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alien-magnolia · 1 year

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Daddy Issues - Joel Miller x Hyperfem!reader

Fic description: 18+ mdni. pre!outbreak dom!joel miller x hyperfeminine subby!fem!reader, major size!kink, age gap (Joel in his early 40’s, reader in early 20’s) slow burn at first, daddy issues, daddy!kink, unprotected sex, lil bit of corruption/innocence kink + slight breeding kink. 2.4K words.

A/n: Will probably write a sequel.

You loved living in your quaint little suburb of Austin, Texas. You lived with your dad, and only your dad. He wasn’t too nice, though, yet at least your house was. You just didn’t have a good relationship with him. He didn’t take care of you, didn’t praise you, never really cared for anything you’d do. Yet, you loved your little suburb. The weather was beautiful, especially in early summer, late May. It was on May 11th that your new neighbor moved in. The moving truck spent a few days parked in the driveway, the sun beating down on the black asphalt.

You saw two middle aged men, a pickup truck, a girl around the age of twelve to thirteen with them. You didn’t pay much attention to them until a few days later, one early morning, around 8am. You were starting the car you and your dad shared, the usual route was off to his work, then off to a day full of classes at the local university. Just to your luck, your new neighbors came out to start their car as well, a sleek pickup truck. Your dad grunts at them, hands on his hips, his usual stance (which did annoy the hell out of you…)

The two men began to walk across the driveway, most likely to say hello. The one with the black hair was Tommy. Him and your dad had hit it off, and were off to the side viewing the tools in the neighbor’s trunk. You said hello to the girl in the back of the car as well, her name was Sarah. The other neighbor now rushes out the front door, shouting at Tommy to hurry it up. You take a look at him. He looks right at you. Fuck. He was beautiful, his brown eyes simply pierced through you. You froze.

“Hey there,” his smooth Texan accent drawled out at you. “Hi,” you reply, shortly and abruptly. “I’m Joel. That there’s Tommy. We just moved in next door,” he says, his voice gruff yet his tone gentle, as if to not spook you. He was intimidating — you were barely over five feet tall. He was probably six, and then some. You reply back, telling him your name, and then pointing out your dad, who was still talking to Tommy. Joel quickly walked over to them, and exchanged pleasantries with your dad. The group then got into the pickup truck, yet not before giving you another look when he left. You stood there for a bit, mulling over the interaction in your head, until your dad nudges you to snap out of it. You think about it for the rest of the day, during your lecture, during the drive home. Joel made you feel a certain way. He looked so big, so strong. You saw how nicely he treated his daughter. That did something to you.

A few months later -

Your father and Tommy had gotten on pretty well. They’d spend a lot of time together. Him and Joel — not so much. He’d always leave you with Joel as he went to the garage with Tommy. At first, it was awkward. His daughter, Sarah would sometimes be with the two of you, and you’d all watch a movie. It was just as awkward with her, and without.

One day however, the two of you started talking. Your dad was in the garage with Tommy as usual, you were on the couch with Joel. It was an incredibly hot summer day, and you were wearing a white top and a very short, pink miniskirt. You folded your hands over your lap as you saw Joel’s eyes shamelessly rake over you.

During your conversation with him, you found out more about his job as a contractor, he told you what he would do on a day to day basis. You told him about college, your social life, the both of you even shared an interest in music. It was all fine, until he asked you if you had a boyfriend.

“Um. Actually, no. I don’t,” you meekly reply to him. “Don’t believe that’s true, darlin.’ I’m sure a pretty girl like you has peaked at least a few guy’s interests,” he replies. God, that voice. It was going to kill you one day. You shake your head, letting him know that it’s true. He scoffs, and then freezes. “Shit. I’m sorry. You’re young. Shouldn’t prey on you like that, darlin.’ You should just go home,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, he was most likely embarrassed. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t be with the neighbor’s daughter, and he was twice her age.

“Umm. Joel,” your dainty, gel manicured hand grabs his wrist, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He turns around to meet your doe eyes. “Don’t apologize. I feel the same way.” His face lights up, taking your hand in his. You feel his other hand cup your cheek, engulfing your entire cheek in the palm of his hand. “I’m glad, darlin.’ You always look so fuckin’ sweet, so adorable,” he smirks. You look up at him, and before you knew it, your lips met his.

His kiss is soft, gentle, as if he’s scared to hurt you. He tasted like a hint of tobacco, you feel his stubble against your cheek. His kiss then gets harsher, his large body cornering yours against the wall. He stops for a bit, looking out the window, worriedly. You ask him what had him so concerned. “Looks like my brother and your dad left. Wouldn’t want your daddy findin’ out that his little girl is gettin’ fucked by the neighbor, huh?” You moan at his comment, he chuckles. “I’m probably even older than your dad, huh, sweetheart?,” he taunts, his soft lips leaving kisses over your cheek, trailing down to kiss at your neck for a bit.

“Y-yes. Joel. Please…,” you whine out, desperate for more of anything from the man. You feel his broad chest against yours, his hands now tightly gripping your hips, squeezing them, exploring your body. Your hands did the same, now wrapped around his neck. He lifts you up, carrying you up the stairs, into his room. His biceps strain against your small arms, God — how you wanted those strong arms around you, holding you!!

He puts you down onto his bed, alongside himself , pulling you into his lap, gazing at you hungrily. “Look at you, darlin.’ You’re a fuckin’ dream, I swear. Got a sweet lil’ thing like you, all to my fuckin’ self.” You shudder at his words, blushing. “Want to be yours, Joel. Would want that so bad,” you meekly murmur to him. He chuckled again. “So shy f’ me, huh?,” he says to you, bringing you in for another, stronger kiss. You run your hands through his hair as he pushes you down into the bed, his body caging you close to him. His large biceps rest by your head, as his veiny hands squeeze and knead at your chest. “Perfect tits you got, sugar. Lemme see ‘em.” He helps you pull off his shirt, and you do the same. His large hands fit so perfectly over your tits, he is just entranced by you.

You feel his hand slide down your torso, your pink nails coming up to grasp at his wide, hairy forearm. You gasp in shock as you feel two calloused fingers slip in between your folds, gently massaging your clit. Fuck. So gently. You were losing it. “Joel. Joel. I — um,” you try to express something to him, your words were failing you. He was calm and collected as ever, his dark eyes burning through you, as he watched you come undone for him, your hand coming up to cup his face as to ask for another kiss, his soft, thick lips on yours, his nose on your cheek, his gruff grunts that drove you insane.

“Ready? Ever had, um, ever done this before?,” he asks, stumbling over his words. “No. But I want to. You won’t hurt me,” you reply. “Fuck,” he quietly grunts to himself. “Never even done this before, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I got you, princess. Gonna show you what it means to take your man’s cock. It’s gonna feel good, you’ll see, darlin.’ But you tell me if I hurt you, ‘right?,” he speaks down to you, patronizing but soft. It made you feel cared for, loved. “Yes, daddy.” Shit. It accidentally slipped out. Your scared gaze met his, his eyes only bore into you more and more.

“What did you just call me?,” he asks, slowly. “Fuck, say it again, darlin.” You giggle, his tongue meeting yours as he pushes into your mouth. “You want me to be your daddy, huh, sweetie? Want me to take care of you, fuck you good?,” his voice having a hint of possessiveness in it. “Y-yes. Daddy. Please…”you beg him at this point, his fingers still working you open.

“Little cunts so wet f’me already. Think she can take me in? Think so,” he grunts, his fingers leaving your soaked folds as you whine. You feel his soft cockhead slap against your clit for a bit, his veiny, thick cock soaked with precum already. God - it was wide. So wide that you weren’t sure if he’ll fit.

“S’so big, Joel. Won’t fit…” you moan out. “It’ll fit, baby. Daddy’ll make it fit, don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout it, sweetie.”

With that, you feel him slide into you slowly. “Now you tell me if I’m hurtin’ you, ‘kay?” You nod slowly, your face growing redder by the second as his thick shaft slides into you, ever so slowly. You feel his pulsing cock inside you, he grunts as your walls squeeze and milk him for all he’s got. “So fuckin’ tight. First time takin’ this cock, she’s doin’ so well, sugar,” he coos at you, lost in pleasure as you squeeze around him.

He finally bottoms out, his soft tip hitting your g-spot so perfectly! You whine at him to go deeper, faster, you craved to just be stuffed full of him for as long as you could. His chest hair meets your smooth chest as he presses himself down on you, his full body weight enveloping your tiny body. “Gotta be patient, darlin.’ Gonna give it to ya.”

You felt him rock into you deeper and deeper, the veins on his cock brushing against your tight tunnel, his balls ever so softly hitting your lips as he rocked in and out of you, his pubic hair meeting yours. The musky scent of his sweat, his biceps bulging next to your neck, his dark brown eyes staring onto your bouncing little body. To him, you were the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on. He wanted to make sure you knew that.

“Joel. D-Daddy. Gonna cum. Please, fuck — want it in me!,” you squeal out to him. “In you, sugar? That’s what ya want? For me to knock up a sweet lil’ thing like you? No, no, gotta wait for that, hun,” he tuts at you. “What would your real daddy say if he found out, huh? If he saw his girl all round and heavy, all cause of a man who’s just as old as him?” You moan out in response. “You want that, huh, darlin?’ Wanna be full of me?,” he taunts.

You nod desperately. He does not listen, and pulls out, but not before giving you a few last, fulfilling thrusts. His cum is splayed out all over your soft tummy, he leans off from on top of you and goes to get a towel to wipe you down. You feel so sleepy, so good, so taken care of as he lays back down onto the bed, his big arms coming to turn you over, so you could lay on the safe haven that is his chest.

You lay your head down onto him, you hear his slow heartbeat. His gruff voice speaks up. “Didja like that, darlin’? Showed you a good time, didn’t I, sweet thing?” “Y-yes. You really did, Joel. What about my dad, though? Feel like I should get home…,” you nervously trail off.

“Home? Now? When it’s so dark out? Not safe for you, sugar. You just stay over at mines. I’ll get you a blanket and one of my shirts to sleep in, yeah? We’ll deal with everythin’ else in the mornin.’” You nod, agreeing with him. You rolled over to smell his pillow, god — it smelled just like him, so entrancing. You felt so taken care of as this older man ran around his house to get you a towel, some clean clothes. He treated you so, so, nicely! You felt so safe with him, most importantly. You wanted him to be with you, protect you, make you feel good, like he did now. You smile to yourself as you think about it, interrupted by his entrance into the room.

“Got one of my shirts for ya, darlin.’ And if you get too hot, you let me know, I’ll turn on the ac for ya,” he gently says, as he walks over to join you back in bed. You smile, and gingerly take one of his shirts to put on. It was so huge on you! He brings you onto his lap, his veiny hand coming over to grasp at your cheek again. “Doin’ ok? Just checkin’, didn’t want to hurt ya too much or anythin.”

“I’m okay, Joel. Don’t worry. I should have spent this time with you earlier,” you confess to him. You loved being around him, especially if he treated you in this way. You didn’t have to worry about a thing, as long as he was there with you. You had a feeling that you weren’t just any girl to him.

Maybe you were right. Joel hasn’t felt about anyone like this in years, until the first time he saw you, your pink miniskirt, sparkly necklaces and all, he knew he had to have you. He got you, and that was all that mattered, as you drifted off to sleep in his big arms, he couldn’t help but think how he needed to keep being with a sweet girl like you, how innocent you were, and how goddamn lucky he was to have you all to himself from now on.

a/n: thanks for reading! if you like this post pls help a writer out and reblog :)

#joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller headcanon #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller hot #dom!joel miller #joel miller x hyperfem!reader #joel miller #tlou smut #liz writes 🖤#liz’s masterlist

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 months

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illicit affairs

the one where Joel doesn't call

Summary: After making peace with Joel's decision not to get in touch with you, you move on with your life and meet your new neighbour and his friends.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: T

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, angst, fluff, some heartbreak

A/N: Pick your own ending part two. feat Frankie Morales

illicit affairs master list // Pedro Masterlist

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If was three weeks after you were back from Austin that you realised that Joel would not call. That he did not want to be there for you and most importantly for his daughter. You were talking almost daily to your brother and mother.

So you knew that he had broken up with your mother and gone Mia almost immediately.

More than once your finger hovered over the call button over the number your best friend had found online of his construction company.

You were dying to just yell at him.

Yell at him for breaking your heart.

Yell at him for breaking your mothers heart.

Yell at him for being a coward and leaving you without a word.

Yell at him for leaving you to carry all the consequences of one weekend full of sex.

Because that was what this was to him, wasn’t it?

But what good would that do?

It wouldn’t help you in the end. And frankly you were scared of how he would react if you cornered him. If you got him on the phone in the first place.

He obviously did not see you that more than a nice fuck, so you let yourself wallow in your heartbreak for some days more before you decided that it was time to move on with your life.

Your life would change in a matter of months and you were nowhere close to being prepared.

All your friends in Seattle cleared their whole weekend when you finally found your dream apartment. You spend the whole day painting and building the nursery with your best friend while all your other friend carried your furniture and emptied your boxes full of belongings.

It was when you took a snack break and sat down on your new sofa to eat that you noticed a couple of faces you hadn’t seen before, helping to set up your new dining table.

It was the day you met Frankie.

——

„Are you sure they are not gonna be mad?“ Frankie’s arm was wrapped around your waist as you walked down the aisle, searching for ice cream.

„That’s what the ice cream is for,“ you teased and he chuckled before he kissed you.

A squeal came from your daughter who was in her seat in the shopping cart. Her wide brown eyes looking around in wonder.

Frankie tickled her belly and she laughed loudly, a couple of people turning their heads towards her joyful laugh.

She was already so big at only seven months old.

Frankie smiled at you and it still was like your breath hitched every time you looked at him.

After you moved into your new apartment right across from Frankie’s you started hanging out together. You were both new to the neighbourhood, and while you still had your friends near by, Frankie’s friends (who had been the other three guys in your apartment, helping to set things up) had left his place and Seattle shortly after to get back to their lives.

It started with you inviting yourself over to dinner when you were positively drooling at the scents coming from his apartment on a daily basis.

He would tell you about his mother teaching him how to cook when he grew up.

You went to get groceries together weekly, him helping you carry them, insisting that you had to take it easy, your belly getting bigger by day.

He was there at night, when you couldn’t sleep because your back hurt.

He had been there, when your baby moved for the first time.

He had been there when you were so horny after he kissed you for the first time, you had spend all night desperately seeking pleasure only he could gave you in the end.

And slowly over the months leading up to your due date, you fell in love with each other.

He had been there with you when your water broke, held your hand while you were in labour, witnessed your daughters first breath and cry, tears in his eyes.

He was the father to her, you had only dreamed about.

Your mother absolutely adored him and your brother was jealous. Mostly because Frankie was straight and he was absolutely in love with you.

You visited Austin regularly.

And you never told your mother the full story of how you ended up pregnant.

Your mother still asked you occasionally if you’re sure you did not want to move back, but Seattle was now home. Frankie’s best friend Santiago would move to Seattle in the next year and Frankie and you had just bought your first house. It was a fixer upper. It would take some time for it to be finished, but you were absolutely in love with the vision Frankie had for the place.

You caught the ring on his finger, the ring you put there last week.

It had been a small wedding. Just your closest friends and a dinner after at your favourite Pizza place.

He had asked you to marry him on the anniversary of your first meeting and you had said yes without one doubt in your mind.

That you found an open date at the courthouse for the week after, after jokingly checking for the next date had been a pure accident.

You both made the decision to just take the date.

You wanted to be married to him. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

At the courthouse you also filed the documents for him to officially adopt your daughter.

He was the dad you always imagined for her in everything but paper.

But that was only a matter of time now.

Frankie caught you looking at his ring, the dimple on his cheek deepening as he smiled. He took your hand, his thumb rubbing over your finger before he leaned down and kissed you softly.

You were in Austin to tell your family in person that you eloped and were married, hoping they wouldn’t be too annoyed with not being invited.

You wanted to shout it from the rooftops, you were so disgustingly happy and in love.

When you parted from his lips you smiled as you turned your head, looking for the favourite flavour of your mothers ice cream.

You saw him then.

Out of the corner from your eyes.

Joel.

He was starring at you, surprise written clear on his face.

Frankie was back to entertaining your daughter and Joel’s eyes dropped to the baby giggling up at your husband.

You could not read Joel’s expression, but when he made an attempt to come closer you shook your head at him. He blinked, stopping right away.

„We gotta get ice cream for grandma, so she doesn’t kill your dada because he married your mama without telling her,“ Frankie said in a baby voice and you broke away from Joel’s gaze looking at your daughter. She was grabbing Frankie’s finger, her tongue out, a wide smile on her face.

„No one is killing anyone,“ you said, closing your eyes and letting your head drop against Frankie’s shoulder.

„You okay?“ He asked. He looked in the direction Joel was still standing, meeting the man’s eyes, having noticed you tense up.

You took his hand, nodding your head and Frankie looked back at you, checking in.

„I’m perfectly okay,“ you said with a smile before you kissed him softly, letting him pull you away to look for the ice cream you came here for in the first place.

#my fic #Frankie Morales x fem. reader #frankie morales #Joel Miller x fem reader #Pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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visionofvoid · 1 year

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Homewrecker - MV1 Part Three

summary: “who said you were my best friend? lewis is.”

warnings: jealous max, crash hehe, protective george, max and george fight, swearing hehe

pairings: max verstappen x oc

word count: 1664

taglist: @ravenqueen27, @octaviareina

PART ONE PART TWO

“You can’t love me, Max, you need to hate me.”

George and Lewis had become Blake’s closest friends, especially after that stupid confession in the Red Bull Racing hallway back in Zandvoort. She made it to the meeting with more than enough time, a coffee in hand and all her devices, papers and notes in the other. She sat beside Toto throughout the whole race, sliding over little tidbits he needed from the crew behind them. It was certainly a race to witness.

It was safe to say that Kelly and Max broke up after Blake ran off in the hallway that day. It was the worst performance of his life, going from pole position to fourth place, his rivals at Mercedes taking the top two spots with Pierre in front of him. It was an embarrassment, especially after he won the race prior. He was at the top of his game, really giving Lewis a run for his money but he really let the events earlier get to him.

The next few weeks were absolute and utter hell. He went no contact with Kelly and Penelope and not speaking to the young girl was torture enough, he was getting threats from Nelson Piquet for falling in love with someone that he referred to as ‘The Help’ and Christian was really not impressed with his performance. To top it all off he wanted to clear things up with Blake, but it seemed as if she was avoiding him at all costs, not that she was seeking him out before the confession. He was used to seeing her mingling with other people from the other teams but he now only saw her or got glimpses of her when she was with George or Lewis.

George. George fucking Russell. His performance was excelling whilst behind the wheel of a Mercedes car and Max was done with it. He was sick and tired of watching all the Instagram stories of Blake hanging out with the two Mercedes drivers, sick of watching her being her goofy self with George, tormenting a meditating Lewis with George. Everything she seemed to do, she was doing it with George.

Max followed her Instagram, when she eventually put it on public due to popular demand from the fans. It was usually behind the scenes images of the boys, travelling photo dumps and sneaky pictures of Toto for all the fans. He was guilty for following it, especially when she didn’t follow him back. He should just move on, he should just focus on being the World Champion or trying to become World Champion but he just couldn’t keep his mind off her.

Austin was the one race that Blake was looking forward to the most. She had been to Silverstone, gushed over ageing actors that she could have only dreamed to be in the same vicinity of, drank fancy alcohol in fancy clothes and danced on tables with her boss and his wife. But America, especially Austin? Boy, she was excited.

Over the course of the weekend she had met so many celebrities she could only dream of meeting, being introduced to on a first name basis by a now close friend that was Lewis Hamilton. She attended work dinners at steakhouses and shared a whole plate of ribs with George (that was posted on both hers and George’s instagram) but she had Max lingering in the back of her mind.

“What the fuck is this George?” Toto cursed into the microphone attached to the headset, Blake looking at the screens to see her friend neck in neck with Max.

“I’m trying to defend Lewis from Max.” With her own headset on Blake could hear the chatter coming from all the engineers trying to instruct George on how to proceed.

“He keeps trying to run me off the fucking road, Christ!” Blake’s eyes flickered from one screen to the next, watching as the Red Bull race car driver kept driving dangerously close to Blake’s close friend. She watched in horror as Max slowly started to gain more speed approaching turn 12 from the straight after turn 11 and he showed no signs of slowing down. He was trying to call George’s bluff.

“I’m going to keep pushing, he’ll have to slow down.” George spoke through the coms, Toto and his engineers agreeing with the last minute strategy. Her eyes should be focused on George but instead Blake watched Max’s car with eagle eyes, waiting for the moment that Max’s vehicle would slow down.

But it never did.

“This is not right!” Toto yelled angrily, throwing his headset off and at the screens before jumping down from the platform. Blake sat in her seat, a hand over her mouth as she looked at the wreck that was on the screen. It played the crash again, this time in slow motion to capture every last second whilst the safety was deployed and Toto came back to his position, placing his headset on.

“George? Are you okay?” There were some muffled sounds from the other end as Blake continued watching. The cars spun around each other onto the gravel before Max’s car clipped the wheel of George’s and flipped on top of it. “George?” Then she saw as they collided with the tire wall, Max’s world upside down.

“I-I’m fine. I’m okay.” George’s voice finally cleared up and then footage of George climbing out through a gap was shown, yet no Max on the screen. Blake let out a sigh of relief when George started to make his way to some officials and to get away from the wreck. Blake’s eyes flickered to Max’s car, noticing a small spark and a body still in the vehicle. He seemed rather disoriented before he seemed to come to his senses, trying to get his way out.

Blake seemed worried for a second and whilst she would feel worried for any driver in this situation it felt almost different. She didn’t want to see him harmed, in any sort of pain. She wanted him to be okay. It was a foreign feeling that's for sure, and not something she could ever equate to wanting someone like George or Lewis to be safe.

“Shit! George, Max can’t get out. The car is on fire!” Blake spoke into her coms. It wasn’t very often she spoke but this seemed to snap George’s head to the wreckage. He immediately sprung into action, rushing back towards the cars and beckoning over some of the officials to help. They all bunched around the small gap that George had emerged from earlier and worked together to wiggle Max out whilst the spark turned into something a little more harrowing. Fire marshals armed with fire extinguishers rushed towards the end of the car and started to try and get rid of the fire, it only growing in return. They finally freed Max and dragged him away from the wreck as the track turned into a red flag and all cars returned to the Pit until they were allowed to be back on track.

“Is he okay George?” Blake questioned, watching everything live on the screen yet getting no answer.

It was a bittersweet win for Mercedes with Lewis winning the Austin GP, Charles and Sergio following in taking the other two spots on the podium. As instructed by Toto, Blake was to accompany George to get a routine check up and fill out incident reports before the following weekend in Mexico. Max was coming out of the infirmary room with his PR advisor and looked up to see George and Blake in front of him. He saw red. All he could see was George and Blake together, not Blake being a supportive friend and making sure he wasn’t alone.

Together Blake and Max’s PR advisor watched in shock as Max pushed George up against the wall, the very few people that were in the building and not at the podium to watch the champagne celebration watching the drama unfold.

“Max, what are you doing?” His PR advisor was pushed away as she tried to get in the middle of it, trying to pull him off the large, slender Brit.

“That was fucking crazy out there man, you should have let me past.”

“I should have let you pass? You should have slowed down, like an actual fucking human decent human being. That crash was all you mate.” George stared down at Max, the two glaring at one another. Max’s PR advisor just looked to Blake for some sort of help. The two women were both unsure what to do. “I saved your fucking life, mate, a thank you would suffice.” George had a smug look on his face. Blake stepped forward, reading to intervene but stopped when George briefly held up his hand.

“Your girl coming to rush to your aid? How cute.” The whole thing turned into one childish argument on Max’s behalf.

“If it wasn’t for my girl, you’d probably be getting treatment for third degree burns. Have a bit of respect mate and do your research before you accuse friends of being something more. Though, I guess you have a bad track record about labels, you know, being in love with someone that isn't your long-term girlfriend.” Max was getting ready to raise his hand when Blake finally decided to intervene. She grabbed his arm, squeezing on his bicep through the race suit and he looked to the side for a moment before looking back up at George.

“Max, just leave.” Everyone seemed to be waiting to see what he would do next. Would there be a punch thrown? Another shove? Some more words shared? Instead he let George go and stormed off, leaving his PR advisor with the Mercedes driver and Blake.

“The man says he loves you then he goes and starts trying to kill her best friend. Shameless act honestly.”

“Who said you were my best friend? Lewis is.”

#f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 #f1 x oc #formula one smut #formula 1 fanfic #formula one facfic #formula one #formula 1 #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x oc

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fatehbaz · 1 year

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Native American tribes from Michigan, Wisconsin and Ontario have come together to call for an end to the Line 5 pipeline.

The Enbridge Line 5 crude oil pipeline, first constructed in 1953, stretches from Wisconsin through 645 miles of Michigan and ends in Sarnia, Ontario. Part of the pipeline travels underwater through the Straits of Mackinac.

In recent years, the pipeline's continued operation has become a source of controversy. Many tribal nations and communities claim that the pipeline goes through their traditional territories. The Straits area in particular is considered a place of significant cultural and historical importance to many native groups, including the Anishinaabe. According to tribal leaders, the pipeline poses a major and direct threat to the ecosystems along its path.

“The Straits of Mackinac are [...] sacred from both a cultural and historical perspective in the formation of the Anishinaabe people,” said Austin Lowes, chairperson of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, in a statement. “Protecting the Straits is also a matter of the utmost environmental and economic importance — both to our people and the state of Michigan.”

Tribal leaders and other environmental groups have publicly opposed the pipeline for many years and have called for the pipeline to be shut down.

Supporters of the pipeline point out that it transports 540,000 barrels of light crude oil and natural gas liquids through Line 5 on a daily basis. [...]

In an effort to address safety concerns, Enbridge has proposed an underwater tunnel to house the portion of Line 5 that runs under the Straits of Mackinac. [...] Critics of the tunnel project say no oil should be transported through the Straits at all, as a spill could have a devastating impact on more than 700 miles of Great Lakes shoreline. [...]

Previous attempts to shut down the pipeline have been stopped through various means, mostly the 1977 Transit Pipeline Treaty between Canada and the United States.

The latest attempt saw 51 tribal organizations from Wisconsin, Michigan and Ontario submit a report to the United Nations Human Rights Council. This report, dated April 4, claims that the Government of Canada is violating the human rights of Indigenous peoples through its continuous support for Line 5.

The report was submitted to be considered during Canada's upcoming Universal Periodic Review, conducted by the United Nations. As a United Nations member state, Canada is required to be evaluated for its human rights record on a regular basis.

Canada's Universal Periodic Review will take place this year on Nov. 6-17.

The 51 different tribal organizations that signed the report include: The Anishinabek Nation, which represents 39 First Nations throughout the province of Ontario, Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Bad River Band of the Lake Superior Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Bay Mills Indian Community, Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa & Chippewa Indians, Hannahville Indian Community, Lac Vieux Desert Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians, Little River Band of Ottawa Indians, Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indians, Match-e-be-nash-she-wish Band of Pottawatomi Indians, Nottawaseppi Huron Band of Potawatomi, Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe and Red Cliff Band of Lake Superior Chippewa.

---

Headline and text by: Brendan Wiesner. “Michigan, Wisconsin and Canadian tribes come together to fight Line 5.” Yahoo! News. 8 April 2023. Article originally appeared on The Sault News with the title “Great Lakes tribes send report to United Nations to fight Line 5.” [Some paragraph breaks and contractions added by me.]

Context:

Line 3 brings oil from Alberta to Lake Superior. Then, Line 5 brings the fossil fuel from the Duluth area to the Detroit/Windsor area in Ontario.

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disappearinginq · 5 months

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I feel like people are sleeping on the awesomeness that is Sister Boniface Mysteries. I think it's considered "cozy murder mysteries" which is just a weird genre to have, but it's a spinoff of Father Brown in the 60's in the Cotswolds of England. I'm not usually a murder mystery fan, they're mostly just 'eh' for me - neither good or bad, just there to have in the background. But I love Sister Boniface for several reasons (which I will admit bias to)

The police are actually happy to have her around. The main DI will find an excuse to pull her into any case they have, and the entire police force love her and will almost always follow her advice/lead, unlike 90% of other mystery shows where the police are always either one step off from bad guys or just can't be bothered.

It shows the wide diversity of women who find their way to a convent. The nuns make wine. They wind up on cooking shows. They host an episode of a really hokey Austin Powers type TV series. They guest star on a children's show being filmed at the church. They love being a part of the cases when they get roped in. The Mother Superior is a cranky Irish lady who is like a beleagured mom who has more luck herding cats than keeping the Sisters out of cases, but she also has a favorite fish in the pond that she feeds, and loves babies and new parents and bends over backwards to help people and lets Sister Boniface blow up the basement with her experiments on a regular basis.

Sister Boniface herself. She was a translator in WW2, she has the equivalent of a masters in chemistry and is the police department's Go To forensics. She has a vivid imagination that borders on cartoonish when imagining the crime and how it could've happened. She rides a motorcycle. She is like 5 feet tall and spicy. The basement of the church has been converted into her own laboratory where she tinkers and futzes at all hours as long as it doesn't interfere with her church duties.

THE SISTER AND THE INSPECTOR ARE BESTIES WHO CRACK TERRIBLE PUNS OVER CRIME SCENES. No, really, there's an entire youtube video of every scene where these two idiots (affectionate) are cracking the absolutely WORST puns related to the crime. Sam Gillespie is the DI and he doesn't seem to actually enjoy the police part of policing, but really likes the community outreach part. He's a WWII vet that was at the battle of Normandy, took heavy losses, got bayoneted (which is brought up in one episode), and as soon as a crime has been committed, he calls in Sister Boniface. There is zero romantic interest between them, she is like his actual sister, and they are absolute enablers for each other's shenanigans, and it is hilarious.

There are no bad characters.

#sister boniface mysteries #sister boniface #sam gillespie #it's always nice to see characters getting along #show recommendations #cozy murder mystery just seems like a weird category to exist #fluffy slippers and dead bodies

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heythrrdelilah · 3 months

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Choose

Summary: New York City life gets a little lonely until you have too many choices

Pairings: timothee chalamet x F!reader, Austin Bütlér x F!reader

Warnings: honestly expect pure filth. Mmf but the males are straight and don't interact

Word count: 2,925

Authors note: it's been a while and this may or may not be loosely based on a random detailed dream I had the night before last also please know I'm not usually a smut writer and it's been ages so bare with me please

The dim lit bar was roaring with voices as the rush hour for bars came. You regretted letting your friend talk you into coming out. You would much rather be sitting on your couch with a fantasy novel and a cup of lavender tea, but your best friend and roommate was persistent. “See! Lavender vodka cocktails! I told you you could still get lavender tea!” She pulled you by your wrist to the bar. This was one of the many popular bars in New York so you had to squeeze between shoulders to even reach the counter. “You know it's not the same thing, right? It's important for me to know that you know that,” you questioned your friend with a brow raised, she threw her hair over one shoulder and rolled her eyes. Instead of responding she just ordered a lavender vodka lemonade for you and a planters punch for herself.

“Just don't leave me tonight. I didn't feel like coming but if you leave me alone this is the last time,” you sternly state as you wait for your drinks. After people had their orders in, the crowd around the bar became smaller and people were now gathered around tables and leather couches. The bar theme was modern chic. Crystal dim lighting, black leather couches around marble tables. You and your roommate definitely could not afford to drink here, especially on a regular basis, but she insisted that the only way to find a decent man was in high end bars. Not that you were looking.

“It will be fun! Go find a table, I'll wait for the drinks,” she instructed, clearly scouting the crowd. You pushed off of your elbows and looked around for an empty table. It was no surprise when every table and couch were full. You found an empty spot on a wall and leaned up against it.

“This should cheer you up, I got that guy to pay for our drinks,” meg, your roommate and best friend, handed you your glass and nodded towards a blonde man in an army green jacket who was staring in their direction. He had a nice smile and tilted his glass to Meg with a wink. It was painfully obvious that you were going to be left alone at some point tonight. “go for it,” you sighed. She shook her head, her red hair swaying with every turn, “he can wait for it. I need to let the anticipation build. For now, let's talk about your day, drink up and dance.” There wasn't much to dance to as today's rap hits played low level. “my day is never as interesting as yours. I just work at an unknown radio station. You're the celebrity photographer,” you say with a bit of laughter.

“You're just getting your start. Besides I'm just the photographer for BuzzFeed. it's my start too. But okay,” she began talking about the shoot she had just done for the cast of the Dune series. Meg was good about making the biggest celebrities sound like just a group of co-workers. The Dune cast had some of the biggest names in Hollywood but here she was talking about how Batista couldn't stay serious the entire shoot.

You moved on to her plans next week to shoot a rom com cast on Monday when a group walked into the bar and heads were turning from every direction. “meg, isn't thats the Dune cast,” you pointed out the obvious. You tried to keep your composure as Timothee chalamet was your biggest celebrity crush and he was walking in the doors. People brought out there phones and snapped a few pictures with it being a high class bar in New York City, it wasn't a huge deal.

Meg smiled wide and waved at the group. They spotted her and waved back as they began walking towards us. “what up?” Timothee shouted playfully as he hugged Meg. “If we had known you were coming to the same bar when you said you were going out later, we could have just left the office together!” Zendaya laughed giving Meg a one armed hug. Meg pointed to me, “this one needed a Friday night out so I had to stop home anyways.”

Florence smiled, “I needed to change anyways. That was probably one of the most fun shoots I've had for an interview though. Can we buy you girls drinks?” Florence looked to you and put her hand gently on your shoulder, “I'm so sorry, I'm Florence what's your name?” You told the group your name and Zendaya was laughing wrapping her arm around Florence, “yeah Flo she was standing herebthe whole time and we didn't even ask her name. No wonder people think celebrities are rude as hell. I'm Z this is Timothee and Austin.” You waved smiling, “it's nice to meet you all. I promise I'm not the loser I just sounded like I just prefer staying home.” They all nodded. Florence laughed, “I feel that heavily. Alright let's get some drinks at the bar and come back. the waiters here are too busy.”

While the cast walked off to get their drinks, a Waitress brought us two drinks we didn't order, the same ones we had as a first round. “they're from that gentlemen. Don't worry I prepared them and came right back this way,” she winked, obviously referring to how awful the world was. Meg blushed, her blue eyes wandering over to the blonde man from earlier. He was looking adoringly at her, blushing, he smiled and took a drink of his.

The group came back with their assortment of drinks in hand. After a few short minutes of sharing fun memories of the photoshoot earlier, Meg took a step back from your now formed circle, “you have no idea how much I want to stay and chat but I've been working on that,” she motioned to the blonde man, “for the past hour and I think it's time I stop his longing and say hi. You guys are amazing. Glad you're here to keep my bestie entertained, if you want of course okay bye!” She rambled, took a deep breath, and smoothly turned around with a look of curiosity.

“Shes good,” Florence complimented with a smile of approval and admiration. “so, where are you from?” Timothee immediately asked after taking a shit of his dark and smokey. His green eyes were fixed on yours, seemingly genuinely interested as one of his brows was up. You told him, and without hesitation asked another question, “what brings you to the city?” You didn't want to tell him the entire story about how you are a 24 year old divorcee so you just said work. “I wouldnt think someone who looks like you would be doing radio. A face like yours deserves to be seen,” Austin suddenly chimed in, saying the first words he's said all night. You blushed. Anyone would at those words spoken with his deep raspy voice.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from showing your blushing. You took a sip of your drink. “Oh come on Austin you started off too strong,” Timothee chuckled. You didn't know what was happening. Zendaya and Florence burst out with laughter before wrapping one arm around each other, “too much testosterone. (Y/n) we will be over here people watching if you find this,” Zendaya used her hand to motion the guys, “disturbing.” Then they walked away. Both guys took a step forward, causing your to take a step back, placing your back against the wall. They were standing in front of you just a ruler length away.

You felt nervous. A tingling sensation overcame your stomach among other places. “do you guys have a bet or something?” You didn't want to fall for it if it was some joke. They were two of the biggest celebrities at this time and they were seemingly coming onto you. Both with girlfriends. “yeah, a bet of who could bring home the most beautiful woman in the room,” Austin stated, looking into your eyes intensely. The bar suddenly felt like a heater was turned up. You held your composure. “You both have girlfriends if the news sources are correct,” you retorted. They shook their heads, “PR” they said simultaneously. They could be lying. It was almost as if they read your mind, contracts between manages about it. Weird they just have it ready but they most likely had to do it often.

You played it cool and finished your drink without saying a word, or tasting it as you chugged it. “I'm going to grab another drink, go check on Meg and go home. You two can decide who is coming with me,” you would never have had the confidence to say the last part without liquid courage. Good thing you were at a bar. You walked between them as if they were saloon doors and tried your best not to look back. You saw Zendaya and Florence applauding and nodding with approval. Zendaya even pumped her fist mouthing “hell yeah.”

You leaned both of your elbows against the bar and flagged down the bartender. You ordered a long island iced tea with a lemon and a lavender garnish. You were going to need all the confidence you could muster up. However you could.

You told the bartender you would be back for it after freshening up. You walked swiftly to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You regretted not going for a bit of a glam look but your “clean girl aesthetic” makeup would have to do. You looked to the other woman in the mirror who was fixing her mascara. Your expression must have been easy to read because she smiled big saying, “girl I got you!” The raven haired woman who looked at least 5 inches taller than you, reached into her clutch and pulled out a mini contour kit. “I saw you talking to the cast of Dune? Do you know them?” She questioned. You shook your head, “my best friend, practically sister does.” The woman brushed some highlight powder lightly across your cheeks,” Just enough to make some features pop, you don't want to change too much because it will look like you changed for them since they've already seen you.” she closed the kit, “good luck you are my hero.” She fixed my sweater so that it drapes over one shoulder, taking my academia look up a notch since my flowy long skirt couldn't be helped.

You weren't in the bathroom long because your drink was just being made when you got back to the counter. You took your drink and looked for Meg. Thankfully she was still there, giggling and caressing the mans bicep. She definitely wasn't coming home alone tonight. You walked over and dipped your drink, “I didn't want to interrupt but I'm headed home will you be okay?” You waited for the code word in case of danger, it never came. “I think we might stay out a bit. This is Taron. Taron this is, (y/n). Please stay out with us! You might meet someone!” She was glowing. Whatever this guy was saying to her was the cause of said glow. You smirked, shaking your head, “who said I'm going home alone?” Megs brows raised and she nodded, “okay go ahead.” She hugged you then whispered, “proud of you.” You took a breath and walked back to the guys. They were chuckling but stopped and went back to having swagger or as the kids would call it these days “rizz” which you learned meant charisma.

“Did you decide?” You lifted a brow, finishing your drink. They looked at each other and nodded as if they had some agreement. Austin took a step forward and leaned over to whisper in your ear, his low tone making a shiver to down your spine, “we actually couldn't decide.” Timothee stepped forward, Austin not moving, and leaned over to whisper in your other ear, “so let us both have you. Tonight. Then you will decide which one of us can take you to a dinner tomorrow night.” The last sentence was a demand and it sent your body into a frenzy but you kept your composure. You didn't say anything, you took a step back, put your glass on the counter and kept walking towards the door. You turned around before you got out of ear shot as they were both shrugging off disbelief they were rejected. But they weren't.

“Well? You boys coming or do I have to take care of myself after that?” They both perked up immediately and were practically tripping over their own feet as they said their goodbyes to Z and Flo.

You all stumbled out of the bar. Someone must have alerted the paparazzi and some fans, probably via deuxmoi, because there were cameras flashing outside the bar and you all stopped every few steps for them to take selfies with some fans. Austin finally said to the fans, “sorry guys, we are trying to catch up with an old friend tonight but we will be around tomorrow if we didn't manage to get to you.” we walked swiftly into the nearby metro station, “we are going to our hotel right?” Timmy asked as they managed to keep their heads down going down the steps. “no,” you shook your head, “you don't need to impress me with your 5 star hotels. It's already happening. My place is two blocks away.” They shrugged and followed you to your apartment, keeping their heads down as much as possible.

You reached your two bedroom small apartment quickly and kicked your boots off at the door. They followed suit. “your room, gorgeous?” Austin pointed to the door that had stickers of book titles all over the door. You nod once as he grabs your wrist and leads you slowly to your door timothee following you both and locking your bedroom door behind himself.

Timmy didn't hesitate to move your hair away from your neck and trail kisses down your neck and to your shoulder that was exposed on the one side. Austin gripped your face with his hand gently and kissed you passionately with just the right amount of tongue. Timmys hands went under your sweater, lifting it from your body, breaking your kiss with Austin briefly. When Austin's lips returned to yours his hand was gripping your hair now, you were getting weak in the knees.

Timothee used one ringed finger to trace the outline of your torso and gripped your breasts from under your bra before releasing them using his other hand. Timmy reached his head around you to place a breast in his mouth and push Austin away in one motion. He got down on his knees before you and slowly pulled your skirt and thong off in one go. “Bed. Now,” Austin demanded. He pulled his shirt off and Timmy followed suit. You lay on the bed, your ass aligned with the edge and Austin quickly found his way between them, trailing soft, ticklish kisses down your thighs in a teasing manner. Timmy began unbuttoning his own pants as Austin worked his tongue around your clit. You arched your back and moaned in pleasure with your hand gripping Austin's hair. Timothee got on the bed and kissed you passionately.

“Suck it for me?” Timmy smiled, his bedroom eyes arousing you. You nod and Austin grabs your hips, flips you around and has you in doggy style. He still works his tongue as you place Timothee into your mouth. Timothee groans and Austin inserts himself into you, slowly, teasingly for the first few thrusts. Then hard, causing you to scream in pleasure then slow again.

The two take turns on you, sometimes just watching you with the other but neither interacting with each other minus a few compliments and “damn bro she's loving this” comments. Two men so comfortable with their own sexuality made them even more attractive to you.

When you finished, you realized an hour and a half had passed. Austin lay on your bed staring at the ceiling repeating “wow” and “incredible” timothee pulling his boxers back on. Austin looked like he needed a breath so naturally, “timothee?” You beconed as you stood at your bathroom door naked, “shower with me?” he ripped his shorts off and joined you.

“Decided who you wanted to go to dinner with?” Timmy smirks the next morning, assuming he was the clear winner in his own head. You hadn't decided yet. They both slept on the floor. “leave your numbers on that notebook and I'll call one of you later,” you instructed. The both wrote their numbers down and you all walked out to your kitchen. Meg was sitting there drinking her coffee, which caused you to turn bright red. The guys were blushing too. “‘morning,” timothee blushed and waved to meg. She looked surprisingly well rested and didn't have the blonde with her.

“It was nice seeing you again,” Austin spoke to meg, his cheeks bright red as you moved towards the door. They put their shoes on and you let them out. “you'll actually call right?” Timothee asked with a nervous smile. “I guess you'll see,” you stated before closing the door and joining meg at the counter. “im seeing Taron for a proper date tonight but you…you have some explaining to do,” she stated while pouring your coffee.

#timmy tim #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #austin butler #austin butler one shot #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #austin butler x reader #dune part two

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radiofreederry · 1 year

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I see a lot of posts that seem to conflate gerrymandering with voter suppression writ large, so I thought I'd take some time to define and explain what gerrymandering actually is.

Keep in mind that gerrymandering is most prominent in America and I'm using an American perspective in this post, but it can happen in any country with single-member electoral constituencies.

Firstly, gerrymandering specifically applies to the drawing of single-member legislative constituencies. Districts for the US House of Representatives, state legislatures, or even local bodies such as city councils can be gerrymandered. When applied to state-level or national-level elections - what we may consider "at large" elections - such as for state governors, US Senators, or the President, the term effectively has no meaning.

There are two basic forms of gerrymandering, which are generally accomplished in one of two ways. I'll break down the methods used first:

PACKING is when a specific bloc of voters are crammed into one district. This can be done either to dilute the voting power of that bloc by ensuring they only hold influence in one district, or to ensure representation of an interest group. This was the intention of Illinois's 4th congressional district, long infamously nicknamed "the earmuffs" because of its shape, which united two otherwise-unconnected Latine communities in Chicago, following a court order to ensure a majority-Latine district in the Chicago area.

Black voters in Alabama were also packed into a single district, in a map that was just struck down by the Supreme Court as a racial gerrymander and violation of the Voting Rights Act. More on this in a bit.

CRACKING explicitly seeks to dilute the power of a particular voting bloc, by shattering it among several different districts such that the bloc becomes a minority in each, and is unable to influence election results, which inevitably favor the preferred majority in each district. In Republican-governed states, this is often employed as a tactic to break the voting power of urban areas, which tend to be more diverse and liberal. For a specific example, look to Texas' capital Austin, one of the state's most progressive cities, which is split between six districts, only two of which are Democratic, and some of which are represented by some of the most conservative members of Congress.

Gerrymandering can also be done via "hijacking," drawing district borders such that two incumbents have to fight over one seat, or by "kidnapping," in which the home of one district's incumbent is redrawn into another, but those are less prevalent.

Now, as stated, there are generally two reasons for gerrymandering: racial and partisan. In the United States, the lines between these are often blurry, because specific racial and ethnic groups tend to lean towards one party or another (i.e. Black voters in general tend to favor voting Democratic, while Vietnamese voters are more likely to favor Republican candidates). Regardless, racial gerrymandering is explicitly unlawful as affirmed in the 1995 Supreme Court case Miller v. Johnson (exceptions have been applied, such as the Illinois example above, where the intent is to ensure representation of an underrepresented group), whereas the legality of partisan gerrymandering is more of a state-by-state affair.

Gerrymandering is not merely a Republican tool of voter suppression - and given that it is only applicable to elections involving single-member districts with maps drawn on a partisan basis, it's not even the principal method of voter suppression they use. Democrats also employ gerrymandering - it's simply a natural feature of a system that uses these kinds of districts! For example, going back to Illinois, the current 13th district cuts a swath through rural downstate Illinois to create a majority Democratic district and dilute the voting power of rural Republicans.

I hope this post has given you a better understanding of what gerrymandering is and what it is not - remember that when discussing voter suppression, we also should be talking about things like voter ID laws, voter roll purges, barriers to registration, the barring of convicts from voting, etc. There's a lot more to voter suppression than just gerrymandering.

#politics #law

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bcofl0ve · 2 years

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Invisible String (Part 1)

(part 1/9)

ship: austin butler x fem!reader

summary: a summer fling when you were working on the set of the shannara chronicles turned your life upside down with a positive pregnancy test after austin returned to the united states. a pregnancy test, and a daughter that you never told him about. until the elvis biopic found him back in your orbit and forced you to face the music.

word count: 2,600

authors note: yes i know the shannara chronicles was filmed in new zealand but this is my au and i can do what i want so we’re pretending it was filmed in queensland. covid also doesn’t exist in this story, because i said so, hence the filming schedule being one of my own making.

i live for comments and love talking about my writing, pls feel free to pop me an anon anytime!

xxx

April 23rd, 2020

"You interested in working in film again?"

You raised an eyebrow at your best friend sitting opposite you on the couch, pausing short of tossing more popcorn into your mouth from the bowl between you.

"Is there a reason you're asking?"

She chuckled, lowering her voice and leaning over to you, a playful smile on her face.

"A little birdie told me that one of the lighting assistants at Elvis had to resign because of a family emergency and they’re desperate for a replacement.”

Leah was clearly getting a kick out of this, and you wanted to kick her for it. Knowing Elvis was filming in your area and that there was a non zero chance you'd run into Austin on the street was enough of a headache, let alone having to skirt around him on a daily basis.

"I can't work there, you know that." You said flatly, and Leah only shrugged, cocking her head.

"Do I? It's just tech work, not like you'll have to interact with Austin that much anyways."

"That," You started, nudging your head towards a framed photo of you and Cora on the coffee table. It was taken on her fourth birthday, the blue eyed little girl sitting on your knees, head of blonde hair tucked into your shoulder. "happened when I was just doing tech work. I can't Leah,"

It wasn’t that you’d take any of what happened that 2015 summer back, you were quick to tell anyone that your daughter was the best thing that ever happened to you. But some things, her father in particular, were better left in the past.

"How much are you making right now?" Leah asked, pulling out her phone as she talked. "Because this is what Elvis is paying."

Your eyes widened when you saw the salary listed on the email she’d pulled up, nearly triple what you were making at your current gig running lighting for a local news station.

"You go, you do your lighting thing, you come home. If you wear a hat and your bluelight glasses Austin doesn't even have to know you're there."

---

April 30th, 2020

Against your better judgment you inquired about the position, and Leah must’ve been right about how depeserate they were for a replacement because you got a call within a few hours asking for the earliest date you could start.

You followed Leah’s advice of trying to alter your appearance just enough to maybe pass as someone else to Austin, your hair tied up and pushed through a baseball cap, tan rimmed bluelight glasses that you typically saved for long hours on your laptop perched on your nose.

And the get up wasn’t even necessary. You’d spent your first day helping with lights for scenes with Tom Hanks in a conference room setup, overhearing that it was a dance rehearsal day for most everyone else. By the time the day was over ditched the glasses and cap, assuming you were safe from running into Austin at least for the time being as you put equipment away.

"Hey there.”

You could've screamed when you heard his voice from right behind you, flinching and dropping the cords you were wrapping.

Austin was apologizing as you turned around, and you swallowed as you got a good look at him. He looked drastically different than he did four summers ago, his hair short and black as opposed to the blonde waves that used to fall at his shoulders. His face hadn't changed much though.

The blue eyes that matched the photo of your daughter on your lockscreen made you want to bolt, but the window of opportunity for that quickly shut as he kept talking.

"I just," He started nervously, pushing a hand through his hair. "Y/N, right?"

"Yeah, that’s me." You said and forced a smile. Austin laughed.

"Okay good, this would be so weird if it wasn't you. It's been, what, four- five years? Wow,"

He gave you a one over and you hoped the flush you felt wasn’t showing up too obviously on your face.

"And look at you, Mr. Presley himself." You tried, leaning back against the table as Austin let out a breath. "I'm still wrapping my head around it all. But how you've been?"

"Not too bad,”

Your phone buzzing saved you from thinking of what else to say, except the voice of Cora's day care coordinator on the other end was the last thing you wanted to hear right now. Austin was still standing there when you hung up, something you hated because now you were close to tears and could think of about twenty ways this whole debacle could go from bad to worse.

"Everything okay?"

Austin’s voice cut through your panic, and exacerbated it.

"That was my daugher's daycare.”

The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them, heart hammering in your chest as you kept talking, snatching the cords you'd dropped off the floor and putting them back on the table in a frenzy. "She said something about stitches, St. Vincent’s Hospital. My car's in the shop, I need to get a Lyft,"

There wasn't one rational reason you were telling Austin any of this, just that you were a panic talker. You recognized somewhere in the haze of worry that you needed to stop talking before it bit you in the ass, though you recognized it a little too late.

"I'll drive you."

Those three words snapped you back to reality like a rubberband, and you shook your head as you brushed past Austin to walk away.

"You can't do that, you'll get recognized,"

You were already past him, but heard him rustling through his bag and before you could protest anymore there was quiet "No, come on," and he was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, a hand on your back as he ushered you in the direction of the parking lot.

---

The car was quiet as he started driving save for the heavy breathing you were barley managing to get under control. Austin pulled to a stop at a redlight, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he spoke lightly.

"So you have a daughter now?"

"Yeah who apparently cracked her chin open on the playground.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly, mumbling an apology that he told you not to worry about. The rest of the drive was silent.

When he pulled up to the hospital you jumped out the second the car slowed enough for you to do so, spotting Cora’s daycare director in the lobby and making a beeline for her. Assuring you she'd only left Cora alone long enough to meet you, she took you down the hall to her room.

And you didn’t notice Austin had followed you in until you saw the other woman’s eyes widen when she brushed past you to leave.

"Hiya," He said, southern accent intact and you'd find it funny if you weren't all standing in the hospital for his daughter that he didn't know existed.

Leaving them both in the hallway, you rushed into the hospital room so fast you didn't bother to shut the door behind you. Cora was groggy from sedatives but reached out when she saw you, tear stains still on her cheeks.

“Mommy, ouchie,”

"I'm here baby.” You said as you scooped her up, kissing her head and pulling back to look at the line of stitches in her chin. "I'm sorry you got hurt,”

"Who's that?"

She interrupted you, pointing a finger towards the open doorway. Austin was still in the hallway, except the coolness he'd had with the daycare director was gone and replaced with a look that you’d spent the last four years terrified of. His pupils were enlarged, hand over the bottom of his mouth. He dropped it when he realized you were looking, but his expression didn't change.

"That's just a friend from work who drove me here," You said through the growing lump in your throat, unable to look back at him. "I'll be right back, okay?"

After setting her back on the hospital cot and covering her back up with the provided blanket you walked out of the room, remembering to close the door behind you this time.

“You don’t have to stay, I have to call someone to pick us up anyways because she needs a carseat,”

You tried to steer away from the inevitable, but Austin didn’t waste any time.

"Y/N, how old is she?"

His voice was tight and you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, staring at the floor like you could will it to open up and swallow you.

“Austin,” You managed to croak out, and the indignation you could feel radiating off of him made your eyes sting.

"You know not answering is an answer in itself, right?"

Forcing yourself to look up, you squeezed your eyes shut and back open, hoping it was enough to keep yourself from crying in front of him. "I can't do this here." You started. "I need- I need to get her home. If your number hasn't changed l'll call you when she's in bed,"

He nodded, giving you a terse “Alright then.” before turning to walk away. When he disappeared around the corner you let a few tears fall, wiping them away and feeling nauseous as you pushed open the door to go back to Cora.

---

Your head was still spinning by the time the doorbell rang at eight o’clock that night. And when you opened it to Austin you cleared your throat, bringing a hand to grasp the doorframe.

"If you're going to yell at me we need to take this outside, Cora's asleep." You said and his eyes widened a little.

"I'm not gonna yell at you."

Your back was to Austin after you let him in, but you could sense him looking around. There was evidence of your daughter everywhere, photos on the wall and toys you hadn't had the energy to pick up given recent events scattered around the floor. When you reached the kitchen and did turn to look at him he was popping his knuckles.

Taking the bar stool you pulled out for him, he sat as you walked to the other side of the counter.

"So she's gotta be four, right?" He started before you could say anything, eyes falling away from you and to a photo on the wall. "And she's-"

"She's yours."

You cut him off, biting the inside of your cheek. "If you want a paternity test we can do one, but that summer, there was no one else."

"Workin' on Elvis, were you just hoping we never ran into each other? I don't get it." He stated, gesturing aimlessly.

"The friend who sent me the application practically had to force my hand, I didn't want to. But the money, this is more than I'm making anywhere else, being able to send Cora to a good pre-school in the fall,"

You hated that your voice was shaking, along with your hands, where you’d clenched a fist without realizing it.

“I decided it was worth taking my chances."

"And when you found out you were pregnant- you didn't think to call?"

The truth was that you had thought to call, briefly. But a tabloid hard launch of Austin getting back together with his ex girlfriend came before you bring yourself to dial his number.

"When I found out I was pregnant you were back in the states and back with Vanessa. What was I supposed to do?" You said, and you would’ve been a lot louder if you didn’t have to worry about waking Cora up. "Hey I know you just left, but you need to leave your girlfriend and fly back across the globe because the techie you had a fling with is pregnant."

"I would've."

You shook your head, shooting back bluntly.

"You wouldn't have."

If he truly did feel differently he didn't argue, chewing on his bottom lip for a beat before he spoke, his voice a degree softer. "You said her name is Cora?"

"Cora Jean. Thought she might go by CJ but she corrects anyone that tries, "I'm not Cee-Jay, I'm Cora.””

You couldn’t help a little smile as you imitated her, and felt your shoulders relax when you saw the hint of a smile on his face too.

"Who's there mommy?"

You turned when you heard the familiar pipsqueak voice of your daughter, your eyes finding her standing in the mouth of the hallway rubbing her eyes.

"Remember my friend from the doctor's? It's just him Cor, you can go back to bed."

Cora squinted for a second to verify that herself, walking a little further into the light. Satisfied with the confirmation, she rubbed her eyes with the hand not clinging to her stuffed koala.

“Night night mommy’s friend,” She said sleepily, giving a small wave.

Austin waved back, and you didn’t know if he’d wanted you to hear the quiet “Goodnight baby,” he said in response but it made your chest tighten either way.

"I don't want to keep you from her," You said when she’d disappeared back down the hallway, looking at your hands folded together on the table. "But having her splashed on the cover of People in some scandal story, paparazzi outside our house, that's a part of why I never told you."

A “part” was underselling the amount of nightmares you’d had from the time Cora was still in-utero about waking up to the fallout of one wrong person finding out about her parentage. You were sure there were people who drew their own silent conclusions , but you’d only told your mother and Leah yourself. The two people who you trusted wouldn't tell a soul.

How careful you’d been didn't stop your heart from stuttering when a stranger's eyes in the grocery store lingered a little too long though.

"I don't want that for her either. We're," Austin said gently, reaching a hand across the counter and laying it over yours. "We're gonna figure this out. You and me."

You nodded, wanting more than anything to believe that that was still possible after all this time.

----

Sleep didn't come easy for you that night, your mind racing as you laid awake staring at the ceiling. Just when you started to feel too tired to physically stay awake much longer, your phone buzzed.

Apparently Austin couldn't sleep either.

If it's not too much could you send me some photos?

You sat up a little, eyes heavy as you swiped open your phone, going to your camera roll and thumbing through the album labeled Cora Jean. The photos you chose ranged from across the years. Cora sitting in her high chair at only a few months old, grinning at the camera through the food covering her face, the two of you in your mom's backyard at her second birthday, a little video of her first dance recital, a photo her daycare had sent you her during art time, paint smeared across her nose.

When you texted the final selections, an ache bloomed in your chest as the gravity of it all finally started to sink in. Tugging the covers over your head, you willed yourself to crash and forget about everything for just a few hours.

xxx

#invisible string by bcofl0ve #future chapters will have some flashbacks to 2015 so worry not if you were wanting to see bits of that #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfic #austin butler headcanons #austin butler imagine #austin butler imagines #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler

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paperstorm · 7 months

Text

wip wednesday

I was tagged by @inflarescent @alrightbuckaroo @birdclowns and @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

Season 3 of Missing Moments is in the initial phases baybee so have a scene I wrote at 4am while insomniatic and trying to dig into Carlos's mindset at the hospital. (does that low key count as self harm lol probably)

Carlos tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he steps out into the still-falling snow thought the automatic sliding doors. He passes by others, concerned visitors braving the storm to visit their loved ones. The chill seeps quickly through his clothes and into his bones. Carlos has lived his entire life in Austin, he’s never felt cold like this. TK used to tell him about winters in Manhattan, about snow and sleet and the kind of cold that burrows into muscles and tightens skin and leaves a person with chattering teeth and lungs aching from inhaling ice crystals, but Carlos could only ever imagine it until now. It’s worse than TK’d described. But come to really think of it, the cold might not be the reason he’s having trouble gasping for a proper breath.

He finds a brick half-wall, a built in planter than in the summer months would be filled with flowers, and he sits onto it. It’s all he can do not to collapse onto the snowy ground. Carlos tucks his shaking hands into his own armpits, clenching every muscle in his body as his molars press together in a useless attempt to stop himself from bursting into tears. His eyes burn, his head pounds, his breath comes in uneven bursts through his nose.

It can, the doctor had said. Their chosen course of treatment can work, for someone in TK’s condition. She hadn’t meant it. Carlos may not be a medical professional like she is, he may not be the same sort of hero as her and Captain Vega and TK and Nancy, but he’s still a first responder. He still knows that dance. He knows intimately the mask of sympathy to wear and the tone of voice to adopt when the situation calls for kindly offering a grain of false hope to someone in a sand-dune of despair.

His shoulders shake. A woman with a teenaged daughter in tow crosses in front of him on their way towards the parking lot, and Carlos tucks his chin down against his chest so they won’t see the way his eyes are filled with tears.

It’s important to know when a thing is over, he’d said to Marjan, only hours ago before his world was tilted off its axis. Like the well-meaning but misleading doctor, Carlos hadn’t meant it. The mask he’s constructed out of his grief and anger and loneliness and heartbreak disintegrates right off his face and seems to crumble to dust at his feet. He wipes in annoyance and tears on his cheeks, that freeze to his skin almost as soon as they’ve spilled from his stinging eyes.

When to move on, he’d said. She saw through him.

Once upon a time, Carlos was a master of this deception. He built a home for himself constructed almost entirely in lies, in half-truths and secrets and pieces of himself given only on a need-to-know basis, and he wasn’t happy, but it was good enough. It was enough that his parents still invited him over for dinner. It was enough that his coworkers only speculated about his sexuality in private and to his face behaved at least cordially and professionally, even if behind his back they were sneering at him. It was enough that Michelle knew he was gay and accepted him for it, even if she was always too consumed with loss to ever really take an interest in Carlos’s wellbeing after Iris was gone. It was all enough, and then TK came along, and then it wasn’t. And Carlos’s ability to lie to himself so successfully burned up along with everything else he lost in the fire.

He never moved on, he’s still stuck right where he was the day TK walked out on him, and if he loses TK forever, Carlos can’t see a way to ever extricate himself from this spot.

He untucks his right hand, exposing his bare skin to the frigid air and reaching with trembling fingers into the pocket of his jacket for his cellphone. He’s been avoiding this very action for months, but Carlos hurts in every inch of his body as he sits here in the snow and considers a future in which TK is just a jumble of increasingly bittersweet memories and a gravestone he’ll never work up the courage to visit, he can’t avoid it anymore. He presses his thumb into Mama in his contacts and brings the phone up to his ear, choking on an inhale as his heart races while it rings.

“Carlitos,” she answers. “Hola, mi amor, are you keeping warm?”

Carlos vibrates. A miserable noise escapes from his throat and he quickly covers his mouth with his free hand, reduced to clawing back desperate sobs the very second he hears her warm, familiar voice in his ear.

“Carlos?” Andrea says sharply. “Mjio, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Carlos gasps and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he gives himself an instant headache, rocking back and forth just slightly against the flowerbed as he fights to pull himself under control – or at the very least to wrestle back enough control so that he can stop scaring her.

“Carlos!”

“It’s not me,” he manages to force out, with a cough. “It’s TK.”

Andrea inhales. “What happened?”

“He was … there was a little boy trapped under the ice.” Carlos’s voice shakes but he pushes through it. “His team was trying to rescue him, and TK went into the water. I’m at the hospital, he’s … they’re saying he might not wake up.”

“I – might not why?” Andrea asks. She sounds so upset, and it only makes Carlos feel even more like he’s about to throw up on the sidewalk underneath his boots.

“Hypothermia. They’re trying, but …” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Oh, mijo,” Andrea sighs.

“I can’t …” Carlos sniffs and shakes his head. “I just wanted you to know.”

“What hospital?”

“Austin General.”

“Stay right where you are, I will be there in 30 minutes.”

“No.” Carlos sits up a bit straighter and shakes his head. A few fractions of the anguish fall away. He wipes at the tears on his face and new ones don’t replace them. “It’s dangerous, there are people sliding into ditches all over the roads and the first responders are all slammed. Stay where you are.”

“Carlos – ”

“I mean it,” he insists, kind but firm. “This is bad enough without me having to worry about you stuck in a snowbank somewhere the paramedics can’t get to you. Okay?”

She’s quiet for a moment and Carlos thinks she’s going to continue arguing, but she doesn’t. In a heavy, displeased voice, Andrea replies, “Alright. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

“Te amo. I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.” He sniffs again and ends the call before he can catch her response. If he hears her voice for one more second Carlos thinks he might break apart into a million pieces, and he can’t do that right now. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stands, scrubbing hands over his face one last time to make sure it’s dry and then heading back inside.

Tagging @theghostofashton @strandnreyes @reyestrandd @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @goodways @beautifulhigh @carlos-in-glasses @liminalmemories21 @redshirt2 @orchidscript @freneticfloetry @whatsintheboxmh @wtfuckevenknows

#wip wednesday #911ls fanfic #missing moments #paperstorm writes

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ckmstudies · 9 months

Text

August 14th:

Coffee shop! Studied for three hours then retook the mini exam and did much better this time. I'll move onto section three tomorrow which only has five modules instead of nine and is on cost accounting. I took my cost accounting class in college a year and a half ago so I'm really hoping some of this material comes back to me. Tomorrow one of my friends is having a going away party since she's moving this weekend so I'll have to work hard and get all my studying done early in the day. The goal is going to be three and a half hours of studying and modules one and two done of section 3. I've got to keep moving!

Today's accounting topic: Cost accounting focuses on what businesses deal with on a daily basis by assessing the cost of production.

Other activity: I went back to the new and used book store and bought Mansfield Park and Persuasion by Jane Austin as well as Villette by Charlotte Brontë! I read Wuthering Heights in high school so I'm excited to read another Bronte sister's book. Now I just need Emma and Northanger Abby to complete my Jane Austin collection and now I've started a Brontë sisters collection!

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daddyhausen · 9 months

Note

Hi whenever you’re requests are open again I would love to have a poly relationship with Jay White & El Phantasmo

• poly relationship headcannons — el phantasmo + jay white •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ masterlists } | { aew masterlists } | { misc. wrestlers masterlist } | { jay white masterlist } | { el phantasmo masterlist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, poly relationship

{ word count } — 212

{ pairing } — fem!reader x jay white x el phantasmo

{ genre } — smut / fluff

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

they would have a hard time sharing you at first

what with both of them having raging egos

jay claims that he should have more time with you considering he began dating you first

to which riley would claim the same except on the basis that he fucks you better

you admired their persistence but lord they needed to learn to share

so you gave them an ultimatum

either they get along and share you or neither of them would get to have you that night

to which both boys would quiet down

meekly responding with a “yes ma’am” in unison

both boys have submissive tendencies

riley will break and bend to your every will while jay is more bratty and disobedient

all in which is quickly fixed with an orgasm or two

their soft spot for you was evident since day one

they’d always tend to spoil you, even on days when it did not call for it

riley would buy you simple gifts like flowers and stuffed animals

jay would tend to be a bit more extravagant, with jewellery and that of the sort

even surprising you with a brand new car when your old one got wrecked

despite the vast differences between their gifts you cherished them all equally.

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

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coochiequeens · 6 months

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Another example for SheWon

By Jennifer Sieland December 4, 2023

Two trans-identified males dominated a women’s category at the Illinois State Cyclocross Championships yesterday, leading many women’s rights advocates to condemn the tournament for allowing men to self-identify into the women’s divisions.

The Illinois State Cyclocross Championships was held at Montrose Beach on December 3, representing the final challenge in the eight-race Chicago CycloCross Cup. As with other events in the Cup, the event comprised of over one dozen different competitions for men, women, and junior athletes.

But two trans-identified males topped the podium in the Women’s Singlespeed category, taking home medals set aside for female racers. Tessa Johnson and Evelyn Williamson placed first and second, respectively, in the competition, leaving space for only one biological woman – Kristin Chalmers – on the podium.

Johnson also participated in the Women’s Category 1/2 race, placing third and winning $100 in prize money.

According to the Chicago CrossCup’s website, the competition prides itself on “first and foremost fostering a positive & supportive community built around competitive cyclocross racing,” continuing: “That means welcoming and challenging everyone who wants to contribute to the series and make it better in that regard.”

In its official FAQ on the topic of transgender cyclists, the Cup notes that “discrimination or harassment of any kind on the basis of race, color, religion, age, gender, sexual orientation, gender identification, national origin, or any other stupid idea someone comes up with to belittle another racer will not be tolerated at [our] events and may result in disqualification.”

On X (formerly Twitter), news of Johnson and Williamson’s victories was shared by user @i_heart_bikes, an anonymous female cyclist who frequently calls out males self-identifying as “women” in the sport. In response, many women’s rights advocates and sports enthusiasts condemned the competition for allowing the men to participate.

“Well done @usacycling you’ve proved you don’t care about women & you’re happy to put men in female categories. What a joke,” one user replied.

“Cycling has been my refuge since I was a little girl. This makes me sick to my stomach and full of rage,” another said in response to the news.

One woman’s rights advocate even went so far as to edit Johnson and Williamson out of the podium photo, placing female racer Kristin Chalmers onto the top spot.

This is not the first time that Johnson and Williamson dominated the podium at the Chicago CycloCross Cup. In October, the two also took gold and silver in the Women’s Singlespeed, similarly leaving the only female on the podium with bronze. Johnson also took first place in the Women’s Category 1/2 race, earning him $150 in prize money.

Both Johnson and Williamson have been racing in women’s cycling for years, with Williamson collecting 18 first place titles in races across the country since 2017.

In September, Reduxx reported that Johnson and Williamson competed as a team in two separate women’s races in Illinois, taking first place in both of them. During one of the competitions, Williamson and Johnson competed under the team name “TS-ESTRODOLLS,” a reference to cross-sex hormones.

Johnson and Williamson celebrated their initial first place win on August 27 after their victory at the xXx Racing-Athletic Relay Cross in Chicago. The two men surpassed nine pairs of women for first place.

Just days later on August 31, Johnson and Williamson beat out two teams of women at the Ed Rudolph Velodrome during the State Championship in Madison.

Williamson is reportedly in a polyamorous relationship with Austin Killips, another trans-identified male cyclist who has become notorious for his frequent participation in women’s competitions. Killips has similarly taken several first place wins in women’s categories and has forced at least one woman out of the sport after targeting her with physical aggression during a race.

#usa #Illinois #Women’s sports are for women #Illinois State Cyclocross Championships #These dudes could have competed in other categories #Congratulations to Kristin Chalmers

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visionofvoid · 1 year

Text

How the Drivers React to Meeting/Seeing You For the First Time - Part One

Max Verstappen:

He was always supportive of Kelly picking her own staff, especially when it came to a role she would be working very closely with such as a personal assistant. He would sit with her after Penelope went to bed and help her choose the person adequate enough for the role. Max wanted someone that Kelly and Penelope would feel comfortable around, someone they could rely on and he immediately liked the look of Blake’s application. First impression purely from the resume was that he assumed Blake was a male but boy he was wrong. When Max was first introduced to Blake he immediately felt what he could only describe as uneasiness around her. She seemed comfortable straight off the bat, with the hustle and bustle of a lavish life that many would find intimidating.

“Isn’t Blake a male name?” Were Max’s first words to her. Kelly apologised profusely before Blake simply smiled and offered a soft giggle.

“I’ve never met a Max that wasn’t a female before. I guess we learn something new everyday.”

It was safe to say that Max had never had someone go up against him like that, someone that was more certainly not on his level or even remotely in the position to do so. So, he fuelled his uneasieness around Blake into something he was all too familiar with; hate. He had hoped that she would be gone in a few months time and that everything could go back to normal.

Carlos Sainz:

To him you were always Ezekiel’s younger sister that just wanted someone to play with. You were still the younger sister that annoyed her three older brothers to no end in sight, wanting to feel like you belonged. He remembered the constant whining to your mother when the boys were able to go out but you couldn’t, you had to stay home because you were younger. Of course you had your own friends but you were all several years younger, crushing over boys that would never look at them in a different light other than Ezekiel’s younger sister and friends.

Then you moved away to study abroad in America. You partied, studied, worked with children and loved, had your heart broken and cried many tears. Ezekiel, now all grown up, had started a family of his own but still spoke to Carlos on a weekly basis, catching the race whenever it was the Spanish Grand Prix and spent time with his childhood best friend when Carlos had time off.

Carlos hadn’t seen Andrea in years until Ezekiel decided to surprise both of them at the Austin Grand Prix. Carlos was floored when Ezekiel rounded the corner, bringing his best friend in for a brotherly hug before pulling away, his eyes widening when they landed on Andrea. She still had her looks from back when they were younger but this time she grew into her body. She dressed maturely and managed to take his breath away all at the same time.

“Andrea, wow! This is a surprise.” Ezekiel smirked as Carlos moved in, embracing Andrea in a tight hug.

“Ah, my second favourite Spanish racer.” Andrea’s stupid and childish high-school crush looked as handsome as ever and she couldn’t help but feel insecure. She knew she would always be the best friend’s younger sister to Carlos.

“Second?”

“Well, yes. Alonso is the first.”

Charles Leclerc:

He met Manon by chance. It was the classic right place right time trope that you see in romantic comedies. He would never say it was love at first sight, no, but he was immediately entranced by her. She was an enigma.

The way her body moved to the beat of the music, her tight bun slowly losing its structural integrity the more she bounced around her small group of friends, strands of her dark brown hair sticking to her sweaty face. She seemed unfazed by some of the looks she was accumulating from some of the other females that were dancing a bit more modestly on the dance-floor but everyone else enjoyed her confidence, enjoyed how she let go to the sound of the music.

Everyone could just tell that she and her group of friends were not from the area, but instead they acted and looked like tourists, not that it was a bad thing. He felt a bit weird, sitting with George, Pierre and Lando in the VIP booth and just watching her but he noticed how she didn’t seem to be drinking the alcohol like her friends, but instead having fun whilst sober and making sure she was safe.

“Go talk to her, mate.” George finally caught out, an espresso martini in his hand. The four boys decided to have a week in Monaco during their break, just have fun and let go whilst they were all young and before the world and their year got a little bit more crazier. “What have you got to lose?” Charles wondered in his head how he could sneak down to the general dancefloor and introduce himself to the girl without being noticed.

He finally found his way walking towards her, offering a smile to some of the fans on his way but he was on a mission. He felt his friends eyes watching him and he secretly hoped he wouldn’t be rejected, he couldn’t deal with the teasing. It wasn’t hard to spot the girl from ground level, her bun sat tall and bobbed up and down. She grinned at her friends before spinning around and paused as the song ended, her eyes landing right on Charles.

“You just gonna stand there or introduce yourself?”

Daniel Ricciardo:

Claudia was eternally grateful when her uncle decided to offer her a position as a Junior Events Manager working out of Red Bull Racing in Milton Keynes. She had just graduated college and was looking to kick start her professional career, applying for various roles across London before Christian and Geri approached her with the idea to apply for the new 2023 intake. Christian had assured her that he would not be making the final decision and could only give a recommendation and that she would undertake the same application process as everyone else that was applying. It was only fair, she thought.

So, when she finally got the call to come in and sign all the necessary legal documents and bring in relevant information (such as passports for international purposes such as following the race and security clearances) she was so thankful and so relieved. She was caught in traffic and was running a little bit behind her personal schedule, enough to make only herself nervous, so she pulled into one of the only remaining staff car parks closest to the entrance. She managed to beat someone else, the driver throwing their hands up in annoyance and honking at her, not that she was really worried about that for the time being.

Daniel was livid. Not only did someone steal his car park but he was now ten minutes late. He liked to be on time, he liked to arrive early even but he had forgotten what traffic was like in the area at that time in the morning. The small action set him off for the rest of the morning, his stomps on the gravel kicking up bits that went flying everywhere. He knew what she looked like, at least the behind of her that he saw rush into the building. Christian finally spotted his third drive, Max and Sergio beside him, all three dressed in Red Bull branded clothing.

“Daniel, so lovely to finally join us. I have someone I’d like you to meet.” Christian began, shaking his hand before Daniel turned to the other two racers, sharing a smile and shaking their hands.

“Sorry I’m late. There was this incident in the car park and i-” Christian smiled brightly, looking behind Daniel causing the man to look over his shoulder. Though he only saw the back of her he knew this was the woman from this morning, the front of her matching the clothes, the same copper hair.

“My niece, Claudia. Claudia, Daniel Ricciardo.” Well, this is great, Daniel thought.

Lance Stroll:

Piper Broadstone is the youngest daughter of two incredibly wealthy car collectors and curators. She was no stranger to the glitz and glamour of the life she was born into, sometimes loathing it when she wished to have some secrets to herself, sometimes appreciating it when she needed to use it for her own gain. She is an incredibly smart young woman, known to be quite quiet unless conversing with close family and friends. She would wear the most lavish dresses to galas, charity balls and auction nights and bask in the flash of the photography. Tonight was no different.

Piper sat in a rather uncomfortable seat decorated with an almost acidic green backing. She listened as the auctioneer called out the newest bids, going back and forth with bidders and new prices. Every now and then she would put in a bid for something that piqued her interest; the first edition of a literary classic, an all-expenses paid trip to somewhere exotic and sometimes jewellery. She was oblivious to what was currently up for grabs.

“Fifty-thousand dollars going to number six-zero-three. Going once, going twice-” Piper held up her bidders paddle, her lucky number eighteen in white block letters.

“Seventy-five thousand.” The auctioneer seemed taken back by the twenty-five thousand increased bid but nodded, calling out according to his script. Lance looked over to where the woman called out the new bid, dissatisfied with the fact that her back was facing towards him, as was everyone else on the table or they were obstructed by a large structural column. He did note that the colour dress she wore was very similar to the green of his racing suit. His father’s eyebrows raised slightly before he simply smirked. His father was the reason why this charity auction was put together in the first place, it was good PR.

“Seventy-five thousand. Going once, going twice. Sold! An one-on-one drive and date with Aston Martin’s Formula One race car driver, Lance Stroll, is sold to Piper Broadstone.” Lance, who was about to swallow a mouthful of whiskey choked from the sudden announcement before looking up to where the woman sat, now turned around and smiled at him.

Piper looked back to Lance, someone she had only seen from a distance at other similar events or being briefly introduced to by her parents. The Broadstones and the Stroll’s were quite well known, in the same financial calibre. Well, there could be worse things to win at an auction.

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter - Part 2 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: The whole world knows you’re engaged to Elvis. As you try to navigate the increasingly troubling relationship with your boss-turned-fiance, you seek answers—and a way out—before you legally become Mrs. Presley. No matter what you do, it seems like he’s always two steps ahead of you.

Notes: I want to say thank you so much for the overwhelming support for part 1 of this fic (I can’t believe it has almost 300 notes)🖤 I hadn’t anticipated the overwhelmingly positive response or the interest in a second part. I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. I think this part is darker than part 1, so please look at the warnings before reading this because I added additional ones. I left it open for a part 3, if enough people are interested. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, physical violence (blood), and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Emetophobia warning for one short part of the fic. Some sexually explicit content that involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 3

After the extremely public engagement, you could hardly watch TV for weeks. The press was having a field day calling you a gold-digging home wrecker, crafting stories about how the engagement ring was one of the most expensive on record, and distorting your and Elvis’ professional history, as if you’d deliberately taken the job in ‘68 as part of a years-long scheme to slowly chip away at the foundation of his and Priscilla’s relationship, which was showing signs of strain by the time you met them, away.

You knew you wouldn’t get any peace by trying to be combative with him, not with how unpredictable his behavior had become. Instead, you had to exhaust yourself on a daily basis, trying to keep what remained of your boundaries while not setting him off, which was easier said than done. It was like he’d become physically attached to you, and would sink into a dangerous paranoia when you were away from him for too long. As you played with the ostentatious diamond ring on your finger, you worried that marrying him wouldn’t be enough, that he’d resort to increasingly deranged and desperate measures to keep you from leaving.

There was only so much of it you could blame on the drugs, as he caught on to your distaste for Dr. Nick and began using his ‘services’ less and less, which could have meant he was going through withdrawals. No matter how much you tried not to, you kept making excuses for him, as if he weren’t a grown man capable of making his own decisions.

He didn’t expend this much effort trying to mend his and Priscilla’s relationship, as far as you were aware. From what he’d told you, he woke up one day and she just left Graceland with Lisa Marie. If only you could be so lucky.

You could understand the newfound distaste Priscilla had developed toward you, greeting you with a polite coldness a few days prior when she brought Lisa to spend a few hours with Elvis. You wanted so desperately to pull her aside and let her know none of it was true, that you didn’t even want to marry him, but you were never away from him long enough to be able to do so. When she had picked up Lisa later that evening, Elvis was clingier than usual, perhaps watching his ex-wife leave again, move so freely, made him more determined to ensure your proximity to him.

When you’d told him you wanted a small, private wedding, he was irate, going on an irrational rant where he accused you of being ashamed to be with him. You were only able to calm him down with claims that you thought it would be more intimate if only a handful of people were in attendance. "It’d be so special," you’d said softly. "Why let people who won’t appreciate it ruin our day?" He was silent for a few agonizing moments, before conceding that you’d made a good point. Considering it a win to get him to agree to your reasoning, you found yourself having to pick and choose your battles when it came to him.

In a little less than a week, his annual residency at the International would be over, and he had a while in between the marathon of a US tour he normally did. You knew that meant a few weeks in Graceland, and you were oddly looking forward to it. The mansion had acres of land to get lost in, and far more privacy than the International. You couldn’t even go anywhere in Vegas without being recognized, especially since any time you wanted to go out, at least two security guards accompanied you if Elvis couldn’t go with you himself. It’d become so much of a pain that the only place you had any peace was hiding out backstage, where the band and the Memphis Mafia at least still treated you like a normal person.

Elvis had always been generous with you, but since the engagement, it was overwhelming. The dress he had broken the night he made his affection known to you was replaced with five others of the same style, in various patterns and colors. You appreciated that he didn’t try to overhaul your wardrobe, but you found it growing at an unmanageable rate as he always wanted you to match him. This included jewelry and accessories from designer brands you could only dream about in storefront windows before, but getting them this way made you never want to so much as look at them.

“You don’t listen to what they say about you in the press, do ya?” he asked, one night, when you expressed discomfort with the lavish gifts he’d give you. “See baby, I told you, from now on it’s you and me. They get to you, and they fill your head with so much garbage ya can’t see straight. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened to you.”

You shook your head, almost dizzy from how quickly his mood changed from the excitement at presenting you with yet another new pair of shoes to anxiety at your response. He continued, impassioned, “You know they say those things because those miserable sons of bitches don’t want us to be happy. I don’t–maybe you shouldn’t watch TV anymore.”

“Elvis, I hardly watch TV as it is, and when I do it’s Carol Burnette’s show or Columbo,” you protested, “and the one joke Carol Burnette made about me was funny, anyway.”

“No one should be makin’ jokes about you. I don’t care how funny they are,” he said, ending the argument.

You were aware of the incident where he was so drugged up and paranoid one night he shot each of the TVs on the wall. Not wanting a repeat of that, you kept yourself entertained with music and magazines instead. You couldn’t even go to the movies because someone would notice you.

The last night you were in Vegas, he kept the day free to take you out shopping. It was uncomfortable, in all honesty. People would stop to peer through the windows of the half-dozen or so boutiques you had gone to, just to get a look at the king and his bride-to-be.

Then, when you thought all you’d have to do was sit through dinner and be free of Vegas for a few months, Elvis surprised you with VIP seats to a variety show at another hotel on the strip. You showed the enthusiasm that you knew was expected of you when he told you. Sometimes you’d treat yourself to a night out, going to different variety shows either by yourself or with a few coworkers. It was always fun, but you had a sinking feeling in your stomach on the way to the hotel.

The two of you were immediately bombarded by crowds of people the second you stepped out of the car. Well, it was mostly for him, but some people gave you insincere congratulations on the engagement. You shielded your face with your hand when you noticed cameras flashing, and tugged on Elvis’ coat sleeve. He gave a final wave to the crowd, leading you inside the hotel.

As with most hotels on the strip, it was lavish and gaudy, with a busy casino, fully stocked bar, and an auditorium for a residency. Having lived in one for so long, you figured you could probably map the place in less than five minutes of walking around. Ignoring the whispers and murmurs as the hotel’s manager led Elvis and you to your table in the auditorium, you let yourself admire the place. A waiter immediately appeared with complimentary champagne and handed you your menus.

You hardly looked at the menu when you spotted a familiar dish, and decided on that. Elvis took a bit more time, but when he closed his menu, he put his arm around you, giving you a kiss. You kissed him back, figuring you could at least try to have fun. He seemed like he was in a good mood, and you had learned to enjoy that while it lasted.

The two of you were served your food before anyone else. You picked at your meal, sticking to the champagne instead. You hoped your appetite would return at some point during the show, one of the highlights of going out with Elvis was getting to order whatever you wanted at restaurants without having to worry about the bill.

You rested your head on Elvis’ shoulder when the emcee walked onto the stage, clapping along with the rest of the audience. You knew how the variety shows went, usually a comedian to warm up the crowd, a musical act or two, showgirls, a stand-up comedian, and some comedy sketches to round out the show, not necessarily in that order. Sometimes there was a magician thrown in, which you didn’t care for since they all did the same tricks over and over.

The warm-up comedian got some solid laughs out of you, and you felt your tension ease as the other acts went on stage. The show only had one musical act for the evening, a husband and wife team who nailed all of their duets and had you and Elvis practically dancing in your seats. You let the champagne flow, feeling better as the show went on.

Next were the showgirls, adorned in sparkling leotards that perfectly caught the stage lights so when they danced, it looked like the room was covered in glittering stars. While they mostly did the classic choreographed line dances, some of them did acrobatic tricks across the stage, no small feat in heels.

The emcee introduced the stand-up comedian for the night, someone you’d never heard of before, but figured would be good with how the rest of the show was going. He was. In fact, he had you in stitches until he got through two punchlines and then changed his tune.

“It looks like we have some very special guests tonight in the audience here, folks,” the stand-up comedian said, pointing right to where you and Elvis were sitting.

You wanted to slink down, hide beneath the table, but Elvis’ hand flew to your thigh, keeping a vice grip on it. Chattering and applause overtook the room, especially when the spotlight turned to the two of you.

You could feel your face heat up, resisting the urge to cry. Instead you hid your face in Elvis’ chest. He moved his hand from your thigh to hold you close, while you assumed he waved and smiled at the rest of the audience.

“The king of rock n’ roll, Elvis Presley, and his bashful bride!” the comedian announced.

Less than two weeks ago, you could be in a place like this and no one would acknowledge you. Now, wherever you went, whatever you did, turned into a spectacle.

When you could no longer feel the heat of the spotlight on you, you sat up, and pretended to listen to the next joke in the comedian’s set.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you whispered to Elvis.

“Alright, baby,” he said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You kept your head down as you made a beeline for the bathroom. Locking yourself in the nearest empty stall, you put your head in your hands, trying to catch your breath. Why did he have to do that? The night would’ve been perfect if he hadn't done that.

Finally calming yourself down enough, you left the stall to wash your hands, focusing on the swan-head faucets attached to the sink. They were pretty, but something about seeing the water flow from the open beaks seemed odd. So caught up in your own thoughts, you hadn’t realized you weren’t alone in the bathroom while you were drying your hands.

“The future Mrs. Elvis Presley, fancy running into you in here,” a girlish voice said from behind you.

You could feel your stomach tense up. “My name’s Y/N,” you said, turning around to look at her.

Dressed in a gold sequin leotard with her elaborate makeup and hair, she was one of the showgirls from earlier in the variety act. She was beautiful, but looked almost unimpressed as she put her hands on her hips, giving you a once over.

“You know, I admire you. I really do,” she said. “I mean, getting a man like that wrapped around your finger is no easy feat, especially enough to divorce the mother of his only child. I guess the unassuming act goes far, huh?”

“It’s not like that,” you said defensively.

She snickered. “Well, maybe in a few years, I’ll take a crack at it.”

Be my guest.

As soon as she left, you ran back into the stall and threw up. You weren’t sure why her words struck you so harshly, perhaps being physically confronted with the public perception of you was a shock, as Elvis did his best to keep you blocked out from it all. Not to mention, it was like you had no identity anymore, not one outside of him anyway. No one cared about what your name was or how you felt.

You flushed your sick down the toilet, wishing you could disappear with it. Emerging from the stall yet again, you washed your hands before splashing some water on your face in a futile attempt to freshen up a little bit. You reached for the basket on the counter that had individually wrapped mints, ripped a few out of the packaging, and shoved them in your mouth. It didn’t make you feel any better, but at least you wouldn’t return with bad breath.

When you sat back down at the table, you knew you were visibly shaking. Elvis looked at you, eyebrows furrowed as your hand trembled while you picked up your glass of water, which you’d been ignoring for the champagne.

“Darlin’, you alright?” he asked, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, “I just need a ginger ale.”

“If ya don’t feel good, we can leave.”

“I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“You ain’t ruinin’ nothin’,” he said. “We’ll be back in Graceland tomorrow. The fresh air will do ya good.”

The stand-up comedian seemed to be wrapping up his set anyway, so all you’d be missing were the handful of sketches that wrapped up the evening while everyone drank coffee and paid their checks. How long had you even been in there?

Elvis escorted you out of the auditorium, and the hotel manager hastily led the two of you down a service corridor so you could leave without incident. Elvis spoke with the hotel manager while you waited for the car to pull up. As soon as it reached the curb, you practically dove into it. Elvis joined you, and the drive back to the International was uncomfortably silent.

He didn’t say much on the elevator ride up to the suite, except to check how you were feeling. As much as you hated the suite, it was at least a space that was somewhat yours. Still, you could tell he was on edge as you changed out of your clothes from the day and into your nightwear.

“Y/N, what happened back at the show?” he asked. He hadn’t changed yet, which was odd. Usually he liked the two of you to get ready for bed together.

“Something upset my stomach, is all,” you answered.

He hummed dismissively. “Yeah? You hardly touched your food.”

“The alcohol,” you stammered, “it doesn’t agree with—“

“Don’t lie to me, goddammit!” he roared, his face red, nostrils flaring as he pointed at you. “Were you in there doin’ somethin’ you weren’t supposed to do? I saw a man walk back from the bathrooms right before you did, lookin’ mighty pleased with himself.”

Your eyes widened at his accusation. “Why would I do something like that?”

“‘Cause you’re embarrassed of bein’ with me! Don’t want no big wedding, always hidin’ and coverin’ your face while we’re out together,” he spat. “Too good for your damn has-been husband.”

“You said you didn’t want me having to deal with all those people! That they’d put garbage in my head!” you argued.

He grabbed your face, squeezing your jaw so tightly you thought the rings on his fingers would break the skin on your face. “Oh, you’ve got somethin’ in your head, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll get ya all straightened out.”

You knew you were crying, with the way your vision blurred, but you could hardly tell anything else. You began to panic, and before you could even think about it, you hit him. Hard. He released your face with an unexpected force that sent you to the ground as he brought his hand to his own face in shock. If you weren’t terrified of the gun case before, you sure as hell were now.

The next few seconds seemed to drag on for eternity, your breathing labored as you waited for his response. Drops of blood pooled in the corner of his mouth, and he collected it on one of his fingers. To your surprise, he looked down at you, a terrifying fire in his eyes.

“You don’t want this to be easy, do ya, darlin’?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you choked out, trying to crawl backward away from him.

“You will be.”

He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into the tender skin. You looked at him with fearful eyes, which amused him as he pulled you in for a painful kiss. You whimpered when he dug his teeth into your bottom lip. It was as if your act of self-preservation set off something primal, animalistic in him. His vice grip was doing you no favors, and you didn’t want to start thinking about how you were going to cover those bruises with the wedding coming up.

When he threw you onto the bed, you couldn’t tell if it was your blood or his on your arm. Regardless, seeing the blood smeared on your body sent you into yet another state of panic, and you began kicking wildly as he climbed over you, unbuckling his belt.

“I was wrong. I’m sorry,” you pleaded.

“I have half a mind to tan your hide,” he growled, ripping your panties down so they were between your knees. “I never hit you, have I? But you get one chance to and you fuckin’ take a swing at me, huh?”

“It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“It’s a mistake you’re never gonna make again, darlin’,” he said, venom dripping from the term of endearment. “I’ve been too nice. Let you think you run things around here.”

“No, no I–”

He held you down, his face inches from yours. “Sometimes I think I love you too much.”

You almost had to laugh. Almost. The wicked grin that spread across his face when he reached down, feeling the wetness between your legs. Without hesitation, you moaned at the feeling, but he brought his fingers up just as quickly, sticking them in his mouth and sucking your juices off of them. Your mouth hung open as you watched him, and he looked smug when he pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

“Guess you do too,” he teased, kissing you.

Tasting yourself on his lips, it was too much–too vulgar or too intimate, you didn’t know, but everything from there was like watching a movie out of order. You couldn’t remember when he’d done what or when. At some point he’d gotten undressed and tore your lingerie to pieces. You could feel that he’d finished in you multiple times, and your ass felt like hell.

“Rise and shine, darlin’. Graceland’s waitin’ for us,” he said, as you blinked awake.

Part of you was surprised to actually wake up, he’d been so wild the night before you were sure he’d kill you. Instead, you felt the familiar aches and bruises from the first night he, well, you didn’t want to think about it. You slowly sat up to see him looking at you with a handsome smile on his face, his eyes lighting up when they met yours.

You looked at the cut that was on his top lip where your hand had made contact. It was small, but still visible to anyone who really took the time to look. Your fingers hovered over it, your chest felt tight. He kissed your fingers before taking your hand in his.

“We’re gonna move past last night, alright? I just get a little jealous is all. I don’t wanna lose you.” he said calmly, as if his behavior was normal. “I love you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, not missing the pointed look he gave you before adding, “I love you too.”

He gave you a kiss, and you could feel the cut against your lips.

“Does it hurt, honey?” you asked, your habit of caring for him kicking in.

“No, I’m just gonna tell people I cut myself shavin’,” he said.

“I can dress it. There’s peroxide in the cabinet—“

“Baby, it’s fine. All I’m concerned about it gettin’ back home with you.”

Most of the stuff in the suite that would be going with you to Graceland had been packed in the days before. All that was left was what you were wearing, the few toiletries still in the bathroom, and the clothes you’d shoved into a carry-on. While there wasn’t a set schedule to return to Memphis, everyone wanted to go sooner rather than later, and you weren’t about to hold anyone up.

The two hour plane ride to Memphis was actually pretty fun. You played cards with some of the Memphis Mafia while Elvis spoke with his father. You lost horribly in each round, but everyone was cracking jokes and talking. It felt like back when everything was normal.

You knew the airport would be a circus when the plane landed, but you weren’t expecting the sheer amount of people that threatened to spill over onto the runway. Elvis waved to the fans, who were screaming and wailing in a way that was almost biblical. He kept his hand on the small of your back, ushering you into one of the cars that was waiting near the plane.

In theory, it should have been a quick drive to Graceland, but it ended up taking almost double the amount of time because of how many people were crowding the car at nearly every intersection. You knew Elvis loved his fans, he told you over and over again how grateful he was, after all, you’d been one too. You could tell, though, that he was getting tired, and you held his hand in an attempt to comfort him. He gave you a grateful smile, kissing your hand.

After what felt like hours, you arrived at Graceland, the gates slowly opening as the car inched forward so it wouldn’t run anyone over. You almost considered getting out right there and just walking up to the mansion, but thought better of it. Once the car passed through the gates, it pulled up to the front door, and you wasted no time in getting out of the car.

“Home sweet home,” Elvis said as he opened the door for you.

You were never more glad to be at Graceland. Even though you knew it was just the same prison with a different look, you were exhausted and welcomed the privacy it afforded. Of course, the calm would be over again in the next few days as the usual crew of friends and family made their way over to use Graceland as their stomping grounds, and you had to plan a wedding.

For now, though, Elvis was as tired as you were, and the two of you made your way upstairs. The energy in the familiar house shifted as you stood in the doorway of the master bedroom.

You’d never actually been alone with him in his bedroom at Graceland before. You always stayed in a guest room in another part of the house, and he usually conducted business in the living room or dining room. The only times you’d gone in before was with Priscilla to let her do your hair and makeup, or sometimes she’d give you pieces from her overflowing closet.

It was similar to his suite at the International in its style and the color scheme throughout. You approached Priscilla’s closet–no, it was yours now–slowly, cautiously, as if something would jump out at you the second you opened it. Instead, when you slid the door aside, you saw your clothes hanging up neatly, the shoe rack filled with your shoes.

“Honey, where’s the, um–my–” you didn’t know how to word it. Nothing in that room was yours. “My sleep stuff.”

“Intimates should be in one of the dresser drawers,” he said, as he changed into a robe. “Though I’d prefer if ya wore nothin’ at all.”

You hated how your face heated up at his teasing. You walked over to the dresser and found what you were looking for in the middle drawer, grabbing the set that was on top.

Hastily, you changed, as to not keep Elvis waiting while he sat on the bed. He opened his arms when you approached, and you settled in beside him, nestled next to his chest. He held you close, kissing the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

"Why do you love me?" you asked.

You knew what he felt for you wasn’t love, but rather a manifestation of misplaced obsession and fear. Still, you needed to know—why me?

"No one else knows me like you do, takes the time to talk with me and check on me," he said softly, as if lost in his thoughts. "You always take care of me. When I met you, no one had done that for a long time. Mama died after I left for basic, and I had to be the one to hold everything together for the family, halfway ‘cross the world by my lonesome and line everyone else’s pockets."

You nodded, listening to his explanation of his behavior, trying desperately to understand where you fit into this. Out of everyone in his entourage, you’d known him for the least amount of time in comparison.

"You’ve never asked me for a thing, ya know that? Everyone else it’s clothes and cars and god knows what else, and I don’t mind it, I take care of my own. You don’t want anything outta me. If I lose you, I think I’ll lose myself," he said, taking a long pause before adding, "I wish you’d met my mama. I think she woulda liked you."

There it was, that vulnerability that made you feel bad for him. Him of all people. The childhood of hardship and abandonment that was was only held together by his mother, the stabilizing figure in his life, who he’d lost far too soon. It was what made you feel like you needed to take care of him in the first place, that beneath this larger than life man was a sad and lonely boy. You knew that this was far from the truth, as more than anything else it was likely the root of the abandonment issues that evolved into the disaster of an Oedipus complex you found yourself the object of, but your heart still ached for him. Fuck. Now you were crying.

He had you so mixed up in your feelings you didn’t even know if he was playing up what he knew you wanted to hear, or was sharing all of this with you. His expression was unreadable as he observed you crying into your hands. A few moments later, he slammed his fist against the headboard, making you flinch.

"What? Was that not good enough for you?" he snapped.

"No," you choked out. "No, I just—I don’t understand."

"What don’t you understand? I love you, goddammit! You act so ungrateful sometimes it does my head in!"

"Love doesn’t look like this, Elvis!"

"How would you know?" he spat out, his venomous words biting your heart. "No one’s ever loved you right, ‘cept me."

"Stop," you mumbled. "I’m sorry."

"Now tell me why you love me," he demanded.

You wiped the tears from your face, sniffling as you looked at him. His expression was still hostile, but you could remember every smile and wink he ever gave you. You thought back to before all of this happened, what made you love him in the first place, feel so devoted to him despite all of the warning signs.

"Being there for you, taking care of you, it felt like the most important thing in the world, because you make me feel like I matter. You’re kind even when people don’t deserve it. Generous to a fault. I mean, you made the whole world fall in love with you. How could I not?" you explained.

You struggled to find the words to properly express yourself further, moving your hands as a placeholder to collect your thoughts. "The way you dream, make the impossible seem like it can become reality, it’s incredible. When we first met you said you were gonna travel the world, how you wanted to spread your wings and fly. I wanted to fly with you."

“We can still fly, Y/N.”

“Where, Elvis? Where else is there to go?”

"You and me, to the Rock of Eternity," he whispered.

You glanced down at your engagement ring. Seems like he already got that covered.

“Well, we can go tomorrow. I’m tired now, and I know there’s gonna be stuff to do in the morning,” you said, feigning a yawn.

“You’re lucky you got such a great boss; he gave ya the week off to spend with your fiance,” he said, eliciting a laugh from you.

“Yeah, he’s a real stand-up guy,” you smiled.

You wished he could always be like this, kind and playful, not the unpredictable lover you’d come to fear. You couldn’t understand how so much had changed in a few weeks, and yet in that moment it felt like nothing had. You would have been glad to marry this Elvis, your best friend. Whether or not that man had ever existed was a mystery, but you knew your life would be over the second you said ‘I do’ to the man you were sitting next to.

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