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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

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DADDY ISSUES - Part One: Motive

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: You're just a waitress, nothing more. But when your cousin, Steve, gets into a jam and needs your help, you have no choice but to indulge him and become the front-row face of Elvis Presley's '68 Comeback Special. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: None! Inaccuracies to the actual special probably lmao. this chapter is tame. the others won't be

Rating: Pg (but this series will be very NSFW, so minors save yourself the trouble + DNI) || Word Count: 4644

A/N: it's finally hereeeee!! happy thirsty thursday hunnies + i hope you enjoy part 1 of the series! i promise smut will be forthcoming, but i have it plotted for almost every part so i wanted to start out with plot stuff instead 😅

Song Rec: motive - ari (feat. doja cat)

This is Part 1 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

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“Order up! Table seventeen.”

You let your slippery white shoes glide across the checked floor as you slide up to the counter. You grab the plate from off the rack and trot out from behind the counter to deliver it to table seventeen.

“I got a burger and fries?” you ask, placing the plate down and proceeding with the rest of the order. You load the family’s dirty dishes onto the tray and snatch up the ringing telephone as you pass by it.

“Chadney’s Restaurant, how can I help you?” you say into the speaker.

“Hi, I’m calling for Y/N?”

“Uh…yes, this is she?” you respond, setting the tray down. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Oh Y/N, perfect, this is Steve, your cousin,” the voice replies.

“Steve Binder? Why are you calling me at work? Didn’t your mom give you my new home phone number?”

“Yeah, but I knew you wouldn’t pick up. Listen, I’m in a bit of a bind at the moment, and I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“Well, seeing as you’re right across the way here, I was just wondering how many people are in the restaurant right now? Do you think any of them would be willing to come down here to be part of a live studio audience?”

You sigh, glancing around the restaurant quickly. It’s later in the afternoon, but because of the restaurant’s vicinity to NBC, it’s usually crowded most of the day. Only a few tables are empty.

“Yeah, it’s busy. I don’t know… there are some younger people. Who’s performing?”

“Elvis Presley.”

You feel your mouth drop open and your blood run cold.

“Y/N! We have orders ready to go out!” You wave a hand dismissively at your boss screaming from the kitchen.

“So, do you think anyone would be interested?” Steve presses.

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. Listen, I have to go. If you want them, you’ll have to come down here and get them yourself. I gotta go, Steve, bye.”

You click the phone down before he has a chance to protest and get back to work. You’re only able to run about two orders out before the door swings open and you glance up to see your cousin waltzing in with another man you don’t recognize.

“Hi everyone! If I could just have your attention please!”

Murmurs spread throughout the restaurant as forks and knives clink down onto the old yellowed ceramic plates. Silence settles before Steve continues.

“Hi all, I know this is sort of out of the ordinary, but my name is Steve Binder, and I work for NBC. We’re actually across the street right now gearing up to film a show with Elvis Presley, the King of rock’n’roll, I’m sure you’re all familiar. Unfortunately, we seem to have lost our audience. Again, I know this sounds strange, but would any of you be interested in attending the filming to be part of a live audience?”

You hear a gasp and turn to see your coworker and only true friend, Candy, standing next to you. She glances over at you with a big smile and nudges your arm with her elbow.

“Elvis!!” she whispers.

By the time Steve has finished with his announcement, practically everyone in the cafe has jumped out of their seats and rushed toward your cousin, cheering and jeering to get in line. You walk back behind the counter to put your apron away as Steve gestures the people funneling out of the restaurant toward the NBC Studios building across the street. You start stacking plates when you hear Steve’s voice behind you.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

“Not a problem,” you respond, turning around to hug him. “Now, what’s this I hear about Elvis Presley?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Bones Howe and I got a call from his producer, Jerry Schilling, about helping him reconnect with his previous persona, his famous image. We met him, talked for a while, and boom now we’re here.”

“That’s amazing!” Candy adds, walking up to lean against the counter. “You know your cousin here,” she gestures to you, “is like the biggest Elvis fan on the planet.”

“You don’t say. Actually…” his eyes light up and he points at you. “Y/N, you know, you’d be perfect for this. You’re exactly the kind of person we want to showcase on the special. Young, fresh, attractive, a real and authentic person. Do you think you could come with me now?”

“No. No, you know I can’t do that," you reply, shaking your head.

“Why not? There’s not a soul in this place, anymore.”

You look around and shake your head.

“There are still people here, and I’m still on the clock. I can’t just leave. I’ll get fired.”

“Ah, Y/N, lay off it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, honey,” Candy says. “You should go!”

You shake your head and turn, trying to go back to work, but Steve speaks up again.

“I can get you a prime spot. Right in front of him. And your friend is welcome to come, too. C’mon, Y/N. Please.”

Memories flash through your mind. Fans screaming, police lights flashing, flashes of black fabric. You glance back into Steve’s bright blue eyes and feel anxiety rising in your chest. It gets harder to breathe and your fingers start to feel like they’re vibrating. You can’t do this. You shouldn’t do this. You’re not ready. But Steve’s pleading eyes are too strong for your will. You sigh deeply, running a hand over your face.

“Alright fine,” you respond. “Just give me a second to figure this out.”

Steve nods and you turn toward Candy with a deep breath. She wastes no time, jumping over the counter and grabbing onto your wrist to drag you into the kitchen where your boss, Frank, is cooking up a storm.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” Frank asks, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If you’re slacking, I can replace you quicker than a flash.”

“Well, that’s actually something we wanna talk to you about,” Candy says, and you frantically shake your head at her. “A Mr. Steve Binder from NBC Studios just stopped by and he’s looking for some people to join a live audience for a show they’re recording across the street. It’s an Elvis Presley show.”

“Is it one of those goddamn movies again?” Frank asks. “Cause if I have to hear one more word about those shitty films again, I’ll fire both of your asses.”

You shoot a pleading glance at Candy and mouth the word ‘no’, but she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head at Frank’s rude comment.

“No, it’s a musical performance, Frank. And don’t threaten us like that,” she responds, and you feel panic start to pump through your veins.

“What does any of this have to do with me, anyway?” Frank asks gruffly. “I don’t care what you do in your free time.”

“Y/N and I are leaving work early to go be a part of the audience,” Candy says, angrily. “That’s what it has to do with you.”

A clanging noise sounds as Frank drops his metal spatula onto the grill. You drop your head into your hands, clutching onto the roots of your hair and dreading what words will come next.

“What did you say?” Frank asks, turning around with an irate expression on his ugly, bulbous features. You know he isn’t really asking Candy to repeat herself but giving her a chance to change her answer. She keeps her mouth in a straight, flat line, refusing to budge.

“If you think you two little girls can just leave whenever the hell you want, you’re wrong,” he says, jabbing a fat swollen finger at you both. “You walk outta here right now, you’re fired. I don’t wanna see your damn face in here again, do you understand me?”

You falter, feeling all of the blood drain from your face. No, no, no. You can’t be fired. You need this job. But apparently, Candy doesn’t.

“So be it,” she says resolutely. “Come on, Y/N, let’s go be on live television.”

Before you have a chance to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness from Frank, Candy’s fingers are latching onto your arm and dragging you away.

“Goddamn it! Fired!” Frank yells as you both dash out of the kitchen. “Do you hear me? FIRED! If I EVER see your faces in this restaurant again, I will-”

The rest of what he says is cut off when Candy slams the front door to Chadney’s, never to be opened again. Steve is waiting for you outside, and he perks up when you both approach him. You don’t hear a word of his greeting or Candy’s introduction. So many anxieties and worries are running through your brain. Your whole body feels cold and shaky, and all you can do is focus on remembering to breathe before you have a mental breakdown. The cold air-conditioned breeze shakes you back into consciousness when you walk into the NBC Studios building.

“Alright, so I’ll take you over to costuming and get you all set up, and then we’ll cart you out to the stage,” Steve explains as you dodge people running up and down the hallway with all kinds of props, costumes, and various objects.

“I thought you wanted ‘authentic people,’” you counter as Candy drags you along. You lean out of the way and nearly miss a man carting a huge stuffed moose down the narrow hallway.

“Oh, we do, but we want to make sure that everyone is styled as contemporarily as possible,” Steve says. “No offense to your uniforms.”

You quirk an eyebrow, not the least bit offended. You despise that faded blue dress with the hideous red Chadney’s logo over the left lapel. The creamy white tennis shoes are even more atrocious. Steve leads you both into the costuming room where there are dozens of people everywhere getting dressed in bright yellows, reds, greens, and blues.

“This is Barbara, and she’s gonna help style you today,” Steve says, gesturing to a middle-aged blonde woman with black squared glasses. “For Y/N, we want to put her in something extra stylish because she’s gonna stationed right in front of the camera.”

“Woah, woah, wait!” you say, holding your hands up. “What? No, Steve, I don’t want to be right in front of the camera. I would actually much prefer to get lost in the crowd as much as possible.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re everything we’re looking for as our front girl,” he says, dismissively waving his hand. “I think this one, Barb.”

You’re too busy having your third massive freak out in the last twenty minutes to pay attention to the fabric Steve pulls for you. Barbara shoves you behind a changing stall, pushing a hanger in your face. You reach for Candy only to see her being pulled away to a different stylist.

“Go ahead and get dressed, honey,” Barbara says hurriedly. “Then we’ll figure out what to do with your hair. Oh, before I forget, what shoe size are you?”

You just have enough time to shout your size at her before she’s running off among the chaos around you. You sheepishly duck behind the stall and yank your work uniform off. As quickly as you can, you pull the soft fabric of a dress over your skin. You glance down at the garment. It’s gorgeous. It has a deep red top with fluffy sleeves and little buttons. And the skirt portion is full of rust, orange, yellow, and white floral patterns. Surprisingly, the dress seems to fit very well, perhaps a bit small and tight in some places. By the time you’ve finished admiring it, Barbara is pulling you out to throw a pair of white gogo boots at you. You stuff your sweaty feet into them as Barbara pulls at your hair. It happens so fast that you can’t even comprehend how, but she somehow gets your hair into a beautifully relaxed beehive with a little orange headband that matches one of the colors on the skirt.

“You look great! Now get out there, we’re almost out of time,” she says, pushing you toward the door.

You really wish you could see yourself and at least know what you look like before you go out to be broadcast, apparently front and center, to the American public. But you get swept up by the other audience members rushing toward the stage. You aren’t really sure where you’re going, so you just mosey along with the big group and hope someone knows the right way. Eventually, you find yourself in a rough line, spanning out into the hallway. You can hear someone’s voice, it's familiar but you can’t place it, as he directs people around the tiny red stage in the middle of the room. You peer around the line to get a look at the man with the familiar voice and smile to yourself when you recognize his glasses and shaggy haircut.

Bones Howe, Steve’s business partner. You’d met here and there but would be surprised if he remembers you. You and Steve are cousins, yes, but not blood-related, so the times you see each other are rare. You step up after the older woman in front of you who reeks of cheap perfume.

“Y/N! Hi, nice to see you again. Wow, Steve was right, you look great. Just what we’re looking for,” he says with a big smile.

“Hi Bones,” you chuckle, feeling flattered at the fact that he remembers you.

“Alright so we’re gonna have you placed right here,” he says, pointing and pushing your back gently to guide you. “Now just a quick reminder to act natural but also remember that the camera will be on you the majority of the time. So just don’t pick your nose or do anything you wouldn’t want your mother to see. Thanks again for doing this!”

Before you can ask a question or say ‘you’re welcome,’ he’s gone. You shrug and take your place, once again directly by the stage. Just as you’re settling in, lazily glancing around to see if you can find Candy, someone slides in next to you.

“Hi! I’m Trixie!” a high-pitched voice says and a small hand reaches out beside you. You turn to see a beautiful woman, tall and curvy, with dark black hair and bright brown eyes. She’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, a plaid skirt, and matching knee thighs with heels. All in a vivid color of bright lavender that compliments her skin perfectly. You smile, reaching to shake her hand.

“Y/N,” you respond with a smile. “I love your outfit.”

“Thanks! I picked it out myself,” she says. “So, did you call in on the radio, too?”

“Uh…no, no I sort of…got picked, I guess,” you respond with furrowed eyebrows. Call in on the radio?

“Oh, very fancy! I called in as soon as I heard on the radio. Are you an Elvis fan? I’ve been to three of his concerts, own all his records, and seen all his films,” she says, leaning against the stage with a big smile.

“Yes, big fan!” you say, nodding. “I’ve also seen all his movies. And I’ve only been to one concert but it was…the best night of my life, honestly.”

Minus the riot that broke out after…

“Wow, that’s awesome! Which concert, I wonder if we could have been at the same one?”

“Russwood Park 1956,” you say with a deep breath.

“Wow, that must have been amazing! I remember reading about it in the papers,” Trixie says. “What was it like?”

Just as you’re about to answer, you hear that familiar voice again and glance up to see Bones kneeling down next to you.

“Ladies, if I could actually bother you both to sit up here on the stage, that would be incredible,” Bones says with a wink. “We want to make sure that it looks casual, like Elvis is just a regular guy hanging out with a bunch of kids. Alright, great!”

You look at Trixie and shrug with a nervous smile. You both hop up onto the stage, sitting sideways next to each other. You glance around you to see that a huge crowd has packed in behind you.

“Hi all and welcome to NBC Studios!”

Applause erupts all around you, and you gently clap your hands together.

“We’re so pleased to have all of you, and we’re super excited for the show. Just a few things before we get started to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible.”

He points up toward a flashing red light that says APPLAUSE. Very subtle...

“Now when that sign lights up, what do you do?” Bones asks.

The crowd erupts into applause again, and you shake your head at the sheer absurdity of it all. Bones continues to explain how things are going to work.

“And lastly, ladies and gentleman, this is television not radio, so when that goes on and you clap, let's see it on your faces.”

The crowd claps again, and you glance around to admire the variety of expressions on the faces of the audience members. Some are definitely more cut out for this acting natural thing than others.

“Now Elvis is performing tonight just for you so keep that in mind. Let that inspire you,” Bones says. “And without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, here’s Elvis Presley.

And there he is, indeed. Ironically in black, again, just like the last time you saw him. He takes the stage with a smile, and you drink him in. He looks incredible, tan and fit and happy, probably better than he had when you’d seen him last. But he seems nervous, a feeling which you hadn’t noticed the last time you’d seen him. He shakes himself out and glances around for a moment, nodding, before grabbing his guitar. You feel Trixie latch onto your hand and squeeze excitedly. You shoot her a smile as he begins to sing.

Heartbreak Hotel, one of your favorites. You feel a smile spreading across your face as his hips start to move back and forth with the beat of the song. His voice is incredible, even better than it had been when he was young. Back then, it was smoother, higher pitched. Now, it’s deep, rich, and raspy. A man’s voice. You bring a hand up to cover your mouth as he leans back, holding the microphone stand tightly. His eyes travel backward as a smirk crawls onto his face. And for a quick second, your heart stops and smile drops.

Had he seen you? No, it’s impossible. You’re kidding yourself and hoping for something that won’t happen. Something unbelievable.

So you think, until he tilts his head down and stares right at you. There’s no mistaking it this time. His eyes are trained on you for a few seconds until he removes the guitar and hands it off to a bandmate. He drops to his knees right in front of you and pushes his crotch up into your face. A sense of deja vu hits you like a brick. You suck in a sharp breath and throw a hand onto your face in embarrassment as you catch him wink at you. When he gets up to go back to center stage, you feel your chest release a shaky breath.

Despite everything in your body telling you this isn’t real, here you are again. Somehow almost in the exact same spot you had been during the performance in 1956 in Memphis. Right by the stage, right where you can see him. And he can see you. Your lips part, and you grip hard onto the fabric of the orange dress, feeling the blood once again drain from your face. You’d never thought you’d ever see him again. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d been to see him the first time around at all. It’s 12 years ago now. You were only 16 then, now you were almost 30. Everything had changed that day. Your expectations for life, your standards for men, your understanding of sex. Everything.

You were just a face in the crowd, nothing special. Sure, you’d fought your way up to the front, but you were so small then. It was just easier for you to get there and weave through the crowd. You were just watching him in that black suit as he threw himself around onstage. You’d screamed with the other fans, gripped at the stage, overreacted like the teenage girl you were. There was nothing special about you. You were utterly ordinary. Until he’d knelt down by you, right in front of you, and reached out with his beautiful slender fingers, curled those fingers around your chin…

You absentmindedly reach up to touch the skin on your jaw, remembering the feeling of his strong grasp on the bones underneath the skin.

How it felt to have him touch you. You, out of everyone else in the crowd. He’d leaned so close to you, so close that you could see the beads of sweat on his skin, rolling down his dark black hair. He’d sang right to you. Right in your face as his eyes searched yours and he gripped onto your jaw. You’ll never forget the feeling of emptiness when he’d left your space. When he’d retreated from you. The need, the desire you felt to get him back. To have him next to you again. To have him that close to you. You would never forget that day in Russwood Park. Never.

You smile as you watch him, knowing that you’ll never forget this moment in time either. He moves around similarly to how he used to but with even more confidence now. He doesn’t have the body of a child anymore, but a man’s frame. Tall and thick. Your eyes gravitate toward his ass, and your mouth falls open as you watch it move. The full leather suit he wears hugs him in all the right places, especially there. You bite your lip at the way the fabric moves against him and shines in the light. A few people around you start to sing along, so you join in, clapping to the time. You drop your face into your hands, feeling heat creep into your cheeks as he wiggles around on stage again. You clap with a huge smile on your face as he speaks into the mic.

“It’s been a long time, baby. A long time,” he says.

After he performs, the crew brings a stool up onto the stage and he sits to chat about his career and where he’s at in his life right now.

“But that’s one thing about this tv special that I’m doing,” he’s saying, “They’re gonna let me do what I wanna do. Sing the music that I want. The music that I love. The music that makes me happy.”

You catch him glancing up at something, and your eyes follow his gaze to rest on a beautiful woman sitting in the upper sections. His wife, Priscilla. You recognize her from the magazine covers you’ve seen of them together. You’d been crushed when they’d gotten married. Of course you’re happy for them both and never at all expected that he would fall in love with you or anything like that. You knew it was implausible, but still, you had hope. Hope that was all but crushed when Mrs. Presley became a reality.

You shake off the slight disappointment that you feel trying to settle into your chest and enjoy the rest of the show. Even though Elvis’ back is toward you for the remainder of the taping, you still love hearing him talk about himself and his music. You’re having such a great time that what ends up taking three hours feels like three minutes. And you can forget, for that time, about the fact that you no longer have a stable income. You crane your neck as Elvis walks off the stage, smiling and waving to the crowd. You want to see as much of him as humanly possible. It could be the last time.

You watch as he stops momentarily to talk to a tall man with shaggy blondish hair. You turn to Trixie, who is gushing about the performance but glance back at Elvis out of the corner of your eye to see him gesturing toward your area of the stage. For a moment, your heart skips a beat but you shake yur head. No, he couldn’t possibly have singled you out again. That would make you too lucky. Way too lucky.

After the show, you’re ushered back into the costuming area and stripped of your clothes. You sigh and shrug back on your old uniform with all the ketchup and coffee stains. As soon as the fabric hits your skin, it’s a harsh reminder that you need to find a job. Like yesterday. You emerge from the changing station and gently place the dress on a table with other random pieces of clothing, but not before fishing out a small strip of worn paper. Trixie had written her name, address, and phone number on it. She’d said she’s looking for a roommate and, apparently, really likes you enough to consider you. Maybe it’s time for a move, after all.

“Thanks for your help, Barbara,” you say. She glances up at you with her magnified eyes and smiles warmly. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Mr. Binder, would you? I have something I wanted to ask him about.”

“Upstairs, to the right in the recording studio,” she responds. “If you get lost just ask someone and tell them Barb sent you.”

You thank her again and place the white gogo boots on the floor next to the table. But as you turn to leave, Barbara’s voice stops you.

“Take them,” she says softly, gesturing to the boots and the dress. “They were made for you.”

You normally wouldn’t indulge such an offer, but now that you’re jobless, you figure some free stuff can’t hurt. You smile and reach down to grab the outfit, tucking it under your arm as you wind your way around the crowds and pockets of people. When you get upstairs, you take a moment to glance around at the posters on the wall. Your eyebrows raise as you see one for Star Trek. Very cool. Your eyes swing to the right and you see what looks like, to your untrained eyes, a recording studio. You debate knocking but aren’t sure if it’ll interfere with any of the recording process, so you just quietly step in and press your back to the wall.

“Cue the gospel number now,” Steve says quickly, and you lean away from the door as a lumbering fat man waddles in.

“No,” the fat man mumbles, “None of this will be in the special.”

He gestures toward two businessmen sitting across the doorway. You hadn’t even noticed them when you’d walked in, but they look displeased in their stiff black suits.

“Can you make a note that that should be in the special,” Steve says, and you chuckle to yourself. “Now let’s segue straight into the whorehouse dancers.”

Your mouth drops open and you throw a hand over your mouth. Steve continues to bring more crazy and wild aspects into the special, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing audibly. The way Elvis’ manager frantically looks from screen to screen wracks your body with silent hisses.

Suddenly, the cast and crew start running frantically and screaming. Your laughing stops abruptly and your attention is pulled to a crew member as they dash into the room.

“Robert Kennedy’s been shot!!”

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austinsgirl · 8 months

Text

Rather Die | Chapter 19 | Austin Butler Fanfiction

word count: 2475

warnings: language, baby/pregnancy talk?

cross posted on wattpad

masterlist

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Mila has been staying with Victoria all week while Austin is in New York. They've been baking, watching Christmas movies, wrapping presents, facials, and of course watching their fave reality TV while having a snack fest.

Vic was going to go, but realized if she couldn't fly to Denver for Thanksgiving to be with Ashton, she couldn't fly to NYC to be with Austin.

But, Austin promised her he'll take her and the baby next year for Christmas so she can see the Rockettes.

"Have you even heard from Austin this week?" Mila asked Victoria as they frost cookies together.

"I heard from him once, and that's it. He was just checking in. He's been so busy rehearsing. And probably making out with Juliet in his downtime when he does have it."

Juliet & Austin have yet to make it official, but honestly anytime now Austin could be asking her to be his. They've been very smitten these past few weeks. So much, he invited her out to New York to see him on SNL.

Mila chuckles, "And you say you aren't jealous."

"Because I'm not."

"Girl...."

"I promise you, I am not jealous."

"Alright, if you say so. But if you're not jealous, then what's your deal with her?"

"She's nice but she just doesn't seem right for him."

"How so?"

"I feel like she might be using him for his fame."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she's an aspiring writer or some shit."

"Oh...hm." Mila gives a short response, not really knowing what to say. "Maybe."

After they finish frosting cookies, they put them into Tupperware containers to keep them fresh, then go into the living room to watch Austin on SNL.

"I have my sister Ashley here with me tonight! Ashley, I love you! And I also have a very special someone here, Juliet, my girlfriend! Love you, baby!" Austin said during his opening monologue.

Victoria's mouth dropped open, with wide eyes. So did Mila's.

"Umm...did he tell you they made it official?" Mila asks.

"No? What the hell? When did this happen? Why didn't he tell me?"

"No idea."

They continued watching the episode & although Victoria was upset with him, she couldn't help but to laugh at his skits. Especially when he's playing an old Jewish grandma.

"Oh my god. Goddamn it, Austin. I just laughed so hard I legit peed myself. The struggles of being pregnant." Victoria says, getting up from the couch to go change her underwear and bottoms.

"That's gotta be fun." Mila says sarcastically.

"Yep, so much fun."

They finish the episode & Vic gives it a bit before calling Austin.

"Hey! How'd you like the show?!" Austin says loudly into the phone, with music in background.

"It was uh, great! But um,-

Austin cuts her off, "Hold on! Let me go outside, I'm at the after party and it's loud! Julie, I'll be right back, it's Vic!"

Vic hears Juliet reply, "Okay!"

"Hey, sorry. I'm outside now. What we're you saying?"

"I was saying it was great!" Vic says, but now she's getting a bit of an attitude with him. "But why didn't you tell me you made it official with Juliet?"

"Did I not?"

"No? Not that I can recall."

"Why are you getting an attitude with me? I'm sorry if I didn't tell you."

"Austin, we're having a baby together. I think I should know what's going on in my parenting partners life."

"I know we're having a baby together, and I have been telling you everything but I forgot this one thing. I'm sorry, okay? It's been a really hectic week, it slipped my mind. I'm sorry."

"How long ago did you ask her?"

"I asked her on Tuesday."

"The day we spoke."

"I guess? Was that when we talked?"

"Yes."

"Well, I asked her that night. We spoke that afternoon."

"But you still didn't even think to tell me."

"Listen Vic, rehearsals were insane, and then I was so caught up in moments with her that I forgot. I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

"Yeah, it's whatever, I guess."

"Vic..."

"What?"

"You know it's not just 'whatever'"

"It's fine. I accept your apology." she rolls her eyes.

"Thank you. How are you doing though? Are you alright? Is the baby alright?"

"Yep, we're both peachy keene. Um, by the way, you made me legit piss myself."

Austin laughs, "Wait, really?"

"Yes." she giggles. "Lois was funny as hell, Aus. I didn't know you could play an old Jewish lady."

He laughs some more, "Yeah, I didn't know either. This show really got me to come out of my shell. You know how shy I can be sometimes."

"I know."

"I should get back inside before Juliet starts to worry & look for me."

"Yeah, no problem. You fly home tomorrow?"

"Yes, we're getting on a red eye tomorrow after the Rockettes."

"Oh, you're still going to that?"

"Yeeaahh, Julie wanted to go."

"Oh. Julie wanted to go."

"She did. Don't worry, I'll bring you back something. I promise. And I'll take you next year."

"I'm holding you to it, Butler."

"I know you will, Williams."

"So sometime tomorrow night you'll be back then?"

"Yeah, we get in around 2:45 am, so technically Monday morning."

"Alright, sounds good. I will see you then."

"Alright. I'll keep you updated."

"Okay. I'll talk to soon."

"Bye, love you....as a friend."

"...love you too. Bye."

Victoria hangs up the phone with a puzzled look.

"Did he say he loves you?" Mila asks.

"Yeah, but he clarified it 'as a friend'."

"You think he may mean it romantically still?"

"God, I hope not. I mean, this man, who usually keeps his relationships private, announced his current relationship on live TV and said he loves her."

"That's true. I mean, I'm sure he still loves you in some way and will always love you. You are carrying his baby right now."

"Yeah, you're not wrong."

It's the next night, currently 3:45 am Monday morning.

Victoria hears commotion going on in the kitchen, & she gets startled.

She grabs her small baseball bat that she keeps by her bed. Her dad gave it to her to keep with her close just in case an intruder were to ever come in.

Vic slowly walks out into the hallway; she continues to hear noise.

"Austin? Is that you?" she calls out.

"Yeah, it's me!" he calls out.

"Oh, thank god." she drops her stance with the bat and goes into the kitchen, with a hand over her beating chest.

"I'm sorry we woke you & scared you."

"It's fine. I thought you would have been back already."

"Did you not see my text? I texted you saying our flight was delayed by an hour."

"Oh. No, I didn't get anything from you."

"Must have not gone through, the airport didn't have the greatest service or Wi-Fi."

"Yeah, must've."

"Is Mila still here?"

"Yeah, she's still set up on the air mattress in the baby's room. She's a heavy sleeper."

"Gotcha. Well, Julie and I are going to head off to bed. You should get back to bed too."

"Yeah, I should. Good night."

"Night."

Victoria takes herself back to bed & lays there, letting her thoughts run.

"Julie and I are going to head off to bed." she thinks to herself in a mocking tone.

"Julie. Since when has Julie been a nickname for Juliet? Has it always? I don't know but it makes me cringe. Also, we're they making out as soon as they got in here? I swear Austin's lips looked more pink than usual and kind of swollen. Those perfect, plump, pink lips of his. Fuck, stop. No. We're not going there. I have Ashton. He needs to get his ass over here more often if I have to essentially third wheel around here now. Fuck. Now that they're official, I'll see her here all the time. Great. Just great. Ugh. I really hope he knows what he's doing. She better not be in it for his money and fame. I'll slap a bitch if that's the case."

After Vic finished ranting to herself, she drifted back off to sleep.

In the morning, she wakes up and goes out to the kitchen to grab her protein shake & some breakfast.

She notices Austin & Juliet snuggled up on the couch, kissing each other here & there.

"Morning." she says to them.

"Morning, sleepy head." Austin says. "I'm surprised you weren't up before us."

"Yeah, I had a rough night. Baby girl was very active last night & kept me up."

"I'm sorry she was being a little monster." Austin jokes a little.

"It's fine. Maybe I'll try and nap later. What are your guy's plans for today?"

"We're going to go try and finish our Christmas shopping while Juliet has a day off. What about you?"

"Um, I don't know. I'll have to see what Ash is up to."

"Alright. Well, you're more than welcome to join us, if you two want to tag along. Maybe make it a double date kind of thing."

"Uh, yeah! That'd be fun! Let me text him."

"Double date? God. Sounds horrific, but I'll play along just because I know I have to for the sake of being civil with Austin." Vic thinks to herself as she pulls her phone out. "At least I'll have Ashton with me & maybe this way I can really see how Juliet is with Austin."

Victoria texts Ashton, and he's down to go shopping.

"Ash is down. What time are we going?" she asks.

"Around noon. Is that good?"

"Yeah, that should be fine. I'll let him know."

Mila comes out into the kitchen, "Morning, guys." she yawns. "Welcome back, Austin."

"Thanks, Mila." he smiles. "Have you met Juliet?"

"I haven't. Hi, I'm Mila. Vic's best friend, cast mate, and former roommate." Mila says to Juliet.

"Hi! Nice to meet you." Juliet smiles. She turns to Austin, "Hey Aus, I'm gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

"Alright, I'll be here." Austin smiles, giving her a quick kiss.

Victoria purses her lips in annoyed way and raises her eyebrows.

Mila asks quietly, "What's wrong?"

"She called him Aus."

"So?"

"That's my name for him. I came up with it. I'm the only one who calls him that." Vic whispers.

Mila crosses her arms, "Jealousy, jealousy."

"Will you stop saying that??"

"No, not until you admit it."

"There's nothing to admit."

"Okay, if you say so."

Austin says from the living room, "Mila, we're all going last minute shopping if you want to join."

"I can't unfortunately. I gotta get home and pack & drive down to San Diego to be with family for a couple days before my moms go to visit my brother across seas in Italy. But, thanks for the invite!"

"Yeah, no problem! I didn't know you were from San Diego."

"Yeah, my brother and I were adopted & we have two moms down there. My brother is currently doing some work in Italy. I would go too, but it's just so expensive right now. But, I'll be with you guys for Christmas! You will both have to come visit with me sometime. They always take my friends in as their own."

"I'd love to." Vic smiles.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Get out of the city for a couple days." Austin says.

"I'll have to let you know next time I go."

"For sure." Vic says.

Juliet comes back from the bathroom and sits back down with Austin.

"You okay, babe? You were in there for a bit." he asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got my period is all, so, you know."

"Gotcha."

"Vic, what's it like not having a period? Is being pregnant better?" Juliet asks her.

"Um, mostly it is. For me, at least. I always have the worst cramps, so I'll take baby girl practicing her high kicks in the womb any day. But, I've heard it's different for everyone. Some pregnancies can be more painful than periods."

"Good to know for the future." she smiles at Austin. He shyly smiles back.

Vic thinks to herself, "She's not already planning their future together now, is she?"

Mila says her goodbyes to everyone before heading off.

Eventually, Ashton meets everyone at the house & they all go out for lunch at a local diner first before shopping.

"I can't believe I'm hanging out with THE Ashton from The Driver Era." Juliet gushes. "I love your band; I've seen you play live a few times before."

"Aw, thank you!" Ashton replies.

"Yeah, he's great, isn't he?" Vic looks at Ashton all lovingly.

"He really is." Juliet smiles.

"Hey, don't go crushing on someone else, baby girl." Austin says to Juliet.

"I'm not, I'm not." Juliet laughs.

Hearing Austin say, 'baby girl', made Vic feel things she doesn't & shouldn't be feeling.

She distracts herself by rubbing her hand on Ashton's thigh under the table. Ash shoots her a sly smirk, and whispers into her ear, "You trying to get frisky right now?"

"Maybe." she giggles.

"Don't worry, you'll get me later." he winks.

"Oh, will I now?"

"Mhm."

"Get a room, you two." Austin jokes.

"Hey, I could have said the same thing about you guys this morning." Victoria jokes back.

"What? Weren't doing anything."

"I saw you guys being all flirty and making out."

"We weren't making out."

"If you say so."

Juliet chimes in, "Are you two always like this? Just bantering all the time?"

"Haha, yeah. We used to not get along very well after some things happened on set, and that banter has stuck through our friendship."

"I see. Was it because of...?"

"Yeaaahh." Vic replies. "Now that she's out of all of our lives, we all have moved passed everything and can be friends."

"That's great to hear." Juliet smiles.

Throughout lunch, whenever Austin & Juliet did something cute & romantic, Victoria felt the need to one up them and do something romantic with Ashton.

As they were heading out to the car, Austin let Ashton & Juliet get ahead, and he pulled Vic back a bit.

"Hey, are you like, jealous of me & Julie?" Austin asks Vic.

"No? Why would you ask that?"

"I feel like you kept trying to one up us."

"No, I wasn't. You can think that though if you want. Are you sure you're still not jealous of Ash & I?"

"I'm positive."

"Then alright, case closed. No jealousy detected."

"Whatever you say, Williams."

"Shut up, Butler. I am not jealous. End of discussion."

"Fuck." Vic thinks to herself. "Maybe I am jealous. And if I am, I need to stop myself."

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#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler one shot #austin butler smut #austin imagine #austin butler rather die #rather die #elvis presley #elvis

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flowering-thought · 1 year

Text

I had a random thought and then found the perfect picrew so I figured why not >:)

Not edited

WARNING - MINORS DNI

AFAB reader and reader is described as feminine and chubby/plus sized.

Yandere themes, gore, descriptions of gore, invasion of privacy

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Mila Allen

First Meeting + Headcannons

Rumors upon rumors about the most recent string of killings in your city kept circulating at your office. Honestly, you were getting tired of hearing it and how the details always managed to get leaked.

There's been a serial killer killing one person around once a month for 8 months now. Stringing up their victims and making them act out a play dressed up as a clown. And the reason you knew all these details was thanks to the desk next to yours and the person that sat in it-

As much as you wished the man would stop looking up things about it he just didn't stop. He was one of those serial killer fanatics that kept thinking that their minds were so fantastical! You understood the appeal of documentaries since you quite liked those types of shows, finding that the mind of someone who kills is more interesting. But you didn't get a hard-on at an idea and trying to debate on whether Ted Bundy VS Jack the Ripper would be interesting to watch...

But your desk neighbor Harris just kept getting his socks off about the details. How the killer put screws in their bones and strung them up like a sick puppet show and then made sure they were dressed up in a clown outfit which if you saw the outfit on a clown you probably would have thought was cute! But it's not so cute when the clown has been positioned and then has their organs cut out in some sort of sick artistic way..

And he hasn't stopped since it started. 8 months of listening to each and new details were driving you insane! You wondered if you should buy some noise-canceling headphones since he's clearly not going to stop.

And as you continued to listen to his little rant about how he thinks that the police should confirm whether the killer is a man or woman when a bit of red hair and hands touched both your shoulders.

"Ooo! Are you guys talking about the recent killings? I didn't know you guys were interested!" said a soft voice. You turned your head to see the head of tech security looking down at you.

You could hardly remember her name since you worked in sales and tech specialists usually were always checking to make sure all the programs sold had no loopholes or backdoors. And the head of tech security was basically the head hacker who made sure to do the last check.

You've only seen her maybe once or twice talking to your boss when you were on a break. But this was your first time talking to her. She seemed kind but there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes that slightly scared you.

Harris went on to spill the beans like a weird stalker and went on to say that "The killer has got to be doing this for fun right? To make fun of someone or something right?". At that, you had heard enough and let out a sigh.

"Harris honestly you've gotta stop. Some minds are like that but I don't think this is the case. They treat the people carefully as they do it and it's clearly a ritual of sorts. Something probably happened to make them do this so don't start making out killers to be some sort of special being." You blurted out, noticing both of them staring at you before you started to fiddle with your fingers and look away.

"They are human you know? As much as it would be easier to put them in some sort of other classification, the truth is they are human like you and me, and if we wanted to be capable of that we could be with the right motivation. Just because some like psychopaths or sociopaths do it cause of no reason or have a lack of empathy doesn't mean all do." You continued, looking back up at them, "Honestly? I think the story that this person is trying to tell is sadder than we think. We just don't have the right angle to view it correctly..".

And before Harris could get a word out the redhead held out her hand and smiled, "I'm Mila, wanna be friends?" she asked. Her eyes held something you couldn't figure out as you shook her hand and nodded. What did you have to lose?

Unknown to you, you unlocked something in the poor killer across from you. Did you really think that you didn't have a killer in your building? But Mila doesn't want to kill you! She wants to grow closer! She's seen all the gossip about her kills but this is the first time she's heard someone be sympathetic.

No one has tried to see it from her angle! And your foolish desk neighbor was the exact type of person she hated. But right now he didn't fit her ideal victim so she brushed him off.

But you? She needs to know more-

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Regular Headcannons

• Mila is about 26 and was born on April 11th which makes her an Aries!

• Mila has no family as she's an orphan. And if she does have any family show up? Well, she'd cut them off then and there.

• She's an outgoing person and can be quite an oddball at times. She's one of those people you never quite know what's going on behind their smile and say odd things sometimes.

• She doesn't have a lot of normal hobbies but she has fun occasionally crafting dolls. She makes doll parts and cute little clothes for them and even furniture! Occasionally she'll splurge on a rare doll found on the market, usually on original blythe dolls if she can find them.

• She actually isn't really on the sociopath or psychopath scale. She has emotions and understands them really well. As for why she started her spree? Let's keep that a secret for now hm?

• Mila loves cold weather! She finds the snowy and rainy months the best! If she could, she would definitely run away to a country where it snowed all the time! With you too of course ♡

• She also can bake! She enjoys sweet things and isn't too fond of bitter things like coffee. She can't cook too well though-

• She can and will drink energy drinks till she's bouncing off the walls. Since she hates coffee, energy drinks are how she makes it through long shifts at work.

• After Mila initially met you and practically forced you into a friendship she anticipated you growing to dislike her. Let's just say she was surprised when you complimented her hobbies and how cool it was when her hands moved fast across the keyboard.

• You honestly really were kind. After she had met you at a bakery before work a couple of times and you two talked more about random things she came to understand you were just an empathetic and kind person.

• When she asked you about the serial killer topic you did explain that Harris had been going on about it for so long that you were just tired of a killer being continuously theorized about when the killings seemed sad rather than not.

• She understood it. Most serial killers wanted to be seen as gods or artists or from a higher standpoint. They usually had a reason for what they did but occasionally they did it purely because of that rush it gave them.

• She liked the way you thought. You admitted that there were things you hated but you also understood that people are people. Even if some are bad and some aren't, they all will be held to judgment eventually.

• But you? She realized she didn't want you to ever be tainted by blood and power. It would be better if you didn't huh?

• She liked how you could see the world better than she could. You weren't oblivious to the nature of the world but you understood it and hoped for the best.

• So can't you stay that way for her? Just fall for her with your simple view of love and stay oblivious to her darker nature hm? As long as you do she won't have to take any drastic measures to keep you by her side.

Yandere Tendencies Headcannons

• When Mila does end up falling for you due to your personality, she ends up having a slightly twisted mindset when it comes to you.

• She stalks you and hacks into your accounts to see your every move. She likes to see what you enjoy looking at, your favorite movies, and the things you have on a wish list for future gift ideas. She likes thinking that she knows you better than anyone else ♡

• She may actually hack into your medical records and any actual records that exist whether it was a time you shoplifted or records of an incident involving you.

• She doesn't like thinking that anyone knows you better. She's honestly a jealous type-

• The people she kills are people on a list. She maintains and adds to that list depending on the information she gathers on those people. But if someone has wronged you in any way? They may or may not make themselves get onto that list.

• And if she doesn't decide to kill someone for you, she'll hack their accounts and ruin their life in any way she deems fit. While she does have a moral code and things she deems right or wrong, anyone who wrongs you in any way is automatically wrong in her eyes.

• You could do no wrong to her. Except if you don't reciprocate her feelings. Then she'll go into a slight delusion that there's no way you're saying this and that someone must be interfering-

• While outwardly she's perfectly stable, her mind just goes a little too delusional when it comes to you. A part of her knows what she's doing wouldn't make you happy but she can't help herself ♡

• You're the only person whose ideals aren't completely opposite from hers. You make her hope that one day she could stop killing. You make her have nice dreams instead of her usual nightmares.

• On the first night she met you she didn't have a nightmare. She instead just slept peacefully. And when she started to enjoy your presence as the days and weeks went by she found herself having nice dreams.

• Mila can't live without you now! The feelings you give her are too warm to let go of. She had maybe felt love and adoration for a few people in her life before but it wasn't like this.

• This made her want you completely. This made her feel warm whenever she thought of you and like she could finally be free from the guilt she carries. You're like a drug that releases all the stress and guilt she carries.

You made her fall head over heels to the point she'd alter her own moral code. You should take responsibility for it by loving her just as much as she's fallen for you ♡

#.mila_allen_♡#soft yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #chubby reader #yandere hcs #yandere headcanons #yandere female #yandere female x reader

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fivesosmasterlist · 2 years

Text

Meet the Billets (l.r.h) -Part 2

Here’s Part 1

"Hi how are you?" I finally spit out. "Is there anything I can help you with today?" I said in my customer service voice.

Listen, I'm not bad at talking to boys. He just caught me off guard is all. He was really attractive and not typically the demographic I see walking in here. Usually they're 8 year olds looking for Pokemon Cards or Beanie Babies who pay in full with jars of coins. I was taken aback, sue me.

"Hey actually yes there is. I'm looking for a small gift for like a 7, maybe 8 year old boy. I don't know him but I'm just looking for something small." He smiled as he pressed his hands on the counter.

My eyes finally met his properly as I racked my brain for ideas. I thought for a second before speaking. "Well I have a few things in mind follow me," I said moving out from behind the counter. He followed behind as I led him to an aisle with board games. He stood beside me as he towered over my frame. I was just barely 5'3 and this kid's gotta have at least a foot over me if not more.

"A safe option's always a board game, and since you don't know him very well I feel like that could be a good way to go. Something gender neutral, yanno?"

"Aren't board games kinda lame?" The boy asked with a chuckle. I dramatically threw my hand to my chest with a gasp. He let out a soft laugh as spoke,

"I take it you like board games?"

"I do. I play them with my family all the time! I actually have a brother who's 7 and it's just something we like to do in our down time. Here, we just got this one in shipment it's new." I said showing him the box.

He examined it for a second. "Monopoly? That's not new" he teased with another bright smile, still reading the back of the box.

"A new monopoly," I corrected. "We got it in shipment today actually, so I have yet to try it but it's a speedier version of it so you're not sitting there for hours before everyone collectively decides to give up." I said letting out a small laugh. The boy followed in suit as he bit his lip, thinking for a second.

"I can also show you some other options if you'd like, this was just an idea-" I spoke before he cut me off.

"No need, you sold me." He smiled as I nodded, leading him to the register.

My grandma walked out of the backroom noticing the sale. "You have to come back and let me know if you like it," she said now standing next to me. "We just got it in shipment today!"

"So I've heard," The boy smiled as his eyes flickered to me. "You have a wonderful saleswoman by the way." He added with a small smile. I could feel my cheeks heat up a bit as I printed his receipt.

"Well she learned from the best," my grandma joked as I playfully slapped her on the arm. I shook my head and handed him the bag, our hands brushing for a split second.

"I don't doubt it." He said looping the bag around his wrist. He was smooth. "By the way, do you know where I can get a bottle of wine and some flowers around here?" He asked putting both hands in his pockets.

"Ooh who's the lucky lady? Or man? I don't judge-" My grandma got excited but I cut her off pinching my temples, "Grandma. Stop." I could feel myself blushing again.

Luckily the boy just laughed and shook his head, "Neither, actually. Just a housewarming gift ma'am." He explained with a smile, clearly amused. I rubbed my eyes wishing this moment can end.

"Sorry. I just love love," she sighed happily. "Anywho there's a supermarket two blocks down from here. Just head out the door to the right and keep walking straight until you see it, you can't miss it." She instructed. "I'm Mable by the way. Ma'am makes me feel old. And this is Mila." She smiled and put her hand on my shoulder, gesturing to me. All I did was smile, not really knowing what to say and definitely not understanding how this ended up being my morning.

"Nice to meet you both, I'm Luke. And thanks for the directions, I better get going." He smiled one last time before headed to the door.

"Have a good one dear, no problem!" My grandma waived before headed to the back room.

"And thanks for all your help, Mila," Luke winked before heading out.

"Anytime," I nodded. The door shut. I stood there for a second wondering what the hell just happened. Did he wink at me? There's no way. Why is my grandma the way she is? The world may never know. I sat back down and opened my laptop as I found myself alone again. 6 more hours to go.

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Part 2! Also up on my wattpad: lrhemmings111

#luke hemmings #luke hemming imagines #luke 5sos #michael clifford #michael 5sos #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #calum hood #calum 5sos #5sos imagine #imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine #wattpad #fanfic #5sos masterlist #masterlist

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irritablepoe · 8 months

Note

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

ivy ⇢ what are your ‘tells’ for your emotions and moods? how can someone tell you’re happy, annoyed, upset or tired?

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

PS: I'm still working on answering my asks asgdhsjsjs, already have the outline done at least? and a couple of them done (...like the quotes part which is um yeah, you'll know when u see it asgshsjdj). Oh!!!! Forgot to tell you but finished reading the first book of Jackaby last week!!! So I actually recognized the quote you mentioned in ur last ask (ᗒᗜᗕ) (also recognized the one from six of crows that i somehow still remember when i read it in like january but omg yes 😭) (i dont remember if i ever mentioned that i finished c&p a while ago but yeah also got that one 🌟) (the only one i actually need to go and read is the kafka letter 😆)

hiii mila!!! :D thank you so much for the ask!

dw, take all the time you need for answering :3 and omg!!! wait you actually read it, that's so cool😭😭😭 did you like it? who's your fav character? :D jeyyyy c&p too? you gotta tell me about how you liked both books omg!!! :333 and good luck with kafka's letter (as in i hope you don't cry lmao :'))

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

my room is probably very cozy. like i have a big bed and there are many pillows and blankets on it. i also have a lot of art (of others and me) + book pages on my wall. there are three shelves full of books and a record player + vinyls + some old magazines. so it's probably a very typical room for someone in fandoms lmao. also people are always confused about this but i don't have a mirror in my room. it freaks me out a little bit xD

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

i would really like to move to heidelberg bc i love the city deeply. i also would really like to travel outside europe (but also in europe hehe). as for more mundane things i would like someone irl to actually hear me out on stuff they may not understand bc they're not in fandoms or don't care about the things i care about. but it would be nice to talk about this stuff and not be interrupted or sth yk. that's also probably the least likly to happen lol. ut i still hope :3

ivy ⇢ what are your ‘tells’ for your emotions and moods? how can someone tell you’re happy, annoyed, upset or tired?

so when i'm happy i get really giggly and childish and i laugh a lot (especially about my own jokes (i'm so funny, trust me)) and tend to get very loud with my emotions (though only when i'm around people i like, otherwise i just smile a lot). on the other hand when i'm annoyed i'm usually really overstimulated and i will not respond to external stimuli of any kind. you tell me sth? i probably didn't hear. i tend to just go very still and quiet. it's probably the same when i'm sleepy, though there are also times when i get giggly too. when i'm upset there are two options: either i will cry or i will defeat you with pure and cold logic. there's no inbetween. in a normal state i'll crack a lot of jokes that are often overlooked bc i always tell them quite dryly. i also will complain a lot when i'm in a normal state (not about anything important, it's just fun). when i'm really in pain though i will go quiet and probably snap at whoever talks to me.

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

i would say it depends on the quality and themes of the medium (i tend to like sad/angry themes) but normally i show the most reaction when i listen to good music or read a good novel. though when i was in paris and looked at the statues in musee d'orsay i was also very intrigued. as for music, there's often lyrcis that are really relatable but they're combined with instruments that give them more... power? ig??? and for the novel, i really like connecting to characters, like who do i see myself in/who do i like the most/find the most interesting etc? and then i experience the story out of the characters eyes, therefore also experiencing loss and tragedy and stuff? yeah, but idk about the statues though. i especially liked the ones that displayed pain, probably bc i feel empathy towards them?

thank you again, mila, that was really fun to answer! :D

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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

you’re just a bottomless pit

part one of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - explicit language, allusions to violence, discussions of mild harassment, mentions of being royalty, kissing, choking, light non-descriptive smut, slight elements of dubcon, boba’s a big dick gotta be what you have amirite

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this is empire strikes back boba when he was just fucking around and finding out so i took a lot of liberties with canon don’t @ me. i offer u this picture as a helpful visual aid. merry christmas xx

༓ series masterlist ༓

Darth Vader was to be a house guest, and you promptly dunked your head underneath your bathwater.

The perfumed pool burbled for a few seconds while you groaned, listless and in the throes of dramatics, but your attendant only clucked in sympathy. Mila was long accustomed to your disdain for the Imperials who had come to occupy more and more of the palace. So, it seemed, was everyone except the Imperials.

After a long moment you emerged from below the water, droplets of it clinging to your face and trailing into your mouth. “Another Lord?” you asked incredulously, groaning even louder when the servant nodded.

You swam the two short strokes it took to go from one end of the small pool to the other, then floated bare on your back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Is he the one with all the strange…” motioning towards your mouth, you made a vague gesture. “Apparatus?”

“I believe so, your Highness.”

Humming noncommittally, you let your gaze trail off for a moment and stood rightside up again before returning to the bath’s edge. Its intricate tiles were cluttered with bottles, little glass tinctures and oils and soaps that all wrapped themselves around the room in a heady, heavy incense. You inhaled deeply and sighed. Lord Vader with the strange apparatus.

You couldn’t remember a time before your father, the sovereign ruler of Quas Killam, was a puppet for the permanently stationed General and a yes-man for Emperor Palpatine. Then again, you supposed it wasn’t really his fault his planet just happened to be Mid-Rim and full of exactly what the Empire needed. Being a yes-man was probably the only thing keeping his planet intact during the civil war that was supposedly raging right now.

But it was hard to feel sympathy for a man who dressed you up like a paper doll and never let your mother talk.

A soapy sponge was brought up against your back, smelling of lavender. Closing your eyes, you let Mila’s motherly hands scrub at your shoulders and arms until the skin tingled in a pleasant burn.

You picked at the tile grouts with a polished fingernail, head swimming with rows and rows of grey uniforms and white shelled armor. “Wonder why they’re here this time,” you said, speaking softly to no one in particular.

“Princess, if I may...” the older woman began.

“You may.”

“I believe they’re building another weapons factory to supply the Empire, in the north fields. Lord Vader was invited to oversee its induction.”

You kicked your legs lazily in the water, half-asleep and lulled into slowness by the refresher’s warm steam. “And I suppose he’s bringing along an entourage?” you asked, already knowing the answer. They always did, those Imperial sorts. It was just a question of how many and for how long they decided to stay, having taken any real power from your family royalty years ago after they’d discovered the trinium mines your planet was known for.

Your title had rotted of its relevance, made even lesser by the fact that you were the youngest daughter of seven. Your infant brother was being groomed for ventriloquism and you, you were being groomed for obsoletion.

Mila’s hands, roughened by years of laundry and lye soap, rubbed warm oils into your skin. “There was talk of a bounty hunter, your Highness.”

Your eyes shot open.

A bounty hunter?

⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You saw him a few weeks later, in the flurry of transport arrivals and mindless, droning ceremony. It was only a flash of his helmet, but it was enough to keep your imagination spinning for days.

Whispers from entreating servants and talk from stormtroopers that couldn’t keep their mouths shut had informed you of his reputation, his station, and his name. Boba Fett.

A particularly loose-lipped security droid regaled you with rumors of his being hired by Lord Vader, hunting a man named Han out in the Outer Rim. Quas Killam was on their way, apparently, good for information and heavy on the underworld dealings you’d always been shielded from. Truthfully, you didn’t much care. You knew no one got close to the Empire without blood on their hands. Whether they be kings or bounty hunters.

When you actually talked to the man, having been caught trying to eavesdrop on the chamber meeting he happened to be exiting the moment you leaned your ear against the door, any delusions of decorum were shattered the moment he opened his mouth. “Out of the way.”

You bristled, gathering up your skirts in a huff as you stepped away. Rude.

He was taller than you thought he’d be. Taller and broader than he looked before back on the cargo bay, a mere smudge in your peripheral vision. Now that he was alone save for you in the cavernous hallway, his words echoed on the marble tile. So much for espionage.

“My father’s in that meeting,” you replied shortly, putting on airs and doing your best to look like your mother, regal and cold.

Boba only stood there, thumbing the notches of his blaster until he caught the thin sparkle of the diadem crowning your head. A scoff, dismissive. “Then out of the way, princess.”

It wasn’t the title that bothered you. After all, it’s not like he was wrong. It was the way he said it. It was… it was patronizing! Condescending. Absolute inappropriate to a person of your station.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, more than a little attractive.

You shifted your weight onto one hip, scowling. “Don’t call me that.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, static-y and made even rougher by his helmet. “What? Princess.”

Stars, you heard that word a million times a day for a million different reasons. His saying it shouldn’t have felt so warm in your mouth.

Before you could volley back a reply, something equally biting and smarmy, the double doors he stood in front of began to groan open again.

“Better scram, little one.” Boba jerked his head towards the sound of your father’s advancing footsteps. “Daddy’s coming.”

⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You often dreamed about what it’d be like to leave. Your title. Your station. All the bloody bores that came along with it.

But you had never even been outside the palace grounds. Probably never would, unless your father found someone willing to marry a low-ranking princess and hoisted you over their shoulder, a piece for a game you were never taught and never allowed to play. You’d already resigned yourself to that fact and half-way convinced yourself you were okay with it. But prisons were still prisons. Even if they were made of silk.

On the eve of Lord Vader's departure, everyone in the palace was preoccupied. Your father was most likely schmoozing some Imperial officer. Your mother, in bed with yet another headache. Your governess spent the day preening over your younger brother and your handmaiden was nowhere to be seen. You had a sneaking suspicion she was with one of the guards in a dark hallway.

So you slipped out behind a servant’s entrance and looked for a place to breathe.

Hardly anyone knew about this part of the palace gardens. It was sequestered behind so many winding footpaths and barely-oiled gates that the security droids never bothered patrolling past the main entrance, making it simple to duck underneath the overgrown hedges. The air was quiet; heavy-scented with all the flowers that had been planted and forgotten, left to grow wild across the footpaths and be crushed underneath your feet.

You used to come here quite often, when you were younger and it was easier to slip away. There were long spaces in your memory made of cotton, with hazy sun-soaked afternoons and the fountain that somehow still spouted out streams of cold water from the hands of a statue, some relic of an ancient ruler who had long since died. It was only a small courtyard, made smaller by the thick surrounding hedges and large chunks of cobblestone, but it felt like a whole galaxy to you.

A few minutes passed, then an hour. Two hours. A long, slow, summer stretch of day that just confirmed the fact of your irrelevance. It was filled in only by the mindless reading of your holopad and a few short naps. But better out here alone than stuck back inside, surrounded by those insufferable stormtroopers.

Maybe you spoke too soon, because a few seconds later you were toe-to-toe with Boba Fett, your back pressed to the garden wall. Stars, you didn’t even hear him walk in.

You’d think by now you would have learned to be more careful. Listening and being listened in on.

The helmet tilted up and then down, examining your sour expression. Rolling your eyes, you slumped against the ivy-covered brick, still smarting from your encounter with him a few days prior. “Why are you here?” A haughty, affected wave of your hand. “Were you sent here to fetch me?”

The man straightened out, stepping back from you with a broadening of his already broad shoulders. Chips in his armor reflected tiny bits of sunlight, little silver speckles on green armor that looked even greener surrounded by wild flora. He hunted people for a living, so the fact that you were made quick work of didn’t really bother you. Still, it was a bit disappointing. Having to go back to the palace was the last thing you wanted.

“The king was concerned for your safety.”

Oh for Maker’s sake. “You mean he was concerned for his reputation.”

“I was told to find you-”

“-and bring me back so I could sit in a parlor and be supervised like a child.”

“Princess,” he sighed.

There was that word again.

A heavy swallow bobbed the lump in your throat, your chest flushed and littering the space between your bodies in a low buzz. You narrowed your eyes, not trusting your own head for something more articulate, and spit the question out. “What?”

He motioned towards the footpath, one hand resting on his belt. “Let’s go.”

You only crossed your arms with a raise of an eyebrow, mind floating an acknowledgement that you were very much acting like a child who needed to be supervised.

“I don’t make a habit of tracking down spoiled royalty.”

No one had ever called you spoiled before.

It was sort of refreshing.

The man cut an imposing figure, you’d give him that. With the helmet and blaster and… armor and such. You weren’t even entirely sure you remembered to put on real shoes before coming out here, still slippered and in stocking feet. What a pair you must’ve made. Incongruous.

You cocked your head and leant against the wall with the fabric of your dress swishing out around your ankles. Caught by warm, humid winds, its layers separated themselves into thin sails before falling down together again. Rhetorical questions were blooming alongside flowers. “Are spoiled royalty below your paygrade, then?”

A tip of his helmet said yes, yes they are.

You supposed as such, with the sort of reputation he had. Skilled bounty hunter. Feared mercenary. Expensive and coveted.

A lap dog.

Maybe there was more in common between you than you thought.

Another breeze whistled past, but the man in front of you was silent. “Well,” you finally spoke, brushing away the imaginary dirt on your dress. “I don’t make a habit of following around strange men, so we’re in a bit of a bind.”

There was an edge in his voice when you moved to walk away, a gloved grip snaking up and resting a deadweight on the back of your neck. You pushed up against him. Lothcat and mouse. You were both, but he was too. “I’m not telling you again, Princess.”

If he called you that again you were sure something would happen. What that something was you had no idea, but the epithet, mocking as it was, felt too good soaking in your sternum for it not to be a catalyst.

A breathy smirk left your lips when your hips canted downward and the gauzed fabric of your dress caught on his cuisse plate. “If I didn’t know any better,” you whispered, reaching to flatten your palms across his chest, “I’d say you almost enjoyed chasing me.”

The hand on your nape tightened and his leather fingerprints dug unspoken threats into your skin that simmered, burning up and down your spine. You faked a pout. “Shame you already caught me, isn’t it?”

The grip surrounding you loosened just slightly, letting your back slide down the garden wall whose ivy-covered stone dragged at your bodice back. A small voice chirped up in the back of your head, chiding you for dirtying the delicate fabric before you willed it away, done with listening.

Boba almost growled. “Don’t push your luck.”

“My, my,” you clucked, shaking your head. Your fingers trailed towards the edges of his helmet and traced stripes where his brow bone would be. They were gold. For vengeance. “Aren’t we feeling insolent today?”

The man underneath the beskar scoffed, the palm that was at the back of your neck now wrapping itself around your outstretched wrist and pulling your hand away. You let out a quiet whine of protest, both at the loss of contact and just to see what it might do to him to hear it. When he stiffened, leaning away with every muscle seeming to tense and release and tense again, you were unreasonably pleased. There was still red blood underneath all that red paint.

Boba’s voice was clipped when he finally replied; the vowels came through strained and raspy. “I could say the same for you.”

Yes, he probably could, couldn’t he?

Then again, maybe your two wrongs could cancel out into being right and not at all compromising.

It’s not like you really did anything erroneous. Well, besides the running away part. But that was par for the course for you. All that was new was… him. And his hands. And his being alone with you. Which could possibly be construed as something wrong and compromising but how wrong could it be, really, if neither of you did anything?

Of course, this all hinged on neither of you doing anything. Compromising.

“Take the helmet off and I’ll go with you,” you offered, knowing how juvenile you sounded. You just wanted to see if he’d hear you. If he’d listen.

He did.

Boot spurs clinked as he stalked towards you, closer than he was before. It was invasive; almost chest to chest with no room for breathing as you were pushed up against the wall again, and you were met with the revelation that whatever you were toying with was probably a really, really bad idea.

Static filled your ears from the husk of his vocoder. “You know I can take you back whether you want to or not.” The roof of your mouth went dry and you remembered how Boba’s palm spanned the entire back of your neck, cradled delicately by leather fingers. He could crush your throat in one hand. Squeeze until you went limp. You wouldn’t be able to stop him. “I don’t need your permission.”

Your thumbs reached up to the lock mechanisms on either side of his head anyway. “I know.”

Fire felt good when you were close enough to be warmed by it. Whether or not you’d be burned was left to be seen.

The helmet lifted with a soft click.

Truth be told, you’re surprised he let you do it.

You dangled the helm almost carelessly by your hip, curling your fingers around the lip of it whilst your other hand stayed hovering near his face. He looked a bit older than you imagined, mid-thirties maybe, scarred and stern-looking. Handsome.

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead but all you wanted—stupid, stubborn, and yearning for a plaything—was to feel the black curls cropped close to his ears. Which probably counted as compromising.

Without the modulator Boba’s voice was deeper, the rumbling kind of richness that was used to giving orders and used to having them followed. It bore down on you as a concrete weight. “I’m not a kind man, princess.”

He forgot that you were used to giving orders too.

The coarse material of his collar chafed your palm as you held it, gripping a lifeline, and tilted your mouth up to his ear. The softness of your voice disguised your intention. It sounded innocent when you whispered it. Gentle, even. “I never said I wanted you to be.”

His lips bruised you and tasted like salt.

It was all tongue, teeth, barely cloaked violence, pressed until your throat felt raw and your heartbeat dropped below the ground to join whatever was left of your dignity. When your knees buckled, a gloved hand settled large between your shoulder blades.

You didn’t think your first kiss would be like this.

Hypothetically it would have been clinical, fumbling and awkward in your own inexperience. Out in front of a crowd somewhere after you met the eyes of a stranger at the altar. Or maybe in secret, like it was now, with a tryst of boyhood and a peck on the cheek.

Boba Fett was a stranger, but he wasn’t a boy. And this wasn’t a peck on the cheek.

You didn’t realize he had lifted you up by your hips until you were placed back down again, his having crossed the few steps from the wall to the nearby fountain with arms firmly wrapped around your middle and not so much as a strain of his hips. His strength should have scared you. It did scare you, a little, but the same hands that had gripped the blaster still at his side were deceptively gentle around your waist. You let yourself be brought down by his bended knees.

“Easy there,” Boba said, still crouching on the ground beside you as you slowly lay back on the lip of the waterwork, white noise burbling from the quiet fixtures. The flat, curved slab surrounding the shallow pool was wide enough that you needn’t worry about balancing, speckled gray stone warmed from weather and soon by skin. There was one moment where Boba allowed you to catch your breath and then it was gone, knocked out of your lungs in another assiduous touch.

“Poor thing,” he mocked, sardonic even as he cooed gently into your open mouth. Your back arched in an unwitting presentation and blood pounded a drumbeat in your ears. All you could see was Boba; his face and his shoulders and his arms braced beside your head, leaning over your horizontal form. Like you were prey. Maybe you were. “What would your father say if he saw you like this?”

He wouldn’t be able to say anything. Would stand there, mouth agape and his eyes doing that strange bulging thing it always did when you did anything besides sew embroidery squares. Fainting wasn’t out of the question. It would be ridiculously fun to watch.

You huffed, chasing Boba’s mouth with your own when he shifted above you. The midday sun hung high, edging the bounty hunter’s tanned face in white. You could see your own eyes in the reflection of his pupils, could smell his warm skin. His canines scraped your collarbones. Everything was fast, blurry, and burning.

Stars above.

The whole situation was ridiculous. Twenty minutes ago you’d never been kissed on the mouth and now you were letting a killer-for-hire grope you like you were a back-alley harlot.

It wouldn’t end well. You’d curse after he left and hate yourself for letting him stay, because his staying would be brief and shallow and cruel, but right now, lying on the edge of a fountain with sunshine on your neck and a low voice in your ear, staying was the only thing you wanted him to do.

What an egregious lapse in judgement.

What a beautiful, electrifying lapse in judgement.

“You’re so—” a slurred pitchiness invaded your vocal chords, coating everything in bitter syrup. Your jaw was starting to numb from unforgiving lips. “—so rude,” you choked out, mind struggling to find footing amid its own dizziness. You felt like an overheating droid, full of bad code and faulty wiring that made your words and your actions discordant because even as you insulted the man, your hands were curling around his shoulders to pull him closer. “Always so rude, so… so mean to me. Makes me want—” you panted, voice breaking off into a whine when a calloused palm slid across the back of your thigh, “...want…”

His accent curled the consonants into a dance. “Want what, Princess?”

Expectant in their heaviness but teasing a smile in their lined corners, Boba’s eyes were the color of charred umber. Squirming in his arms, you nosed your face into the junction of his collarbones. “Want you,” you finally mumbled, admitting it in one long, pathetic exhale.

His promise had sharp teeth.

“You can have me.”

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

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edie-baby · 3 years

Text

Baby Boy Chapter 11 (S) | Lando Norris

Summary: Milana Navratilova is the best friend of Victoria Verstappen, and is for lack of a better word, a minx. She can pull anyone into bed with her at any time. So when she attends the Austrian Grand Prix with Victoria, the drivers make for good bedfellows. Until she finds a man who makes her finally feel like herself. Her baby boy.

Warnings: smut, swearing, non-con kiss (will be a chapter warning for that one), OC is a w h o r e and i love her.

The Friday morning sun was a horrific way to be awoken from the reverie both Lando and Mila were in, tangled in each other's arms. Mila was the first to wake up, moving her head from Lando’s chest to look at the alarm clock over his shoulders, its red LEDs displaying the time as 7:18am. She had remembered hearing most of the boys complaining that they were to wake up at 8am on practice day, so she let herself relax back into Lando’s arms and revel in the warmth of his chest.

“Morning, darling.” He grumbled a few moments later, his arms shifting to intertwine one of his hands with Mila’s. She swooned at the sound of his accent mixed with the gravelly tone of his morning voice.

“G’morning baby boy.” Mila replied in a similar tone, her own voice hoarse from the screams his fingers, mouth, and cock had dragged from her throat a few hours ago. Lando smiled to himself, snuggling his nose into the crook of Mila’s neck, breathing in the familiar cherry scent that he now knew came from her body wash. Mila giggled, his hot breaths fanning out onto a sensitive part of her neck, and she squirmed slightly from the ticklish sensation when he started peppering kisses onto that same spot.

“Do you want to get breakfast with me and go for a walk before I have to do work shit?” Lando whispered, and Mila felt her heart melt at the domesticity of getting breakfast and going for a walk together with the man curled up around her body.

“Of course baby boy. But you’ll probably need to go back to your room soon in case you want everyone to see your walk of shame.” Mila teased, her eyes catching the very wrinkled button up he was wearing last night that she all but tore off his body.

“But that means leaving you, and I really don’t wanna.” Lando moaned, his bottom lip pushing out further as he gave Mila his best puppy dog eyes, and he saw them working as her resolve melted almost immediately. Mila kissed his nose lightly before rolling away from him, stepping up from the bed to amble over to her suitcase before she stopped in her tracks, turning to look at Lando with scared eyes. He sat up immediately, concerned because of the worrying look Mila sent him.

“Your walk of shame is going to be a lot less obvious than mine. I feel like someone took a jackhammer to my pussy.” Mila joked, her accent making her words sound so much more vulgar to Lando. He felt a tingle in his cock, the sight of Mila naked in front of him, complaining about how hard he had abused her cunt was the perfect thing to get him going this early in the morning. Lando stood, his half-hard member catching Mila’s eyes immediately. She smirked as he walked toward her, looking forward to their morning plans much more than she ever thought she would.

Lando’s hands scooped Mila up into a bridal carry as he walked them toward the shower. Mila stood by and watched the muscles in his back flex as he set the water temperature, and as he leant over further, his cute little ass caught Mila’s attention, and the temptation to spank him was irresistible. Lando let out a high pitched squeak when he felt the stinging sensation on his backside, head turning to see Mila watching him with a primal stare.

“I wanna ruin you.” She whispered, moving past Lando to step into the shower with a sweet smile while the Brit was frozen in place for a moment. His brain caught up and he scrambled into the large shower, being pulled in close by Mila’s manicured hands immediately.

With that same predatory smirk he had seen the first time he met her, Mila sank to her knees in front of Lando, his back to the shower head, the warm water cascading over his tense shoulders sent a shiver through his body, part of that making his cock tingle even more. Mila grabbed him with both hands, she needed to, really, he was long and he was thick. With a few lazy pumps up and down his shaft, his cock was just as hard as it had been last night, and Mila was ready to begin the torture. By her calculations, she had about 25 minutes until they would need to leave to get breakfast and still go for their walk before Lando was needed by his team. And 25 minutes was more than enough time for her to tear him down and put him back together.

With a few kitten licks to his tip, Mila started out nice. Her hands still moving up and down slowly. Lando’s hands moved toward her, one tangling in her hair while the other rubbed along her cheekbone with adoration. She stopped immediately, withdrawing completely from the tanned man standing above her. Her hands fell to her thighs, eyes staring up at him through her lashes, the hickeys he left on her last night clearly visible in their position.

Lando looked down at her confusedly, then Mila reached up and tugged his hands away, the smirk returning when the gears in his head began processing.

“Gotta keep your hands to yourself, baby boy.” Mila growled, the command shooting even more blood to Lando’s cock, and similarly to Mila, he didn’t know he’d enjoy being told what to do this much. He listened though, hands leaving her form and sliding onto the tiled walls of the shower. Mila smirked in satisfaction, the naturally red hue of her lips just as tantalising as the iconic maroon lipstick.

Her hands and lips returned to Lando, her tongue catching the bead of precum leaking from his tip, the veins running along his cock throbbing in her hand. Delicately, Mila traced each vein she could see with her tongue, leaving the thick, throbbing vein on the underside of his cock for last, flattening her tongue and applying more pressure than she had so far. A strangled moan reverberated through Lando’s chest and fell from his lips with a blush. Mila looked up into his eyes, taking in the broken expression on Lando’s face, his cheeks flushed with frustration and embarrassment, his eyes half lidded staring back down at her, jaw tense, his teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. She could tell how much self restraint it was taking for him not to grab her by the hair and fuck her face till he blew his load down her throat. So, she rewarded him.

With a breath in through her nose, Mila wrapped her lips around his cock, pushing herself down until he was almost fully consumed by her mouth and throat. His eyes widened, hands shaking in their attempt to stay on each wall of the shower. Mila’s eyes watered slightly, her jaw was beginning to ache, but she ran her tongue around as much of Lando’s cock as she could reach, then began pulling away, her hands on his toned thighs to steady herself. Her tongue continued to roll around his length, continuing its ministrations when she reached the head, her hands taking the place where her mouth just was, running up and down his shaft, twisting on the way.

The next time she looked up at Lando, his jaw was slack, eyes closed as he looked up toward the ceiling, his expression reading purely bliss. Milana continued her actions, putting her all into pleasuring him, until she felt his hips buck slightly, his cock hitting the back of her throat. Instead of gagging, like Lando had expected, Mila pulled off him again, glaring up at him in a way that made his stomach erupt in butterflies. With slower, more purposeful movements, Mila began stroking him again, the contrast between being so close to finishing, to right back at the start gave Lando whiplash worse than his car ever could. He stared down at her with eyes just as hard, hands itching with the desire to grab her by the throat and fuck her till all she remembered was his name. But just as his hands began moving toward her, she took all of him in her mouth again, swallowing around him and staring directly into his eyes. He grunted, a deep, guttural grunt that had her whimpering around his cock. He felt himself twitch and Mila picked up the pace in response. His breaths were coming out in gasps, hips twitching in place, and just as his vision began to go white, it all stopped.

A whimper fell from his lips, and he was surprised at the sound as much as Mila was pleased with it. He looked back down to her, his aching dick in her small hands, the tip a dark, angry red. Mila couldn’t seem more pleased, staring at his cock like she was a woman starved. Just as Lando was about to begin begging, she took him in her mouth again, working with a renewed vigor. Lando’s moans were broken, crackly, and coming out of his mouth sounding more like breathless whimpers as his pleasure built, coming to his peak again. This time, when his hips began stuttering, nonsense falling from his lips, Mila continued, stuffing his cock as far down as she could handle, her nose brushing his pubic bone when he finally released, hot ropes of salty cum shooting down her throat, and Mila continued swallowing around him, pulling everything she could from him. She pulled off his cock with a pop, a delighted smile crossing her face as Lando looked on, broken and blissed. She slid around him in the shower, getting under the water to wet her hair, then grabbed some shampoo and began washing her silver hair, teasing eyes staring at Lando while his eyes darkened.

“Come on baby boy, we better get showered and ready to go or we won’t be able to go for a walk.” Mila teased, washing the shampoo from her hair and stepping out, wrapping the impossibly fluffy towel around her form, leaving Lando in the shower for the second time in a matter of about twelve hours.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #team lando #lando norris x oc #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris smut #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #call me eden

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years

Text

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Ten: When it Rains

a/n: hi besties!! This one is... tough I’m ngl to y’all. It is the second to the last chapter which is so wild to think about, but alas all good things must come to an end. Hopefully you don’t hate me too much by the end of it but feel free to vent in my inbox :))) much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive humor, ANGST (!!)

Word Count: 7.4 k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine

“Is that my shirt?”

“No,”

Alani squints at the cartoon bee printed on Harry’s white t-shirt and crosses her arms in disbelief.

“Yes it is! I’ve been looking for it everywhere,”

“Don’t worry, you can have it back soon,” he admits, crawling back into his bed with an apologetic kiss to her pouting lips. “Doesn’t smell like you anymore,”

“Thief,”

Harry scoffs and props himself up on an elbow. “Don’t act like my Spice World jumper isn’t hanging at the foot of your bed right now,”

“You left it there,” Alani defends. “I was merely being kind and looking after said hoodie because it was abandoned by its owner,”

“Oh yeah and you’ve fought real hard to reunite us,”

“Can we get back to the main issue at hand? Which is that I’m kinda pissed off that you look better in that shirt than I do.”

Harry chuckles to himself and presses an affectionate kiss to her temple. “You’re too kind.”

Alani rests her cheek against his chest and listens to the rain pattering harshly against the window, admiring the flashes of lightning that illuminate the dimly lit room. Harry had convinced her to stay the night, worried about her driving home alone in the storm, and he was met with very little resistance. Secretly, he thanks the rain gods for allowing him another night to hold her close.

********

“H, you gotta tell her,” Jeff had warned the previous night. “I already pushed the flight back a week—”

“I know,” Harry huffed. “I just need a little more time.”

Jeff sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “You have until this weekend when we go away with the girls. One week in Maui, and then it’s back home. I’m sorry.”

********

Harry’s stomach turns remembering the conversation, but he decides to push all the nagging thoughts to the back of his mind and focus on the present.

“You all packed?” he asks, trailing his fingers up and down her arm.

Alani drapes her leg over his hip and nods. “Been packed since last week.”

She had been ecstatic the day after Mila and Chad’s wedding when Harry invited her to tag along on the couple’s trip with Jeff, Tom, and their significant others. His eagerness to include her in his friend group was not only reassuring, but exciting. It felt like their lives were coming together, even more so after she had introduced him to her parents. They, of course, had adored him and quickly given their seal of approval. While Alani knew that it was ultimately her choice, it still felt good to have support from the most important people in her life, and she hoped to win his friends over just as easily. Harry, on the other hand, had no doubts that she would fit right into his chosen family. Her name had been cautiously dropped during a weekly FaceTime call with his mother and sister, and he was overjoyed when they enthusiastically grilled him for details.

What Harry was less sure of, however, was how Alani would react upon hearing that his vacation was up and that he would be headed back to L.A. in a week’s time. It was still early in their relationship and an indeterminate break seemed less than ideal. He had tried to convince both Jeff and the label that he could finish the album in Hawaii, but the same couldn’t be said for Jeff Bhasker, Mitch, Tom, and his new bassist, Adam, who all had families waiting for them back on the mainland. It was too risky personally and financially, so Harry reluctantly negotiated one last week to persuade Alani that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t be a death sentence.

“What d’you wanna watch?” he asks, sitting up against the headboard to turn on the T.V.

Alani sighs and settles deeper into his side. “When Harry Met Sally,”

“But it’s not Christmas or New Year’s,”

“So?”

“So,” Harry explains. “We have to wait ‘til the holidays, wouldn’t be right otherwise,”

Alani scoffs and peers up at him with a judgemental look. “So I guess Serendipity is also out of the question?”

“We’ll have all Christmas to get through that list, darlin’,”

Her stomach flips at his suggestion of their future holiday plans. Privately, she had wondered about such things, as well, including what gifts she might get him or where they would spend the holidays. Though still months away, it suddenly felt within reach.

“Fine,” Alani softens. “The Notebook,”

“And let you drool over what’s-his-face?” Harry pokes. “No fuckin’ way,”

Alani pinches his side and sits up. “Would you stop being insecure about that? I’ve already told you I was just kidding that time,”

“Yeah well, it still stings,”

“Why don’t you tell me your celebrity crush? You know, so I can be totally fine about it because it doesn’t mean anything,”

Harry shrugs, the corners of his lips turning into a playful smirk. “Don’t have one,”

“Liar,”

“M’serious,”

“Why, because you’ve already dated them?”

“Hey,” Harry pouts. “That was a bit snippy,”

Alani’s muscles tighten. She hadn’t realized that his dating history was a sore spot, but she takes a deep breath and plants a sweet kiss to his jaw as an offering of peace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,”

“S’alright. Truce?”

“Deal,”

“Jennifer Aniston,”

“Huh?”

“My celebrity crush,” Harry explains shyly. “When I was younger,”

Alani giggles lightly. “I see. Good taste, she’s hot,”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna leave me for her too,”

“I just might,”

“Can’t say that I blame you,”

“Look I know this is a cute little bit we do,” Alani sits up, her gaze dead-set on Harry’s to communicate the seriousness behind her words. “But I just want you to know that I feel so lucky to be with you. I’m not going anywhere any time soon,”

Harry swallows harshly. It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear and it kills him that he can’t return the sentiment with full honesty. A little less than a week is all he has to prove that even though he physically has to go, his heart will remain wherever Alani is. “Me either,”

Another round of thunder booms outside and the lights fizzle out, leaving the room completely dark save for the intermittent flashes of lightning that gently illuminate the room.

“So much for watching a movie, huh?” Alani sighs.

“I think I know some other ways we can keep ourselves entertained.”

********

Harry sets a steaming cup of tea down onto the table in front of Alani and she looks up from her tube of nail polish curiously. Harry flashes a dimpled grin in her direction and whistles a familiar tune, one that she had heard in the studio when he was busy doing his Bob Dylan impression.

“What’re you singing?”

“Hm?”

“The song,” she clarifies. “You were singing it the other day, what is it?”

Harry serves her plate of hash browns and shrugs. “Dunno, just a little tune ‘ve been workin’ on,”

“It’s nice,”

“Thanks, sweets,” he offers, setting her food down and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Hey Alani,” Jeff interrupts, stepping into the kitchen with his cellphone pressed to his shoulder.

“Glenne wants to know if you’re okay with her setting up a spa thing for you guys,”

"Yeah, definitely,” Alani perks up.

“Cool, thanks.”

“Look at you,” Harry teases, taking a bite of his toast coated in strawberry jam. “Minglin’ with the girls,”

“They’re not even here yet,”

He scans over her appearance and his brows furrow, hit with the sudden realization that she’s dressed in formal attire.

“What’s with the fancy outfit”

“I have a meeting, remember?”

“With?”

Alani blows on her freshly painted nails and holds up her other hand for Harry to do the same.

“My senior advisor. We’re going over my research project,”

Harry’s brows raise. “Smarty-pants,”

Alani had scheduled her meeting with Dr. Hudson months ago and had, truthfully, forgotten all about it until she had received a courtesy email the day prior. She had been working on her proposal in the spare minutes she had away from Harry, which were few and far between, but she knew the initial meeting would be much more casual. Alani checks the time on her phone and stands quickly when she realizes that she is supposed to meet Dr. Hudson in less than thirty-minutes.

“Gotta go,” she offers, shoveling potatoes into her mouth and grabbing her bag.

Harry ceases blowing on her nails and kisses the back of her hand before sticking out his lips for a kiss of his own. “Good luck, darlin’. Meet me at the studio after?”

“Sure thing, sunshine. See you later.”

********

“How did the Joni Mitchell piece go? You never told me,” Dr. Hudson questions, taking a sip of her coffee.

Alani offers a shy smile and toys with the hem of her skirt. “A flop,”

“Just one more closer to the winner,”

“Yeah,” Alani sighs, stirring her smoothie. “Maybe it’s time to move on from that,”

The professor shoots her a disapproving look and sets her drink down. “Alani—”

“I just think maybe there’s more realistic—”

“You are not giving up,” Dr. Hudson reassures her. “You’ve come too far and you’re a terrific writer. One of the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. These things take time,”

Alani nods gently, her lips pursed in a tight smile. “Thank you, that really means a lot,”

“What are you working on right now?”

Absolutely nothing, Alani thinks, but then she remembers the half-written article about Harry sitting in her files.

“A short piece about… a local musician,”

Dr. Hudson’s brows raise, intrigued, and she nods. “That sounds interesting. Definitely more personal,”

You have no idea. “Thanks. I mean, it’s not really anything—”

“I’d love to read it when you’re finished,” the professor continues. “What’s the scope?”

Alani thinks, trying not to give too much incriminating detail about her subject or their relationship.

“Well,” she starts, hesitant. “He’s writing new music and working on his first album. I guess I kind of want to follow his journey and redefinition of success in the music industry,”

Dr. Hudson hums. “I love it. Send me a draft.”

Alani swallows and takes a minute to consider the offer. Surely there couldn’t be anything wrong about sharing her work privately with her advisor. She had been so excited about the potential of the article when it was first started, but it had since been neglected like so many of her other rejected pieces. Starting again seemed exciting, and she knew that Harry would be pleased to play such an important role in making her dreams come true. That had, after all, been the initial terms of their agreement.

“Okay,” Alani accepts. “I will.”

********

Harry draws out the last note and Mitch lets the chord ring between them for a moment.

“I think that’s the one,”

“Yeah, I liked that progression better,”

“Hope you got that, Bhasker,” Mitch calls to Jeff in the sound booth, who gives a thumbs up in response.

Harry continues humming, his head still bobbing to the tune, when he hears the studio door creak unpleasantly. His eyes shoot up to find Alani wincing and timidly stepping into the room.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,”

He softens and beckons her over. “Never an interruption, sweets,”

Alani slots herself between his legs and wraps her arms around his neck, giving a gentle peck to the tip of his nose before pressing their lips together.

“How’s the weather?”

“Just got a lot sunnier,”

“Meeting go well?”

She nods and twists a lock of his chestnut hair between her fingers. “Yeah, actually,”

“Then we should celebrate!” Harry perks up, peppering a kiss to her cheek. “Dinner, wine, movie, the whole shebang,”

Alani frowns, thinking back to the article she promised Dr. Hudson. “Hmmm, raincheck?”

Her boyfriend deflates. “You’re ditching me?”

“Just for one night,” she explains, pulling him closer. “I wanna finish up some school stuff before our trip. Otherwise I won’t be able to give you my full attention,”

Harry pouts, but he nods understandingly. “‘Kay,”

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I’ll miss you tons,”

“Ditto, sweets,”

Alani presses her forehead against his and her fingertips wander through the growing curls at the nape of his neck. “Please don’t be upset,”

Harry smiles warmly and smoothes his hands up and down her back. “Never, m’love. Could never be upset with you,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he nods, planting a sweet kiss to her lips. “Hey, I wanna play you somethin’,”

Alani grins and pulls back a bit to read his expression. “Let’s hear it,”

Harry grabs the guitar next to him and slings it over his shoulder before adjusting the capo. The song starts sweet and gentle, his voice light to match the tune.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It’s hard when we argue

We’re both stubborn I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Alani watches in awe as he pours so much emotion behind every word, his vocals effortlessly powerful and rich. She claps when the song finishes and leans in for a kiss.

“I love it,”

“S’not finished yet,” Harry shrugs, still fiddling with the strings. “Just the chorus right now,”

“Will you teach it to me?”

His brows raise in surprise. “You play?”

“No,” Alani admits. “But I have a feeling you’re a good teacher,”

“Well, let’s see what you got,”

Alani turns and Harry props the guitar in her lap, his arms wrapping around her as he guides her into the right position. His left hand demonstrates the beginning chord and she replaces his fingers on the fretboard to try for herself. She strums and the beginning note resonates in near-perfect pitch.

“Hey,” Harry beams. “You’re a regular Hendrix,”

He continues positioning her fingers over the right spaces and letting her strum, humming the lyrics softly into the shell of her ear.

“We don’t argue that much,” Alani defends playfully.

Harry chuckles and kisses her temple. “Maybe not, but we’re really good at makin’ up.”

“Easy, Styles.”

********

Harry: Hungry?

Alani peels her eyes away from the computer screen and reads the message lighting up her phone.

Alani: Not really

Harry: …

Harry: oh

She laughs and pads over to the window. Sure enough, Harry holds up two bags and flashes a cheesy grin down below.

“Need a study break?”

“I’ll meet you at the door.”

Harry makes himself comfortable in the middle of her bed and unpacks the bags.

“I’ve got a California and a spicy tuna for my favorite girl,” he announces. “With a side of eel sauce,”

“And the world's best boyfriend goes to Mr. Harry Styles,” Alani grins, taking a seat next to him.

He smirks and pulls out his own order of miso soup and sushi. “How’s the homework comin’ along?”

“Not too shabby,”

“Glad to hear it,”

“Hey, what time do I meet you at the airport tomorrow?” she asks, dipping her roll in the sauce.

Harry freezes and turns to her with confusion written all over his face. “I’m sorry, did my girlfriend just insinuate that we’re not leaving for the airport together?”

“I really need to finish this,” Alani explains. “It’s almost there,”

“Two nights?” he complains.

Alani nudges him with her shoulder and shakes her head. “We’re gonna be spending an entire week together, non-stop. You’re gonna get sick of me,”

“Never,” Harry rebuts. “Not possible,”

“Just one more night,” Alani bargains. “Then I’m all yours, no interruptions.”

He nods and takes a sip of his soup. “Alright, deal.”

You have to tell her, Jeff’s voice rings in his mind.

********

The airline stewardess ushers Harry and Alani to their seats while Scott and Miles settle down a few rows behind. She didn’t know exactly what to expect from first-class, but suddenly the perks of having a famous boyfriend increased tenfold by the sight of their luxurious accommodations.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Alani asks while Harry hovers over his chair.

“Sitting, or I was about to,”

“And you’re not even gonna offer rock-paper-scissors for the window seat?”

Harry shakes his head with an amused chuckle. “No because I already know that you’re gonna get up to pee every five minutes,”

“Not true,”

“It is too true and it’s exactly why we can’t cuddle while we fall asleep,”

“Or maybe the reason is because I’m claustrophobic and I just don’t wanna hurt your feelings,”

Harry frowns. “Really?”

“No,” Alani admits, taking the aisle seat. “I just said that so you’d give me the window,”

“Get up, we’re switching,”

“Thank you, sunshine! You’re the best,”

Harry slumps into his new chair and crosses his arms. “Forty-five minutes and we’re already fighting like an old married couple,”

“Oh really?” Alani smirks. “Is that what old married couples argue about? Who gets the window seat?”

“And leaving the toilet seat up, going antique shopping—”

“—What old married couples have you been hanging out with—?”

“—Picking up the kids from school,”

Alani presses a kiss to his shoulder and rests her head in the crook of his neck. Her eyelids are still heavy from staying up the night before, but her article was completely finished and sent off to Dr. Hudson just like she’d promised. Now, she could enjoy her vacation free of any worry or obligation, completely focused on the perfect boy still rambling next to her.

“But, obviously I mean that doesn’t count, right?” Harry asks, craning his neck and smiling softly when he sees that his girlfriend has already dozed off. He kisses the top of her head gently and lets his own eyes flutter close with a deep, contented breath.

********

“And then I’ll have to repaint it, but I haven’t decided on a color yet,” Glenne explains to Alani as they stroll through the airport.

Alani hums. “It was your grandmother’s?”

“Well, it was somebody’s grandmother’s. We picked it up at this little antique shop in Santa Monica.”

Jeff escorts Glenne into the shuttle car while Harry and Alani share a knowing look and stifle their laughter. They shuffle into the back seats as Tom and his wife, Jenny, claim the middle row.

“So you’re a journalist?” Jenny asks, turning in her seat eagerly to face Alani.

“Not quite,” she explains with a polite smile. “Still a student, but hopefully someday,”

Jenny nods and twirls the ring around her finger. “Sounds exciting. Maybe you can hitch a ride on tour with this one and do some writing there.”

“Yeah,” Alani smiles, settling further into Harry’s side. “Maybe.”

The idea of traveling the world with Harry and being a part of the excitement of touring the album was something she had considered briefly, but hadn’t allowed herself to fully indulge until this moment. It was already thrilling to see him polish the songs he had begun during his trip, but she could only imagine how much more special it would be to see him perform them for the rest of the world. A twinge of jealousy sparks at the thought of having to share any part of him with the public, but Alani knows that his gifts are much too special to keep all for herself. Harry was golden and he deserved to shine in all of his radiant glory. That was exactly what she had penned in her article, and she said it not because he was her boyfriend and there were clear personal investments, but because she knew it was true even before he had shown any romantic interest in her.

“What’s tour like?” Alani pipes up as Harry watches the landscape out his window.

He considers it for a moment and clears his throat. “Fun, mostly. Can be tiring,”

“Lots of partying and adoring fans?”

“No,” he chuckles to himself. “Not so much the partying. Enthusiastic fans, sure,”

Alani narrows her eyes. “No partying?”

“Nope,” Harry reiterates. “Don’t really like to do all that stuff when I’m working. Also just didn’t wanna…”

He trails off and Alani waits a beat to see if he’ll continue. “Didn’t wanna?”

“Fuck it up,” he finishes. “You know, like, be the one who ruined a good thing for a little bit of fun.”

She lets his words settle in, rubbing a reassuring circle on the back of his hand. “Makes sense. Sounds really responsible of you to do that.”

Harry presses a soft kiss to her temple and resumes his study of the scenery. They chat amongst their friends for the remainder of the drive and Alani immediately presses Glenne and Jenny for information about her boyfriend in his younger years. They indulge her inquiries and ask their own questions, deciding privately after a few minutes that her and Harry are a good fit.

When the group arrives at the resort, Glenne takes charge and instructs them all to meet at the lobby for lunch in twenty minutes. They collect their keys and head up to their respective rooms, which are all located on the very top floor.

“What a view,” Alani muses as she takes in the sight from their private balcony.

Harry admires the wonder on her face and nods, his eyes not leaving her side profile. “You’re tellin’ me,”

“Let’s never go home,” she poses, arms snaking around his torso. “Let’s stay here forever, just me and you,”

His throat tightens as he thinks back to the inevitable conversation waiting for them. Harry didn’t know why it was so hard to think about leaving because he had every intention of keeping touch and making their relationship work at all costs. But there was a part of him, a very tiny recess in the back of his mind, that feared the possibility of Alani not feeling the same.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. “Whatever you want, sweets,”

Alani senses a shift in his demeanor, but she can’t read it. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Harry swallows, mustering up a small smile. “But I am hungry,”

She isn’t entirely convinced that there isn’t something bothering him, but she decides not to push it and tightens her grip around his waist, instead.

“Race you to the lobby.”

“You’re on.”

********

“You’ve never seen Finding Nemo?”

“Was I s’posed to?”

“My god,” Alani marvels. “You know, I’m starting to believe those rumors that you were grown in a lab,”

Harry’s brow raises and he blinks. “That I was what?”

The restaurant that Glenne and Jeff chose features an aquarium tunnel at the entrance, much to both Harry and Alani’s excitement. Fish, large and small, swim around them and the pair take turns pointing out their favorite colorful species. The Hull’s snap photos for their four year-old daughter, but Jenny also secretly captures one of Harry and Alani with their hands clasped under the mesmerizing blue lighting as a keepsake for her friend.

“Add Finding Nemo to our movie list,” Alani says, admiring a clownfish that swims close to the glass.

“S’it gonna make me cry?”

“Probably,”

“Goddamnit,”

Alani giggles softly and turns her head away from the glass to silently observe Harry under the lighting of the rippling water. The combination of his serene features and the sound of Billie Holiday’s I’ll Be Seeing You over the sound system creates a perfect image in her mind, one that makes her afraid to blink, lest it be gone forever. Harry glances over at her through the corner of his eye and his lips curl.

“Checkin’ me out?”

“Always,”

“Like whatcha see?”

“Love it.”

His heart nearly stops at her words, but before he has a chance to process their implication, the hostess calls on their group.

“And I’ll have the piña colada,” Harry orders once they're seated.

“Oh my god, H,” Glenne laughs from across the table. “That reminds me, remember your birthday last year when James got trashed and hoarded the karaoke machine for, like, two hours?”

“Ruined that song forever,” Jeff quips, reliving the memory of the Late-Late host drunkenly serenading the entire party with the same song on repeat.

Harry cringes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I try not to,”

Alani watches as they reminisce on the event, adding their own details and pieces to the puzzle. It’s amusing to watch, but a small part of her also has to fight the pang of exclusion settling into the pit of her stomach. She feels guilty for being affected by it knowing, logically, that it isn’t intentional or malicious in any way. Still, Alani is painfully reminded of the vast differences between their worlds. Harry had gotten to know practically every part of her life, including her family, but there was still so much that she didn’t know about his. It was something she worked hard not to dwell on, given the novelty of their relationship, but she also worried that fear and insecurity would prevent her from investing what little of her heart Harry hadn’t claimed yet.

“Who was it that started dancing on a table and almost broke a chandelier?” Tom asks, wracking his brain.

“I think it was Ken—” Jeff hesitates, clearing his throat. “Actually, I don’t remember,”

Harry shifts in his seat beside Alani and reads over the menu, quickly changing the subject. “What’re you gonna get?”

“I don’t know,” Alani admits. “Everything looks so good,”

“Oh look,” Jenny pipes up across from Harry. “They’ve got your fav, the mango sorbet. I wonder if it’s as good as the one in Italy,”

Harry beams and reads over the item. “Oh yeah, that was amazin’,”

Alani files the detail to the back of her mind. She hadn’t known mango was his favorite flavor of anything, and while it was a trivial detail, she realized that there were so still many little details about him that she wanted to know. Harry had made such an effort to remember everything about her, like her go-to sushi order and the fact that she always saved the kiwis for last in her fruit salad, so it made her feel a touch guilty that she hadn’t made the same effort.

“Wanna share the coconut shrimp?” Alani asks with a gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Oh, uh—”

“He’s allergic,” Glenne says offhandedly, not cold or condescending, but more in the same way that an older sister would.

“Oh my god,” Alani’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry,”

Harry laughs lightly and shrugs. “S’okay, I’d let you poison me,”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Glenne apologizes, reaching her hand out to Alani. “I thought you knew.”

Alani accepts the hand and waves away her concern. “No, don’t worry about it. I didn’t know, actually.”

“We can stop talking about my defects now,” Harry teases. “‘M not dyin’,”

He leans in closer to Alani and presses a kiss to her temple. “But if I was, it’d be an honor to have my last meal with you.”

She responds with a soft smile before returning her attention back to the menu. His sentiments, however sweet, unfortunately did very little to soothe the embarrassment of her mini faux pas. It was irrational, Alani knew this, but it made her wonder what else she didn’t know and what bigger secrets he was potentially keeping. Whose name had Jeff meant to say earlier to identify the mystery dancer at Harry’s party, and why had it created an awkward shift in the air? She decides not to let the spiraling questions spoil her fun and takes a generous sip of her cocktail to avoid them for the time being.

********

Harry sets the room key on the nightstand next to their king sized bed and lets himself sink down into the soft mattress. The group had spent the entire day sightseeing, from botanical gardens to scenic beaches, but he was really itching for some quality time alone with Alani. Lately, their time together had been cut frustratingly short by work, school, and life in general. Even when they were seated right next to each other with arms linked or fingers interlocked, she felt far away and he didn’t know why. He hoped that this trip would allow them time to reconnect and solidify their relationship before he had to return to California.

“Mini bar,” Alani comments, kicking her shoes off and wandering over to the small refrigerator in their suite. “Who’s paying again?”

“The label,”

“Thank you Columbia Records,”

She swipes a few bottles of tequila before climbing into the bed next to Harry.

“Wanna play a game?”

Harry props himself up on his elbow and nods. “What kinda game?”

“Never have I ever,” Alani explains. “But instead of putting your finger down, you take a shot,”

“Sounds dangerous,”

“It’ll be fun. You can go first if you want,”

He hums and nods in agreement before sitting up to face her. “‘Kay. Never have I ever...named my car after a musician,”

“Cheap shot,” Alani narrows her eyes, taking a sip from the bottle of Jose Cuervo.

“Your turn,”

She fiddles with the bottle cap, a question already in mind, though she isn’t sure if she should ask it.

“Never have I ever… dated a model,”

Harry’s brow furrows, but he opens his own bottle slowly and takes a sip. “So it’s that kind of never have I ever,”

“Just trying to keep it interesting,” Alani shrugs innocently.

“Right. Never have I ever slept with a guy named David,”

Her eyes widen, but she laughs half-heartedly and takes a sip. “Jeez, okay. Never have I ever—”

“Wait, so you two actually…” Harry interrupts, trailing off at the end.

“I mean,” Alani starts, her eyes wandering to the ceiling. “Yeah, a long time ago,”

“How long ago?”

“Okay, maybe this was a mistake—”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll play nice,”

“Alright,” Alani accepts. She knows that she should probably steer the game back onto safer territory, but the wound has been re-opened and she can’t resist the urge to keep picking at it. “Never have I ever slept with a fan,”

Harry takes a slow sip. “Never have I ever cheated on my partner,”

The bottle stays put in Alani’s hand. “Never had I ever gone on a vacation with my partner before this trip,”

The tequila washes over his tongue bitterly like the faint memories that it symbolizes. “Never have I ever dated someone just for the publicity,”

The bottle in Alani’s hand doesn’t move, much to Harry’s relief, but her mind is not as tranquil.

“Never have I ever told someone I loved them when I didn’t,” she says slowly.

Harry takes another shot and it burns all the way down. “Why are we doin’ this?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t wanna play anymore,”

“Alani,” he starts, springing to his feet when she leaves the bed. “Hey, look at me, please,”

She blinks back the tears that threaten to spill over her lower lashes before turning to him. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid game,”

“S’just all out of context,” Harry offers, reaching for her hands. “Wasn’t the right way to have all of those conversations,”

Alani takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah, you’re right,”

“What’s really botherin’ you, hm sweets?” He coos, bringing her cold knuckles to his warm lips. “Tell me, please?”

She releases a shaky breath and tries to sift through the fog in her brain for the right answer.

“I don’t know, really, I just,” Alani hesitates. “Am I a bad girlfriend?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, his hands lifting to cup her face. “God no, you’re the best,”

“Then why didn’t I know that your favorite ice cream flavor was mango? And why didn’t I know that you were allergic to coconut, and why—”

“Hang on, is that what this is all about?” he questions. “Cause I’ll go eat an entire coconut right now,”

Alani laughs lightly and pinches her eyes shut. “No, it’s not about that. I just feel like you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met and you make me feel so fucking special and, God, I just wanna be good enough for you because—”

Harry holds his breath and watches as her eyes gloss over.

“Because I love you,” she finishes, voice small. “More than I ever thought possible,”

His own eyes sting, but he doesn’t fight the tears that fall as he presses his lips to hers firmly.

“I love you, too,” Harry murmurs. “I love you so fuckin’ much it drives me crazy,”

Alani chuckles softly. “Ditto,”

“I’ve been wanting to say it for ages, can’t believe you beat me to it.”

“Guess you’re not the only one full of surprises.”

********

The early morning sunlight creeps gently into Harry and Alani’s room, casting a soft, golden glow onto the bare skin that peeks through the white duvet. Harry stirs first, a strand of Alani’s hair tickling his nose and making him smile. He prys his heavy eyelids open and winces at the dull aching of his head aggravated by the light. Alani hears his muffled groan and sighs, willing the sun to go back down and let her sleep a few more hours.

“Mornin’ sweets,” he rasps with a warm kiss to her bare shoulder.

She peels her own tired eyes open and flashes a sleepy grin. “Good morning, sunshine,”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Super. You?”

Harry props himself up on his elbow and rests his chin in his palm as he admires the traces of sleep still on her face.

“Just swell.”

Alani chuckles lightly and reaches a hand up to comb through his unruly bedhead. His skin is warm to the touch, and the light from the window casts a heavenly glow around his visage. She pokes her finger into his dimple, which elicits a soft laugh and makes his smile grow wider. They stay intertwined under the sheets as the sun fully rises and soak up their own details to keep as souvenirs from this moment. Alani takes in the scent of vanilla and the juxtaposition of Harry’s inked bicep against the plain, white sheets. He stores away the image of her sleepy, mocha eyes and the pink, manicured fingernails that trail up and down his arm. Neither of them are sure exactly how long they remain in this moment, for all they know it could be hours or days. But whatever the duration, it doesn’t seem to be enough. I need more time, Harry had told Jeff, but there was no more left to give. He had to tell her, and it was now or never.

“Hey,” he begins carefully. “I need to tell you something,”

Alani sits up to be eye level with him and nods. “Anything,”

Harry waits a beat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressing his lips to her bare shoulder before letting the confession spill out.

“I have to go back to L.A.,”

“I kinda figured,”

He draws in a deep sigh of relief. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Alani shrugs. “Hilo isn’t exactly Hollywood,”

“I asked for more time, but the label—”

“No, I get it. So… when? Next month?”

“Friday,”

Alani’s brows furrow. “This Friday?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits with a gulp.

“The last day of our trip?”

“Yes,”

Her heart drops into her stomach and she feels sick. It all made sense now why Harry’s mood had shifted when she jokingly asked him not to leave, and why he had been so insistent on spending as much time together as possible this week. Their game of never have I ever turned instantly defensive when asked about his dating history. Never had I ever gone on vacation with my partner before this trip. Never have I ever told someone I loved them when I didn’t. He had whisked her away on a farewell trip and God knows who else had been in her place before, or worse, who would be in it next. Harry was saying good-bye.

“Wait,” Alani says finally, mind still racing too fast to process. “How long have you known?”

“Alani—”

“How long?”

Harry swallows. “Couple of weeks,”

“You knew for weeks and you didn’t tell me?” she questions incredulously.

“I tried—”

“You know that I hate surprises, you know how I feel about plans—”

“I’m sorry,” Harry insists, sitting up straighter. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but it just never felt right,”

Alani rolls her eyes. “So what, you were just gonna leave a fucking sticky note on my pillow and hope for the best?”

“Don’t say that—”

“Is that why you brought me here?” she asks, voice hoarse. “Is that why you gave me this necklace? A souvenir of our little summer fling so you could leave with a clear conscience?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “How could you even think that?”

“Because maybe it’s true. Why else would you wait until the very last minute to tell me about this?”

“Maybe we should take a minute,” he suggests, the whites of his eyes now bloodshot. “Before we say something we’ll regret,”

“I think I already did.” Alani admits. Never have I ever told someone I loved them when I didn’t.

Harry’s head pounds and he feels like he’s drowning, treading water in every direction only to be dragged further into the current. He quickly pulls on his clothes from the night before and tries to steady his breathing.

“M’gonna go wait in the hall,” he offers. “Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

Alani doesn’t respond or even meet his pleading eyes. She simply tightens the duvet around her body and turns her head to the window, letting a single, bitter tear roll down her cheek. The door closes softly and she is immediately filled with regret and guilt. Had she truly meant all of the things she said? Or was it fear and the instinct to flee taking over her mouth? Alani wanted to believe that she was wrong and that Harry hadn’t intentionally kept her in the dark, but from where she stood, the sun had long disappeared behind the clouds and all that was left was the storm.

Harry trudges down the hallway and the walls spin, closing in on him slowly. If he had just told Alani sooner, everything would be different. He had avoided doing so for this exact reason and out of fear that their relationship wouldn’t be worth the risk in her mind. It was selfish—he was selfish—to try to make the decision for her, and now the woman he loved was getting ready to walk away because he had broken her trust. What else was there to do? His back meets the wall and he sinks to the floor.

“Hey H,” Jeff clears his throat from above. “We should talk,”

“She knows. Didn’t go well,”

“So she did approve the article?”

Harry lifts his head and his brows furrow. “What?”

There’s a harsh knock at the door and Alani jumps. In Harry’s absence, she had managed to cool off and sift through her frantic thoughts. She had been wrong to think that he used her, all it took was a quick stroll down memory lane to prove otherwise. He had never given her any true reason not to trust him, so there had to be some other reason why he hadn’t told her about his plans to leave so soon. Alani pads over to the door and unlocks it gently.

“Harry, I’m sor—”

“Wanna talk about surprises?” he seethes. “What the fuck is this?”

She squints at the phone screen that he holds up to her face and the title of her unpublished article stares back at her.

“I don’t know—”

“Well it has your goddamn name on it,” Harry shoots back.

Alani steps aside and lets him into the room before she closes the door behind her. “I can explain—”

“Did you write it or not?”

“Yes, but—”

He shuts the phone off and slams it face down onto the night stand. “How fucking dare you call me a liar and then pull this shit behind my back,”

“I didn’t lie,” Alani defends, voice weak. “I had no idea it was going to be published, please just listen—”

“A class project,” he interrupts with his back still turned. “That’s what you said,”

“It was never meant to be released,”

“How do I know that? How do I know you’re not just trying to cover your ass?”

“Please,” Alani begs as her vision begins to blur. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said all those things,”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and casts his eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to quell the emotion that pools behind his eyes.

“So why did you?”

“I was scared,”

“Of?”

Alani takes a deep breath. “Of losing you for good. Of falling in l—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Don’t finish that sentence,”

“I don’t know how,” she tries again. “And I don’t know who released it, but I swear—”

“You really expect me to trust a word you say after you accused me of lying about this whole thing, about us?”

Harry’s gaze lowers back to hers and the bright, green eyes that she has come to love are replaced with a blood-shot, stormy sea that makes her stomach drop. The words get caught in her throat.

“I fucked up,” he continues. “I know that I should’ve told you. But I’m having a hard time believing that this wasn’t planned, that this random website would just accidentally publish your work without your consent,”

Alani can’t explain it either, she truly had no idea how her writing had ended up in the wrong hands. There was only one other person she had entrusted it with, but surely Dr. Hudson hadn’t betrayed her, had she? Alani didn’t know who to believe anymore.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” she tries. “I didn’t mean what I said, and I know I can’t take it back, but you have to at least believe that I never wanted to hurt you,”

Harry is silent for a moment, and Alani decides that it’s her turn to tell the truth. There was nothing left to lose.

“At first, I did want to publish it,” she explains. “But I changed my mind and I scrapped the whole thing. In the end, the only person I intended to show it to was you,”

“So how did it get onto the internet for the whole fucking world to see?” he presses.

Alani sighs. “My advisor wanted to know what I was working on, so I sent it to her, but she never had my permission to publish it. Now I realize how stupid it sounds, but it’s the truth,”

“If you had come to me, I would have given you permission,”

“I’m so sorry,”

Harry’s shoulders tense. Every fiber of his being wants to believe her, but how could he? She had told him herself that things would be messy and warned him that he didn’t know what he was asking by pursuing a relationship with her. Maybe it really was all his fault for not seeing the signs, but that still didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t trust her anymore. And based on her reaction to the news of his departure, it seemed as though Alani didn’t trust him either.

“Even if you’re telling the truth,” Harry begins, slow and deliberate. “You still thought, after everything, that I would abandon you. And if that’s the kind of person you think I am, if that’s the person you wrote about—”

“Harry—”

“Then I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

“Please, don’t go.” Alani cries but it’s too late. The door slams and her heart falls.

After a beat, she races to the door and into the hallway but there’s no sign of Harry. As quickly as he had appeared into her life, he had vanished. Gone without a trace.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #ybmh #sorry besties <3

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cathrrrine · 3 years

Text

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad , 2017

CHAPTER 01 - NAMES

"Last name, L/N. Goes by several first names - Iris, Mila, Lisa, Eve, Yvonne, Kira, Katya. Many more undocumented. An expert in combat and in handling weapons. Also highly trained in various forms of martial arts."

Nick Fury let out a breath. He stared down his team with his one good eye, making sure all of them were focusing.

"Stark! " he hollered. The said man jumped in his seat. "You got that? "

"Nuh-uh. Your loud voice definitely didn't shatter my eardrums." he stuck a finger in his left ear dramatically, rotating it as he did so.

A chuckle appeared from the left corner of the table. The new kid, the one with the silver hair, was covering his wide grin with his hand, trying not to draw attention. But Nicholas J. Fury sees everything. Even if he was wearing an eye patch.

The director groaned internally. That sort of reply was not new to him, but nevertheless it bothered him to no end. People loved to say that he lived up to his name, patience never being one of his famous virtues. And it wasn't far from the truth. Sometimes he wondered if God named him Fury on purpose.

He turned back to the big screen, pointing at the picture of the woman.

"To conclude; she is lightning. You never know when she's coming, you never know when she'll attack, when she'll run. This woman is a dangerous being. And that is why, " he paused, eyeing them all to show how serious this was. "She is your mission. "

----

"I didn't get everything, for your information. "

Everyone automatically groaned. Nick had walked out, leaving them to plan their next mission.

"You never do," Natasha mumbled, irritated at the fact that she had to explain everything again to her friend.

"Hey, what can I do? " the brunet smirked, "I'm a busy man. It's hard to focus sometimes. "

The redhead scoffed, "Man? That's a very questionable title when it comes to you. "

Everyone who heard Natasha's comment laughed. This left Tony's ego impaled, and he chuckled dryly. "Very funny, Red, " he said, twirling a pen with his fingers and then pointed at her with it. "Very funny. "

She simply shrugged, secretly enjoying how annoyed Tony was.

"Alright," Steve took over, moving to the head of the table so his teammates can hear him clearly. "Stark, you better concentrate. "

"First of all, this woman was last seen at a Hydra base in Berlin, " he flicked through the slides on the tablet. "She may be hard to beat, I mean she's almost as skilled as Natasha-" he was cut off by the redhead suddenly scoffing loudly.

Steve raised a curious eyebrow at her. She mocked him, raising her own eyebrow sarcastically.

"I said 'almost' not 'exactly'."

He continued the briefing. "Powers unknown, we don't even know if she has any. Appearance inconsistent. What else? "

The Captain was quiet for a moment as he tried to figure out what to press on the tablet,.

"Oh good. It says here that S.H.I.E.L.D tried to capture her once, a few years back. They sent two teams—the other one was backup. Apparently they opened fire and...oh."

"What happened? " Wanda questioned at Steve's sudden halt.

"Oh wow. " Steve sighed. "She killed everyone on her own. No survivors. "

They all sat up, intrigued as to how one mysterious woman could survive such a battle alone.

"She must've had some help or something. There's no way she could've survived that much with no powers. " Pietro pointed out.

"Well, " Natasha cut in once again, "I think you shouldn't underestimate a woman. She could just be really strong and determined."

She knew full well if she faced that situation she could've made it through. Maybe not all in one piece, but still.

"I am not underestimating her because she's a woman, it's just... she is not an Avenger. " the silver haired boy shrugged.

"Avenger or not—women are capable enough to be that powerful. " his sister rolled her eyes at him.

"Still..."

"Alright." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to hear anymore of the debate. "That's not the point."

"I mean she has to be Hydra, right? Or at least she's working with them?"

"Pietro." Steve groaned. "Nat and Wanda are right, women are powerful , now would you just sit back and...listen?" He just wanted to get it over with.

Pietro raised his hands in mock surrender, "Alright. Whatever you say, Captain." He wanted to speed over to him and push him to the floor. How dare he scold him? He wasn't a child.

"Please, let's get back on track." The Captain huffed.

They all agreed, trying to get comfortable on their seats again. Pietro, on the other hand, decided to cross his arms and stay quiet. They noticed he was sulking as he wasn't usually a quiet guy, but they ignored him.

"It says here we have an insider, and that she burnt down that base in Berlin. " Steve tried to find more information on her, but he found nothing but still footages of the woman, from all over the world.

"Huh, I guess that's all." He put the tablet on the table, carefully. "I guess that proves you wrong there, Pietro. She's gotta be their enemy if she burnt down that base. "

"Or they could have done that to throw us off track. Maybe they caught our insider and knew we were on to one of their best agents." He blurted out, accidentally breaking his pact to himself to be silent, wanting to prove his point even if he wasn't sure if it was right. He just hated being wrong.

"I gotta say," Tony stopped twirling his pen. "That makes sense."

"It honestly does, " Clint pitched in his own opinion. It wasn't like him to be so quiet in meetings, but he hadn't had his coffee yet and caffeine was an important thing in his life. In fact, it was one of the things he needed the most right now. These meetings killed him.

"But why go through all that trouble just to throw us off? " Natasha said, her hands moving wildly as she tried to explain her own theory. "I mean, Berlin is one of Hydra's most active bases. Also, S.H.I.E.L.D's tried to do the very thing that she did and it wasn't very easy."

"I don't know, guys. It's all very confusing. I think we need more intel."

"Avengers? "

All heads turned to the door. It was Maria Hill, fully dressed in the standard suit and her famous low hair bun.

"You're needed." she then walked away immediately, heels clacking, not even bothering to close the door after her. Now that was a busy woman.

They all grabbed their things—tablets, pens, mugs and all.

Pietro was still sulking, upset at the fact that didn't agree with him.

"Piet ," Wanda came up to him, hand on his shoulder. "That was actually the least dumb thing you said all week." He smirked in reply, watching as his twin walked out the door, trying to catch up with the others.

"But still." he mumbled to himself, finally dragging himself out.

#pietro maximoff #pietro x reader #pietro x you #mcu imagine #marvel #wanda x reader #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #wanda x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #mcu x reader #run pietro x reader

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

Text

DADDY ISSUES - Part Two: Guys My Age

Character/Fandom: Elvis - ELVIS (2022)

Prompt: When Steve and Jerry ask you to try and convince EP to make a statement after Bobby Kennedy's death, you're not sure you're the right person for the job. But life has other plans. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Some mentions of death, but other than that nothing!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 4197

A/N: I wanna take a quick moment to sincerely thank @fangirl-imagines with all of my heart bc this fic would NOT EXIST without her. seriously kenz you have my undying gratitude and love for helping me outline + inspiring me with your gorgeous moodboards 💖

also, i know i promised y'all smut but i hope you'll accept a bit of a slow burn instead jsjsjs

FINALLY, thank you to my bewbies for helping me + this one is for all the polk salad annies out there ❤️‍🔥

Song Rec: guys my age - hey violet

This is Part 2 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As you hurriedly follow Steve into a small room, you hear nothing but silence and the very quiet sound of the television in the background. The square space is stuffed with about as many people as it could possibly hold, all from the show, as they gather in a circle to huddle around the tv. Steve pushes his way to the front and leans so close to the tv that you wonder if he’ll get sucked into the screen.

You hover at the back of the room, placing a hand over your mouth to still your quivering lips. The voice of a reporter is explaining what’s happened, how Bobby Kennedy got shot and what will happen next. It’s like watching a sports game, except the play-by-play is explaining how someone is dying right in front of your eyes and the eyes of a million Americans alongside you. Your wide eyes track the tiny screen as it flashes with doctors, police officers, and people from the street trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

“We’re ready on set,” one of the crew members shouts from behind you. You glance over your shoulder with an irritated expression, but your attention is jerked back to the front of the room when you hear the sound of a familiar southern drawl.

“Oh my god,” Elvis mutters, and you suck in a nervous breath. You hadn’t even realized he was in the room with everyone else. Your whole body grows stiff, and you begin to feel sweat gathering on your palms.

“Steve, we gotta get back to work,” the crew member repeats, and your eyes readjust to land on your cousin.

“Work…” Steve breathes out quietly. “Listen I, uh, I just wanna say that this nation is hurting. It’s lost, you know, it needs a voice right now to help it. We have to say something. You have to make a statement, EP.”

“Mr. Presley does not make statements.”

You whirl around to see the fat manager from earlier bounding into the room.

“He sings here Here Comes Santa Claus and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas and good night,” the manager says harshly. He jerks the knob on the tv and it flashes to a black screen.

“Now, we will take the rest of the day off but everyone will be back here tomorrow morning and ready to make it snow,” he says gruffly.

After a moment of awkward silence, the room begins to stir. Crew and cast members alike begin to file out of the room, some of them murmuring while others just express a chorus of sighs. You stand to the side and let people leave, waiting for Steve. You know what a big admirer of Bobby Kennedy’s he is, and you share that sentiment. Even though you might not be the closest of cousins, you still want to be there to support Steve. Not just as a family member but as a friend, as well.

You awkwardly cross your arms across your chest as you watch Steve move slowly past Elvis. Your cousin lays his hand on the singer’s shoulder for a quick moment, and Elvis’ wife, Priscilla, stands. You’re taken aback by how beautiful she is in person, with a perfect figure and a gorgeous face. She hugs Steve tightly before dropping her face into a hand. She offers a small curt smile as she passes you, bringing a chilled air of sweet perfume with her. You return the expression, although you can see the tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

Finally, Steve approaches you with glistening eyes. You hold your arms out for him to walk into and squeeze him tightly, biting your lip to keep your own tears at bay. You’re used to this by now, after so many years on your own, being the strong one. Being the one who never cries. The shoulder that everyone else cries onto.

From behind Steve’s back, you make eye contact with the rotund manager who gives you a flick of his hand, signaling that he wants you to leave the room. You sigh deeply and rub Steve’s back as you glance over to another man, the same one you’d seen Elvis speaking with after the show. He glances between you and Elvis and then approaches you.

“Let’s leave Mr. Presley and the Colonel alone,” the man says quietly.

You nod, gently steering Steve toward the door as he presses his fingers into his eyes to dry the tears. You quietly shut the door behind you and guide your cousin to a pair of chairs in the hallway. He crashes down onto the seat without much control, and you sit alongside him to take his hand. The other man stands above you, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “I know how much Bobby Kennedy meant to you. I understand how much this must hurt. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Steve sniffs hard, wiping tears from his cheeks. He shakes his head.

“No but thanks anyway,” he says just as quietly. Silence settles. After a few moments, Steve glances up at the other man, and they share an expression you can’t decipher.

“Actually…no, nevermind.”

“What? Let me help, please. You’re my cousin. It’s part of my familial duty.”

You offer a small smile as your eyes flick between the two men. You hope your joke will help soften the blow of the news and lighten the mood a tad. Plus, you feel awkward because you don’t understand the relationship between your cousin and this random man. But Steve offers you no indication that your joke had any effect.

“Well, like I said in there,” he responds, “I think EP really needs to make a statement. I mean the whole point of this show is to inspire people and get them talking about him again. With such a big platform as the one he has, I just feel that he should use it to advocate for what we need in the world right now. I think people might listen a little harder if it came from someone like him, you know?”

“Sure, absolutely,” you nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But what could I possibly do?”

“I wonder if you might go talk to him? Try to convince him? I know you don’t know each other, but maybe if it came from a fan he’d find it more convincing. He’d be more inspired if he felt like it was wanted. Needed.”

You heave out a deep breath as your heart begins to pound in your chest. You shake your head frantically.

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I, uh…no…”

“I think he’ll take it more seriously if she’s the one to say it,” the man chimes in. You glance up at him in disbelief, offended that he would even speak up when you have literally no idea who he is.

“Why not?” Steve’s voice recaptures your attention. You’re starting to feel a little whiplash from the confusion of the conversation. “Listen, I know I’ve already used up my cousin’s familial duty favor by asking you to star front and center in the special even when you clearly didn’t want to. But this is bigger than us. This is the whole country we’re talking about, Y/N. Would you just consider it?”

“I…I guess, but I’d sort of like some answers first, if that’s reasonable?” you ask, glancing back over at the man. “Because, no offense or anything, but who are you? And how do you two know each other? And why me, specifically? You know, I was sitting next to a girl in the crowd who’s way prettier and a much bigger fan than I am.”

“I’m Jerry Schilling, Elvis’ producer,” the man replies automatically. You nod. Makes sense. “And the reason we’ve chosen you…well, do you want to tell her, Steve, or should I?”

“Tell me what?” you ask and a tense silence grows between all three of you. Your head jerks from one man to the other like you’re watching a tennis match. In actuality, you feel more like the ball itself, being smashed back and forth between opposing players, than a spectator.

“After the show,” Steve starts and then pauses, glancing up at Jerry as if he’s asking permission to continue. You throw up a hand, gesturing for him to explain. “After the show, Elvis asked Jerry if he could track you down. He…he wants to meet you.”

Within a matter of seconds, you officially reach a point beyond any form of physically expressable anxiety. While your heart would normally be thudding against your chest, it now feels like it’s stopped. Actually stopped beating completely. You can’t bring yourself to do anything other than stare at the cringing expression plastered on Steve’s face. You slowly and deeply breathe in.

“What?!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I…I-I…I…”

Those are pretty much the only words you can choke out, too shocked to even comprehend fully what’s happening. No version of you in any universe could ever have predicted the events of this day.

“Listen, I know this is a lot, but we can tell you exactly what to say,” Steve jumps in.

“I can give you some insider’s advice on how to convince him. I know what he likes, what he responds to,” Jerry adds.

There goes your head again, snapping back and forth like the tennis ball. Steve takes a gentle grasp on your hands.

“Please do this. I promise, no I swear, that it’ll be the last favor I ever ask you to do for me,” Steve pleads.

You heave a sigh and shake your head. There is no way you could do this. Unless…

“Alright, boys,” you start, holding a finger up to each of them, “since doing that little favor for you earlier got me fired from my job at Chadneys, as of now, I am unemployed and broke. I will do this for you if I get paid for it. In money. Real money.”

“That can be arranged,” Jerry responds immediately, much too quickly for your liking. Knowing nothing about show business, you let it go. It seems to make sense that money is the way to get what you want in the business.

“Alright fine. So, what am I supposed to say, exactly?” you ask, shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

You try to take mental notes once again as Steve and Jerry go through advice with you, telling you what points to make and how to phrase certain things to grab his attention and get him to listen to you. By the end of the conversation, your brain is so fuzzy and stuffed full of words that you’re pretty sure the whole conversation was a waste of time anyway.

“Great, thanks. Do I go now, or…?”

“Wait until the Colonel leaves and go right after,” Jerry replies. “It’s probably best if the Colonel doesn’t see you at all, actually. He’ll want Elvis to be isolated after their conversation. It’s sort of a manipulation technique to make EP feel like he’s alone. But that also gives you the perfect time to slip in. Remember, the most important thing you can do is follow his directions. Oh, and tell him Jerry said satnin knows.”

“Okay, whatever,” you reply. “Well, wish me luck, I guess.”

You turn on your heel, ready to go stakeout Elvis’ dressing room, but Steve’s hand catches your wrist. You glance over your shoulder as he takes a step closer and speaks in a low voice.

“Be careful in there, okay?”

You snort.

“Okay, Steve. He may be a rockstar, but he’s harmless. What’s he gonna do, sing me to death?”

“I’m serious,” Steve replies, and you can tell by his expression that he is, indeed, very serious. “He’s been known to be a little…unfaithful. Just don’t get into a bad situation with him, please.”

“I won’t, Steve, I promise,” you reply shaking your head. You don’t sleep with married men.

With half of the lights turned off for the night, the hallway is darkened as you slink up next to the wall. You hear voices coming from the dressing room and step very slowly and quietly toward the square of light shining onto the floor.

“Poor Mrs. Kennedy,” the Colonel’s voice sounds, and you freeze before pressing yourself back against the shadows. “It is a tragedy, but it has nothing to do with us.”

You carefully peek around the corner, being as subtle as you possibly can. Your fingers curl around the side of the doorframe as you peer into the room to spy.

“It has everything to do with us,” Elvis says.

You watch silently as he wanders into the room from his closet. Your eyes immediately notice the fact that he’s only in a robe, and your eyebrows raise as you sneak a glance at his open chest. You don’t mean to, but your brain concocts a very thorough image of what he must look like underneath the dark red silk fabric.

“I just do not think that we should be making speeches about politics and religion,” the Colonel responds, sounding irritated.

“Dr. King was shot eight miles from Graceland while I was out here singing to turtles,” Elvis responds, picking up the metal dome from a food tray and popping a piece of food into his mouth. “And now this. And all you can think about is how many goddamn sweaters I can sell.”

“I am the promoter. That is what I do.”

“And I’m Elvis Presley. That’s what I do.”

You jump further back into the shadows as Elvis slams down a glass bottle of Pepsi. His force is so strong that the liquid splashes up from the neck of the bottle and onto the mirror he’s staring back at the Colonel through.

“Mr. Bindle has really gotten inside your head with all of his hippie friends. You really think that singing your old songs dressed in black leather, sweating, mumbling incoherently to the audience is a good show?”

“Colonel, I know when I’ve excited an audience.”

You can’t help but bite your lip through a smile as you think about the few times you’ve been able to experience his ability to excite an audience. He definitely has a gift for exciting something.

“That was not a real audience, my boy. There was a sign flashing applaud, telling them when to clap for you. This entire jamboree is an embarrassment. You have embarrassed the sponsors, you have embarrassed yourself, you have embarrassed me. You can sing whatever songs you and Mr. Bindle choose for 55 minutes, but at the end of the show, there will be a Christmas song. Or else we will be sued….no,” the Colonel snaps harshly. “No, you will be sued. Because I will no longer be the promoter of your career. I will have to leave you.”

The Colonel is standing so incredibly close to Elvis now, staring up into his eyes. But Elvis is giving the same energy back, staring down at the penguin-shaped man in front of him with uncaring eyes. He hums his response in such a low tone that you barely even hear it at all.

“Mm….mhm.”

A moment of tension passes as Elvis stares down the Colonel, clicks his tongue, and grabs his Pepsi before turning around to go back to watching tv.

“Now I have convinced our friends at Singer Sewing Machines to come back tomorrow for Here Comes Santa Claus,” he says, beginning to slowly make his way toward you, leaning heavily onto his cane. “I will see you in the morning.”

Your heart begins to pound, realizing that he’s going to see you if he passes through the door. You frantically shuffle backward, running into a bucket and mop behind you in the process. Both objects crash to the floor with a metallic banging noise, and you wince hard as soapy water begins to flood out all over the floor. As you glance up like a deer in headlights with the broom laying in your fingers, you make eye contact with the Colonel. You freeze, not knowing what to do with yourself. He just quirks an eyebrow and then leans back into the room.

“Oh, and as I recall, Dr. King said rock’n’roll music contributed to juvenile delinquency.”

And with that, he stalks out of the room. He briefly pauses by you, on your knees on the floor attempting to gather up as much of the spill as you can with a towel you’d found tied around the handle of the mop.

“Clean this up,” he says dryly as he passes.

You just watch him go, waiting until you’re sure he can’t see to hold up your middle finger as he waddles around the corner. When you swivel your head around to face front again, your breath catches as you gaze up directly into the eyes of Elvis Presley, himself. He’s leaning against the door frame, one arm supporting his weight against the wood. You can barely see him in the shadows of the hallway, but there’s just enough light for you to notice his eyebrow quirked up. You clear your throat and stand, glancing quickly down at your knees to see two round circles of stained fabric by your kneecaps, accented with tiny little soap bubbles. Well, that’s humiliating. He just stares at you, waiting for you to probably explain who you are and why you’re on your hands and knees outside of his dressing room.

“Jerry said uh…that satnin knows?” you blurt out, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, his open chest, his disheveled hair.

You hope you’ve said it right, whatever it means. And you must have because the realization visibly washes over his face almost immediately. He nods, gesturing for you to come into the room. You follow him inside, nervously wringing out your fingers, and stop awkwardly in the doorway with a gulp.

“How are you doing, Mr. Presley?” you ask, starting the conversation out slowly like Jerry had advised. Elvis glances up at you.

“You got soap and water on ya dress, sugar,” he says, gesturing toward your knees.

You just glance down at your work uniform, feeling incredibly embarrassed. You don’t know how to respond, so you just stay quiet. Your mind is blank. You have forgotten what Jerry and Steve told you. Everything, all of it. Gone.

“Yeah, I had a bit of an accident in the hall,” you finally reply with an awkward laugh.

You wince, gripping onto the hem of your uniform. Oh! That was something Jerry had said. Refocus the conversation. But he speaks again before you have a chance to say anything else.

“Ya gonna have to buy a new dress, now,” he says, his eyes slowly tracking up and down your figure. You shrug into yourself, wanting to cover your body up as much as possible. You feel scrutinized by his eyes. Like he’s sizing you up the way he’d size up a car or a suit.

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly. “If I can afford it…”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Oh, I…um…just lost my job today. When I left work to come be in the audience, I got fired, actually. So, I’m sort of broke right now. Everything’s gonna be fine, though. You know, I’ll get another job. I always have in the past.”

He hums quietly, the same way he had when speaking with the Colonel. Again, you catch his eyes dragging down your body, hanging on every piece of skin, as he runs his tongue over his top lip.

“Maybe we could come to some kinda arrangement,” Elvis says, leaning against the table below the mirror and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes drop down to the tanned skin immediately, desperately latching onto the tufts of dark hair on his chest.

“What…do you mean?” you ask, shaking your head.

“Jus that I could help ya pay your bills and replace that dress. For a price, uh course,” he responds in a voice like velvet, impossibly deep and soft. So smooth that it feels warm when it enters your ears.

You’ve heard of things like this. These kind of arrangements. He raises his hand to his chin, dragging his finger over his lips. Your eyes lock onto his plump, pink lips. They fit him so perfectly and they look delicious. You feel your heart thump in an unsettling mixture of fear and excitement. The hair on your arms starts to stand up and a shiver ricochets through your spine.

“What is the price…exactly?”

He doesn’t reply, but you can’t ignore the left side of his mouth as it curls up into a sinister smirk. His black eyes — aren’t they supposed to be blue? — are trained on yours, refusing to let up. Your heart is slamming so fast in your chest that you can hear its pounding clouding your eardrums. Elvis pushes himself to stand and reaches for the bottle of Pepsi, still resting on top of the table.

“Ya know…at one of my concerts back in, oh it woulda been bout 1956 I think, I remember this lil girl there. She was jus beautiful and she was standin in the front row,” he says, sticking his finger out to point as if he could see this girl standing right in front of him now. He drops his head down as a quiet laugh gently wracks his shoulders and then turns with his back facing you.

“I won’t never forget her cause jus after I wrapped my fingers round her jaw…” he flexes his long slender fingers, curling them the same way he had when they’d wrapped around your face so many years ago. Your fingers tingle as they consider reaching up to touch the skin on your jaw, desperate for that feeling just one more time. “She slid these onto the stage.”

Your eyes travel from the side of his face all the way down his nose and lips and onto his shoulder, traveling along his arm toward his outstretched finger. And hanging off the edge of his pointer finger, dangling dangerously, is a pair of deep red lace panties.

Suddenly, you’re thrown back to the summer of 1956. It’s like it was yesterday, the sounds of the crowd screaming, the buzz of the bass and guitars that vibrated through the stage and into your fingers. You must have buried that memory. Of what you’d done. You feel heat rise to your cheeks in that moment as you think about what your parents would have said if they’d known. For god’s sake, you were only 16 at the time…but you’d been so overtaken with desire and passion that you’d slid your panties onto the stage as he held your face hostage. The crushing weight of the memory settles in your chest. Yes, you remember now, watching him snatch them up. Despite the fact that so many other girls had tossed their panties up there, in a wide array of colors and patterns, he’d taken yours. He’d held them up to his eyes, looked right at you, and then tucked them into his pocket with the same smirk pasted on his face right now.

But now you can’t ignore it, pretend like you hadn’t done it. The evidence is right there in front of you. You’d remember those panties anywhere, they used to be your favorite. You would never have thought, never dreamed that he would have kept them.

Your heart is pulsing a thousand beats per minute, slamming against your chest like a hammer on a nail. You gulp hard, swallowing dry air. He steps toward you with his long legs, running his fingers agonizingly along the fabric of the lace panties. Your eyes track his every movement, somehow all at once. You take in everything. The way his fingers move, the way the robe flaps open on his chest, the way you figure he’s not wearing anything underneath. Within a matter of seconds, he’s right in front of you, staring down at you, so close that you can smell him. Like sweat and something spicy, musky, warm. So close that you could touch him, and your fingers ache to feel the warmth of his skin. You start to notice the tightness building in your heat, the swollen tenderness, the need. You avoid eye contact at all costs, but you can’t resist when his finger curls under your chin, tilting your head up to his.

“You know, darlin, I been lookin for my Cinderella for a long time,” his eyes flick up and capture yours. You stare back at him with wide eyes, like a deer in headlights for the second time that night. A prisoner under his gaze.

“I…” you say quietly, trailing off when you don’t know how to proceed.

“So how bout it, Y/N,” he hums, rubbing your chin with his thumb. His eyes bear into yours, clouded with desperation. His fingers squeeze the bones of your jaw. “Do the shoes, or should I say panties, fit?”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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bts-sierra · 3 years

Text

Dance with the Devil

J-Hope x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: drinking, swearing [only like one word tho], grinding, making out

Masterlist

You and your friends stumble into the club, looking around to make sure that you all got through security just fine. Clubs in this area were known to have an elaborate process to get in since a lot of privileged underaged kids try to sneak in all the time. Not that you were all that older, but you weren’t bratty, and you just happened to make the cut.

You walk further in, twisting and craning your neck to take in the view you had in front of you. It was one of those fancy clubs that had extravagant interiors and dimly lit golden hues that cast warm shadows all over the place. One of your girlfriends, Mila, had just started working here and invited you guys to come check it out.

The music was so loud that you felt your heart almost explode and the air was an overpowering mix of liquor and perfume. While this might be a place one came to unwind and escape, to you, it was suffocating. But you’d stuck to your word and showed up to give Mila some company for the night.

The rest of your friends rush towards the sectioned off dance floor at the corner while the latest hits of the time played. You grab a hold of the bar stool and sit in front of Mila. It was a way for her to make a couple of extra bucks and you knew she hated having to work here but you had to admit, she kinda fit right in with the atmosphere. You could see the way she looked over at the rest of the group, like she wished she was on the other side of the counter, downing drinks instead of concocting them.

“I see you’re not drinking again. You’re legally allowed to now, you know that right? I get it was your excuse before but what’s stopping you now?” Mila inquires. You shift in your seat, turning to look at the rest of the group along with her.

“I don’t know, I just don’t get the point. Why would I want to when I have just as much fun sober? I mean, I like remembering my nights out ya know,” you reply. She sighs.

“Suit yourself. I just don’t think you’ve had a reason to just yet. And when you find it, it’s all that you’ll need in that moment,” she retorts.

You scoff. Yeah, right. Like you don’t have enough reasons. You just don’t rely on alcohol to solve them. You’ll never need alcohol the way the others do. Your friend then motions you towards the dance floor.

“Looks like they want you to head on over. You should. I get off soon enough that I can come join.” And with that, she heads on over to serve the group of boys sitting a few seats away from you.

You’re fast on your heels, making your way through the booths and then across the dance floor towards your friends. The only intoxicating aspect of this night is the music. With every beat, you tilt your head back and sway to the music that booms endlessly. All your friends and you giggling and dancing one moment, jumping and screaming the lyrics to the song in the next.

A while later, you turn to find Mila dragging you by the arm towards the bar.

“Listen, shots on me. You gotta do this with me, just the once. Come on now, please,” she whines.

It isn’t like you’ve never drank before. You have but it just doesn’t work the way it does for others. Defeated, you nod hesitantly. Mila squeals as she grabs two larger than usual shot glasses from over the counter and downs them with you in an instant. You squirm from the sting at the back of your throat.

“That was horrible,” you remark.

“Tequila’ll do that to ya! Oh, also-” Mila says as she turns to look over at the men a few seats away, now approaching you guys. “I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with these lovely men tonight and they seem like they’d keep us good company,” she finishes off.

“We don’t mean to intrude on your night. We just thought we could grab some drinks and hang since we’ve never really been around here,” the tall one with dimples speaks. The other two grinning by his sides. Before you can begin to deny the request, Mila brings her hand to your wrist, cutting you off.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds like a great time,” she smiles.

“Perfect,” he smiles back at her, his dimples sinking deeper. “I’m Namjoon by the way.”

It’s like you don’t even exist. You weren’t new to this feeling, though. Mila was always lively and chatty at clubs and caught the guys’ attention. You didn’t complain seeing as you didn’t want anything to do with them most of the times.

“Well, I’m Mila but you already knew that. And this is Y/N,” she says as she motions towards you. You manage to smile back at the guy. He proceeds to gesture to the two guys beside him.

“This is Jimin,” he says as your eyes travel to the shortest of the three with full lips that formed a smirk.

“... and this is Hoseok,” he continues as you look at the man with a sharp jaw, hair falling to his eyes, dressed in red who, to your surprise, was smiling at you. They were all very good looking, but you were admittedly the most intrigued by the last one. His demeanor just didn’t seem to fit the soft expression he displayed at the sight of you. You react to him unintended, your moth slightly pouting and eyes fluttering.

“Nice to meet you guys,” you say, much to Mila’s shock.

“I swear she’s usually never this forward without at least some alcohol in her. It seems like one of you guys piqued her interest,” Mila states, almost like an observation. You nudge her while you simply flash a smile at the boys, locking your eyes with Hoseok, only momentarily, before you quickly look to the rows of liquor bottles displayed at the bar.

Mila insisted that you all try another couple round of shots from the secret menu she exclusively knows about. Before you knew it, you were the slightest bit tipsy. Reluctant at first but less hesitant after. It barely affects me, so why should I be a spoil sport? Little did you know, the ease with which you reached for the other glasses, an effect of the previous shots you’d consumed.

Jimin broke away from the rest of you to go answer a call while Mila and Namjoon carried on with their conversation. You and Hoseok stood there, feeling out of place. Hoseok grabs your palm and pulls you further away from them. Without having time to process what just happened, you look at him in slight confusion.

“Don’t tell me you don’t get the cue. They wanted to be left alone,” Hoseok states as if it was blatantly obvious.

It finally clicks in for you. It wasn’t that you couldn’t pick up on social cues, you just didn’t expect it to be one of those nights where she didn’t stick by you, seeing as you showed up for her and all. But get it, I guess. You suddenly become aware of Hoseok’s hand that was still holding yours, and you’re willing to bet your cheeks are stained red. My clammy hands are not made for these situations. You quickly relieve your hands from his and cross them over yourself, subtly rubbing off the sweat.

“I do get the cue, I was just lost in thought,” you retaliate. And to be honest, you kind of were. Hoseok was breathtakingly beautiful. The way he nods and reacts with his whole body as part of his response to conversations stuck out to you. You couldn’t help but study his body, the way his chest rose and fell when he was quieter, the way he threw his head back as he laughed, the way his jaw clenched as he set the empty shot glasses down and the way he licked his lips every so often like he could still taste the remnants of the drink.

“About what?” Hoseok questions. Fuck! Now what do you say?

“Just about how the night’s going I guess,” you confess. Because it’s true. You are wondering where this night is going, and you hoped he’d be a huge part of it.

“How did you want it to go?” Hoseok further inquiries.

After giving it a brief thought, you sigh, “I don’t know. I don’t usually drink or go out. So, this night better be one for the books.”

Hoseok grins. “With how you downed those shots, you could’ve fooled me. I barely ever drink either but that’s because I cannot hold my alcohol.”

You chuckle. “Couldn’t be me,” you say cheekily. And as if God loved to see you contradict yourself, you began to sway in your place, brushing against his shoulders. Hoseok steadies you, placing his hand on your lower back.

“You sure about that?” he teases.

Your whole body is on fire, the alcohol coursing through your veins. It has kicked in, you can tell. Except, it never really used to. The pads of his cold fingers that rested on your bare skin provided some relief.

“I’m usually better, trust,” you try to convince him.

“Mhm hmm, sure. Listen I’m no one to judge you. It catches up to me pretty quickly, though I guess I’m just good at keeping my composure,” Hoseok explains.

You don’t mean to, but you can’t help but take notice of him. Eyeing him from head to toe and back, your gaze resting on his mouth.

“Of course, you can, you’re not wearing 4-inch heels,” you snicker as you say.

---

The music filled your ears once again as you realize that Hoseok had finally managed to convince you to come to the dance floor with him. You’ve lost all concept of time, but you could care less. All you could do was stand by and watch Hoseok; watch how he becomes music itself. He was already a sight to see but watching him move like this, all dressed in red, you couldn’t help but think of how he reminded you of the devil. If the devil was hot and could dance.

He catches you watching him, his gaze locked with yours. He licks his lips, strands of his hair stuck to his forehead, as he takes all of you in. He watches you move in response to him, and then the way you get lost in the music. The next moment, you felt his hands grip your wrist, forcefully pulling you into him. He takes the lead, and you simply follow as if he was Pied Piper himself.

Hoseok’s gaze intensifies as he lets go of your wrist to bring his hand, slowly tilting your chin up towards his face. With the drop of the beat, he presses his lips to yours, sweet at first, before he redirects his hand to cup your face, bringing you closer. The kiss turns reckless and hurried when his thigh shifts its position to press up against your core, causing you to stop and gasp for air. Foreheads touching, you focus on the sound of the music once again, now moving with him and not just to him.

“You’re not too bad a dancer,” he says, a wicked grin forming on his face.

“After watching you move like that, I’d hope I wasn’t,” you respond.

You’re now hyper aware of his hands and the way they roam your body as he tries to keep up with the conversation. This was hardly the time for a conversation though.

With that thought, you roll your hips towards his as you look back up at him, your eyes fluttering and your lips wet. He sneaks his hands to your hips, pulling you further into him, making sure you can feel his growing erection. You turn around as you guide his hands around to hold your waist as he continues to move you into him. Your butt now pressed up against his restrained erection, lightly grinding against him to give yourself a sense of pleasure. Hoseok’s head drops to the nook of your shoulder as he lightly pants and its music to your ears. You fasten your pace, and he brings his hand to tightly grasp the sides of your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. You tilt your head towards him, lightly moaning against his ears, making him grunt in reaction. He pulls himself off of you and turns you around, smashing his lips to yours once again as his hands grip your butt, pulling you closer to feel him; to feel how much he wants to have you. He slips his tongue against yours and the kiss becomes sloppier until Hoseok breaks away, muttering words into your ears that you try your best to make out.

“If we don’t stop, at this rate, I might as well fuck you here on the dance floor. I need you right now, Y/N” he lowly growls, his hot breath against your neck sending shivers down your spine.

Just as greedy to feel him all over your body, and specifically, the need to feel him in you, consumes your soul. Hah, maybe he was the devil. You rush to grab your coat, shooting Mila and the rest of the girls in the group chat a text saying you’ll see them next morning.

Hoseok grabs at you as you guys stumble out of the club, getting into his car.

“Where to?” the chauffeur asks.

Hoseok looks at you and you lean forward to give directions. You lay back into Hoseok and almost instantly his hands grip tightly at the inner side of your thigh, earning a moan from you. Will we even make it back to my place without him ripping my clothes off?

------

A/N: Hey guys, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors I might’ve let slip by. I really enjoyed writing this piece, it was very different from how I normally would write. So I hope you guys liked reading it just as much!

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scatterpatter · 3 years

Note

Corren - 1 through 100 - You did this to yourself.

FUCK YOU *UN-IRONICS YOUR ASK*

UNDER THE FUCKING CUT

1. What do they smell like?

Bad. Do you think their party is able to regularly take showers? I thinketh the fuck not. ... Pine and old books when he can self care tho.

2. What is their voice like?

Listen I know Corren, being taller, would be more likely to have a deeper register but you'll tear "tenor Corren" out of my cold dead hands

3. What is their biggest motivator?

Spite.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory?

When he first met his BFF Alondra, he was so antisocial and good at ignoring people that she actually got the impression he might have been hard of hearing. She never let him live that down. (one day I'll finish this fic i promise)

5. How do they deal with/react to pain?

"I will keep all of my pain in here, and one day I'll die." ... Okay but listen he's squishy so he takes like one hit and is bloodied up. Someone get him a healer. Pls.

6. What do they like to wear?

He likes his cloak. Its weighty and soft(well. WAS soft. got a bit of wear and tear these days.) and like. Who doesnt love cloaks.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

Ohhhhh fuuuccck this one's tough. I might have to go with Torvid honestly. While the entire party has had a positive impact on him(and trust me I was this close to picking Alistair), Torvid's been more of the one to call him out on his bullshit and to, oh I don't know, talk about your emotions? Ever??? Yknow BEFORE they become too much to handle and he absolutely breaks down???

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten?

Alistair's cooking.

9. Describe the way that they sleep.

Good luck finding him NOT cuddled up with at least one dog. Tbh he just enjoys cuddles in general.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food?

FUCKIN. GIVE HIM A GOOD STEAK. THIS BOY IS MOSTLY CARNIVORISTIC.

11. What do they feel most insecure about?

As tempted as I am to say "His cooking", it's actually his singing.

12. How do they like to dress?

"Comfort over flashiness tbh. I gotta go ADVENTURING in whatever I wear after all."

"... Also don't you DARE perceive me as cishet."

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt?

Call him a genie because he will BOTTLE THAT SHIT UP.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal?

Denial :D

15. What is their greatest achievement?

Shrike: Killing his dad

Me: NOOOOOO

EDIT: WAIT THIS WAS ANSWERED IN Q99 WHAT THE HECK

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep?

Somehow more of a dick than usual. Snappy and cranky and just. Mrehhh.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk?

Doesn't get drunk often, but when he does I imagine he's actually giggly and a little clingy. It's cute :)

18. What kind of music do they enjoy?

*Opens my Corren playlist* Oh yeah. It's either full edgy alt rock or indie alt "depressed millenial" tracks.

19. Are they right or left handed?

FFFuuhhhhck uhhhh well

Looking over my old art I can't seem to pick a dominant hand(I've even drawn him handling his sniper with either hand???????????) so like oops guess he's ambidextrous.

20. Fears?

The dark, the ocean, dying alone and forgotten, his friends losing their trust of him

21. Favorite kind of weather?

Rain!!!! Especially cool rain like what people often get in fall months.

22. Favorite color?

Indigo!!!

23. Do they collect anything?

Books :3

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more?

Cold weather by far.

25. What is their eye color?

Electric blue!

26. What is their race/ethnicity?

Well his race is a homebrew race known as Marelienth. Uhhh ethnicity? Idk he's from a mountain town way up north *shrugs*

In human aus I imagine him as half-Mongolian half-Norwegian so ayee

27. Hair color?

Black!

28. Are they happy where they are currently?

No :D He loves adventuring with his party don't get me wrong but he still has a lot of trauma to unpack. ... Also he was just possibly broken up with soooo. :/

29. Are they a morning person?

NOPE.

30. Sunrise or sunset?

*motions to above question* Sunset.

31. Are they more messy or more organized?

More organized, actually!

32. Pet peeves?

*unravels a list. It's all shit the party has done. Mostly Alistair.*

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance?

HOOUSIDSJFK- HE- Y-YEAH HE SURE DOES

His amethyst pendant used to belong to his brother, Julian, and he gave it to Corren right before they were separated so you BET it's sentimental as shit and he wears it daily.

34. Least favorite food?

Mecha's usually a great cook but one time trolled him with some absurdly spicy curry he couldn't handle and he's never forgiven them.

35. Least favorite color?

Hmmm. Maybe... yellow?

36. Least favorite smell?

He spent a year with his party in a damp cave and no showers, so uh. I'll give you a guess.

37. When was the last time they cried?

Literally last night in our game's timeline :D Full breakdown and everything!

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried?

Torvid :D He was there to comfort

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured?

One time they were in combat and Corren took a few hits and was down to about 2hp or so. He had a temporary level thanks to Kieran, which boosted his HP a little bit. When he teleported them to a safe town, though, well... Torvid was waiting for them so that's cool. But uh. Yeah that temporary level wore off then and there, dropping Corn Cob to exactly 0hp and he just- flopped down face first in the snow and started dying then and there KJNDKLFNSLKN

40. Do they have any scars?

Do you want to talk about the scar over his eye from a fight he got in with his dad or like. The scars on his limbs from the time he was literally experimented on.

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues?

Undiagnosed+Untreated Anxiety, Depression, DPDR, PTSD, just to name a few

42. Do they have any bad habits?

Running away from his problems, definitely.

43. Why might someone dislike them?

He's a pretentious nerd. He can be a dick if he doesn't care about you.

44. Why might someone love them?

He's an adorable nerd! He's a hopeless romantic and oddly enough an optimist. He's passionate and driven too!

45. Do they believe in ghosts?

Well ghosts are like- a canon proven thing in his world sooo. Yeah.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives?

His party. Well- most in his party.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone?

Nethyl :)

48. Are they dating/married to anyone?

He's dating Nethyl and they're in a happy and healthy relationship :) *politely ignores canon*

49. Do they like surprises?

NO >:(

50. When is their birthday?

Heroya 5th! I think. I don't wanna check, assume it's this.

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday?

"You guys celebrate your watchdays?"

Jokes aside, he mainly just treats himself to a nice dinner and a new book or something :)

52. Do they have any family?

Two older siblings: Julian and Mila. His parents are Andreas and Fanya!

53. Are they close to their family?

... *Coughs*. He was close with his siblings, but Mila died and he hasn't seen Julian in 30 years. Was close with his dad but last time they saw each other, they fought and Corren might have killed him so. ... Yeah. :/

54. What is their MBTI type?

FUCK uh. I... N... T... J? INTJ. Sure.

55. What is their zodiac sign?

In Sekrezia: The eagle

In our world: Uhhh. Idk. Capricorn????

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in?

Uhhh. Ravenclaw??? I know almost nothing about HP :/

57. What D&D alignment are they?

THIS ONE'S EASY- lawful neutral!

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about?

Used to have typical nightmares, nothing special. Nowadays though he often dreams of being underwater. Not drowning, though. It's... weird. He doesn't like those.

59. What are their views on death?

He's a necromancer lol.

Death is inevitable, though. It's a necessary part of life. Death is not an entire loss, though. One lives on in the memories others carry of them, in the love they hold in their hearts. Death is complicated, but that's okay.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at?

Alistair :)

61. When bored, how do they pass time?

Dog time :)

62. Do they enjoy being outside?

... Ehhhhhh?

63. Do they have an accent?

Technically??? It's an accent from where he's from but like. I just barely tweak my own voice when I rp him so? Damn Corren I'm sorry you've been cursed with east coast dialect.

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction?

"Damn who's the rich bastard here?" (cake is kinda a delicacy in their world- not like elites only but not NEARLY as common as it is here)

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say?

Reassurance mode to whomever he's with. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm okay. Remember what I told you, death is a natural part of life, yeah? I don't have any regrets, I'm okay... Just. Thanks. For giving me a chance. Thank you. Thank you."

66. How do they feel about sex?

I SWEAR he's allosexual. I'm just bad at writing allosexuals.

67. What is their sexuality?

He doesn't really know how to pin it down, so he just calls himself "queer". Definitely not straight, that's all he knows.

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood?

AHAHA no. He's hella desensitized

69. Is there anything that they find really gross?

Skulking cyst. Look it up at your own volition. It's. NO.

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them?

It's 12:21 in the morning and I'm NOT about to scroll through a bunch of tv tropes just. just. NERD stereotype.

71. Do they enjoy helping people?

Yyyyes? Only really if it's the people he cares about.

72. Are they allergic to anything?

Bullshit.

73. Do they have a pet?

WINGTHARA!! HIS SKELE-DOG!!!

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loose their temper?

Oh yeah he's all bark and no bite. He usually just throws a little fit and/or yells.

75. How patient are they?

More than he should be :/

76. Are they good at cooking?

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often?

Oh yes he insults the others all the time. No particular favorite, he likes so spice it up.

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy?

Stim. Stim. Stim. His eyes get all sparkly and he. He.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears?

He will do everything in his power to assure they won't ever have to deal with their fears alone- You afraid of spiders? It's his job to get the spiders from now on so you won't have to deal with them.

80. Are they trustworthy?

Oh yeah. He's like Rapunzel- doesn't break promises.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it?

Oh yes he tries to hide it. And yes, he's awful at it.

82. Do they exercise regularly?

Yes and no? No like- exercise regimen, but the amount of travelling and fighting they do is just- a workout in and of itself

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look?

Yeah! He's cute and he knows it baybie!!!

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people?

He,,, he likes someone who's physically stong,,, Muscles are,,, aaaaa >///>

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive?

Someone he can nerd out with :)

86. Do they like sweet foods?

Impartial to it. He won't turn sweets away but he's not crazy about them either.

87. What is their age?

43, the equivalent of- I think someone in their mid 30s?

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between?

He's 6'8" :) Which is actually normal for his race

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts?

Sometimes! I like to think he has reading glasses or something like that.

90. Do they consider themselves attractive?

HE'S CUTE AND HE KNOWS IT.

91. What is their sense of humor like?

Julian tainted his sense of humor and now he finds the most dumb shit hilarious. Think very millenial/GenZ humor like "I wish I was Jared, 19"

92. What mood are they most often in?

"I don't get paid enough for this" or Fear.jpg

93. What kinds of things anger them?

People who don't keep their FUCKING WORD. Oh and like. Yknow. Half the shit his party does.

94. Outlook on life?

Again he's??? Oddly an optimist? In the "Things will get better and that is a fucking THREAT" way, but still optimist!

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed?

Talk about his family :) Or the fact that his boyfriend might want him dead :)

96. What is their greatest weakness?

He's squishy as fuck. He goes down easy.

97. What is their greatest strength?

He's extremely intelligent and great with magic and his sniper!

98. Something that they regret?

Not doing more to stop his brother when he tried to resurrect their sister

99. Biggest accomplishment?

Either convincing an entire town his name is Torren or accidentally convincing some very OP people that he's secretly a dragon.

100. Create your own!

FUCK YOU I SPENT LIKE 2 HOURS ON THIS. NO PROOFREAD. IVE ALREADY DESIGNED CORREN'S AND NETHYL'S HYPOTHETICAL KIDS. ANYWAYS THEY'RE TWIN IRINAGA AND I'VE NAMED THEM AFTER THE DNDADS TWINS: THEIR NAMES ARE LARK AND SPARROW.

#LONG POST #LONG LONG POST #Corren #FUCK YOU DREWSKI <3

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houseof-harry · 4 years

Note

So can we get an entanglement blurb? 😂😂😂 (No seriously can we?) Imagine saying you are having/had an an entanglement with someone to your friend and you say it in front of hatefuck!Grayson?? Like... Imagine how mad he would get? How petty he would be? Oof I can imagine him trying to make you jealous and him hatefucking YN. Oooh im getting ahead of myself 🔥🔥🔥🔥😈

Ngl it’s hard for me to write this without revealing stuff from part 2 so I’m gonna do my best (also this will probs be a bit of a preview for part 2 I might just put it in who knows I need to plan better but I won’t ANYWAYS).

It’s like two weeks after your little getaway and everyone’s hanging at your friends pool. You’re chatting with everyone about your weekends, what happened, who went where, who did what. Or who did who, in your case.

You were telling them about the guy you had met at the bar, with the big muscles, the tan skin, the tattoos, the beard. To be honest, when Grayson heard you talking about him for a moment he couldn’t even blame you for fucking the guy and being so proud about it. But then he remember it was you talking, and he instantly felt his blood pressure rise.

“His hands were just so...big. And his hand print was bruised on me literally until this morning.”

All the girls around you giggle, ignoring Grayson gloomy presence as he wafted in the water closer and closer, trying to seem as casual as possible with his back turned to you all.

“Oh my god and the way he just man handle me, he picked me up without even batting an eye. It was fucking amazing.”

“Ugh, you’re really out here living the dream,” Mila sighs out, a pout adorning her lips.

“For real, Y/N, you gotta give us all the tips,” Jas adds, a knowing smirk on her face. You roll your eyes before looking at the other girls again.

Before you can respond with anything, Ethan is announcing dinner and the girls are dispersing. You decide to float around for a few minutes alone, wanting the space before you’re back at the dinner table with everyone.

“So he’s got nice hands?”

You jump and cover your mouth, fear shooting through your body for a moment as you turn to see Grayson in the water with you.

“Jesus fucking christ you dick. How long have you been stalking me?”

He rolls his eyes, sinking into the water so that just his neck and head are above it. “It’s a small ass pool, I’m not stalking you.”

You huff, looking over to see all of your friends starting to get there food and sit around the table that’s blocked by the fire pit. You could see them, but they could barely see you. “Aren’t you going to eat or some shit?”

“Aren’t you?”

“God you’re annoying.” You decide to move and float on your back, closing your eyes so you can do your best to ignore him.

“Bet he didn’t make you cum as hard as I did.”

You groan, clenching your fists. “You’re such a fucking boy. Not everything is a damn competition. But, if it was, he won.”

For a minute you’re met with silence, and you think maybe he’s actually going to leave you alone.

“Liar.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, shifting your body to be upright again. You’re met with his smug face, muscles bulging as his skin drips with water from the pool. For a second you think about how he definitely looks better than the other guy would dripping wet like that, but you shut it down real fast. “First, you need to put your ego in check. This may come as a shock to you, but you’re not some god on earth. Second, stop talking about this shit while our friends are here. They don’t need to know shit happened.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I definitely don’t want them knowing I slept with the fake ass princess of town. I’m just saying it’s a shame you think you’ll ever get better dick than mine.”

“You are such a fucking dick. Like a grade A, picture perfect image of an asshole.” You start to swim to the edge, over his antics. You reach for the deck, getting ready to pull yourself out when you felt two large hands grip your waist, forcing you to stay shoulder deep in the water. You couldn’t stand here, but he could.

“Running away from your problems, like always?” His voice is right in your ears and you’re sure if you shift your head just a tiny bit you’d feel his lips there as well.

“So you finally admit you’re a problem?”

He chuckles softly, his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips. “Maybe. But you’re not much better.”

You cock your head to move farther from his, almost as if you’re considering his words. “Maybe,” you mock him, your muscles tensing as one of his hands slowly moves to the front of your bathing suit. His fingers dip in, quickly finding your clit and getting to work. You hate that your body naturally responds as you relax like putty in his grip, your legs spreading. “But at least I don’t have to trap random girls in a pool with me to reassure my fat fucking ego.”

He bites his lip, temporarily ignoring your words and he continues to circle your clit. He listens to your quiet whimpers as you do what you can to stay silent, both for the sake of not feeding further into his pride and to keep your activities a secret.

Soon your chest is rising and falling quickly and you’re grateful you’re in a pool because there would be no other way to explain the drips of sweat on your hairline. You can feel the fire in the pit of your stomach slowly growing, spreading throughout your entire body.

“Interesting you think you’re a random girl,” he mumbles into your ear before removing himself completely from you.

You gasp, quickly coming back to reality as your orgasm fades into the past, watching him pull himself out of the pool next to you. It should honestly be illegal how good his back looked when doing that.

He looks down at you, annoying ass smirk and all with his hands on his hips as he watches you try to process everything that just happened. “Going to eat. Or some shit.”

And with that he leaves you alone in the pool, cheeks flushed, pussy clenching and a whole lot to think about.

#grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan smut #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins smut #g.blurb #g.smut #hyt #hyt blurb

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 38)

A faint, warm breeze caresses Mila’s face as she and Juri walk along the quiet street, running alongside the newly built wall. A few of the Alexandrian men are working on the final piece, funnily enough nearby the church that caused it to break. It’s been two months since the wall collapsed now, or at least that’s what she thinks. Mila looks at the new construction as she and Juri passes, feeling a sense of calm throughout her soul as her eyes sweep over the repaired structure that has also been expanded; a part of Deanna’s original plan for the community. On the piece of the wall that stood by the invasion, next to the small graveyard, someone has written the name of those who have perished; loved ones, friends, family and those who became family after the outbreak. It’s a nice memorial site, a quiet corner of the community. Since that day, when the walkers poured into Alexandria, everything has gone back to a somewhat normal state.

It’s a hot mid-summer’s day, the sky is blue and the clouds look extra fluffy. Juri points towards them and gestures as if he squeezed an invisible marshmallow between his soft little fingers.

“Yeah they look tasty.” Mila smiles and squints up towards the floating clouds cruising by without a hurry. “What about-” Softly, she pinches Juri’s button nose. “I try to find us some yummy marshmallows for a barbecue when I get back, huh?”

With glittering eyes Juri nods and hugs her tightly; obviously he is positive about the idea.

“Then it’s a date.” Mila chuckles and hugs Juri back, before putting him down on the ground. “Ufh, you are getting heavy. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.”

With a proud, sunny face Juri stretches, he’s certainly not a little guy anymore; in Mila’s eyes, paradoxically, he’s still her little baby, while she’s also well aware that he’s turning four in a few months. Where the heck did the years between infancy and two go? With a smile, she thinks of Maggie and what adventure awaits her and Glenn in the years to come. At least they have each other, a small consolation when the world is constantly on the brink of doom.

“Since you’re a big boy now, you’re going to teach Maggie’s baby a lot of important things. Like Carl does with you and Judith.” Mila says and takes Juri’s hand. “You think you can do that?”

Juri nods, with eyes that take the task very seriously. He adores Carl like an older brother and being addressed as a big boy, doing ‘Carl-stuff’, is everything he’s ever wanted. Juri gestures with his free hand and makes a finger walk in the air; of course he will teach the new baby to walk. But when he lets go of Mila’s hand, to show that he’s going to teach the baby to tie its shoes, Mila raises her left eyebrow.

“Well, I think we have to practice that one a little bit, Malysh.” Mila says.

Stubbornly, Juri signals that he’s already trying to learn, or rather states, very stubborn, that Daryl should teach him. He’s done it before, Juri gestures with a triumphant grin.

“Really?” Mila smiles. “Sure, I bet he’s good at it. What’s left for me then? I’m just gonna sit by and watch?”

By putting his hands together in front of him and pointing his index fingers straight ahead, Juri gestures a finger-gun. He narrows one eye and pretends to aim and fire. He points at her with a smile, clarifies that she’s best at shooting, therefore she should teach him.

“Spasibo, malysh.” She winks at Juri. “Not quite yet, though. But I promise you, I will.”

Further down the street, both of them catch sight of Daryl and Denise. They part, Denise walks away from them and Daryl turns and starts to walk in their direction. Mila waves at him and Juri starts to run as fast as his short legs possibly can towards their favorite archer. Despite his packing, a backpack and the crossbow, Daryl receives Juri when he reaches him; he lifts him up in the air on straight, strong arms, making Juri’s blonde hair dance around his angelic face. The silent laugh that spreads on his face makes Mila’s heart swell with joy. She had never thought that the surly archer would melt completely because of a, certainly charming, mute toddler; her little ray of sunshine. He even smiles as he lifts Juri into the air. Surely a sight for sore eyes, she thinks as they meet in the middle of the street.

“Ya’ ready?” Daryl greets her as he puts Juri down. “We’re heading out now.”

“All done.” She replies, notices a piece of paper in Daryl’s hand. A shopping list? “That’s a nice little list you got there.” Mila peeks over the edge of the slightly crinkly paper, that looks like it’s been passed around the entire community. “Food, gas, some medicine, more medicine… another medicine-” She frowns her eyebrows. “Orange soda?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Denise wanted to surprise Tara.”

“That’s nice.” Mila nods.

It was decided last night that Tara and Heath would go on a longer supply run. Daryl was asked to follow, but declined. Mila suspected that it was because of her; she’s been a bit under the weather the last couple of days; she’s been tired and just a bit feeble, felt nauseated. Carol was sure it was just her female hormones acting out, which could very well be a possibility. Tracking a period during the apocalypse wasn’t high on her ‘to do’-list, so she brushed it off. Daryl didn’t say anything about the reason for his decision, but Mila guessed that he didn’t feel like leaving her behind, even though she’s neither sick or… well, anything really. Just a bit tired. Instead, it was decided that Daryl and Rick would go on a supply run. Mila offered to come along; Daryl couldn’t possibly stop her from following, so it was settled that she’d tag along.

They walk to the dusty Chrysler sedan together. Rick’s already in place, assuring that his gun is loaded and attached properly to his belt when they arrive.

“Mornin’.” He greets them with a nod; Once a cop, always a cop. The only thing missing is the wide-brimmed hat. “Ready to go?”

Both of them nod and Daryl hands Rick the list of supplies.

“Ya’ see anything you miss?” He asks.

Rick glances through the list quickly.

“We’re outta’ toothpaste.” He states and lifts his eyes to them, waving the note between his fingers. “Keep an eye open for spearmint and baking soda. Michonne’s orders.”

“Got it.” Mila turns to Juri and squats in front of him. “Okay, be nice to Carol and the others, don’t run away.”

With a serious look, Juri reminds her of the promise of marshmallows.

“I’ll remember.” Mila promises and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “There, davay.” She gets up from the ground as Juri turns and runs over to the porch, climbs the stairs and gets into the house to find Carol.

They get in the car, Rick and Daryl in the front seat and Mila in the back seat. She puts her handgun and backpack in the seat next to her and Rick rolls over to the gates, where Eugene’s about to push it open for them. On the other side, pierced on a couple of rebar attached to a broken car, a couple of walkers are trying their best to reach for them with their worn, boney arms, all in vain.

Eugene strutts over to the passenger seat of the car and leans into the open window. The mullet looks more solid than ever as he hands Daryl another note. “I mapped out some of the agricultural supply places in the area.” He says in the heavy Texan accent Mila finds incredibly fascinating. “Even if they’ve been cleaned out, my bet is that the sorghum would be untouched. Now, that there is a criminally underrated grain that could change the game with our food situation from scary to hunky-dunky.”

No one says anything. Mila rests her elbows on the backs of the driver’s and passenger seats and leans in so her head sticks out in between the two men in the front.

”I'm talking standability-” Eugene continues. “Drought tolerance, grain-to-stover ratio that is the envy of all corns.” He pauses. “Think about it.”

”Gosh I could listen to him forever.” Mila says and looks at Rick. “Hunky-dunky.” She repeats in an as good as it gets Texan accent, while meeting Eugene’s eyes.

“All right.”

The car drives out through the gate, Rick accelerates and they leave Alexandria behind.

“I’m having a good feeling ‘bout today.” Rick says cheerful.

“Really?” Mila replies.

“Just-” Rick shrugs. “You know- You just feel it. Today’s the day. We're gonna find food, maybe some people. The law of averages has gotta catch up.”

“We ain’t seen nobody for weeks.” Daryl notes. “Maybe we ain’t gonna find nobody.”

“That’s sunny.” Mila says, strokes his bare arm with her fingertips. “Let’s cheer this bad boy up, sheriff.”

Rick grins and pushes ‘play’ on the stereo. The music starts faintly and Mila recognizes the band as Social Distortion.

”Oh I like this one!” Mila exclaims and starts to sing along.

”Thought ya’ only liked country?” Rick looks at her in the rearview mirror.

”Nuh.” Mila shakes her head. ”I’m full of surprises. Fun fact, I went to a bunch of cool concerts back in Jersey. These guys, Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, Rise Against, Pearl Jam- Lots of rock, punk, country-” Mila continues to sing along when the chorus starts. ”I made out with the Social Distortion singer, Mike Ness, after a concert. Or at least I think it was him.”

”Think?” Daryl sputters and turns to look at her.

”I was eighteen!” Mila shrugs easily. “And drunk beyond judgement.” She confesses. ”He was- old, kinda’ handsome. Smelled quite nice, except the sweat. When I think about it, it could just as well be any middle aged guy with tattoos and tons of hair wax working backstage. I will never know for sure. But I’d like to believe it was the singer. Makes the story more interesting.”

Rick laughs.

“Concerts are wild.” He agrees while tapping the steering wheel. “I took Lori to see Tim McGraw once, before Carl was born. Cheap fried hot wings, beer in red plastic cups, great music; great night.”

“Is he the-” Mila starts to hum while drumming on the thighs. “Hu-huuu- I like it, I love it-”

“-I want some more of it-” Rick tunes in and snaps his finger to her beat. “I try so hard, I can't rise above it. I don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin’-”

“Christ sake-” Daryl sighs and slides further down the passenger seat.

“Here-” Rick hands Mila the worn plastic case of cd’s from the door pocket. “Find something good.”

“Yes, captain.” Mila unzips the case and starts to flip the plastic pages, filled with scratched cd’s, before finding something that looks promising. “Here-”

“Please, don’t-” Daryl pleads.

Too late. She leans into the front seat and pushes the cd into the radio.

“Crank it up!”

Rick turns the volume wheel up to fourteen and both he and Mila happily exclaims “yeeeah” when the intro to “Life is a highway” blasts out of the cheap stereo.

“Ya’ both crazy!” Daryl cries, in an attempt to drown out the radio.

“Draws ‘em away from home!” Rick calls before tuning into the catchy chorus with Mila.

Rick knows the lyrics even better than she does; she still stumbles on the fast lines combined with her not pitch perfect english.

After driving for awhile, while continuing their exceptional singalong, Daryl manages to override the music:

”Look-” Daryl points out of the window and Rick hits the brakes in a matter of seconds. ”Back up.”

While Mila stretches forward and turns down the volume, Rick puts in reverse gear and drives the car back to the intersection. About a hundred meter to their right lies a couple of buildings. A silo, a shed and a barn, with ’sorghum’ written all over the dirty white roof. Rick turns the wheel, hits the gas and drives in the direction of the barn. He drives up on the dirt road and parks in front of the red building. It looks untouched, as if no one else knew about the great power of the sorghum. They step out of the car and look around. It’s quiet, no walkers.

“Let’s check it out.” Rick looks around the corner.

”Best to be safe.” Daryl says and walks over to the storage roll up door. He checks the handle, nods as to tell that it’s unlocked. ”Ya’ cover?” He looks up at her and Rick.

”Yup.” Rick returns, hand on his gun.

While the two men get ready for combat, Mila throws a glance out over the fields surrounding the barn; keeping an eye open for potential enemies. The door goes up with a loud noise and Rick bursts into the barn. Mila’s eyes land on the back of a truck.

“No sorghum?” Mila says.

”Doesn’t look like it.” Rick turns to her and Daryl. “We’re good.” He states and points at the truck. ”One more time?”

”It ain’t locked.” Daryl puts his hand on the handle and thugs at the box truck roll up door that rolls up with a rattle.

”Wohaa!” Mila exclaims.

The truck is filled with supplies; food, blankets, towels, everything really. It must be their lucky day.

”How ’bout that?” Daryl says. “Looks like we’re done for today.”

”Let’s get this thing going, grab our gear and come back for the car later. Take another way back and see what we can see.” Rick states. “We still need to find more things.”

”I’ll go start it up-” Mila says. ”If it starts.”

”I think it does.”

”Also one of your optimistic predictions?” She smirks at Rick, turns and walks over to the drivers side and opens the door. ”Hah, they where dumb enough to leave the keys.”

Daryl unloads the most necessary things from the car, Rick locks it with a ‘beep’ on the key and they get inside the truck; Mila makes herself comfortable between her two companions and they backs out of the barn and hits the road. They head in the direction Rick drove before Daryl asked him to stop. The road is lined by green, lush forest. The sun has settled behind some clouds, but it’s still warm, a sticky moist heat that doesn’t really make Mila’s tiredness any better. She’s already drinked a whole bottle of water by herself and starts to feel her jeans push at her bladder. In the distance, she sees what looks like a very run-down gas station.

“Should we check it out?” Daryl looks at Rick, who nods. “Might be some gas left.”

“Let’s find out.”

Rick parks at the first pump and they get out of the truck. The gas station is a mess; debris everywhere, an abandoned jeep is parked outside and the black color of the roof has begun to flake and exposes the gray metal underneath. The store looks equally miserable. She strolls up to the doors and peeks through the dirty glass, but sees nothing else than darkness. On her right Daryl’s checking out a tipped-over vending machine, filled with soda and candy. Someone must’ve given up halfway through their attempt to move it, Mila thinks.

“Give me a hand with this.” Daryl says.

Rick, looking around the desolated place, turns on the spot and walks over to help. Besides her urge to pee, Mila’s struck by a slight sensation through her head, like nausea, just as she has been doing on and off the last two days. Heck, not now.

“I just gotta- you know.” She makes a whistling sound, to signal that she needs to find a toilet, or just walk behind the corner of the gas station to pee, or vomit - right now she cannot decide which of them she needs the most.

“We’ll get this.” Daryl nods towards the vending machine.

Mila turns and walks towards the door of the gas station. She thugs at it, then pushes it open with force. It’s barricaded with a shelf and she creates a passage wide enough for her to get through and walks inside the dark store, gun raised in front of her. She lets her gaze get used to the dark, then sweeps over the empty, chaotic store before she walks towards the back of it, towards the door with ‘staff only’, hanging on just one hinge. The back of the shop, a room that looks like something between an office and a storage, with walls clad in brown wooden panels, is also empty. She quickly finds the ‘staff only’-toilet that doesn’t look far too disgusting to sit down on. She closes the door halfway, to prevent herself from being in total darkness. While unzipping her jeans she curses herself for not bringing a flashlight. As she sits down, she promises herself to wash her whole body with steel wool as soon as they are back in Alexandria; the toilet stinks of urine and It must be a pure bacteria party in the small space. She closes her eyes, feels how the nausea calms down a bit, focuses to breath through her mouth to close out the acrid smell. She takes another breath and feels her bladder relax, happy to release the huge amount of water she drank.

Despite the disgusting toilet, it feels better to go to the toilet inside than outside. Mila reluctantly remembers the time she had to pee in the woods, and a walker snuck up behind her. With her trousers around her ankles, Mila had to ward off the armless, dead man. It wasn’t her proudest moment for sure.

Loud voices and thumps make her wake up from her thoughts. Mila almost falls on her nose getting up from the toilet seat with her jeans around her ankles. Swearing over the fact that she might have to repeat her unworthy pants incident, she makes her way out from the bathroom, thuggin’ on her panties and jeans to get them over her ass, to see what’s going on outside. Is there an ambush? She loses balance, while trying to zip her pants, when she makes her way out in between the gap in the door and drops to the pavement. While brushing her hair out of her face, Mila catches sight of Daryl and Rick standing out in the street. The truck is gone.

“What the heck?!” She cries and gets up from the ground, fiddling with the zipper. “Where’s the truck?”

“Gone.” Rick hollers back at her.

Mila lets go of the zipper again -whatever if she shows off her undies at this point- and holds out her arms, to show that she noticed that very well on her own.

“I was gone for like, five minutes, and now you lost the truck?”

“He took it-” Rick continues.

“He who?”

“Some goddamn’ hippie.” Daryl scoffs angrily. “Crashed into Rick and then drove off with the truck, swiped the keys.”

“Wha- just like that?” Mila says, more confused than ever. What the hell happened?

“We talked to him.”

“Okay… and?”

“Told us his name- called himself Jesus.”

“Yeah I’m sure that’s his name.” Mila laughs dryly; right, Jesus Christ would surely show up in the middle of nowhere and steal a truck filled with toothpaste, food and other supplies. “Jesus don’t steal trucks.” She says. “Jesus isn’t even real! And how on earth did he overpower both of you?”

The two men in front of her transform into two ashamed puppies, that’s been caught peeing on the carpet, in the matter of seconds. Mila suspects that they weren’t overpowered but tricked; muscles and guns are no use for cunning, and she knows a lot about the latter.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Mila sighs, squats and ties her boots with an extra secure double knot. “Lets go.”

“What?” Daryl looks at her.

“We gotta follow the truck.” She replies and thanks her lucky star for not having eaten anything heavy earlier this morning. “I won’t let someone who believes himself to be Jesus just steal our truck. I went to church back in Russia when I was a child; stealing is a sin, which makes this Jesus a hypocrite. Come on.”

Mila starts to run. Had she known she would have to chase after a truck, she would have taken a pair of running shoes. They pass the vending machine after a few hundred meters, discarded in the middle of the road. Mila brakes and takes a deep breath, wiping sweat from her forehead. The sticky heat is killing her and the three of them drip with sweat. Rick’s shirt is several shades darker and Daryl looks almost freshly showered. Next to her, Rick doubles down and rests his hands on his knees, still hugging the gun.

“How far do you think he’d come?” She pants.

“Dunno.” Daryl takes a crowbar from his backpack, shatters the display case of the vending machine and starts to stuff orange sodas and some snacks into his bag. He reaches Mila a can. “Here, drink.”

She smiles, as to say ‘thank you’ and opens the can. The soda is somewhere between lukewarm and warm, but it’s better than nothing. She finishes the can quickly and wipes her mouth on the back of her arm.

“Isn’t this the soda Denise wanted?” She asks.

“Uhu.” Daryl nods. “Special request.”

He takes one of the cans, punctures a hole in its side and pours the lukewarm orange drink into his mouth. Very classy.

“Hey, whatever she wants. She saved Carl's life.” Rick replies and receives the can from Daryl. “If there's still people out here, and they're still people, we should bring 'em in.”

“Still feelin’ positive, huh?” Daryl asks his friend. “Takin’ em in? Like this guy, stealing our truck?”

“No, not this guy.”

Daryl turns and looks at her, the gaze wanders from top to bottom.

“Ya’ good to go?” The look is caring, protective. As if he was trying to say 'sorry ‘bout the bumpy ride'.

Mila nods, feels a drop of sweat run down her lip, into her mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.” She replies and collects her long, sweaty hair on the back of her head, ties it up with a hair tie. “I’ve ran marathons, remember.”

They set off again at a slightly faster pace, strengthened by the soda. Mila breathes calmly as she sprints over the concrete, counts her breaths as she used to do when she was an avid runner and used to go out for a long run for fun. The circumstances are a bit different from back then; no running shoes or comfortable running clothes in bright colors, no iPod filled with upbeat music and no fitness clock tracking her pulse and her route. The boots are actually horrible to run in, the same goes for jeans, t-shirt and denim shirt, plus a backpack and weapons.

They follow the tire tracks until they reach a crest, where Daryl signals for them to stop. Carefully they ascend the hill until they can peek over the edge. In the hill down on the other side they see the truck, standing still. It has a puncture and Mila immediately sees a long-haired man with a beard, dressed in a long coat and a beanie, which in itself is pure madness. She’s dripping with sweat and would never in her life put on a long coat or hat now.

“That’s him?” She asks faintly.

“That’s him.” Rick nods at them to follow him into the woods to the left.

They carefully make their way over the fallen leaves between the trees, without losing sight of the truck. The man walks around to the back of the car and they see their chance. They quickly get out of the woods, Rick takes the lead and throws himself forward, wraps his arms around the man from behind.

“Hold still and maybe we won’t hurt you.”

If Rick thought it would help, he was completely wrong. The man sends off an elbow into Rick’s stomach and is suddenly free again. He makes a move, kicks Rick in the guts and gets him down on the ground. It's obvious that the guy is a bit sharper than the rest of the knives in the drawer; Mila climbs out of the ditch just as the man is about to set off towards the driver’s door, but is stopped by Daryl. While the men fight with each other, Mila manages to get up on the road just as the bearded man slips out of Daryl’s arms, pushes him into the side of the truck, turns around and loses track completely at the sight of Mila, who -tired of running and still a little nauseous- has pulled out her gun and aims it at him.

“Surprise!”

The brief moment is enough for Daryl to get back on his feet. He sees his chance when the man turns and notices Mila and tackles him from behind, down into the ditch. At gunpoint, they finally have the upper hand.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants and looks at Mila.

“The power of surprise.” She shrugs and looks down at the man.

He’s about thirty, long brown hair, beard. Yes, she sees the resemblance to Jesus; every time she sat in church and counted the icons portraying him when she was little. The serious man with sloping shoulders, blue dress, beard and well-groomed hair. The difference is that the Jesus in the icons didn’t have a knitted beanie and a leather coat.

The foliage behind the man in the grass rustles. A walker then announces its presence, by a guttural hissing sound.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus looks at them.

Without answering, Mila raises her gun at the walker and shoots.

“Okay.” Jesus nods, still with his hands raised in front of him. “You gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There's a lot of food on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys - now.”

“I think you know I'm not a bad guy.”

Once again, Mila suddenly feels that unpleasant, nauseating feeling, but this time it spreads from her head down to her stomach. She turns around, hurries away a few meters, bends forward and vomits into the ditch. ‘Is she okay?’ she hears Jesus' question, while she spits and feels how she shivers all over her body; fuck, she hates to vomit. But it actually feels better.

“Ey-” She hears Daryl scoff at the poor guy. “Eyes here, dude! The keys!”

“I’m fine.” Mila hollers and waves her arm at them, still folded like a pocket knife.

“You sure?” Jesus calls back.

“Oh shut up!” She shouts. “It’s because of you I’m throwing up.”

“Sorry.”

“Just-” Mila straightens her back. She feels less nauseated, a bit weak but otherwise much better. “Give us the keys.”

For some reason, Mila can’t figure out why, Jesus throws her the keys. It might be out of pity, or the fact that her two comrades are holding him at gunpoint; she nods at him, as a way to say thanks.

While Rick ties Jesus up, Daryl hurries over to her.

“Ya’ okay?” His eyes are worried. “Ya’ sick?”

“No I’m fine.” Mila nods averted. “Probably just too much running and too little breakfast. I’m good now.” She smiles. “Just, don’t kiss me until we’re back and I’ve brushed my teeths, okay?”

He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he grunts a little, caresses her cheek and places a kiss on her forehead instead.

“There’s toothpaste in the back of the truck.” He says, before returning to Rick and Jesus.

Mila gets into the truck, sits down in the middle seat and closes her eyes; maybe she should try to find one of those toothpastes, she has a foul taste in her mouth. She looks around the cab and finds a pack of spearmint gum. As she pushes a third gum into her mouth, Daryl and Rick jump on either side of her.

“Where is Jesus?” She asks.

“On the street.”

“What? We can’t just leave him?”

“Of course we can.” Rick replies, turns the key and starts the car.

“So long, you prick.” Daryl shouts out of the window as they drive off.

Mila chuckles dryish; She has an underlying sense that something is going to happen. Karma. She takes out the case of cd’s from her backpack, picks the “best of sixties” album and pushes the cd into the stereo. The sound of Connie Francis “Tennessee waltz” crackles out of the speakers and Daryl hands out snacks from the vending machine.

“Still worked out. Today still is the day.” Rick recalls while snacking on a chocolate-peanut bar. He then points in front of him. “Hey, look at that.”

The truck drives out of the forest, and Mila sees both fields and buildings.

“Yeah, a barn.“ Daryl says.

As Rick turns off in the direction of the barn, something makes them all fall silent and listen; thumps, like something hitting the truck box, is heard even over the loud music.

“What’s that?” Mila exclaims. “You hear that?”

It’s inevitable what the noise is; footsteps.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.” Daryl says.

All three of them react at the same time; Rick stands on the brake pedal, the car stops with a howl and Jesus falls down in front of the windshield and tumbles to the ground. Daryl, swearing loudly, throws himself out of the car to follow him and Mila follows Daryl. She has no idea why, but her gut feeling tells her that Daryl won’t be gentle on him. It also tells her that Jesus probably isn’t dangerous at all, which isn’t in his favor if Daryl, who’s all muscles and pretty bad impulse control, gets a hold of him.

“Daryl-” She calls. “No- Stop!”

“I’ve had enough of ya’!” Daryl shouts at Jesus, not hearing Mila.

This must look ever so stupid, Mila thinks as she sprints after Daryl and the hippy-dippy guy into the dry green field; like one of those silent films, except that the soundtrack in this case happens to be Helen Shapiro’s “Walking back to happiness” playing from the car. Mila running after Daryl, running after this odd long-haired man who seems to believe he’s Jesus. Why in the world would he otherwise call himself that?

”No- no, stop it!” Mila shouts, as if she was scolding at a bad dog.

She stumbles and falls flat on her stomach, while Jesus reaches the now stationary truck and throws himself into the driver’s seat. Daryl follows.

“Come here, you little shit!” He barks and starts to drag Jesus out of the car.

At the same time a walker has snuck up behind Daryl. Mila gets up on her knees, gropes for her gun, but before she has managed to raise it to shoot, she hears Jesus call out ‘duck’; Daryl ducks just in time. A gun finds its way into the walker's skull and it falls back like a bowling pin.

“Thanks.” Daryl pants, then sends off a punch into Jesus face. “That's my gun! Come here!”

He throws Jesus out of the truck, onto the grass. He doesn’t remain there for long; instead, he lays hooks for Daryl, who stumbles, giving Jesus time to get up on his feet and set off again.

“Son of a-” Daryl roars and runs after.

“Fuck- knock it out!” Mila shouts and increases her speed, minimizing the distance between herself and her, frankly pissed off, other half. Before Daryl’s able to take another leap in his hunt for the handcuffed, longhaired karate kid, she tackles him to the ground with a thud. ”Stop this!” Mila climbs up on top of him, to prevent Daryl from getting up from the grass. ”This is stupid!”

”Christ- knock it out ya’!”

Crap, she doesn’t have time to argue. Mila climbs over Daryl and sets after Jesus, who has slowed down to watch the wrestling match played out in the grass behind him. A surprised expression spreads on his bearded face as he sees her approaching, faster than he imagined. Jesus turns and starts to run again, but he doesn’t get up to speed fast enough. Mila lunges for him and they tumbles to the ground in a bundle of arms and legs, and she starts to wrestle him. He doesn’t fight her, but he tries with all his power to get loose from her grip. Mila gets a sharp elbow in the eye and a cracked lip before hobo-Jesus is ripped away from her by Daryl, who looks like he’s boiling.

“Ey, that’s ma’ girl, ya’ scumbag!”

“Wohaa, jeez.” The long haired, ravaged man, flies like a raggedy Anne-doll through the air.

Mila gets up from the ground, covered in dry grass and wipes blood from her mouth on the back of her hand. Her eye pounds and already feel swollen, a certain recipe for an upcoming, gorgeous black eye. Daryl pants loudly through his nostrils while holding on to the ravaged man’s coat, the poor guy can barely stand up straight.

“I had him.” Mila glares at Daryl and spits blood on the ground in front of her feet.

“I’d had him if ya’ didn’t tackle me.” Daryl scoffs back, still holding on to Jesus' collar.

“You’d kill that poor man if you’d catched him.” Mila replies, pointing at Jesus. “You’re not exactly sensible when you’re angry.”

“Oh yeah right, you’re the one to talk!” Daryl scoffs back. “What about that guy’s kneecaps-”

“I had every right-” Mila cries. “He sliced my guts with a fucking machete!”

”You two are related of some sort?” Jesus doubtfully breaks in.

”Married!”

“What?” Daryl sputters, looking both terrified and shocked at her sudden, out of the blue exclamation.

“Feels like it!” Mila replies and spits more blood; they’re arguing like they were married at least. “Pridurok...” She mutters, eyes locked at Daryl.

”Oh-” Jesus pants and looks just as confused as Daryl does, plus a bit tufted. “Right-”

“Shut up.”

Pow! Jesus falls to the ground. Mila rolls her eyes; why does he have to punch everyone? She snorts and turns, stepping through the tall grass in the direction of the car. Damn hypocrisy, she thinks to herself. She passes Rick, who walks in the opposite direction out in the tall grassy field, holding his bloody knife, but ignores him. She’s frankly grumpy and her eye hurts. But she halts when she doesn’t spot the truck.

“Where the fuck is the truck!?”

She looks around. It’s nowhere to be seen. As she lets her gaze sweep over the field she catches sight of something behind some trees, in the small pond.

“Shit.” Rick comes up at her side, eyes locked at the truck that’s sinking further down the pond. “He must’ve knocked it into neutral.”

“Now what?”

They both turn and start walking back towards Daryl and the man in the grass.

“Are you alright?” Rick looks at Daryl. “Let's go check them cars, get the hell out of here.”

“What about the guy?” Mila points at Jesus.

“What about him?” Daryl asks.

“Well, he was actually nice, saved you.” She replies.

“Hm.”

“Did he ever pull a weapon on you?” Rick asks.

“Fine.” Daryl sputters. “Fuck- fine. Let’s put him up a tree.”

“No. He’ll come back with us.” Mila corrects, giving Daryl a sharp gaze. “Enough of that grumpy attitude.” She nods at Jesus. “Come on, let’s find a car. Drag him with you.”

They find a working car about fifteen minutes later. Daryl throws Jesus into the backseat. Mila takes the wheel, Daryl calls shotgun and Rick takes place next to Jesus, who’s still knocked out and they start driving back to Alexandria.

“He took a pretty hard hit.” Rick says and meets Mila’s gaze in the mirror, then looks at Jesus. “Denise needs to look him over.”

“Try to wake him.” Mila suggests. “See if he’s got permanent brain damages.”

Rick shakes the man, who grunts and starts moving. He blinks and jumps.

“You’re alive.” Rick says. “Good.”

“Yeah-” Jesus grunts again. “Why am I in a car? I heard something about a tree.”

“It was a joke.” Mila says, meeting his drowsy eyes in the mirror.

“It wasn’t.” Daryl looks at her.

“You wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “You wouldn’t have left him.”

“I would’ve-” Daryl nods upwards. “Right up in a tree.”

“He’s a comedian.” Mila says, once again looking at Jesus in the mirror, not taking notice of Daryl’s irritated expression. “Or at least tries to be.”

”Where have you been all my life?” Jesus chuckles and looks at her in the mirror and sends off a radiant smile that tells Mila that he’s using mouthwash on a daily basis.

”Ey- knock it out!” Daryl reaches back and slaps the man on his tied up hands.

Mila lets out a faint laugh. Huh, look at that; a jealous Daryl Dixon. Jeez Louise, there’s nothing to worry about, Mila thinks to herself, but Daryl’s poor self-confidence doesn’t make it easy for him. She pats her jealous, southern knight on the back of the hand.

”He looks like a hippy dippy orthodox priest.” Mila gives the surly, blushing archer a soft gaze. “Calm down, Dixon.” She turns to the rear view mirror and the hippy dippy man in the backseat. If papa was here, he wouldn’t have let him inside the car. Not in a million years. “No offense, but you do.” She says to Jesus.

”None taken.” He nods at her with a curious gaze. “What’s up with the accent?”

”Up and running, thanks for noticing.”

While steering the car with her knees, Mila once again takes out the case of cd’s, now missing the one with sixties-music, takes out a random cd and puts it in the stereo. She adjusts the volume-wheel on the radio and increases the sound of “The Chain” and starts to tap the wheel while singing along.

“You’re a really good singer.” The man in the back calls after a while.

“Thanks.” Mila replies backwards. “I’m a dental nurse.”

“Did you sing to the patients?”

“To the kids, sometimes. Some terrified men before they, you know-” She closes her eyes and pretends to snore. “Put them down.”

“I’m sure that’s not what it’s called.” Rick replies.

“I made them sleep.” Mila shrugs her shoulders. “Right?”

“Not what it sounded like.” Daryl says and meets her eyes, with a slightly amused expression on his stern face.

“Anyway I think it sounded beautiful.” Jesus says.

”I like this guy!” Mila looks at him and Rick with an excited smile upon her face, nodding her head to the beat of the music. ”Can we keep him?”

“He ain’t a dog.”

“But he’s quite fun!”

”You see.” Jesus says triumphantly. “She likes me.”

That’s it for Daryl. He turns and once again starts to try and hit the guy. Mila hits the brakes and the car stops with such force that Jesus is thrown into the headrest of the passenger seat, and dozes off.

“Knock it off!” Mila roars. “Or I won’t drive an inch further.”

The angry mom-voice isn’t only effective on children, it works really well on adult men as well. Daryl mutters and returns to his seat. Mila steps on the gas pedal again and continues to drive. Outside, it eventually starts to get dark. The sky is clear and the stars look brighter than ever. When she brakes at the gate to Alexandria, it’s pitch black. Daryl gets out, opens the gate and she drives into the community; a sensation of calm spreads throughout her body. That’s when she remembers.

“Shit.”

“What?” Rick asks.

“Forgot to get marshmallows.”

When the gate’s closed and locked, Daryl gets into the car again and Mila drives up to the infirmary, parks and the engine dies. The three of them get out of the car and stretch. What a fucking day, Mila thinks to herself, while watching Rick and Daryl dragging the still unconscious Jesus out of the backseat. They carry him up the stairs to the infirmary, knock on the door and wait. Denise opens in a few seconds.

“Sorry to wake you up.” Rick excuses himself before Denise can say something.

From her spot at the car, Mila notices Denise’s confused expression as she notices the lifeless man.

“Who is this?!”

“Come on, man, he's heavy.” Daryl says to Rick. “Oh, that thing-” He looks at Denise. “Uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry.”

While they bring Jesus inside, Mila leans up against the hot hood and looks at the stars. Juri has probably been asleep for a while now. She doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late. Rick and Daryl walk out of the infirmary just as she catches sight of the pole star.

“He’s taken care of.” Daryl says as he walks up to her. He examines her in detail in the faint glow of the infirmary. “Let’s patch ya’ up.”

Mila doesn’t struggle. She’s tired and hungry. They go back into the infirmary and she sits down on one of the beds with clean, white sheets and exhales. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room. When Mila sees her reflection, she sighs even deeper; she has a pretty neat blackeye and a cracked lip. Daryl sits down on the stool in front of her.

“A hell of a blackeye-” He squints at the look of her pulsating, sore eye. “Ya’ really took a few punches.” He takes the bottle with alcohol and a wipe and pours some onto it. “Like Rocky Balboa.”

“Yeah, but I won.” Mila replies.

“Just like Rocky.” Daryl replies. “Still though- hell of a fight.”

“Better me than you I guess.” Mila swears as Daryl, as gently as he can, wipes her cracked lip with the drenched wipe. “You’d kill him.”

Mila nods over Daryl’s shoulder, towards the knocked out man lying on the narrow hospital bed, handcuffed to the bed frame. Daryl turns, looks at Jesus, then scoffs.

“I’ll kill him if he ever puts his hands on ya’ again.” Daryl mutters and throws the wipe over the room, into the trash bin.

“Don’t have to, I’ll do it myself.” Mila smiles, but grimaces; it hurts to smile. “I know.” Daryl replies. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. For yellin’ at ya’.”

“You gotta work on that temper.” Mila states. “It ain’t good for the blood pressure.”

With a grunt, as much of an answer as anything, Daryl puts his hand at the back of her head, brings it to his lips and kisses her on the forehead.

“Ain’t gonna need to stitch ya’ up.” He says. “Come on, let’s get ya’ to bed, Rocky.”

“Yes, Adrien.” Mila grins wryly. “What about Jesus Christ Superstar?” She nods towards the other bed.

“Yeah we’ll deal with him later.”

“You gonna tuck me in first?” Mila asks. “I’d love that, but honestly, I need a quick shower before bed. I think I might have caught every possible STD there is from that disgusting toilet at the gas station.”

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