yes.

Showered and feeling better after their long drive, Sirius emerged from the bathroom and found the room empty. He wandered down to the restaurant and found Remus sitting at the bar with a beer. He flagged down the bartender and asked for the same and another one for Remus.

Dinner was quiet. Remus barely said two words, but at least the food was good. After another beer apiece, Sirius was ready for bed.

“I’m off up,” he yawned. Remus seemed reluctant to leave the bar.

“I’ll finish this and come up.” He told Sirius. That works out fine, Sirius thought. At least that way he could get ready for bed and not feel awkward about it. He brushed his teeth, changed into his baggy lounge pants and got under the covers.

The bed may be small, but it was ridiculously comfortable. Sirius snuggled into the plump pillows and felt his eyes already drifting shut. Then there was a loud knock at the door, which yanked him from his dozing state. He got out of bed and opened the door. They’d only been given one key card.

Remus stood there and gaped at Sirius. Sirius had a myriad of tattoos on his body and Remus’s eyes darted across the visible ones. He groaned and darted past Sirius, locking himself in the bathroom.

“Do you want your bag?” Sirius asked through the door.

“Yes please,” Remus replied, his voice slightly higher than usual. He opened the door wide enough to snatch the bag from Sirius’s hand. “Put a t-shirt on, for crying out loud.” He snapped before slamming the door in Sirius’s face. Sirius had no idea what he’d done to piss Remus off, but he went and grabbed a t-shirt from his bag and slipped it over his head before he got back into bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t even hear Remus leave the bathroom.

The next morning, he woke half on top of Remus with his limbs tangled with the other man's. He carefully tried to disentangle himself without waking Remus, but those honey eyes met his with a scowl. Sirius swallowed.

“Sorry, I must have rolled in my sleep,” Remus didn’t say anything and got out of bed before locking himself in the bathroom again.

This was going to be a long weekend, and they still had another night to go.

Part two

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar fic #wolfstar au #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #sirius and remus #remus and sirius #that poor receptionist #remus i need a beer lupin #oops i rolled over #only one bed/room

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ceilidho · 9 months

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prompt: horror au where soap is dishonourably discharged/falls on hard times and he's forced to move into this really creepy apartment building because it's the only thing he can afford. and ghost is his weird neighbour and soap's not completely convinced that he's not a serial killer. (ghostsoap)

Misery takes him to a place covered in litter and dust, and old dirt.

Maybe he thought it couldn’t happen to him. Famous last words. Anything can happen to anyone; lightning has to strike somewhere. Johnny makes the mistake of driving once under the influence and they throw the book at him when he’s caught—bad conduct discharge stamped on his record for the rest of his life. Through the investigation and trial and the subsequent stamp on his record, Johnny goes through the motions numb, head buzzing like there’s a fog that he just can’t get out.

It takes a while for Johnny to admit that he might not have wanted this outcome in the slightest, but actions have consequences. In the first few weeks, the shame warps him into something unrecognisable. He sleeps on his sister’s couch until she all but begs him to get his own place. The month passes like he’s in a fugue, the bags under his eyes dark and his hair matted down, unwashed.

The apartment building in North Barlanark is the best he can afford on his meagre savings—not much squirrelled away over the years, always the thought that the well would never dry up. Now it’s dry; now it’s standing on the embankment staring down into nothing. The bad conduct discharge stamped on his record also means that he isn’t entitled to VA benefits and it’ll show up on every background check going forward when he finally finds the energy to get off his ass and apply for jobs.

From the outside of the building, there are cracks in the stone walls, window panes red with rust. Black scorch marks climb up the walls like someone tried and failed to burn this place down. Stone chipping away in other places; there are air conditioners hanging from several windows that look dangerous close to falling out.

When he moves in, there’s no one to help carry his bags up the long flight of stairs up to the seventh floor. Johnny hadn’t bothered to ask either of his sisters, not too keen on being in this neighbourhood himself, never mind inviting them over.

The elevator’s broken, of course. Each step creaks under his weight as he lugs the garbage bags filled to the brim with his only earthly belongings up the stairs. An uneven, loosened tile nearly makes him brain himself on the stairs. It would be a depressing, but fitting end.

The corridors are lit by an ambient yellow light, the walls at the far ends a dusky blue when they ebb into darkness. Johnny’s stared down gun barrels raised to his face plenty of times before and still he stands at the other end of the hall vaguely unsettled. Gut clenching over nothing.

This whole endeavour feels inauspicious. Living, that is. He toys with the thought like a delicate glass bauble, staring at it indifferently as it rests in the palm of his hand. He might still break it.

Some nights his heart feels so heavy that he thinks it’ll sink right out of his chest, through the mattress and onto the floor below. Melt through the floorboards until it trickles down into the bowels of the building, down into the entrails where the furnace roars and there’s a damp cold that pervades everything it touches. He hasn’t cried since he was a boy, but his eyes hurt when he blinks.

Johnny doesn’t see a single other person in the building the day he moves in, nor any of the following days during his first week in the building. He doesn’t have it in him to grieve the loss of his former life anymore—he did that over the month that he lived on his sister’s couch and barely showered or shaved. There’s a factory within biking distance where he gets a job as a die cast operator and spends his days making carburetors and engine blocks. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s better than what he expected.

There are signs of life in the building though. The sound of a door creaking open when he’s sitting on the couch in his flat, only to peek out through the peephole to an empty hallway. Passing a door on his way home from work and pausing at the sound of someone groaning from within. Trash bags out in the hall when there weren’t any earlier.

It makes his skin crawl. The suggestion of occupancy that never materialises. People that live like rats in the walls.

He hurries home with his head down in the evenings, walking straight past the other flats. No one needs to know his business just like he doesn’t need to know anyone else’s business. If he hears the rattling of dishes or feet shuffling along the floorboards, what’s it to him?

There’s only so many times he can tell himself that though.

The coming of winter deepens the night, dragging it further into the day. The sky has long gone black by the time he leaves the factory after his shift, pulling his hood up to seem marginally less appealing to anyone wandering around at night. Hardly anyone wanders with good intentions. At least, that’s what Johnny’s taught himself. He’s still got all of the muscle mass from his years of service, but he’s not interested in fucking around and finding out, so he speedwalks to his bike and pedals home as fast as possible.

There’s something in the air. He sees only a single light on from outside when he reaches the front doors and it quickly shuts off when he dismounts the bike. A curtain rustles like someone was just there. It turns his blood to absolute ice; something in him is hissing at him to stay out, but there’s little else he can do. He rolls his bike in and up the seven flights of stairs.

He rolls the bike down the hall as always, only the squeaky sounds of the wheels echoing down the length of the corridor. The exhaustion eats away at his bones; he’s so tired that it’ll be a dream even to collapse on the bed with the weird stain on it that he inherited from the previous tenant.

Something makes him pause in the hall.

There’s a scratching sound coming from the door to his left. The faintest rasp of a fingernail against steel. Johnny goes so quiet that even the sound of his blood disappears. Just staring at the door.

It comes again like someone’s standing there on the other side of the door. Scratching softly with a single fingernail. When he glances down, there’s a slight shadow just under the doorframe, no wider than a person.

His vision tunnels in on the shadow beneath the floor.

“What are you doing crouched there?” a deep voice growls from behind him.

“Steamin’ Jesus!”

When he whips around, his heart about jumps into his throat. A man in a skull balaclava stands not two feet from him, a wall of muscle and bone. The eyes that stare down at Johnny seem almost hostile in their hollowness at first, the darkest blue he’s ever seen.

Johnny freezes for a second, old instincts taking over. Something feels deeply wrong. He’s never seen the man before and he takes up space like no one he’s ever met. Even in a black hoodie and jeans, Johnny can see the muscle definition just barely visible underneath. The mask makes it worse somehow, obscuring the only part of him that might’ve been comforting.

“Sorry, mate,” he says with a grin, sheepish. Wary. “Lost my train of thought.”

The man stares at him. “Go back to your place.”

Johnny furrows his brows. “Excuse me?”

“Back home, puppy.”

There’s a second where Johnny thinks he might do something rash. The anger that rises up from his core is swift and sudden, furious at being ordered around like a dog. He pauses though. There’s something wrong here. The man angles himself towards Johnny like he expects a fight, and it’s there in his eyes for a split second, so fast that Johnny almost misses it. Anticipation.

He’s lived long enough to know his limits. He gives a brittle smile instead and nods, backing up a few paces before turning around, wheeling his bike home. He doesn’t hear anything from behind him, but the next time he looks around before stepping into his flat, the man is gone.

#dont talk to me about “that wouldn't have gotten soap kicked out” I KNOW #I MADE IT UP #cod mw2 #ceil writing #ghostsoap #ghoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #ghost cod #ghost x soap

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optiwashere · 3 months

Note

Shadowheart/Karlach A2 cause I think it would be a disaster lol

Oh my god, you're so right. Thank you for requesting this one! Let's see if I can do it justice...

You can send a prompt from this list + a ship or platonic pair, and I'll write a ficlet!

---

A2. Cooking together

"You're certain it's supposed to look like this?" Shadowheart asked.

Karlach stared down at the remains of what was meant to be a shepherd's pie. Its slumped, oozing form and crackling black mash layer steamed off an unpleasant smell throughout the cottage's cook room.

She grabbed the tray from the brick oven with her bare hands, one of the benefits of her now stabilized engine. She mumbled a few words even she struggled to understand.

At last, she said, "I... yeah?"

"Really? Like that? With the charred potatoes?"

"Well, yeah, you're supposed to peel off the crust," Karlach explained confidently.

Shadowheart gawped at her. Dozens of potatoes had been peeled, the skins on the floor clinging to chunks of potato flesh in haphazard sizes. Karlach had tried her best with the peeling. Meanwhile, Shadowheart had worked her hands raw mashing the potatoes and had the flecks of potato on her ratty apron to prove it.

"Why did we put it on there, then?" Shadowheart asked, staring at the strangely jiggling mass of partially raw beef.

"I wouldn't know."

"But you said you've had it before."

"No, I said I wanted to try it." Karlach set the pie down on the nearby table. It wobbled before settling into a somewhat stable shape of sloughing meat and vegetables. "There's a difference, Shads. Last thing normal I remember eating before the Hells was fish and more fish. Oh, and more fish. With a side of fish."

"You are impossible." Shadowheart turned and started peeling away the mash layer on top with a knife. "Oh gods, what is this?"

"You cooked it, babes."

"No, we cooked it. You're responsible for this catastrophe as well." Shadowheart hesitated, the knife hovering over the vague swamp of beef and peas underneath the top layer.

"Well, go on then."

Shadowheart poked around for what Karlach agreed was the most cooked-through portion. She slipped a bite in her mouth and chewed far longer than Karlach expected, even going so far as to swallow the bite.

"Is it good?" Karlach asked.

Shadowheart shrugged. "We've eaten worse."

"Shadowheart, if you knew half the shit I've eaten on a dare," said Karlach.

Not even noticing the heat, she balled up in her hand a portion of the same section Shadowheart ate. She popped the chunk of meat and peas in her mouth and her eyes instantly watered before she even bit down on what was meant to be food.

Everything was wrong. It was slimy and wet but simultaneously hard and chewy.

She ran for the nearest window, desperate to spit the damned disaster out as fast as possible. As she ran, Karlach couldn't help but wonder one thing.

What the fuck is wrong with my girlfriend's taste buds?

#bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart #karlach #shadowheart x karlach #my fic #anotheropti prompt fics #I stand by “shadowheart can cook but she is awful at it because she can't taste for shit” and will until my dying day #I dread to know what the fuck she thinks a “fine vintage” of wine is

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

His Harley Girl

I suspect, theres a tense change in here somewhere, something I will fix at some point (probably) + I also would like NO comments about my excessive comma usage - in the meantime - apologies for any errors but uh, enjoy! Can you tell I got distracted and this was not my original plan for ironically, a prompt I came up with…?

Written for the prompt: "What are we going to do with [all of them], [this], [these ___ ]?" As always: @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain

summary: 1972-4 Elvis takes you on a motorcycle for the first time.

wc: 3.9k

warnings: 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), slightly unrealistic positions, teeny bit of fingering with a driving glove on. honestly no plot just smut.

yes, I have used this pic before for Let Yourself Go but uh god its so perfect.

He’d convinced you on with a little coaxing, and you’d hesitantly agreed only when he swore up down and sideways that he wouldn’t go too fast and would stick to the city, where you could easily change your mind rather than heading out onto some sort of lonely highway. Still, you’d been nervous stood waiting as Elvis had pulled on his leather gloves, finger by each long finger before straddling the bike, smiling over at you and leaning back to pat the seat behind him. He reassured you, “It’s the latest model, best damn bike Harley’s ever made. Just hold on and you’ll be fine.” You nod, steeling your nerves again - you’re not a total wimp, you’d been up for in concept - when you were hundreds of miles away from any of the motorcycles. Now you were stood in front of it though, no helmets in sight, you couldn’t help but be a little nervous. He patted the seat pointedly again nodding his head impatiently, although with a smile on his face and you swallow anxiously before clambering on behind him.

“That’s it honey, nice and snug, hold on tight now.” You wrap your arms around his thick stomach, feeling the sturdy expanse of his sides and chest, you’re trying to be a little respectful what with so many of the boys watching on but you can’t help but run your fingers over his soft shirt, tweaking it the tiniest bit when you feel his little nub of a nipple. He shies away with a little huff of a giggle, shaking his head before he places his hand over yours, tugging them even closer and you’re forced to shimmy forward, resting close to his back.

“Is this - am I too close to you?” You whisper in his ear,

“Uh-uh baby, you just hang on as tight as you like - you just go with me, ok?” You mumble the affirmative, nerves skyrocketing as you sit there idling. He hums back at you, shifting slightly in your hold. You hadn’t considered how comfortable, how intimate it would feel with your arms around him, leaning against his back, your inner thighs and exposed legs rubbing against his trousers. The engine roars underneath you, a noticeable humming vibration travelling up your body and you jolt a little out of surprise at the the engine coming to life - you’d been too busy considering the situation to notice his hands coming around to the handlebars or turning the key, and simultaneously out of shock at how quickly you can feel the tremors travelling up your legs, how quickly it’s making you feel a little turned on, a little needy. If Elvis feels the way your thighs immediately clench and release he doesn’t mention it, instead revving the engine, causing you to rut the tiniest bit against him at the sudden increase in vibrations and pulling out and away.

He practically zooms out of the gates, and you know it was mostly for the benefit of any onlookers but it still mildly terrifies you, your hair whipping against your cheeks at the speed. You involuntarily close your eyes, resting against him. It’s not long before you feel him pulling over, coming to a stop, engine reduced down to a gentle hum. You blink, pulling back and looking around wondering why he’d stopped only to feel his gloved hand patting your thigh. He’d turned to look at you as best he could while still staying sat, peering at you from the corner of his eye, trying to see past the frame of his glasses before giving up and using the wing mirror. He makes eye contact with you, smiling,

“Honey, ain’t much point takin’ you for a ride if you’re just gonna hide in me the whole time.” He’s laughing at you, and although you feel yourself blush you’re still leaning a little bit further back, shoving your hair into a ponytail, giggling as you do,

“Sorry El - it was just - my hair, it was getting in the way. I swear I’ll keep my eyes open.” He shakes his head at you, his laugh a deep rumble in his chest,

“Go on then baby, wrap them little hands ‘round me again.” You obediently do so, “I’ll slow down a bit for ya - keep them eyes open for me.” You nod against his back, resting your cheek on him, determined to keep a close hold but also keep your eyes open.

He shifts back before starting the engine again, bumping against your lap. You exhale with a slight start against his shoulder, tightening your hold around his stomach. The heft of him providing a solid weight, offering security even against your fears being on the motorcycle. Your hands grasp at his jacket, helping to tie your balance with his when you go around the corners - your legs are short enough not to be much help there either dangling freely or just about long enough to rest your toes on the bar down the bottom. Despite the way you’re constantly bumping against him with the movement in the road you can tell he’s driving pretty moderately, and you’re brave enough to look around. It was exhilarating in the best way to watch the scenery fly past, without any barrier between you and it. You quickly realise that you’re thoroughly enjoying every aspect of the drive and that you may have been being a tad overdramatic in your fear of what now feels like a remarkably safe ride.

Now that you’re relaxed into the ride, you feel safe to lean back a little, resting your hands on his hips at stoplights and relaxing your hold from tight around his stomach to a light grip on his shirt. You’re enjoying yourself, but you can’t help but wonder how much longer he intends to ride around for. Then, he hits a little bump, bouncing you both - your hands clench down on his sleeves and shirt. You dread to think what your face must have just looked like as you force yourself to close your mouth from the feeling of the bounce, you’d been distracted from your low level arousal but it was suddenly back full force and you’d ended up even closer to Elvis than before. You try to ignore it, and you’re somewhat succeeding but suddenly it feels as if all your senses have been heightened. You find yourself staring at Elvis’ back, the way his shoulder muscles move as he steers the motorcycle, the way that even despite his heavy masculinity he has a little dip where his waist sits before on either side there was a small, perfectly formed handle of hip. The woodsy, manly smell of him, both the synthetic musk of his cologne and his natural scent mixing in the soft spring air, filling your nose and lungs. It was all a bit much as you find yourself tracking a bead of sweat down the little patch of neck you can see under his slightly longer hair, completely distracted from the journey or scenery, entirely focused on that tiny attractive little bead of sweat.

You can’t help but shift around a little, feeling the pooling arousal of butterflies in your pelvis. The seat is comfortable, even with the two of you on there but it’s a comfort bike, designed for long roads down empty highways and powerful the insistent roar of the engine a continually tickling sensation. It’s not slimline, not designed for nipping through traffic, and truthfully it’s clearly modelled for a man, meaning that by this point in the ride you’re starting to feel a slight strain in your thighs at the width it forced your legs to accommodate. Elvis grunts a little with the effort of a tight corner and you can’t help but respond with your thighs squeezing on either side of him, muffling a groan into his back as you lean with him. You don’t have to do much though, it really is a very comfortable ride and you’re safe instead to simply relax, not having to worry about moving your body too much. You don’t think Elvis’ noticed the way that every time the engine revs for longer than a few seconds that you can’t help but rock against him, but then it does suddenly seem to be happening more frequently. You feel like your thighs are getting a work out with the way that you’re squeezing them every thirty seconds, feeling the pressure of the vibrations increase. Somewhat embarrassingly you realise that you’ve made yourself feel pretty close to orgasm just from the ride itself and you’re slightly nervous how to make it clear to Elvis that you want him now as soon as you’re parked up.

Finally though he’s skidding around the corner and back in through the gates of Graceland. He pulls up around the back, driving straight into the carport, tucking the bike into the side before killing the engine. Elvis looks around, seeing there was less of a gaggle than before but still a fair few members of the mafia/family milling about and waves someone over, whispering to them briefly. It’s only a moment later when they all disappear.

You get off shakily and he turns to you grinning as he too clambers off;

“Sure felt like you enjoyed that hon-ey?” He’s got a playful lilt to his voice and a twinkle in his eye under his glasses, you feel like you’re missing something, pausing for a second to consider your reply.

“Oh, of course I did! We should go again! It really wasn’t that scary in the end.” He stared at you, crooked smile extending into a teasing grin.

“No you’re misunnerstanding me - I could feel,” He steps forward crowding you so you’re forced to lean back against the hot metal of the bike, “your lil thighs clenchin’ and squeezin’ “ He pats your leg and you obediently spread them, letting his still gloved fingers toy with the hem of your shorts.

“Oh,…” You don’t know what to say, “Well, uh, it was just, you know, I mean sittin’ so close to you was - well I liked that a lot, and then it was just so,” you pause trying to think of the right word, “- so rumbly.” He lifts you back onto the bike, but this time sideways, your hands coming to grasp at the back bar and front of the seat to keep your balance as he stepped in between your spread thighs.

“Rumbly?” His eyes are alight with good humour at the turn of events that have led to you being held here, and you can tell he’s finding it amusing to make you squirm as you shyly struggle to explain your current state of arousal to him. His hand come down to clutch at your hips, thumb automatically gently stroking in little circles, while the other comes up to grasp at your neck, tilting your head up to where he was lowering his.

“Uh-huh, rumbly, could feel it all through m’body.” He smiles, clearly pleased you’d been so affected, before kissing you - soundly, your hands coming off the bike to clutch at him as he expertly used his tongue to his advantage, leaving you breathless when you finally pulled apart.

“Would you,” He looks around almost tentatively, licking his now rosy lips, and running a hand over his hair, “I’ve sent ‘em all away, we won’t - won’t be disturbed.” You still, eyes wide as you comprehend what he’s suggesting.

“Out - out here?” You can hear how high pitched your voice is and you internally grimace at it before you continue, not wanting to cause him to lose his playful mood, “If- if you’re sure we won’t - no-one will see?” He grins, evidently thrilled at this outcome,

“Swear it babydoll, I swear.” He mimes a scout’s salute and you laugh back at him, before your focus is suddenly drawn back to his hand where it’s still raised, still encased in that black leather. You can feel your legs falling open a little further and you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so immediately turned on.

“Can you - I wanna, I want to feel your, unhh, keep your gloves on?” He looks down at his hand and then back up at you from under his lashes, shit-eating smirk on his face,

“Oh baby - you like these?” He trails a finger down your face, the smoothness, the warmth of the leather, it’s feel so similar yet different to his soft bare hands making you shift back a little, subconsciously searching for the seam on your denim shorts for a little bit of friction. This is almost immediately proven unnecessary when Elvis is demanding you unbutton them, pushing your shirt up your chest to trail a hand around your torso and down your stomach. You stand up abruptly, and tug your shorts off, throwing them down and off somewhere, you couldn’t care less where they ended up so long as they were off right now. Once again he laughs, “God, you eager honey?” He pushes you back onto the bike and you compliantly go, immediately spreading your legs again, “That’s right baby,” He hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them to one side, stroking down your mound and labia you jerk your hips at the feel of that soft, quickly slicked, leather, the fabric making his solitary index finger feel three times the size it was normally. He teases you, leaning down to kiss you again while his other hand explored what it could in this position but you’re forced to pull back, gasping, when he begins to circle your clit with it, the seam running along the fingertip catching it just so.

“Just lemme,” He pulls the panties further away, crouching down to look directly at your pussy, “Oh, oh yeah honey, that is eager,” he pauses to chuckle to himself in anticipation of his next comment, “That’s one eager beaver right there hon.” You can’t see from the angle he’s crouched at, but you can hear in his voice the grin at his joke. He strokes a second finger with the first, padding at your entrance and when he pulls them away he holds them up to show you the slick stains down the black. “See doll, it’s practically drippin’ already.”

“Oh god, Elvis - god,” You moan, trying to lean further back, flop into an easier position, he swears as he catches you before you can fall,

“Fuck - you gotta watch where you’re going baby,” He pulls you forward again, dragging you off the bike, balancing you half on his thigh that he jutted out, so that you’re stood tucked against him on your tippy toes and half simply holding you up. He’s not normally quite so…so… fired up, normally gentle and content to spend his night cuddled up, soft and slow missionary - he doesn’t normally kiss you, thrusting his leg between yours, and tugging at your lip before manhandling you with a grip on your waist and side and pushing you to bend over. You end up resting against the seat, the still warm metal and leather digging into your stomach where you’re almost completely bent over. You squirm, feeling the breeze of the outside air tickle over your exposed pussy and legs. He runs his hand up and down your leg unabashedly feeling you up before pausing,

“No. Sorry honey that ain’t gonna work. Gotta -“ He’s momentarily distracted by rubbing over you again, at finding exact way to twist his meaty gloved finger to make you moan the prettiest. “Gotta - ‘s not, wanna look at you doll.” You nod frantically agreeing with him,

“Yeah - Yes Elvis, wanna see you too, wanna see your face.” He grunts with the effort of pulling you back up, holding you on your tip toes for a second hugging you against his side again.

“Hmm, let’s get these offa you.” He pulls the panties down and you wriggle your knees to send them to the floor. He lifts you, with strength that you hadn’t realised he had, directing you where to place your feet. “C’mon darlin’ that’s it, just like we were before, just, just the other way - get your yittle foot over.” You end up straddling the bike and you can feel hot metal digging into your back. You can lean back a little and your head rolls to the side, tucked into your shoulder as you watch him first remove the gloves, finger by finger, before undoing his pants, shoving them low enough down that you can see the way his cock springs up, ready for action. Clearly the ride hadn’t only been arousing for you. Next thing you know he’s clambering up behind you, hands on your thighs, pulling your legs over his where he’s also straddling the bike, hiking them up, and pulling you up with it.

The engine is still hot and your hands are sweaty as they go behind your head in an attempt to find purchase to grip, your sweaty fingertips sliding over the metal. The feel echoes the slipperiness of your, “Jesus, drippin’ lil yittle cunt” and the way his cockhead bumps and slides around your folds, in all the slickness that’s gathered there. You quickly, when he grabs your hips and tugs you closer, one hand going to your shoulder, realise its no good trying to find a grip on the bike, instead reaching for Elvis’ arms, his shoulders, anywhere that you could get a decent grip on. You don’t realise that you’re begging as you do, pleading with him to stop playing and do something, anything - but please now.

A moment later and he’s pushing into you, there’s a gentle but slightly burning stretch for a second, but then you’re wrapping your legs around him, trying to tug him deeper, and he’s leaning forward, thrusting into you with deep slow ruts. You find a little part of your brain suddenly worried about how loud you were being - you trusted that he wouldn’t let anyone see you like this, but he hadn’t made it clear if anyone was still about to hear you but its quickly overridden by your mind going blank to all but the sensations, garbled shouts and moans falling from your lips. Elvis is talking, praising you, almost the whole time, muttering that,

“You’re too fuckin’ perfect, couldn’t even get ya into my own damn house, just had to have ya right here.” He suddenly loses his grip a little bit, and he falls forward, his glasses slipping off his nose and falling god-knows where. You can’t help but reach up to stroke his cheek, even as he leans against you. Feeling the weight of him, supported barely by one arm clutching at the seat, encasing you. He presses down on you, even as he rolls his hips into you, his tummy - his thick body, still muscular from his recent tour, his shirt from where he was still essentially fully dressed, pressed against you. A lesser woman, one who was less enamoured, less in love, less turned on, might have complained - told him he was crushing her, to get off. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain - in fact, noises to the opposite effect were escaping your mouth. He wheezes, apologising,

“Sorry doll I’m not, not gonna last long baby, I’m, god, feelin’ you ruttin’ gainst my back I was almost there back on the ride.” You squirm, hips moving of their own accord as you feel, with each of his impossibly deep thrusts, that you’re getting closer to your own orgasm - ironically something that you had similarly been close to since rutting against his back. You regret as he pounds into you with some skill, not just mindlessly pumping but searching out the best spot - the spot to send you over the edge, that you can’t get there without more. You’re about to say so when he blinks at you, sweat travelling from his brow, pink flush on his cheeks, pushing himself up a little further “I’m close mama, I’m close - want you to go with me,” He shoves his hand between the two of you, stroking up your folds and circling your clit, you grind down on him, feeling your walls clench down, and his resulting groan, as he brushes a fingertip over it - the uncertainty of the pressure, combined with his internal stimulation finally send you teetering towards the edge. And though he maintains a steady pace, you can feel when, as your head rolls back and you’re careening into your orgasm, he moves his hips for the right amount of stimulation for himself, speeding up to fuck you through your own orgasm as he chases his. You’re shaking, quivering as it overcomes you, lost in a sea of your own sensation and oblivious to his orgasm hitting until he’s tragically pulling out, pumping himself once more before shooting across your stomach.

He sits there for a second leaning on you, catching his breath, his weight a comforting presence as you regain feeling in your toes. Your back is slipping all over the leather in a combination of your own slick and sweat as you squirm and a moment later feel Elvis’ cock twitching against your sticky core. He pulls his scarf off from around his neck, using it to quickly wipe his cum off your tummy, and giving you a gentle wipe, although you’re not convinced silk works the best for that when he pulls it away and it stays connected by a thin web of your slick for a moment. You meet his eyes when he pulls it away to look at it, before tucking it into his pocket and climbing off the back - pulling up his trousers.

“C’mon darlin’ anyone could see ya out here,” He winks at you, his blue eyes sparkling and a very smug expression on his face, and you let out a shocked, tired, giggle, still shocked that you’d even agreed to this outside. He reaches for the handlebars, handing you your panties where they’d been hanging off of them, like a tassel on a little girl’s bicycle.

“Oh - thank you.” You giggle, honestly feeling a little keyed up with the adrenaline of the activities of the afternoon, and he looks down at you playfully, helping you up and into the pants, but doesn’t bother with finding your shorts, he simply helps you pull down your shirt to somewhat cover yourself. It’s not like there’s much point being modest out there after having just done that. He kisses your cheek, turning you to face the rest of the carport, unable or unwilling to let go of you and wrapping an arm around your waist, leaning down to whisper in your ear, this time his chest to your back.

“Look around baby, which one shall we go out on next?” It’s like you’re looking around the cars and motorcycles for the first time, suddenly taken aback at the sheer volume of them - at how many there were. “Why don’t you pick a couple - what about that one over there? It’s another Harley baby, or uh, over there’s one of my Hondas?” You try to see where he’s pointing at, uh, totally different bikes - you can totally tell exactly which ones he’s pointing to.

“Bu-ut, what are you - what are we gonna do with all of them?”

He laughs, his head thrown back with the force of it, “Guess we’ll just have to go for a ride…on ‘em all.”

#elvis smut #elvis fanfic #big daddy elvis #be-my-ally #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game

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