#also he was not heavily armed like he was in his bodyguard days

[lucky38-2077]

Last Caress

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Her Bodyguard, His Shining Star Part 1: Kiss Me at Coachella✨

Bodyguard! Joel Miller x singer fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I do not know what came over me, but this was heavily inspired after watching Sabrina Carpenter’s “Espresso” Coachella performance. This one shot took over my whole Saturday and Sunday! Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me with a title and the mood board and for being my beta! 🩷 This is both in Joel and reader’s POV. Comments and reblogs make my day. Enjoy, lovelies!

Summary: You’re performing at Coachella, throwing winks and flirting with your eyes as Joel Miller watches you from the side of the stage. He’s your bodyguard, and he should know better, but he wants you just as much as you want him.

Word Count: 8.1k

Rating: 18+ Only MDNI

Tags: Fluff, flirting, pining, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, cute pet names, unprotected p in v, switching POVs, reader is a singer, Joel is a bodyguard, reader has long hair, large age gap (reader is 25, Joel is 44)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The warm sun glows against your glittering skin, the music pumping like sugary coffee running through your veins. The crowd chants along with you, singing every lyric you do while they hold their phones and snap videos while you twirl around to the rhythm of the upbeat song. You flash them big smiles, pose for the camera, sway your hips while your dancers match your cute little moves. You’re exhausted, almost done with your set at Coachella, but the flaming energy of the crowd keeps you going. 

   You spin around, pop your hip out and wave flirtatiously to Joel at the end of the stairs on the side stage. He shakes his head, chuckling to himself while he tries to act professional. That’s what bodyguards do, right? Stay professional? And he did, he really did, but you liked to tease him just a bit sometimes, get him all riled up if you could. 

   You see the smug smirk he tries to hide behind that patchy, greying scruff, watch the way those gorgeous honey flecked eyes scan your body. He can try to be coy all he wants, but you’ll call him on his bluff. The man is attracted to you, just like you are to him. But you can’t help it, he’s drop dead gorgeous. The way his grey threaded dark curls catch the sun rays, his ripped muscles cling to the flannels and tight t-shirts he wears on a daily basis, his corded veins spiral down his tanned arms, the way he towers over you every time he stands next to you, his deep Southern drawl that sends you into heat every time he graces you with that thick honey-like voice, and the way he’s so protective over you. But you also can’t forget that he's twice your age, which makes him even hotter. 

   You shouldn’t want it, want him, but you do. God, you do. At night when you’re in between your silky sheets with your fingers rubbing between your legs, you’re thinking of him. Those big, meaty hands, that rough tongue, his deep, gravelly voice that must sound so sweet filled with dirty words. You can’t help yourself, you want Joel Miller, your bodyguard. 

   He watches you strut the lit up stage, the sparkles on your pink dress catching the flecks of his wandering eyes. He thinks you look so gorgeous twirling around in that short tease of a dress. Every time you bend over or spin around, he can see those skimpy short shorts that barely cover the globes of your ass. You like the attention though, love to tease the crowd just like you’re teasing him now. 

   He sees the discrete winks you throw his way on the stage, the way you lick those plump, glossy lips that seem to call directly to him. You’re trying to get a reaction out of him. He knows you too well. You may be flirting with the starving crowd who begs for more, but you’re also flirting with him. And he can’t help but get drawn into those beautiful eyes of yours that glisten in the sunlight, can’t help the way his cock is straining against the zipper of his denim jeans right now, precum spilling over the tip thinking about thrusting between those pretty legs of yours. He wants you so fucking badly, and you have no idea.

   You twirl your curls flirtatiously around your finger, flipping your hair behind your shoulders while he watches from the corner of the stage, pretending like that’s his hand wrapped around your flowing locks. Another wink his way and he’s mush against the edge of the stage. Maybe you are trying to get a reaction out of him, you just love to tease him, but he loves it just the same. You’re nothing but a little troublemaker.

   He thinks about you all the time on those lonely nights on long tours, when he’s under his pristine sheets that graze against his hardening cock. He whispers your name under his breath when he’s stroking himself, pretending his hand is yours gliding over him, spreading precum with your soft hands, your pretty mouth. And when he cums he thinks of your glittering eyes, imagines you encouraging him on while he spills hot ropes of cum all over his soft tummy. 

   He may feel a little guilty after doing that, those dirty thoughts that swirl in his head night after night, but there’s no way in hell he feels bad about doing it. He’d have you every day if it was up to him. Oh, yes. He’d ravage your body till you had nothing left to give but your own breath that blows gently against his hungry lips. Damned if he does, and damned if he doesn’t. Either way he’s completely fucked. 

   The end of your routine is drawing close, the last number halfway over while the sun kisses your tanned skin. He knows you’re tired, can see it in the sweat that glistens like diamonds down your dainty arms. He’d go and scoop you up in his arms, let you wrap your own around his neck while he carried you to safety, away from prying vultures in the crowd, but he knows paparazzi would snap those pictures in a heartbeat and cause a scene in the tabloids. The pop princess and bodyguard have a scandalous affair at Coachella together. He scoffs at the thought. Fucking idiots starving for a shiny penny to add to their useless names. 

   The moment you sing your last line, you wave to the crowd and blow kisses to the rowdy audience. “Thank you, Coachella! See you next year!” They chant your name, begging for one more song, but your time is up. So you exit the stage all smiles with glitter falling to the ground, keeping your glow until you get to the edge of the stage. 

   Joel’s right there waiting for you, a water bottle and small towel in hand, just like he always does. He looks so good in his tight black t-shirt, sleeves pulling at his bulging biceps while his dark jeans hug his meaty thighs tightly. He always looks so good that you feel dizzy when he takes your hand and helps you down the stairs and off the buzzing stage. 

   Your breath catches in your throat when he closes his thick, calloused fingers over yours, his honey eyes bright and alert when he hands you the water bottle and dabs your sweaty forehead with the soft towel. You could melt into a puddle right here and now the way he’s looking at you all protective and warm-like. 

   “You really gave them a show today, darlin’,” he drawls as his dark flecks of warmth serenade you with attention.

   “Yeah, you think so?” 

   “Mhm,” he hums, staying attentive to you while he watches you take a sip of water. 

   “Did I give you a show, too?” you ask all flirtatiously, batting your long eyelashes up at him as you slide your tongue slowly over your glossy lips, licking off a droplet of water. 

   His cheeks grow red, eyebrows fusing together as he shakes his head and runs a large hand slowly through those messy curls you so want to run your own fingers through. “C’mon, trouble. Let’s jus’ get you back to the trailer.” He grabs your elbow and drags you through the winding backstage area, dodging cords and other performers that stand in your way.

   You follow next to him, quick to stay on his trail while fans scream from the right behind barricades when they see you. Joel pushes you to the left, lingering his large hands on you just a few seconds too long while he works to keep you safe. You know it’s his job, but it turns you on at the sight of him watching out for you, keeping a hand firmly on your arm, making sure no one else touches you but him. 

   Maybe it’s a lovesick fantasy, a fever dream that you and Joel could be more than this. More than just a bodyguard who’s just doing his job to watch out for you. You feel it, that sexual chemistry when you’re near each other, even in a large crowd that won’t stop screaming your name, demanding pictures and autographs while he pushes them away from your reach. You feel it in his heated stare, the brush of his calloused fingertips on your tanned skin, the devilish smirk he gives you when you tease him or say something you shouldn’t. You know he feels it, too. He has to. He’s just as delusional and lovesick as you. You see it in the glow of those amber eyes. He knows.

   “So, you have a free night tonight, huh?” you ask as you keep your fingers curled around the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 

   “Sure, if you call keepin’ you out of trouble free time,” he chuckles, his brown eyes gazing back toward you, just enough to paint streaks of dark pink over your already blush caked cheeks. 

   “Me, trouble? Never,” you tease while you flash him a bright smile. 

   “Oh, you’re trouble alright. But you’re not the one I’m worried about. These Coachella fans can get pretty intense. I’d jus’ feel better if I was watchin’ out for you is all.”

   “You don’t want a night off though?”

   He looks back toward you and knits his eyebrows together, concern lathered all in those brown doe eyes of his. It makes you weak in the knees. “I’m alright. Besides, you’re not bad company to have.” He nudges you with his elbow and winks your way, completely knocking the breath from you. 

   Did Joel Miller just say you were good company? A quiet, reserved guy like him likes your company? The one that would rather grab a drink at the bar alone and sit in silence with a good book while no one bothers him? Guess you did have an affect on him afterall. 

   “Not bad company?” you giggle as you push against his shoulder. 

   “Not bad at all, darlin’. You’re jus’ the kind I need,” he says with a hidden smirk under that salt-and-pepper scruff you want to drag your fingers through. Yeah, you’re just what he needs.

   Suddenly, a screaming fan comes from your left, some psycho that escaped through the wrought iron fence who stomps your way. He charges over to you, calling your name as his spindly fingers close over your arm, his other hand clawing at your pink sparkly dress. “Let me take a picture, please! I love you, I drove hours just to see you sing. Please!”

   Joel rips the guy's hands off your body, pinning his hands behind his back against a caged off area while you fight to catch your breath. Your heart thunders in your chest watching Joel being so protective, possessive over you while the fan begs for mercy against Joel’s tight grip. 

   “Keep your fuckin’ filthy hands off of her! She’s not a toy you can just grab and demand things from. She didn’t give you permission, didn’t ask for you to claw at her dress. So I suggest you walk back out to the general admission area and stay the fuck away from her. Understood?!” His voice sounds like crackling thunder, that deep rugged breath towering over the cowering fan as he makes red marks over the fan’s useless wrists. Joel was just doing his job, one he was damn good at. But he made it look so sexy. 

   You stare in amazement, blinking through your thick lashes while you watch Joel shove the crazed fan through the fence, warning him to keep his distance or else he’ll wish he never stepped foot into the music festival. You gawk at him, watching the way his muscles flex underneath his t-shirt, watching the scowl across his mouth darken his menacing eyes. He’s a dominant wolf protecting his pack, and his pack is you. 

   You watch his flared nostrils and harsh eyes soften when he turns and looks at you, one of his large hands coming to clasp around your wrist while he assesses your wide-eyed features. “You okay?”

   You nod your head slowly, keeping your gaze on him as he makes sure you’re alright. “Really, I’m fine, Joel. Thank you.”

   Before he can manage a reply back to you, blinding cameras start flashing before your eyes, paparazzi swarming you as they just assessed the scene. They throw questions at you, screaming your name while you try to drown out their echoing voices. 

   You stick like glue to Joel’s side, latching your arms around his strong torso while you hide your face in his t-shirt beneath his shoulder. Joel wraps a protective arm around your back and guides you to safety. 

   “Get back! She ain’t answerin’ questions right now, she jus’ got off the stage. Leave her alone!” His deep voice hounds them, barking strict orders for them to stay back. 

   You’re so thankful for Joel right now, your knight in shining armor steering you to safety. The blinding lights start to slowly fade away, the reaching hands and firm demands slipping away once you enter the safe vicinity of your tour trailer. 

   Joel unfolds you from his safe grasp, turns you around and places one hand gently under your chin as if to say it’s okay, baby girl. They’re gone. He scans your frightened eyes, but you melt into a relaxed state when he looks at you with those concerned honey eyes that swallow you whole. 

   “You sure you’re alright?” he asks with eyebrows furrowed together in a panicked state. 

   “I am now. Thanks for saving me. You’re my hero,” you smile as he lets out a sigh of relief and shakes his head. 

   “Jus’ doin’ my job, sweetheart. Can’t help it that everyone wants a piece of you. Gotta protect the shining star,” he winks, nearly sending you over the edge of the steps to your trailer. 

   “Well, you’re pretty great at your job, Miller. Best bodyguard ever,” you flirt as you poke him playfully in the chest. 

   “Alright, little pop star. Why don’t you go relax for a bit? I’ll be out here, be sure to fight off any more paparazzi parasites,” he smiles while he watches you twist the handle and enter your safe haven. 

   “Joel?” you call before you close the door. 

   “Hmm?” he asks as he twists around and faces you with gentle brown eyes. 

   “Go easy on them.”

   He just rolls his eyes and shakes his tousled curls off his sweaty forehead. “Sure thing, darlin’. Alright now, go on. Get in there,” he instructs as he nods to your room. 

   You huff out and slump your shoulders, pretending like it’s the biggest chore in the world. He ticks his jaw and raises an eyebrow at you that tells you he’s not messing around, so you fully oblige his request. “Alright, alright. I’m going,” you sigh. 

   “Attagirl,” he chuckles. 

   Your cheeks burn red as he leaves you with the hottest word before you close the door with a jolt. Attagirl. The word rushes through you, straight to your core where you feel a bit of slick build against your sticky lace. How can a man get you turned on with just one word? Well, it’s Joel Miller, and the man can make you wet with the wink of those pretty brown eyes, but Attagirl was next level. It was borderline porn to your ears. 

   When you hear the click of the door close you take a second to breathe, leaning up against the sealed door while you flick the lights on and try to calm your racing nerves. You assess your pristine room, taking in the white walls hung with pink fairy lights. The glow from your vanity mirror lights up the little corner where your sparkly makeup sits neatly together. The pink velvet sectional sits up against the middle of the wall where a picture of Marilyn Monroe hangs right above that. Soft pink colors cover the room, and you feel suddenly at ease in the protection of your trailer. 

   You meander toward the vanity mirror, assessing your perfect makeup that still stays intact on your glowing face. The sparkling pink eyeshadow mixes in with the sharp wings of black eyeliner that frames your soft eyes. Shimmery pink lip gloss coats your plump lips, and the blush stands out against your tanned skin. Your spiral curls flow gently over your shoulders, and your sparkly dress hugs all your curves in the right places. 

   You suddenly want to be free of your costume, wanting to throw on a pair of cutoff jean shorts and an oversized t-shirt. When you turn your back to the mirror and try to unzip your dress, it gets stuck just a couple inches from the top. 

   “Oh, come on. Work with me.” You fight the zipper again, tugging with all your might until you grit your teeth together and curse under your breath. This is not what you need right now. You want out of this dress, out of these high heels, out of these smothering tights. 

   You stomp your heel into the plush carpet, folding your arms across your cleavage as you decipher just what to do. Lacy, your assistant, is tied up in important meetings for the rest of the afternoon. She’s nowhere near your little trailer. Your makeup artist is busy helping other performers, so you have no other options. Joel is the only one…

   You gulp, take a long look at your flushed cheeks just thinking of having Joel Miller unzip your dress. It’s harmless, really, but not if he’s doing it. That would only lead to one thing. Giving into pure desire, temptation, need. 

   “Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, “if a show is what he wants, then a show is what he’ll get.”

   You tiptoe to the door, hovering your hand over the handle as you take a deep breath and breathe in and out slowly. It’s just a zipper, only a zipper. He could always say no, leave you stranded while you’re stuck in your dress the entire evening. He wouldn’t do that though, leave you helpless while you fight to rip the tight dress off your body. He just wouldn’t allow that. No way. 

   You take one more deep breath and open the door slowly, slipping your head out as you see Joel standing at the bottom of your trailer steps. You clear your throat and watch him turn his head quickly in your direction, leaving his guard wide open as he assesses your distressed face. “Umm, Joel. Can you do me a favor?”

   His eyebrows knit together while his eyes glaze over your body. “What is it, darlin’?” His doe eyes lean into yours, and you can barely muster up any words while he looks at you like that, all caring and deep. 

   “Well, my zipper got stuck in the back, and I can’t get it down. Do you think you can help?” you ask shyly, your eyes looking up nervously through your long lashes. 

   “Uhh, where’s Lacy? I can go grab her, let her help ya out.”

   “No!” You reach out an arm and grab his wrist tightly, watching his brown eyes widen at your sudden contact on his tanned skin. 

   “No?” he asks confused, his breath picking up underneath his dark t-shirt. 

   “I mean, she’s in meetings for the rest of the afternoon. She’s nowhere near the trailer. And I’m awfully uncomfortable in this tight dress. Do you think you can just come in really quick and help?”

   He gulps down a breath, his heartbeat picking up incredibly fast while he looks into your gorgeous eyes. How can he say no to that? He can’t, so he won’t. He rakes a hand slowly through his greying scruff and nods your way. 

   “‘Course I’ll help, sweetheart. C’mon then.” He places a hand gently on your lower back and leads you into the glowing lights of the trailer, letting the door close with a bang as he guides you to the middle of the room. 

   “Turn around for me, sweetheart,” he asks nicely as you oblige and turn your back toward him. 

   He looks at your undone zipper, sees where it’s stuck in the pink fabric of the dress. Of course he’d be the only one around to help you, of all things a fucking stuck zipper on you. He has no resistance when it comes to you, he just can’t say no to that pretty face of yours. 

   “Zipper’s jus’ caught in the fabric. Should just take a little tugging,” he says with gritted teeth, pulling on the zipper while he holds the silky fabric tight with his other hand. 

   After a few seconds of fighting the dress, he gets it free of the catching fabric. He slowly unzips the back of your sparkling dress, going ever so slowly as if not to make a single sound. The only sounds he hears are your quick breaths, the beating of his own racing heart, and the noise of tugging you free of the suffocating, tight dress. 

   He watches it stop at the end of your curvy hips, catching the way your skin seems to shimmer as your flawless skin comes into his line of vision. He sees the way the dress falls open in the back, your skin begging to be touched, to be stroked as it beckons him closer and closer until he’s hovering above your hot skin. 

   He knows he shouldn’t linger, shouldn’t hover over the glow of your exposed skin, but it’s almost sinful not to touch you when the glitter of your undertones calls directly to him. He gives in, stealing just a touch as he rubs his fingers slowly down your spine. 

   You squirm beneath his touch, tingling sensations running wildly down your skin with each touch he takes from you. You ravish in it, holding your breath while he takes his time dipping across the curve of your back. 

   He leans into you, ghosting his lips across your neckline while he breathes you in deep. He smells the vanilla scent of your perfume, lilac breezing through your soft curls, and can even smell the cherry flavor of your glittery lip gloss. You must taste so good, he can already feel your soft lips against his while he takes his other hand and moves your curls over the left side of your shoulder. 

   You turn your head back gradually, exposing the veins in your slender neck while it gives him access to dip his lips against the curve of your neck. “Joel,” you whisper out, your insides shaking as the hand on your back sinks down to the curve of your hip. 

   He can’t respond, too lost in your delicious scent while his hand dances against the silk of your tempting skin. He’s a bad man, putting himself in this vulnerable position where he’s alone with you, with your zipper completely down and your dress barely holding itself against your perfect body. 

   He should go back outside, stay away from your midnight eyes, your luscious locks, your sweet smelling perfume, but he can’t. He just can’t. He’d rather die than to leave you alone now, untouched, not taken care of. He’s your bodyguard, he’s paid to take care of you. So he will, in every way that he can. He’ll have his way with you. If your zipper can be fixed then who's to say that ache between your legs can’t, too? 

   He spins you around, your chest pressed flush against his while he slowly backs you up against the wall, caging you in with his strong arms while he breathes in your sweet vanilla scent that drives him wild. He sees the cleavage practically spilling from the top of your undone dress, wants to fucking rip it to shreds until there’s nothing left but your glowing skin under the tips of his pressing fingers. 

   He takes a hand and pushes back a strand of curls behind your ear, lingering his thick fingers along your jawline while you breathe in the woodsy mahogany smell, his expensive cologne that you could lather yourself in just to smell like him. He’s so close that he could lean down and press his lips to yours, so close that you could twist your fingers through those lush curls that you so desperately want to meld your fingers to. 

   You’ve never been this close to him before, to where you can see just how pretty and clear his brown flecked eyes are. You’re driving yourself into dangerous territory, but you don’t care. No one’s here to stop you from making any mistakes, and Joel is not a mistake.

   He hovers over you, dragging his lips against your jawline and stopping at the shell of your ear, lingering there while his meaty hands dig into the curve of your hips. “We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t,” he says with gritted teeth, painfully dragging out the words while he tickles the shell of your ear with his plush lips. 

   “Why not?” you whine pathetically as you place a hand under his shirt, making him jump while you graze over the happy trail that leads underneath his jeans. It makes a deep groan slip from his throat. 

   “I’m twice your age. You jus’ turned twenty-five, I’m pushing forty-five. I’m your bodyguard. I should be more respectful, shouldn’t give in to a pretty thing like you,” he murmurs as he feels his cock hardening beneath the denim of his jeans. 

   “I don’t care that you’re older or that you’re my bodyguard,” you mumble as your fingers tug the leather belt free from his jeans. 

   He groans, licking the edge of your ear while he fights to find an ounce of control in his desperate body. He finds none. “We shouldn’t, darlin’. It’d be irresponsible on my part. What if the paparazzi found out? They’d turn the headlines into a hell of a mess. Hell, your publicist would kill me,” he says defeatedly while his hands stay glued to your hips. 

   “I don’t care what my publicist says, I don’t care about the paparazzi. I know what I want, Joel. I know you want it, too. Just as much as I do.”

   He groans against you, doing his best to resist you, but he can’t. He’s a weak man for you, and he’ll give in with the snap of your fingers. He’s got no fight left in him, he’s all yours. “Are you sure, sweetheart? You want this? Want me?”

   You grip tighter to his jeans, dragging his hips flush against yours as you feel the swell of his cock through the denim. He’s so fucking big, and you haven’t even seen him yet. “Yes, Joel. Please. Want you, only you,” you stifle out a moan as his lips trail against your neck, gently nipping and sucking against your sensitive areas while his hands ghost over the curve of your breasts. 

   “God, I can’t say no to you, gorgeous. You don’t even know what you do to me every time I see you up on that stage, singin’ with that angelic voice of yours, dancin’ around all flirtatiously while you make me so fuckin’ hard beneath my jeans.”

   You groan at his filthy words, letting him spread your legs while one of his parts your legs wider. One hand trailing up your inner thigh while his other slowly pulls against the top of your pink dress. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do this for so long, how much I’ve wanted to press my face between those thick thighs of yours,” he groans as he trails his lips against the cleavage of your dress. 

   “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted you to,” you pant out as he tugs at the hem of your dress. 

   “Yeah, s’that right?” he teases, dragging his teeth lower down your breasts. 

   “Mhm. Joel, fuck. Taste me, touch me, fuck me,” you beg as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

   “Fuck you, hmm? That what you want?” he teases while he slowly pulls your dress free, hearing it drop to the floor when all you’re left in is your shorts and tights. 

   “Yes, please. Want you, need you to touch me. Do it, Joel. Please,” you whine, twisting your fingers around the curls around the base of his neck.

   He chuckles out, sucking in a breath as he fully obliges your request. “Alright, pretty pop star. If that’s what you want, how can I say no to you?”

   He leaves you with no warning, cupping one breast in his large palm while he sucks on your other one, running his tongue in circles until your nipples are pebbled and swollen beneath his tongue, his mouth, his hands. He does the same to the other one, languidly sliding his tongue over the pebbled bud while he massages your breasts with his calloused fingers. 

   He bathes in your moans, making certain to get you all worked up where he knows you’re already soaking beneath your panties. That’s where he wants you wet, begging for him to touch you. 

   “Joel,” you whine, feeling his fingers fall free from your pebbled breasts. 

   “I know, baby. I know. Don’t worry, gonna take care of my girl.”

   Before you can speak, he cups your face and sinks his plush lips against the gloss of yours, melding his mouth to yours while he tastes the cherry flavor of your lip gloss. You part your lips for him, inviting him in as you feel him lick feverishly into your mouth. Your tongues dance together in unison, allowing him to tangle his with yours while he revels in your pretty moans against his hungry mouth. He’s starving for you, absolutely famished while he takes and takes from you, letting his tongue explore the entirety of your open mouth. If you taste this good, just think how absolutely divine you must be between your legs.

   His hands roam down to your shorts, slipping his fingers inside the waistband and tugging them free of your skin. You step out of your high heels, kick the pink shorts aside and allow his mouth to break free of yours. You pant tirelessly, watching him kneel between your legs as he starts to run his fingers up and down your thighs. 

   He looks up at you, his eyes becoming dark pits that consume him whole. He’s feral for you, and he won’t stop till he has every last drop from you. “You have another pair of these?” he asks, nodding to your tights. 

   “I’ve got a million pairs,” you say out of breath. 

   He smirks up at you before he tears into the flesh of your tights, ripping them to shreds while one of his large hands meets the lace of your panties. “What about these, hmm? Gonna miss these?”

   You shake your head, unable to get a word out as you swallow a whine in the back of your throat. “No?” he asks all deep and gravelly while his thumb traces against the edge of your lace, sliding down to put some pressure between your drenched lips. 

   You throw your head back and whine, begging him to continue on. “No, Joel. Just take them off, please. Need you,” you breathe out desperately. 

   “That’s all you had to say, sweetheart.” He takes no time, ripping into the seam of your panties as you watch him split them in half, throwing them in a pile on the floor while his eyes blow wide when he takes in the bare sight of you. 

   He groans to himself, dragging a finger through your wet arousal, parting you in the middle as he hears the sloshing sounds come from his thumb spreading the wetness all across your dripping core. He inhales you, reveling in the pretty noises you make while he takes his time exploring you, gathering the slick on his calloused fingers as he burns the sight of your messy pussy in the back of his brain. 

   “Shit, baby. Already so fuckin’ wet for me. This what I do to you, hmm? You always this wet around me?”

   “Mhm,” you moan, feeling his fingers pull you apart as more slick pools between your thighs. 

   “All this for me, goddamn. Ain’t I jus’ the luckiest man alive.” He licks a thick stripe up your core, dragging his tongue to lap up the slick that spills from your insides, making you pant out with need as he makes you come undone. “Don’t worry, baby. Gonna take real good care of this pretty pink pussy. Just sit back, relax, and let me do all the work.”

   He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe, he just dives right in. He takes the flat of his tongue and strokes your folds, working you up and down while he soaks in the sweet taste of you. He hooks one of your pliant legs over his shoulder while you fight to not break already. 

   He drags his nose through the curls above your mound, sucking your swollen clit into his mouth while he breathes in the sensational musk of your pussy, drinking down your sticky arousal that makes his taste buds come to life. He’s never tasted a pussy this sweet before in his life, never quite experienced the high of such an intoxicating body before. He’s wanted you for so long now, and he never even imagined it’d be this good before. 

   “Joel,” you moan above him, wrapping your delicate fingers through his messy curls, driving out a deep groan from him by the way you cling to him. He loves the feel of you in his hair, pulling and tugging while you bite your lower lip and moan his name over and over again. It’s like an addictive drug he’s prescribed to, and he needs more, wants more of you. 

   He slips two digits into your drenched hole, filling you so full while his thick fingers curl and hit that spongy area that makes you see bright lights flash before your eyes. He revels in your moans, eliciting more with every touch and curl of his fingers, with every feverish lick to your messy center. 

   “Yeah? You like that, baby? Feel good?” Joel purrs while he watches you fall apart beneath his fingers. 

   “So good, Joel. Want you to - ahhh,” you whine as he pulls your aching bundle of nerves back into his warm mouth, releasing it with a pop as more slick covers his knuckles. 

   “Mmm, s’that right, sweetheart? Gonna cum for me? C’mon baby girl, go on and soak me,” he purrs. 

   You feel the white hot sensation taking over, feel his long fingers curl up to hit that spot again and again while he pulls your aching clit back into his mouth. And it feels so fucking good that you just can’t hold on any longer. “Joel, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m coming,” you whine as you release your pent up energy, soaking his knuckles while he works you nice and slow, licking at your core as the slick builds on his tongue, drinking you down till he soothes that aching need in his throat. 

   You come down slowly, feeling your body go through the tingling sensations that make you feel so alive. You’ve never had it this good before, not before Joel. He’s going to be the end of your demise. 

   You look down at him between your legs, fingers still curled inside your core while he slowly drags them out of you with a groan from your lips. He pops the digits into his mouth, sucking the sweet release while he moans your name. He looks fucking wrecked, his hair all tousled and messy, wide eyes blown out to black pits that want to devour you whole. The way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s not done with you, and he’s not. Oh no, he’s just getting started. 

   “Such a good girl for me,” he purrs, sliding his calloused fingers up to your hips while he unhooks your leg from his shoulder. “I’m not done with you yet, baby. Now, c’mere.”

   He throws you over his shoulder, a surprised gasp coming from your lips as he takes you over to the velvet couch. He drops you on your hands and knees, not giving you a moment to breathe while he situates himself behind you and spreads your legs wide. 

   He takes a few seconds to admire your glistening core, sitting back on his heels as he rakes a hand slowly over his greying scruff, taking in the absolute beauty that sits before him. He’s never seen a sight like this that he goes head over heels for, sliding his tongue between his teeth as he whispers how fucking perfect you are.

   He groans your name, dragging his thumb up and down your sticky folds while one hand spreads your cheeks wide. He says your name repeatedly, taking in the sight of you in front of him. He thinks you’re so fucking pretty, all messy and dripping just for him. He wants to just slip your scent, your taste into his own cologne, mix the two together until he can only smell you on his body. 

   He licks at your core, spreading you wide while he devours you whole. He pulls at your glistening clit, languidly circling the swollen bud that calls sinfully to him. He wants to give you all the orgasms, drink you down till you have nothing left to give, curl his fingers inside your heated core, work you over till the only thing you can say is his name through your pretty moans. 

   He thrives in the musk of you, the taste of your cherry lips, the sweet saltiness of your warm cum. If he could give it a name, he’d call you his special jasmine flower, known to be the sweetest, most fragrant flower in the world. That’s what you are to him. The rarest flower that ever came into his reach, his life. 

   He licks against your slick folds, working his fingers in and out of your delicious cunt, slurping on your sensitive mound while he drowns it in his own drool, lusting after you until you writhe beneath him and give him another mind blowing orgasm. 

   “Joel, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you cry, spilling yourself all over his digits and inside his heated mouth. He can’t reply, too busy drinking you down as he groans good girl through the taste of you on his large tongue. 

   He swallows all the slick between your thighs, holding you up together while your legs shake uncontrollably. You may have fallen apart on his tongue twice, but he still wants more. He’s greedy like that when something belongs to him. You’re his as far as he’s concerned now, and he always takes care of what’s his. 

   “Joel, wanna… wanna…” you stutter tirelessly, out of breath from the insane orgasm he pulled from your body. 

   “What do ya need, sweetheart? Use your words,” he coaxes, placing a hand gently at the small of your back as he strokes small circles into the heat of your skin.

   “Your cock. Let me suck your cock, make you feel good, too,” you whine out, grinding your teeth together as he gently blows on your aching core. 

   “Not this time, baby. Later. Gotta take care of you first. This time I wanna have my way with you, want your cum dripping down my tongue, making my cock all messy from your sweet release. Wanna bottle you up and make you my own personal brand of whiskey,” he growls as he pulls his t-shirt over his head and frantically slides his jeans and boxers over his feet, disposing the sweaty material on the ground. 

   He hisses as he spreads the precum over his shaft, pumping himself a couple times before he grabs your hips and scoots you back, stifling a moan from your mouth as he plunges his massive cock into your throbbing pussy. 

   “Oh, shit. Joel,” you whine, filling the room with your sweet incantations while he fills you so full of him. 

   “Yeah? You like that, dirty girl? Takin’ this cock so good, squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, pulling your hair back as your head snaps up, his mouth meeting yours as he licks feverishly inside, swallowing your moans while he continues his frantic thrusts into your weeping pussy. 

   He pulls out from you, throwing you on your back while he hooks your legs over his shoulders, rutting back inside you as his cock gets covered in your sticky slick. You throw your arms around his neck while he finds your mouth again, licking inside, moaning your name on the tip of his tongue as he speeds up his thrusts inside you. 

   The sounds are obscene, the wet smacking noises of his hard cock drilling inside your drenched pussy reverberating off the glow of the pristine walls. He releases his mouth from yours, leaning back to take in the gorgeous view that’s you. You’re splayed all over the couch, your perky breasts bouncing up and down with every thrust of his cock, your eyes all glossed over and fucked out while he takes you nice and slow. He thinks you’re a vision, a full on masterpiece that deserves to be displayed in an art gallery, your mouth making that pretty O shape while you chant his name angelically. 

   “Know you’re close, baby. Squeezin’ me so tight, feels so good,” he moans through the grit of his teeth. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… gonna… fuck,” you whine as you feel that all too familiar white hot sensation rush through your entire body. 

   “Oh yeah, baby. That’s it. Such a good fuckin’ girl. Go on now, soak this cock,” he coaxes. 

   He watches you fall apart beneath him, beautiful, glossy eyes rolling back as you drag your manicured nails down his back, giving him the prettiest moans as you clench around him and release your cum all down his quivering cock. 

   “Good girl,” he praises, talking you through your intense orgasm as he quickens the strokes inside you, reaching heights you never could without him, kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock. It feels so fucking good, and you just gave him the best three orgasms of your life. You’re exhausted, but you need him to finish. You need him inside you. 

   Sweat drips off his forehead, ending in his tousled curls as he bares his teeth, barely able to hold on any longer. “Baby, I’m about to cum. I can’t hold on much longer. Where do you want me, sweetheart? Where do you want me to spill?”

   “Inside Joel, paint me white inside. Cum inside my pussy, please,” you beg. 

   He moans as he calls your name, giving you a couple more thrusts before he paints the insides of your thighs white with hot ropes of cum, throwing his head back as he revels in the ecstasy of filling you up with his seed, claiming you as his own. 

   He pulls out and twists you around, collapsing on his back against the velvet couch while you fall into his chest, his meaty hands holding you tight around the waist while you both come down from your intense orgasmic high. The room smells like sex and sweat, hints of vanilla and cherry flavored lips lingering around the room. It smells like heaven, Joel’s heaven. 

   Through the sounds of rushed breaths and tired bodies, he reaches up and hooks a strand of loose hair behind your ear, lingering his calloused fingers against your jawline while he assesses the beautiful starlights in your eyes. He thinks you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and now you’re all his. 

   You look at him just the same, memorizing the flecks of dark honey that make up his bright eyes, dragging your fingertips through his salt-and-pepper scruff, letting your other hand glide through his messy tousled curls. He may be your bodyguard who works for you, but now he’s so much more than that. He’s yours, and you’ll never let him go now. 

   “Still think this was a bad idea?” you ask with a raised brow, challenging him to say anything but yes. 

   “Too late for asking me that, sweetheart. I changed my mind. You’re jus’ what I needed,” he smiles, the flecks of his eyes shimmering amber as your own eyes sparkle with bliss. 

   “Glad you came around,” you giggle as he drags his fingers up and down your jawline softly. 

   “All ‘cause of a fuckin’ broken zipper. You know I can’t stop now, sweetheart? One taste of you and now I’m hooked. Afraid I can’t let you go now.”

   You lean into his chest, giving him your best dreamy smile as you trace the ends of a tousled greying curl. “Then don’t. Be mine, Joel.”

   “I’m all yours, sweetheart. All yours,” he whispers before he cups your face and brings your head down, meeting the plush of his lips as he kisses you nice and slow. 

   You melt into him, parting your lips so he can slot his way in, tangling his tongue with yours as you taste yourself in his mouth. You stay like that for minutes, getting lost in his soft touch, his musk, his dreamy eyes. You never want to leave this trailer, never want to be parted from Joel. The only question is, how will you ever be able to keep your hands off him in public? 

   You lean your head into the crevice of his neck, nestling up to his soft scruff that smells like him. You sigh and tangle your fingers with his while he holds you close to his side. “Guess we won’t see any more performances tonight?” 

   “I don’t know, baby,” he chuckles underneath you. “Think we need a shower and some food. Maybe take you for round two afterwards. But it’s up to you. We can either stay here or go watch more of the sets tonight. Whatever you want.”

   You think it over, but ultimately decide on his first offer. “Mmm, I think I’ll go with the first pick. Rather be here with you, in your arms, where it feels right.”

   He sighs, lingering a soft kiss on your cheek as he pushes back a falling curl. “Okay, beautiful. That’s what we’ll do then. You want pepperoni pizza? That’s your favorite, right?”

   “Mhm,” you nod. “Sounds perfect.”

   He chuckles, the chocolate flecks glistening in his pretty eyes. He looks so dreamy, almost unreal that he's underneath you, his skin glowing from the sight of you. “I’ve wanted you for so long, sweetheart. Can’t believe this is actually happening.”

   “I feel the same, Joel. Thought you might’ve caught on sooner with all the flirting I’ve been doing, especially up on stage. I might love getting a crowd pumped up, but there’s nothing more I love than making you blush at the side of the stage.”

   He tips his head back and laughs, his voice all deep and gravelly as he flicks his eyes back to you. “Oh, I caught on, darlin’. Figured you were tryin’ to get a reaction out of me, and you did. Now look at us,” he teases, cupping your chin with the palm of his large hand, causing tingles to run down your spine. 

   “Yeah, just look at us. A pop star and a bodyguard getting off on each other. Thought it’d only happen in my dreams,” you sigh, propping yourself up with your elbow on his sweat covered broad chest. 

   “Well, baby, it’s real. It happened. Reckon you’re mine now, yeah?”

   Your eyes perk up, a huge smile glistening across your shiny lips as you nod your head. “I’m all yours, Joel. As long as you’ll have me.”

   “Baby, I ain’t ever gonna let you go now. You’re all mine, and I’m gonna spend my days protectin’ and lovin’ this pretty pop star. That’s what you are, baby. You’re my shining star.”

   “And you’re my knight in shining bodyguard,” you giggle. 

   “Mhm, sure am, doll. And I don’t plan on ever lettin’ you go.”

   You fold back into his chest, pressing your lips hungrily against his. Eventually he carries you to the shower, helps wash off all the sweat and slick from earlier, until he takes you to your bed and makes love to you all over again. And it continues throughout the whole night, until both of you are passed out in each other's arms. 

   This is where you belong, in the arms of your fierce protector, your handsome bodyguard that you’re head over heels for. Your favorite brown eyed keeper. 

Tags: @laramc-02 @amyispxnk @sawymredfox @burntheedges @vivian-pascal

@littlevenicebitch69 @keylimebeag @msjarvis @akah565 @milla-frenchy

@aurorawritestoescape @alltheirdamn

[zombiigrll]

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IMMUNE? ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x immune!reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 2.1K ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ hurt to comfort?, use of y/n, blood, zombie apocalypse stuff ofc, post-terminus era, references/slight spoilers to twd 5x2 ?? petname (angel - which also did we all collectively agree that carl would call his s/o angel? i see everyone use it i have before too its so cute .ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ you get bit, but nothing happens. ꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ hey guys... its been a minute... (45 days COUGH COUGH) i am so sorry i have been SO BUSY and i didnt even realize i had this fic almost completely finished in my drafts so i decided why not finally finish it!! (which is also why the ending might be a bit weak because i also have no written anything for 45 days LMAO) my favorite thing about the whole science behind zombisim is all the theories of if you could or couldn't become immune so i wanted to write a little fic because i love... zombie science.. nerd alert!!! ☝️🤓 <- me but also whats a carl grimes/zombie fanfic writer without writing at least one immunity fic!! hope u guys enjoy!!

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everyone knew you were clumsy. you'd always have to be with someone, no matter what. that's how much people worried about you.

there had been plenty of times where you had been close to getting bit, and if you were alone, you would've been bit.

but now, you and your group were back on the road after the prison had fell. you all met up at a terrible place called terminus, and almost died if carol wouldn't have shown up. it was dangerous, and terrifying. but you had carl on your side, as always. he was the person who had saved you so many times. he was like your personal bodyguard.

you guys had eventually ended up at a church with a priest named gabriel. you felt uneasy being there. gabriel seemed, well, unstable. rick saw it too, telling carl to keep his guard up.

but after a while, everyone was inside the church, laughing and having fun.

you spot bob walking outside, which catches your attention instantly. no one else really seemed to notice, so you turned over to carl.

"i'm gonna go outside."

"do you want me to go with?" he asks, immediately sitting up.

"no, it's fine. i think i saw bob go out there. i wanna go check on him." you smile at him, standing up and walking over to where you saw bob go.

but when you stepped out, he was nowhere to be found.

"bob?" you called out, walking forward a bit more as you looked around for him. "where'd you go?"

you walked a bit further, leaning your arm on a tree as you looked past further into the distance, searching for any sight of bob.

but, to your luck, you were snuck up on. you heard a growl to your side, where your arm was leaning, and then a pain shot through your forearm.

you let out a loud shriek as you fumbled for your knife, stabbing the walker who was still attached to your arm in the head. you kicked him off, breathing heavily.

you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest.

you glanced down at the walker who was now laying dead on the ground, gripping tightly on your knife as you processed what had just happened. you lifted up your pained, bleeding arm.

"no... no, oh, my god." you dropped your knife and began wiping away the blood that was profusely leaking out of your fresh bite wound. "shit..."

you stared at your arm for a moment, attempting to catch your breath while watching your own blood drip onto the floor beneath you.

the doors to the church busted open, snapping you out of your daze. carl, rick, and michonne stood at the door, staring at you.

carl stepped a bit closer. "what happened? are you okay-" he stopped as he spotted your arm. his face fell flat and his eyes widened.

"it snuck up on me.." you quietly and breathlessly responded, tears falling from your agonized face. "i was looking for bob."

rick runs up to you as he realizes you had been bit. he grabs your arm, his face a bit panicked as he starts speaking. "we have to cut it off."

"no!" you tugged your arm away from his grip, holding your arm from him. "we don't have the stuff for that!"

"stop yelling." rick sternly ordered, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. "let's go inside. i'm sure gabriel has the stuff for it."

you anxiously nodded, stepping toward the church with carl by your side.

"i'll get gabriel." michonne said, walking towards his office. "find somewhere for her to sit."

you take a seat in one of the rows, still holding your arm tightly.

"what the hell happened?" glenn asks, quickly walking over to the three of you with maggie by his side.

"she got bit." rick runs a hand through his hair. you look to your side and spot carl, just staring blankly, his expression the same as when he first saw your bite just moments before. he was speechless, and afraid.

you held your arm tighter as the pain increased, blood seeping through in between your fingers as you clenched your jaw. your breathing was progressively getting more and more ragged and uneven the more you panicked.

"i don't want you to cut my arm off.." you protested, your voice high pitched and wobbly. you closed your eyes tightly, a few tears falling from your eyes.

"we have to." rick shook his head. "otherwise you'll become one of them."

"i don't care." you sobbed, gripping tighter and tighter onto your arm. "i can't do it. i probably wouldn't survive either way, we don't have proper stuff for it." you could tell it was difficult for them to understand what you were saying through your sobs. "i just want to wait it out."

rick eyes widen, along with everyone else who were crowded around you.

carl finally steps closer, grabbing your other hand tightly. you could spot tears falling from his eyes. "please, y/n. i'll be with you, it'll be okay. please i.. i can't lose you."

you looked up at him through your lashes, pressing your lips together. "i can't, carl. i can't."

...

they had moved you to one of the rooms in the church that had something you could lay on. they tied your wrist to a pole and stood in the room with you.

you could barely keep track of what was happening. you genuinely felt fine, besides the side effects from losing blood.

"can you wrap my arm up..?" you requested. the tickling feeling of your blood dripping down your arm becoming too much, and you also wanted to test if that was what was making you feel sick.

being immune wasn't even a thought in your head yet. but you were just creeped out about not having any of the same side effects that anybody else had when they'd gotten bit. you were sweating, but you weren't feverish, that's just how the weather always was.

"yes, of course." glenn grabbed a thing of gauze out of his bag, going up to you and carefully but tightly wrapping it around the bite. he also grabbed a nearby rag to wipe the access blood that had been dripping off of your arm.

"...thanks." you sighed, looking away from everyone.

they were all just staring, waiting for something to happen. but nothing was. the awkward silence and suspense was killing you. you saw the sun starting to come up through the window, which means it had been quite a few hours since you had gotten bit.

you've seen people last a day, maybe the tiniest bit over a day, but you noticed that they always had obvious symptoms by now. and you still didn't.

you blew a raspberry, looking around the room. ".. i don't feel anything."

"what?" carl squinted in confusion, his voice still a bit brittle from crying. "like, you're numb?"

"no, like.. i don't feel any symptoms of turning." you laughed at how idiotic your sentence probably sounded to everyone.

"so, you're saying you're immune?" carls voice changed from being upset to just pure confusion.

"i don't know." you shrugged, tapping your foot on the hardwood floors. "i seriously don't know what's going on. the only time i felt sick was when it first happened and i saw my blood dripping. i feel fine right now, a little lightheaded, but i think thats from the bloodloss."

"look, theres no such thing as being 'immune.'" rick shook his head at your statement. "it might just be.. taking a while to settle in."

"dad, can you have a little faith?" carl turned to rick, glaring slightly at him before turning back at you. "i believe you."

everyone else seemed really skeptical about what was happening, exchanging confused looks with one another.

"we'll keep her in here for a little while, alright? if she still doesn't feel anything by tonight, then we'll untie her." rick sighed, looking down at you. you had been with everyone since the start, being there when carl reunited with rick and everything, so you could sense everyones panic when they first saw you get bit. and now, you could sense their pure confusion. people in our group have gotten bit before, but they'd show signs almost immediately.

"i can stay with her if you guys want to leave." carl said, sitting down right next to you. "i'll let you know if anything happens."

everyone agreed and left the room.

you laughed to yourself, looking over at the door.

"are you okay?" carl asks, looking at you anxiously.

"i'm fine." you turned your head over to look at him. "this is just so fucking weird. and we don't even know where bob went. i'm so confused right now. nothing is making sense." you let out another light laugh, shaking your head in honestly disbelief.

"maybe you're the chosen one." carl laughs, smiling at you. "i really hope you're being honest. i.. i don't think i can handle losing you."

you look at him with a lopsided smile, happy to hear how much he cared. "i wouldn't lie to you about this. i genuinely don't feel sick at all. i mean, i feel gross, but not in a 'i'm dying' way. more in a 'i just got my arm bitten into' way." you tried to make light of the situation, despite being terrified. carls expression stayed a bit worried. "..sorry, not funny. i don't want to lose you either carl. you're the best thing to ever happen to me, you know?"

his concern turned into a smile at your words. he leaned forward and hugged you tightly. all you could do was put your hand on his back, due to your other hand being tied up still.

"i love you." he mumbles into your shoulder.

you laugh, leaning your head on top of his. "i love you too."

...

a while passed, yet you still felt perfectly fine. your arm felt odd though, of course. you had been bitten into after all.

carl stayed by your side, telling you stories and just conversing with you to keep your mind and his off of the whole situation while everyone was out searching for bob.

you moved your arm up to your tied up one, itching at your tight bandages. “i want these off…” you dramatically complained.

“we should probably check on your arm anyways. even if you feel fine, there could still be something messed up with your arm.” carl says as he rotates his body towards your arm, carefully untying your arm looking at you for permission.

you nod, and he proceeds to take the bandage off. the teeth marks had dark bruises and dried blood around them, and your veins were darker and more apparent around the bite. it looked unreal.

you quickly looked away from the wound, shuddering. “holy shit.” you closed your eyes tightly.

you could hear carl stumble over his words as he tried to figure out what to say. “i… it… is it supposed to- um.. look like that?” he let out a nervous laugh, moving his hand to comfort yours.

you returned the nervous laugh, looking back at the bite momentarily. "i don't- i don't think so?"

your body was violently shaking, unsure what to do or what was going on. would you still need to cut your arm off? or would it still be fine, despite looking like that? you knew that you'd have to hide your arm for.. well, ever, if you decided not to cut your arm off. it could cause so many different issues if people outside of your group found out.

carl proceeded to grab anything he could find to clean your wound, as well as new bandages. you two sat in silence as he carefully cleaned your arm, the only sound being your light winces of pain as he applied the antibacterial ointment he luckily found.

he wrapped your arm back up and planted a quick, soft kiss onto your bandaged wound, looking back up at your flustered face with a smile afterward.

your face was hot, and you quickly averted your eyes away from his out of embarrassment.

he put his hand on your cheek and kissed your forehead, then pulled you into a hug right after. "i'm so glad you're okay."

you were shocked, but let out a flustered giggle before returning the hug. "thank you.." your smile kept growing and growing. then, the words "i love you." finally left your mouth.

he broke the hug and looked at you shocked, but then his big smile came back. "i love you, too, angel."

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[drenix004]

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝

𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

Part 2 here

Note: I plan to do headcanons of Valeria as chapters of Valeria's fanfic are published! besides, I also want to do the same with 141, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Valeria,Horangi and koning in different situations and contexts, especially if they are shapeshifters or hybrids feel free to ask for a headcanon, one shot or drable, I'll be happy to do it! And they'll be all soft, comforting and light angsty themes! Life is already too cruel and hard to make them suffer here too :)

Sadly there will be no smut or nsfw, I'm really bad at writing that kind of content, sorry. But, there will be slight superficial mentions of that as a reward.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the bar of a night bar in Las Almas, you knew the menu backwards and forwards so you had a certain fame. One day you draw the attention of a certain narco when you kicked an idiot out of the establishment just as the armored van was passing by, not only did you draw attention because of the commotion, but also because not a sound came out of your mouth, not a whimper, curse or insult, nothing. Just a death stare at the man.

━━━━━━━━》❈《 ━━━━━━━

Valeria was looking boredly through the tinted window of her armored van as she was returning to one of the many safe houses she had after closing a successful deal.

A commotion catches her attention so she slaps the driver's seat to stop. Entre closes his eyes when he sees you kicking a drunk man out of the bar, he finds it odd that you don't utter a word even if it's to curse him, you just give him a death glare before re-entering the bar named "stellar".

You have caught the attention of the biggest drug dealer in Mexico.

She comes back the next night at the same time she saw you, sits at the bar and orders the most expensive tequila there is from another woman who worked with you. He sits for several hours just watching you work as a bartender before leaving, this becomes a daily routine every Sunday from then on.

You feel her penetrating gaze every Sunday, you know she watches you carefully, analyzing you, but you say nothing, you don't even look at her. The heavily armed men make it clear that she is someone with power and you didn't want to get involved with someone like that.

Luck is not on your side.

After three months of attending the bar, Valeria demands that you be the one to attend to her specifically, she has looked at you enough and has inquired about you. She knows you don't speak of your own free will and that's what's most interesting.

You feel uncomfortable to see the guards looking at you, but you still attend her without saying or making any gesture. She asks you for the Paloma cocktail and you prepare it under her watchful eye before handing it to her.

"Do the guards make you uncomfortable, bonita?" nothing escapes Valeria, she noticed your discomfort from the first instant, so she sent her bodyguards to guard the exit with the others. She tasted the cocktail you prepared for her and smiled "not bad".

From there it all started.

Every time she came, you were hers alone. You didn't attend to anyone else when she came through that door, all your attention was directed to Valeria and so you did.

She was a mysterious woman when she spoke, she was careful what she said. Sometimes she would complain to you about the idiots she herself had brought into her ranks.

Valeria looked forward every Sunday to talking to you, even if you didn't answer, your silence or answers with nods or shrugs were enough, it was a comforting thing to relax with someone she knew didn't want to kill her. Something in her stomach churned every time she saw you and talked to you.

Your interactions were weird, but she liked that, too much to admit it out loud.

You always smiled at her without showing your teeth every time she complained or talked about something that got on her nerves. You had gotten used to each other's presence in a matter of months.

Sometimes she would ask you questions, especially about your curly hair, she was curious how you managed to keep it so beautiful considering the infernal heat in Las Almas. You just shrugged your shoulders

One day you smiled openly at her without realizing it, because of something she had said about an idiot, leaving her stunned.

Valeria knew right then and there that she had fallen when she saw your smile and expression, cupid's bastard had done his thing.

Valeria Garza, El Sin Nombre, had fallen deeply in love with the curly-haired woman who made him several cocktails in one night.

As she came to terms with her feelings, a growing anxiety began to take hold of her when she didn't have you in her sights. The days of waiting for Sunday to arrive became exasperating, her temper tripled and patience waned.

She would only calm down and relax when Sunday came, just to see you.

When Sunday came and he walked into the bar he couldn't find you, so he asked for you.

Turns out you hadn't been to work all week, you weren't even answering messages.

The bloody and merciless beast inside Valeria emerged from the darkest part of her being.

She would burn Las Almas to the ground if she didn't know your whereabouts in the next 72 hours.

You had that time to show up, otherwise, the beast disguised as a narco would seek you out leaving dead in its wake.

First Headcanon I've written, I hope it's decent. :)

This has two other parts, if this one goes well I'll post the other two. reblogs and likes are much appreciated.

[midnight-talescape]

𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 (𝐵𝑜𝒹𝓎𝑔𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑀𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓁 𝒪’𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Kinktober Day 12: Somnophilia

I don't believe in bottom Miguel but I'm ready to pay money to hear the man whimper. I want him to beg

Warning: somnophillia, noncon? age gap, reader is at least 18 tho, it's just Miguel is old, a little gaslighting etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 2609

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

It was his mission to protect you.

To get close to you and your family, so he can gather evidence and take them down.

He shouldn't be attached to you, you were just a target after all.

You were only supposed to be a target.

But he couldn't stop himself from being attracted to you.

You were just so…beautiful

When he took the mission he fully expected you to be a brat, and don't get him wrong, you are.

You refuse to wake up in the morning, is a lazy fuck who refuses to do anything unless he forces you, you don't eat unless he cooks, and you practically refuse to walk unless you need to.

Sometimes Miguel wonders if he came to be your bodyguard or your maid.

But you also go out of your way to make sure he takes care of himself, dragging him along on all your dumb little adventures.

He tried to push down his feelings for you.

He really did.

He reminded himself that you were the child of his enemy, the sole heir of the largest mafia in the city. That you guys can never be together and after his mission is over you will despise him.

Even if you weren’t his target and he was a regular bodyguard, he was still too old for you. Why will someone like you like a guy who’s so much older than you? Cough dilf cough

But he couldn't.

Not when you trust him so full-heartedly and look up at him with your beautiful eyes.

Not when you ask him to dance at the party, and when you guys kiss each other for a dare.

You were his secret desire, something he couldn't have.

But god help him, if he sees anyone near you, if he can't have you, no one else should either.

Which is why you're currently holding onto his arm, trying to stop him from beating the living shit out of the guy who dares get touchy with you.

“Miguel! Stop it!” you yell as you hold onto his arm trying to pull him back,

Miguel looks back at you snarling, his eyes maniacal and filled with rage,

“No! He insulted you! I'm not stopping until he regrets it!”

“I’m sure he’s regretting it right now, please stop you’re scaring me, Miguel!”

Hearing your words Miguel turned towards you, before leaning down and breathing heavily,

“I-im sorry, I lost control there. Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, I'm okay! Are you alright?” You ask as you wipe away some of the blood on his face,

Miguel chuckled as you said that. You completely ignored the fact that he was the one who was beating up the other guy, solely focused on his safety.

He shouldn't feel delighted to see your cruelty showing, but as the target of your worries and affection, he couldn't help but feel satisfied.

“Me? Of course, I'm alright, princesa.”

“Are you sure?” you ask worriedly while circling him trying to make sure there’s no injury on him,

Miguel wrapped his arm around your waist tightly and buried his face in the crook of your neck,

“Yes, there's no need to worry about me…” Miguel holds back the desire to moan into your neck as he breathes in your scent,

I'm a bastard, I'm a sick fucking bastard…

You leaned into his arm and closed your eyes in content, you do enjoy hugs despite not giving them out often.

His arm was large and firm, kinda like a warm pillow. It makes you feel safe like he can protect you from anything in the world. As you wrapped your arm around his waist, you thought,

I swear this is the only reason I ask Father for him to be my bodyguard.

Miguel lifted you into his arm, carrying you bridal style, as though you were his entire world.

And in a way… you are.

As you wrapped your arm around his neck, sighing in contentment, Miguel looked down at you with a warm smile.

“You look cute when you’re leaning into my arm, Cariño. I should do this more often…” Miguel said jokingly but his eyes were deadly serious, he wish he could cuddle you more often,

You yawned as you made an order on your phone to take care of the man in the alley as Miguel began to take you back home,

“We should, you are very comfortable, Miguel,”

Miguel blushed at your statement, he didn't expect you to agree with him, feeling a little bolder he said,

“I'm glad you think so, maybe next time I can be your mattress?”

What am I doing?! She will hate me!!! What kind of creep says that?! What the fuck is wrong with me?!

“Can you do that? Is that a part of your job description?”

He nearly choked when you said that. He didn't expect you to be so down with this, and so excited

“Of course, anything to make you happy, proncesa,” he said as he placed a kiss on your forehead, his voice having an undertone of excitement,

You snuggled deeper into his chest, allowing your face to rest on the soft muscle,

“I'm so glad I picked you to be my bodyguard, Miguel. I knew picking people based on how pretty I find them was a good baseline!”

A faint blush appeared on Miguel's face as he held you tighter to him,

“I'm glad you find me pretty enough to be your bodyguard…”

He might have said something else and you might have answered back, but he was too distracted by what you said, while you were too distracted by his pecs.

When you guys finally reached your mansion he finally calmed down a little and began placing you on your bed.

Just as he was about to leave you stopped him,

“I thought you promised to be my mattress, Miguel? Come sleep with meeeeeee, you look warm and comfortable, please.” You said making grabby hands toward him,

Miguel sighed as he looked at you, trying his best to hide how flustered he is

“You’re a brat sometime you know?”

“Pleeeeeease, Miguel?” You ask again doing your best puppy eyes,

“Fine, I will go change first,” Miguel said, not being able to say no to your puppy eyes,

A part of him wants to sleep next to you, to hold your body in his arms, even if it’s just for a single night.

By the time he came back you were already changed and waiting for him. As soon as he got on your bed, you almost immediately snuggled onto him.

“Good night, Miguel” you mumbled as you closed your eyes sleepily,

Miguel lowered his eyes and placed a kiss on your cheek before whispering hoarsely,

“Sleep tight, princesa…”

As your breathing slowed and you fell into a deep sleep, Miguel closed his eyes as well, desperately trying to sleep and ignoring your warm body so close to his.

Your body felt so tiny in his arms.

Miguel thought about all the things he wanted to do to you. Things that no bodyguard should ever think of doing to their client.

Miguel's eyes stayed shut as he tried to sleep, but his imagination filled with possibilities of what he could do to you.

He was pretty successful until he felt your mouth on his chest, nibbling it softly in your sleep.

What are you dreaming of? You breastfeeding me, I mean what?

“Mmmh~”

Miguel let out a soft moan as he felt you bite down on his pecs, shuddering as he clenched his hand into a fist.

His brain is filled with vulgar thoughts of what he wants to do to you.

I-i should leave, go do some exercise, and blow off some steam. This isn't right, she's a target, I shouldn't feel this way.

Just as he was about to leave, you tighten your arm around his waist whining,

“D-dont leave…”

Well fuck

Miguel was frozen in place, he wanted to leave but he couldn't move an inch because of you.

"Okay, Okay, Fine I won't leave,”

He whispered as he tried to ignore the way you were clinging onto him, the way his body reacted to you and the way his mind was going feral with lust.

As you buried your face in his chest again, leaving behind little bite marks in your dream, Miguel couldn't take it anymore.

In a moment of weakness, he tilted your face up toward him and pressed his lip against yours.

You moaned softly in your sleep, the taste of your mouth on his caused Miguel to freeze as he felt his cock harden.

This is wrong, this is so wrong, you were asleep for fuck sake

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself from wanting you.

Even as an undercover cop that's meant to take down your family, somehow being your bodyguard and keeping you with him is more important to him now.

He pressed a soft kiss against your neck, his tongue slowly tracing the curves there as his cock throbbed painfully in his pants.

Miguel knew this was wrong, and yet he couldn't stop himself.

You writhed in your sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips as Miguel's hand traced the curves of your back and slid down to your ass.

The thoughts running through his mind were disturbing, considering his profession as your bodyguard and yet the desire seemed to consume him.

His fingers traced over the small bruises and cuts on your body, he saw proof of how dangerous your life was. He should focus on how to protect you, to keep you safe, or at the very least gather more evidence against your family, and yet, all he could think about was how to claim you as his.

Miguel's hand slipped under your shirt and lifted it up, revealing your breast. He took a hardened nipple into his mouth, biting it gently as his other hand slipped between your legs.

You let out a moan in your sleep as you tried to close your leg, catching Miguel’s hand between your soft thigh.

As he watched your body twist and writhe under him, he realized he didn't care about the fact that you were his target and he was your bodyguard.

He held his hand near your panties and he could feel the wetness that was seeping through. He was getting you aroused in your sleep.

Miguel couldn't help but feel the thrill and wrongness of it all mixing together in his mind.

His mouth continues to lick and bite your breast, gently holding your nipple between his teeth and grinding it slowly like he was savoring it.

You whimpered in your sleep, weakly trying to push away the intruder that was causing you discomfort in your sleep.

He moved your panties to the side, exposing your wet cunt. His finger gently circled your clit before he slipped a finger inside you, your body trembled in your sleep as you let out a small gasp. Your eyes begin to flutter as you feel the discomfort in your body.

Noticing this Miguel stopped fingering you momentarily to place a kiss on your forehead, using his free to stroke your back gently as he whispered,

“It's okay, princesa. Go back to sleep, I will take care of you…”

Hearing his words you slowly fell back into a deeper sleep, before letting out a louder moan as Miguel started thrusting his finger into you faster.

As his fingers moved inside you, he felt your walls contracting and clenching around his finger. He could hear your soft groan as he hit your sensitive spot and the tear that threatened to fall from under your closed eyelids.

A few minutes later with a shuddering cry, you orgasm onto his finger, drenching the sheet under you and his hand wet.

Miguel grinned as he felt the warm fluid on his fingers, without hesitation he slipped another finger inside you, holding your body tightly as your back arched.

You let out a sob as you felt your body being stretched open in your sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips as Miguel's warm hands moved across your bare body.

Miguel couldn't stop himself, he wanted you too much. To hold you and fuck you senseless, making you cry out his name as you beg for him to stop.

Letting go of your breast he slowly kissed his way up your neck again. As he groaned into your neck, one by one he slipped his fingers inside you, forcing your body to stay still as he stretched you open.

Taking in a sick satisfaction as he forced you to come on his hand over and over again. Your cry and whimper getting more and more desperate as your was overstimulated.

Finally pulling his finger out, he licked the juice off his finger before lowering his head to your thigh.

As you let out a mewl in your sleep, Miguel couldn't resist taking your clit into his mouth, hungrily sucking on it like his life depends on it.

"You taste so sweet, princesa," Miguel mumbled into your cunt, his nose buried deep inside you, smelling your tantalizing scent as he thrust his tongue inside you,

Every moment, he felt guilt clawing at his conscience, reminding him of his duties as your undercover bodyguard. He wasn't supposed to want you, let alone touch you.

As his tongue danced around your clit, Miguel couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. It was wrong to want you. As his consciousness yelled at him to stop, he slid a finger back inside you, finding your g-spot before thrusting into you with his tongue.

You cried out in your sleep, the sound getting louder and louder as Miguel continued to thrust into you. Your body clamped down on his fingers, as your body began to shake violently. Your eyes fluttering rapidly seemingly ready to wake up at any moment.

With a final suck, you squirted onto Miguel's face, as your eyes flew open your breathing heavy as you woke up confused and your face covered in tears.

“W-what is happening?” You ask dazed and very confused,

Miguel wiped off his face before holding your face in his hand and whispered,

“You’re dreaming, princesa… go back to sleep…”

“A-am i? You ask sleepily, your body feels sore and sticky,

“Of course, Princesa… your dreams are always weird when you’re tired. Just close your eyes, carino… I will take care of you…”

You tried to question what was happening more, but you were so tired.

As you fell asleep again, Miguel knew he was off the hook. You never remember anything that happened when you're half asleep.

But he needs to stop, he can only gaslight you so many times. You’re dense, not stupid.

With a groan, he pulled out his thick erection that had been painfully hard in the last few hours.

With a few quick strokes, he placed his cock between your thigh, smearing his precum onto your thigh.

With a few grunts, he begins thrusting his cock between your thigh, ignoring your sleepy cry and whining.

Eventually, he climaxed onto you, spilling white cum across your chest and legs. Miguel panted as he watched your body tainted by his seed he finally regained his clarity.

He should feel sick for what he did to you in your sleep, but he doesn't.

Only a sick sense of satisfaction.

Getting up, he went to get a towel to clean you up.

He will never let you know what he did to you…

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of drugs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷 

Chapter 22

I had just walked into the living room where I found Matt and James arguing about Colonel William. “Goddamn, Dad, call and tell him we’re through. Tear up the goddamn contracts and I’ll pay him whatever percentage we owe him.”

“Listen, Son. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Goddamn right I am. I hate what I’m doing and I’m goddamn bored.”

Matt stomped out the front door, never returning that evening nor the following few. We were mystified. For the first time he was traveling alone—without even one bodyguard. Matt didn’t even know his own phone number; nor did he carry cash. How was he going to get around? Arrangements had always been made for him.

According to Jerry Schilling, Matt caught a commercial plane to Washington, D.C., with the intention of meeting President Nixon. When he arrived he had a sudden reaction to penicillin he had taken for a bad cold and decided to fly to L.A. He called during a stopover in Dallas, asking Jerry to meet him at LAX with a doctor. He wanted treatments for the reaction. Matt rested two days in Los Angeles and then continued his journey back to Washington, D.C., along with Jerry and a fivehundred-dollar check that Jerry arranged to have cashed.

During the flight Matt befriended a young soldier just returning from Vietnam. The soldier must have told him his life story. Before the plane landed Matt asked Jerry for the five hundred dollars and handed it over to the young man, wishing him good luck. Jerry said, “Matt, that’s all we have.” Matt responded with, “Yeah, but he needs it worse than I do, Schilling.”

Later in the flight, he asked the stewardess for a pen and some paper. Matt was never much of a letter writer, but he now wrote President Nixon a letter explaining how he could assist the youth of today in getting off drugs. It was an impassioned plea, mistakes hastily scratched out and corrected as he poured out his thoughts.

Jerry arranged for a limo to pick them up at the airport and drive them to the White House. It was 6:30 a.m. and Matt was dressed in black, including his black cape, sunglasses, his large gold International belt, and a cane. He approached the gate looking, as Jerry put it, like Dracula. His face was a bit swollen, and Jerry feared that his appearance would arouse suspicion.

As soon as Matt explained who he was and that he had a message for the President, he was promised the letter would be given to President Nixon by nine that morning. Matt then had Jerry arrange for him to see John Finlator, Deputy Narcotics Director in Washington. Matt truly wanted to help kids get off street drugs. Another purpose of Matt’s trip was to try to acquire a Federal Narcotics badge for himself.

Matt was an avid badge collector. He had detective, police, and sheriff badges from all over the nation and the narc badge represented some kind of ultimate power to him. In Matt’s mind that badge would give him the right to carry any prescribed drug he had on his person. The badge would also give Matt and his Boston Mafia the right to carry arms. With the Federal Narcotics badge he could legally enter any country both wearing guns and carrying any drugs he wished.

His obsession with obtaining this badge was triggered by a private eye named John O’Grady whom Matt had hired to handle a paternity suit. O’Grady showed Matt his Federal Narc badge, and Matt’s mind started clicking immediately: How could he get one himself?

John O’Grady mentioned that John Finlator was the man Matt should see.

Matt told Jerry to wait at the hotel in case the President called while Matt himself went to see Finlator. Within an hour, Jerry received a call from Matt, saying that his request had been denied by Finlator. Jerry was surprised at Matt’s emotional state. He sounded near tears when he said, “He won’t let me have the badge.” Jerry was able to lift his spirits by telling him he’d just received a call from the White House. “The President read your letter and wants to see you in twenty minutes.”

Walking into the White House was no easy feat, even for Matt Sturniolo. The guards were friendly but cautious as they checked him out. Jerry too was searched before entering the Oval Office along with Sonny West, whom Jerry had called to join them. Sonny had been mystified by the call and was awestruck when he realized he was about to meet the President of the United States.

Matt was led separately into the Oval Office. Jerry and Sonny were told they had to wait outside, though there was some slight chance they’d meet the President later. According to Jerry, they were brought into the Oval Office in less than a minute. Jerry knew that if there was a way to get them in, Matt would do it, and he had come through. Not even the President was immune to his charm.

When Jerry and Sonny entered they saw that Matt had made himself right at home. He introduced everyone and encouraged the President to give Jerry and Sonny cuff links, and was not shy in asking for mementos to take home to their wives. By the time he left the Oval Office he had added this most important badge to his collection. He emerged smiling, a different Matt from the one who a few hours before was emotionally upset. Nixon overruled Finlator’s decision and had the badge sent to the Oval Office, where he could present it to Matt.

The argument about Colonel that started this escapade was never mentioned again.

Our marriage was now part-time. He wanted freedom to come and go as he pleased—and he did. When he was home, he was attentive and loving as father and husband. But it was clearly understood that I was mainly responsible for the parenting of Charlotte.

An incident occurred which made me realize that I needed to spend more time with Charlotte. She, Matt, and I were about to sit for a family portrait. I was dressing her while her nurse combed her hair. Then, as I started for the set, Charlotte refused to go with me. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Come on, honey.”

“No, no,” she kept saying, hanging on to her nurse. When she started to cry, I got nervous and short-tempered, taking her by the hand and urging, as if a child could decipher my logic, “But you’ve got to be happy Char! You’re going to take pictures with Mommy and Daddy.”

Each shot was an effort as we tried to coax her to laugh. For a moment we would be successful but then tears would reappear. She even cried sitting on her daddy’s lap as I bribed her with toys and little dolls to get a smile.

That’s when it hit me. My God, she’s so attached to the nurse that she doesn’t want to leave her. Now I knew I had to find more time to be with her. She had been affected by my own predicament. Busy centering my life around Matt, even during his absences, I had neglected not only my needs but my daughter’s as well.

I was torn between the two of them. When he was home I wanted to be with him, without other responsibilities, but I also wanted to be with Charlotte, knowing how much she needed me.

I began taking Charlotte to parks, afternoon parties, and daily swimming lessons at the YWCA, and I convinced myself that soon I’d no longer have to fake it with toys and lollipops and ice cream cones to get her to smile at me.

She would sit between Matt and me at the dinner table, squeezing spinach through her hands and smearing it on her face. Matt tried to convince himself that he found all this adorable, but the fact of the matter was that he was finicky about his food. With a goodnatured laugh he would excuse himself, telling the maid, “We’ll be eating in the den. Char will join us after she’s finished playing with her meal.”

When Matt was away from home, which unfortunately was most of the time in those days, I continued to dispatch my regular care packages full of pictures and home movies documenting every inch of Charlotte’s growth. When he was with us, I encouraged him to participate in Easter-egg hunts and other outings, inviting Nate, Amber, their children, and other family friends to join us.

Charlotte and I visited him in Vegas for her birthdays, having huge parties in the suite, where she received everything from slot machines to two Saint Bernard puppies (a gift of Colonel William’s) to an entire room filled with balloons—everything, in short, a two- or threeyear-old shouldn’t have and couldn’t appreciate.

It was important to me that Matt be home for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, but he’d invariably call and say he couldn’t make it, then try to compensate by bringing home extravagant gifts like a marble jewel box filled with diamond rings, necklaces, and earrings, or a whole wardrobe of handpicked designer clothes from a boutique in Vegas. But that wasn’t the point. I didn’t want the furs and jewels—I had all I could possibly use—I just wanted him home. It was a constant effort, single-handedly trying to keep up family traditions.

Although Matt much preferred to spoil Charlotte, he did discipline her from time to time. Once he paddled her for writing all over a beautiful velvet couch with crayons. Then he immediately went into a panic, wanting me to assure him that he’d done the right thing and that Charlotte wouldn’t hold it against him. When I told him, “If you hadn’t spanked her, I’d have,” he felt better. The only other time he touched her in anger was after we’d repeatedly warned her not to go near the pool and she did.

By the time Charlotte was four, she realized she could manipulate the help. Whenever one of them refused to do something for her, she’d threaten, “I’m gonna tell my daddy and you’re going to get fired.” Since none of them wanted her going to Matt, they’d let her get her way, from staying up until all hours and skipping nightly baths to staying home from school. The result was that Charlotte had trouble learning what was right and wrong and what she could and couldn’t do.

“You don’t treat people that way,” I told her. “It’s abusive. Yes, they work for your father. But you don’t go around threatening them.” Used to seeing people jump at her father’s command, Charlotte took years to overcome this habit.

Since Matt had started performing again, our home on Hillcrest had become so public that we could scarcely get in and out of the drive. Photographers actually concealed themselves in our backyard, making their presence known at the most inopportune moments. Once, we were relaxing at the pool, sunbathing, when I leaned over and gave Matt a lingering kiss. He whispered, “What’s that noise? Shhh, be quiet. Sonny! Jerry! It’s a goddamn camera clicking off!” Matt jumped up and they all headed after the poor man, Matt leading, shouting obscenities and threats. This was one member of the press who I’m sure never returned.

In our three years on Hillcrest, we’d gradually outgrown the house. Charlotte and her nurse shared one room, Charlie had the other, and Patsy and Gee and their new baby occupied the cottage out back. Matt felt we needed more room; he wanted Sonny on call and close by. Discussions about a new home took on a new urgency.

When a couple of old regulars, broke and jobless, showed up at our door, Matt took pity on them and put them up in our living room. I awoke in the early morning to the sound of blaring music and found the two had passed out from drinking Jack Daniel’s and Coke. Half-empty glasses were strewn about the room and ashes littered the carpet. I felt my home was being turned into a boarding house.

“They have no respect for anything,” I complained to Matt later that day. “What if they fall asleep with cigarettes in their hands? We’ll all go up in flames. How long do you intend for them to stay?” I was making no secret of my disapproval. “I don’t want Charlotte around this.”

“You’re right, Honey. Maybe I’ll just head out for Palm Springs tonight.”

The search for a new home led us to Holmby Hills, an exclusive area of sprawling estates between Bel Air and Beverly Hills. We found a traditional two-story house, well-situated on a hill, surrounded by two acres of wellmanicured lawns and orange groves. It was larger than our other Los Angeles homes, with a high fence and forbidding gates to assure our privacy.

I had hoped that this home would redirect his attention to the family and that his weekends away in Palm Springs would now be spent with us. He had his own office, his own den, his own game room, his own theater, a breakfast room for private meals, and a dining room for family and friends. It was my intention to decorate this home exclusively to his liking, with ideas carried over from the Hillcrest house, which had been his favorite.

The house cost around $335,000, a little over the budget that we had in mind. With some persistence on our part, James warily let me hire a professional to help furnish it. This would be the first house I’d decorated from scratch and I found it tremendously exciting—having plans drawn up, choosing color schemes, fabrics, wall coverings, and antiques. I loved hunting for special pieces of furniture: a china cabinet that concealed a television set, old trunks to be used as coffee tables, and antique vases to convert into lamps. I was so excited with the project that I persuaded Matt not to look at the preliminary stages and to wait until everything was completed. Decorating became my passion. I found the challenge so absorbing that I was able to forget my worries over our relationship. Instead of pondering my loneliness, I was engaged in constructive work that required all the flair, imagination, and organizational ability I could summon.

At this time another fulfilling and liberating force entered my life—karate. It had been Matt’s love and hobby for years, and when I first took it up, it was just another of my efforts to get his attention and approval, as in the past when I’d enrolled in French classes because he liked the language, took flamenco dancing because he was an aficionado, and ballet because he adored dancers’ bodies.

He had long admired kung fu expert Ed Parker, whom he’d met years ago. I began taking private lessons under Ed’s guidance three times a week. I soon learned there was much more to this art than violence. It was a philosophy. I became even more involved when Matt cheered my progress.

On our return to Boston, he slept throughout the day and I enrolled in another oriental discipline, the Korean art of Tae Kwan Do. I became as obsessive as Matt in dedicating myself to this art. A mandatory requirement was memorizing forms, katas, and stances in the Korean language as well as learning the history of Tae Kwan Do.

The training was incredibly exacting. Over and over we’d execute the same movement until perfected. Perspiration poured into my eyes and yet, if I wiped it away, it would mean one hundred pushups under the watchful eyes of the entire classroom, a humiliation I did not desire and managed to avoid.

Now I could understand Matt’s enslavement to karate. It was an accomplishment, an achievement of confidence and physical mastery of self. In 1972, while Matt was performing in Vegas, I met one of the top karate experts in the United States at the time, Mike Stone. On this particular evening he was acting bodyguard to a prominent record producer. After the show they came to visit Matt backstage. Everyone was more impressed with Stone than with the boisterous tycoon he was protecting. Matt was complimentary and he, Sonny, and Red had numerous questions. Several years earlier we had watched Stone at a tournament in Hawaii and we’d admired his fighting technique.

Later that evening, up in the Imperial Suite, Matt encouraged me to train with Mike. “He has that killer quality. Nothing on two legs can beat him. I’ve been impressed with him since the first time I saw him fight. He’s a real badass—I like the cat’s style.”

Back in Los Angeles I made arrangements with Mike to drive out to his studio later in the week and sit in on one of his classes. It was a long forty-five-minute drive.

Elvis was right. Mike exuded confidence and style, as well as a good deal of personal charm and wit. A deep friendship would develop. Because of the distance, I decided to continue my training with a friend of his, Chuck Norris, who had a studio closer to my home. Mike would sometimes come to Chuck’s studio as a guest trainer.

I was emerging from Elvis’s closed world, becoming aware of how sheltered my existence had been. Mike and Chuck introduced me to popular Japanese martial-arts films such as the Blind Swordsman series, and with Mike I attended karate tournaments locally and in neighboring counties, taking home movies and still photos of top karate fighters. I wanted to capture their individual styles so I could share them with Elvis, hoping this was something we could enjoy in common. In the end, though, I made a whole new circle of friends with whom I felt accepted for myself. The martial arts gave me such confidence and assurance that I began to experience my feelings and express my emotions as never before. Accustomed to suppressing my anger, I could honestly vent it now without the fear of accusations or explosions. I stopped apologizing for my opinions and laughing at jokes I didn’t find amusing. A transformation had begun in which fear and indifference had no place. Along with this new confidence, off came my false eyelashes and heavy makeup, the jewels and flashy clothes. All devices that I’d depended upon for security I now shed.

I was seeing myself for the first time, and it was going to take a while for me to get used to the image. I had a chance to observe marriages outside our immediate circle, where the woman had just as much say as a man in everyday decisions and long-term goals. I was confronted with the harsh realization that living the way I had for so long was very unnatural and detrimental to my well-being. My relationship with Mike had now developed into an affair.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - i feel like u guys will kill me after the next chapter.. all im saying is get ur tissues!🎀

[loosesodamarble]

Welcome to the Black Bird Part 2: Alexander the Bodyguard

Summary: Introducing Sukehiro as Alexander, the strong and stalwart bodyguard butler of the Black Bird. Genre: general Word count: ~800 A/N: I commissioned the art of Yami from @cringeyvanillamilk.

..........

“We just don’t think you can bring what our business is looking for.”

“There aren’t any open positions, sorry.”

“Sorry, kid, given your record, we’ve decided against hiring you.”

Sukehiro threw his phone onto his bed before flopping down on the mattress.

What was the fucking point of applying to every job he could find only to get turned down by every place? He was starting to believe that there wasn’t a point. He’d be stuck going nowhere. He’d spend the last of his savings on renting out a shithole apartment and once he was out, he’d be on the streets.

He’d probably wind up dead in a ditch soon after.

Because no one would bother caring for someone like him.

And then one day, when Sukehiro was walking to the convenience store for some cheap shopping, he ran into a man.

Short blond hair. Dark purple eyes that seemed wise beyond their years. The oddest name Sukehiro had ever heard, Julius Novachrono.

“The moving crew I hired is a little overwhelmed by how much I have,” he explained with an awkward laugh. “Would you mind lending a hand? It’s just at the apartment building next door. I’ll even pay in cash if you’d like.”

The money was a hundred dollars an hour at minimum. Of course Sukehiro took the chance.

And one chance encounter was all it took…

…..

“My lady, I humbly offer my arm to you so that you may walk without fear of falling on your way to your table,” Sukehiro said as he slightly bowed from his waist.

“No need today, Alexander,” replied Charlotte Roselei, one of the regulars at the Black Bird. She was also a regular to Sukehiro’s butler persona, asking for him whenever he was available.

“I shall still guide you, and I will take care to watch for anything that might endanger you.”

Charlotte laughed softly then replied, “Fine by me.”

On the way to the table, Sukehiro made a bit of a show of himself. He put his arm out, stopping fellow waiter “Flynn” from crossing in front of Charlotte.

“Watch your step, Flynn. You could’ve bumped into my mistress and done her harm,” Sukehiro said sternly, glaring into his coworker’s eyes.

“Flynn” clicked his tongue and replied, “You gotta be a real loser to be so protective.”

Sukehiro scoffed. In the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte pass by, and so he put his arm down and let “Flynn” by. He hurried back to Charlotte’s side, guiding her. No words were exchanged, not until Charlotte was seated and had the menu in hand.

“I don’t find it lame at all,” she muttered.

“Hm? Whatever do you mean, my lady?” Sukehiro asked, already knowing but feeling the need to entertain a brief conversation.

“Being protective of others, whether it be as intimate as family or casually for a customer, is noble in my opinion. Although…” She turned the page of the menu and stared at the entree selection. “I feel like your effort is wasted on someone like me. Since well…” Charlotte lifted her arm and flexed, showing the lean muscle of her bicep.

Against his better judgment, Sukehiro chuckled. “I would only consider it wasted effort if you didn’t appreciate it.”

…..

Shielded Sea Fry. One of the pricier dishes on the specialty menu, but only because it so heavily relied on seafood.

Sukehiro grew up in a coastal town, eating more fish than beef or pork. So of course a dish based on who he was would have to involve seafood. He preferred cracking a crab open and eating it plain but for the sake of the cafe’s aesthetic, he agreed that a crab salad served in a cleaned out shell would suffice. The entree also had seared scallops, a boiled lobster tail, and an acidic seaweed salad to balance the richness of the crustaceans.

The seafood was plated within the shells, reflecting the protective persona that Sukehiro put on for his customers.

Reflecting the shield that Sukehiro had hidden himself behind for years before. Because, back then, no one was going to protect him except himself.

That was then. In the present though, he was at the Black Bird.

Where everything was clean and polished, even himself. Where the customers would admire his physique rather than take his appearance alone as a threat to be mugged. And where he met some weirdos and made some wonderful friends too.

Never did Sukehiro believe he’d end up where he was. But he was there and he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon.

“One Shielded Sea Fry for Table #10!” the head chef yelled.

“Picking it up!” Sukehiro called back.

.....

[moviesstoriesandbooks]

What if Chay moves on healthily because no matter the reason , Kim's actions were shitty? Ok how about if Chay goes to therapy to deal with the "murder cat leaving bodies in the bar" incident , and talks and figures out his shit with a mafia approved therapist (I'm looking right at you , the person who wrote the ff) , and she is adamant about boundaries and respect , trust and basic needs in a relationship ??

And Chay , being the good boy that he is , listens. And understands. And actively works towards bettering his mind . He understands what Kim did is wrong on many levels and also that he should never settle for less , that he should never throw himself away , or be sad over other people and their horrible behaviour.

And he rediscovers his passion for music , goes to the very same college , and focuses on his life.

Gets an internship, moves to the US , where they specifically ask him to stay because they'd love to have him full term. And he builds his own life there , Vegas and Arm keep him off the radar , and he lives his life almost normal. No involvement with the mafia on a surface level.

Porsche though , still cursing himself for undermining Chay's safety during the coup , makes him take self defence lessons. Which quickly progress to advanced defensive tatics, much to Porsche's shocked surprise. Porchay has particular penchant for throwing knives . He's been trying with axes these days , more damage and incapacitating, Chay says on facetime to a proud but worried Porsche .

Kim doesn't know about any of these. Any information he craves about Porchay would have to come from Tankhun , Kinn or Porsche , and it's not like he's on speaking terms with any of them . He could visit Tankhun and fish for gossip , but even he seemed very tight lipped about Chay and his US college life .

Had Chay asked them all to keep it quiet? Kim did try to track the transactions and Chay's daily bodyguard tail info. Even that was so heavily underground that the only thing he could be sure about was that Chay was alive . Was Chay ordering it be this way??

Till one day , Kim realises that the ever present tightness in his chest , the heartache when he hears Chay's old studio recordings , videos they filmed together and even the major family cctv footage from before he left , is all Kim has left of his love. Because yes , Kim did love Chay , and he was too much of a coward to say it openly ,to even admit to himself and now he wants to say it out loud to the entire world , but there's no one to hear it.

Meanwhile Chay only ever thinks about Kim in anger and hate over what he did , and pity for Kim's supposed reasons , but also derision at the fear those reasons were trying to hide. Only ever thinks about him when his music is on his mind , but that music no longer making the bridge towards love .

And after two years when he returns , Chay is Porchay Pichaya Kittisawad , a man who has lived content with his friends and lovers , grown into his role as the minor family heir : with eyes that could melt hearts and hands that could stop them.

Kim doesn't even get notified when Chay returns , and the news is unceremoniously dumped on him five minutes before Porchay is walking into the ballroom clad in his pristine navy suit, fluid even in his stillness , joking with Porsche and Kinn , looking every part the heir , that Kim suddenly fell short. He used to be the mysterious heir , who everyone gravitated towards. Noone was looking at him anymore. While the years made him grumpy and unapproachable , the same seemed to have bettered Chay , like the finest of wine.

He even looked different. No more the stumbling shy blushing kid , he stood tall , taller than Porsche , and was making smalltalk with the snakes who Kim had threatened for trying to monopolise the profits last month , with the air of a prince meeting his long lost distant relatives.

The more Kim watched him , the more his confidence shrunk. Maybe he could make himself known after a few guests leave.

Porchay caught his eye at that exact moment , stopped and stared , then smiled at him and raised his glass.

Kim bowed his head slightly and turned away. He had lost track of whatever conversation he was pretending to be a part of.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom to get his bearings and there , the gilded mirror pointed out the unwelcome red dusting his cheeks. His eyes looked overly bright and he looked like he'd run a mile.

Had Porchay forgotten everything?? The silent touches , the night spend cuddling , the days spent making music together , did they mean nothing to him anymore?? Maybe he doesn't want his brothers to notice anything. Of course he definitely hasn't told anyone anything because Kim would've known from Porsche , for sure, if he had.

Maybe Porchay wanted to keep things on the down low. Maybe they'll talk after the guests leave and he'd slip back into the old comfortable familiarity. Right now ,he was anything but familiar. And it didn't feel comfortable when Porchay looked at him so casually.

There was no longer that twinkle in his eyes for Kim , that used to be only reserved for him.

------------------------

Porchay was lounging on the couch by the kitchen , drinking juice straight out of the carton , Porsche sitting with his feet on his lap and torso supported on Kinn's when Kim entered. Tankhun was taking the other couch all to himself while paying strict attention to whatever Porsche was saying. They looked every bit the picture of family , that Kim suddenly felt like *he* was the outsider.

That he was the one who was introduced into this less than 3 years ago , and he was the one who had went away for two of them .

When his entry caught everyone's attention , tankhun patted the seat next to him and offered him a smile , which Kim returned while he lowered himself by his brother's side. He could easily fall into the conversation that resumed, about music , business , gossip they'd missed , bodyguards who joined , vegas, pete and macau and even little Venice.

After they all left tired to their rooms , Kim wondered if Chay would pay him a visit that night. He couldn't sleep till sunrise , but Chay still didn't show up.

[morgueofstories]

This story was based on fanart by the wonderful BestoSunglass on Twitter. Please give them love and support as their fanart was what inspired me to write this.

***

Dream knew that when he decided to go after the group targeting Sapnap, he was as good as dead. 

He knew that ever since he joined the event, there would be a target on his back and people would want to kill him because of the possibility of him winning the event. Everyone wanted to make it, even if it meant staining their hands with the blood of strangers or their closest friends. 

Dream considered it a miracle that he made it this long. The last few games were nerve-racking, but luck was on his side as he made it through each round; the last round weighed heavily on Dream’s mind though, as he remembered Tina getting eliminated and killed right in front of him after losing her tail at the last second. 

No one was there when Karl was killed, and it affected everyone. Dream knew Sapnap took it the hardest and couldn’t forget the broken look on Sapnap’s face after Spreen yelled at him about how Karl died without his friends being there for him. 

They lost two friends on that day, and it seemed that Dream would be next. 

The area was too dark for Dream to see who he was about to attack, but it didn’t matter as he took the broken bottle in his hand and whack someone on the head with it. The sound of Sapnap running away shouting curses at someone made a small smile come to Dream’s face at the fact he managed to help his friend before he felt someone attack his shoulder. 

Cursing, Dream ran through the crowd before he got cornered, the group managed to land a few shallow hits at him as he ran off toward where he had hidden earlier with his friends. 

The sounds of footsteps behind him only made him try to run faster, but it seemed like one of his attackers managed to stab his thigh, sending waves of pain up his body with each step he took. 

The sound of something swinging through the air caused Dream to turn on his leg and narrowly dodge it; a curse escaped his lips when the pain in his thigh burned in retaliation for the sudden movement. His attacker recovered quickly and moved to stab his throat with the broken bottle.

Two things happened at once. Dream felt someone wrap an arm around his waist as his back pressed against someone's shoulder; and a hand reached out grabbing his attacker’s wrist, stopping the bottle from getting any closer to Dream’s face. 

The dim lighting of the nearby lights surrounding the platform allowed Dream to see his attacker’s shocked face, and it also allowed him to see the face of his savior as well.

“Farfadox?” 

***

The moment Farfadox meet Dream was the moment he fell head over heels in love with him. 

Farfadox tried to keep his growing crush a secret, he did not want to deal with teasing remarks from his friends or get the shovel talk from Dream’s friends who seemed intent on being the blonde’s bodyguards wherever he went. 

Everything about Dream just made Farfadox’s heart skip a beat; his smile, the way he laughed, how agile and light on his feet he was no matter the round, and his viridescent eyes which sparkled 24/7. He was perfect. 

He needed to stop fantasizing about the American or he may just die from a heart attack.

Even though he was crushing on Dream, that did not mean he wasn’t unaware of what other people thought of the American; and something possessive grew within Farfadox when he heard people talk about how they were going to target and kill the man he loved. 

He knew that this was a game of life and death they were all currently in, but he knew that Dream did not deserve to die so soon into the game. Dream deserved more, he deserved to win. 

Even if it meet Farfadox had to die for Dream to advance to the next round, he would do so in a heartbeat.

So when the lights turned off, Farfadox immediately started to search for the blonde to try and protect him.

It was hard to see in the dark, and Farfadox had a few close calls with some people who tried to kill him, but he took care of them either by killing or chasing them until he was certain they would not try and find him again. 

While using the bunk beds to try and see if he could see the blonde, Farfadox saw someone being chased by several men; and the moment he saw the crown on their head he immediately knew it was his beloved.

His beloved, who was in danger and about to die soon.

Wasting no time, Farfadox jumped off the bed, ignoring the pain in his ankles as he reached out to put a protective arm around Dream, pulling him back from the swinging arm. He quickly grabbed the hand with a tight grip to prevent the bottle from reaching and harming Dream any further.

Close enough, Farfadox could see that the assailant who was trying to kill Dream was none other than ElRichMC, who looked confused at what Farfadox was doing. Behind ElRichMC were other people Farfadox knew, who looked just as surprised as ElRichMC but weren’t trying to advance due to the intimidating aura surrounding Farfadox at the moment.

He could hear Dream softly say his name, and a growl immediately left Farfadox’s throat as he felt blood seep into his jacket from an injury Dream had. The thought that Dream was going to be killed like an animal made the rage and possessiveness within him start to reach the surface. 

“Farfa,” ElRichMC said in shock, and Farfadox decided enough was enough; he needed to make an example to everyone to not harm what was his. 

“Este es mío.” Farfadox growled through bared teeth. 

Player #45 ElRichMC eliminated.

[thatboomerkid]

Happy Hunting, Mister the Frog! (part one)

[interior: the New York Continental, mid-day; it is full of badass assassins in fancy suits all quietly going about their business]

[the camera pans the lobby to show that the crowd is also inexplicably interspersed with various Muppets: Rolf is playing piano, Scooter is a bellhop, Link Hogthrob is talking on a cellphone while surrounded by beautiful female bodyguards, and Sam Eagle is reading a newspaper with the headline “PROFITS?!?”, all while Uncle Deadly & Sweetums chat casually with a group of heavily-tattooed men]

[the crowd is ALSO full of random celebs not otherwise featured in the John Wick movies: Zendaya, Mark Ruffalo, Weird Al, Jenna Ortega, Snoop Dogg, Jack Black, Margot Robbie, Randall Park, Paul Rudd, Nicholas Cage, Lucy Liu, Christopher Walken, Tommy Chong, and Lady Gaga, among others]

[meanwhile, we see Dr. Bunsen Honeydew exchanging a massive dufflebag full of comically-oversized guns for a small black briefcase (which Beaker then immediately drops several times, allowing the chickens stuffed inside to escape) while the Electric Mayhem arm-wrestle John Cena; we can see Statler & Waldorf heckling a group of angry Yakuza from their theater box in the background ]

Bell: (chimes as the door opens)

Kermit: (trudges in, visibly annoyed and wearing a black suit & tie; he has a large, cartoonish white X-shaped bandage on the left side of his forehead)

Fozzie: (wanders in behind him, loudly eating popcorn out of a little red-&-white-striped box; he is openly ogling both the scenery and the patrons)

Fozzie: Oh wow! Kermit, look! This place is great! They have EVERYTHING! Did you see the luggage carts!? (pause) Ooh, are these people all really … you-know-whats?

Kermit: Everyone has a vocation, Fozzie. These are all just regular people, just like anybody else.

Fozzie: Wow! And I guess your old college roommate John Wick told you about this place, huh? Hey, did anyone ever tell you that the two of you look totally identical? Especially with your new haircut!

Kermit: Uh, Fozzie, can you keep it down? I think people here can be a little … touchy.

Fozzie: (fondling a confused Idris Elba’s tie while looking over his shoulder to read his cellphone) Sure thing, Kermit!

Kermit: (audible sigh)

Everyone: (begins whispering as Kermit trudges across the lobby; he arrives at the empty front desk and rings the bell)

Kermit: Fozzie, will you stop that?

Fozzie: (snapping pictures of an annoyed Rihanna on his disposable camera) Sorry, Kermit! (snaps another picture)

Kermit: (grumbles, rings the bell several more times) Hello?

Gonzo & Rizzo: (pop up from behind the desk in perfect unison) Checking in, Mister the Frog?

Kermit: (even more visibly annoyed) Guys, what are you doing here?

Rizzo: We work here now!

Gonzo: Yeah! The High Table said we’re their new most-dependable employees!

Winston: (leaning out of his office) I said most disposable.

Rizzo: That’s right! And no funny-business on Continental grounds, buddy! Or I get to spray you with the fire extinguisher! The boss said so!

Winston: (leaning out of his office again) I most certainly did not.

Statler: What’s that? No funny-business!?

Waldorf: Well, that certainly won’t be difficult!

Statler & Waldorf: OHOHOHOHO!

Kermit: Look, guys, I just need a room. My house got blown up. Again.

Fozzie: Yeah, guys! Also? Kermit here is gonna avenge my death!

Kermit: Fozzie, stop telling everyone that I’m going to avenge your death. I think you really scared that poor Uber driver.

Rizzo: Right! ‘Cuz everyone knows he’s gonna avenge Piggy’s death first!

Kermit: What? Who? No, no I am not.

Gonzo: (putting on 3D glasses) Ooh, a flashback!

[flashback begins]

Miss Piggy: (dramatically flinging herself onto a bed) Oh, Kermie! I’m dying!

Kermit: Uh … well, no. I mean, I’m sure lots of people get banned for life from Shoes 4 Less, honey. It’s probably … fine?

Miss Piggy: (wailing, kicking) NO! SHOES! NOOO!

Kermit: If it bothers you so much, maybe … uh, just try not punching all the security guards in the face so much next time?

Miss Piggy: No! NO! My life is OVER! I’m buying you the cheapest dog they have and then I’m DYING!

Kermit: uhh

Miss Piggy: (wailing)

Kermit: (slowly backing out the door) … Okay well I’m gonna go fold some socks and I’ll leave you to it.

Miss Piggy: (suddenly sitting up) And you better not kiss any other beautiful women after I’m dead, frog.

Kermit:

Miss Piggy: (dramatically slams herself back on the bed; wailing resumes)

[flashback ends]

Fozzie: And I’m the dog!

Rizzo: Cool!

Kermit: No you are not.

Gonzo: Ooh, that was a great flashback! Can we see the part where you learned karate and high-speed stunt-driving?

Kermit: No! And I’m not avenging anyone’s death!

Rizzo: Ohhh, right, right, right! Sure, sure, I gotcha! You’re “not” avenging “anyone’s” “death”! Of course, why didn’t you say so!? I got just the guy!

Gonzo: (pulls out a megaphone) Attention, all Continental guests! Attention, all scary Continental guests! Sommelier to the front desk, please! Sommelier to the front desk! The world’s most dangerous frog is now purchasing several very large guns!

Kermit: (visible anger)

Swedish Chef: (crashes though a door behind the front desk, stirring a giant pot full of bullets that fly everywhere) Hurdy yurdy, Meester dee Frog! Needin’ der guns fer de pewty-pew, shooty-boom-boom?

Rizzo: He wants to know who the target is.

Gonzo: Tell him it’s me! I wanna see what he would recommend!

Swedish Chef: (begins rummaging under the desk; pulls out a bazooka, a katana, a spike-covered accordion, and a big black cartoon bomb — already lit — with the word ‘BOöMBb’ written on it in giant white letters) Hokey-hinkey Mistier dee Froög! Skirben der moo frinkie shootie all der baddies, ya?

Rizzo: He says it comes with a bayonet and three laser-sights, but it’ll cost you extra.

Fozzie: (playing with nunchucks) Oh wow, Kermit! You could probably “not avenge” the whole city with all this stuff!

Gonzo: (brandishing flamethrower) Or the entire nation of Portugal! Twice!

Kermit: (exasperated groan) Look, I’m not “not avenging” anyone! And especially not the nation of Portugal!

Gonzo: Not even once?

Kermit: NO.

Rizzo: (tossing several ninja stars over his shoulder) Pfft. Not with that attitude, you’re not!

Kermit: Now are you gonna rent me a hotel room, or is that the one thing this place doesn’t have?

Daniel Craig: (standing behind Kermit) Ah, I beg your pardon? I am ALSO checking in? I was told that there were several, ah … dozen murders in need of investigation?

Kenneth Branagh: Ah! Oui, and I was told zee same thing?

Benedict Cumberbatch & Robert Downey Jr: (simultaneously) As was I. (scowl at one another)

Scooter: (arriving from nowhere) If you’ll follow me, gentleman? I’m afraid you’re in our “committing” section; the “solving” section is right over here.

(crowd of detectives departs)

Fozzie: (takes several photos of them)

Keanu Reeves: (walks up wearing a cheap fake mustache and glasses) Um, excuse me? I would ALSO like to check in; my name is, uh … Chlon. Uh … Chlon Ww… Glick. Chlon Glick. I’ve never been here before.

Rizzo: You again? Get out of here, buddy! This place is only for real cool guys with tattoos and tragic pathos! Go be a nobody loser some place else!

Keanu: (leaves)

Rizzo: Jeez, what is with that guy?

Gonzo: I like him! He taught me a cool pen trick! Watch! (jams pens in his “ears”)

Scooter: Ahem! Your room is ready, Mister the Frog. You’re in our “tortured path of self-destructive revenge” suite!

Gonzo: (now with like thirty pens jammed into his face) Ooh, that’s the best one!

Scooter: No, you’re thinking of the “self-destructive path of torturous revenge” suite. This one’s a dump.

Fozzie: Does it have a minibar?

Scooter: It does … not. And it’s next to two different ice machines. (checks clipboard) Make that three.

Fozzie: That’s okay. Is the bed comfy?

Scooter: Not particularly. And you’re definitely going to get attacked in the middle of the night by this guy. (gestures at Crazy Harry)

Crazy Harry: (waves axe around with low, ominous chuckle)

Fozzie: Ooooh, fancy! (snaps a picture)

Kermit: Look, do you have any rooms that aren’t weird horrible death-traps?

Scooter: Uh … probably not, but I guess I can check? You’re welcome to hang out in the lobby while you wait.

Fozzie: (picking up a bar menu) Kermit? Can we order some onion rings?

Rizzo: Yep! And there’s a running gun-battle every hour, on the hour!

Gonzo: (strapping on a helmet, picking up a chicken) Be sure to stay for the evening show; it’s completely different than the afternoon matinee! No spoilers, but I’ll probably die!

Kermit: (grumbles, walks to the bar)

[ae-azile]

Progression Preview: Chapter 36 Preview

Namphueng is glad she is more of an early riser. She would have missed the text from Tankhun if not. The text gives her hope that things will be better and that this meeting will make the boys stop being annoying and stupid.

She shall text her least annoying and least stupid son, at least when it comes to this situation.

Namphueng: Good morning! 🌞 I saw you react to Tankhun’s text. I hope the meeting makes your brothers and friends stop fighting. Why are you up early? I am up and bored. 🥱 Bring your mother coffee, thanks. We will sit together. Bring my daughter-in-law too.

It takes a moment, but Pol responds.

Pol: I can't come over right now. I’m sorry. Hansa is sick. She's been throwing up the last couple of days.

Namphueng frowns at that. She's confused.

Namphueng: But you went to Vegas’s and Pete’s house yesterday.

Pol: She has been feeling better in the afternoon and evening. It's mainly in the morning. I thought it was because we went a couple of days ago and she had a couple of drinks with Arm, but now she is saying it might be a food sensitivity thing. I think it could be a bug or minor food poisoning.

Namphueng digests the information and then rolls her eyes. Maybe Pol is dumb too. But she can't stay annoyed for long. If Namphueng is right about this and Hansa goes through with what is likely happening, then Namphueng will be a grandmother! A youthful looking and beautiful grandmother who strangers would never assume dons such a matronly title.

She is so excited. She wonders if Hansa has caught on yet and taken a test. If she has and it was positive, she may be keeping it quiet. Namphueng can understand that. When she and Pat had their drunken one night stand and she got pregnant when she wasn’t even twenty yet, Namphueng kept it to herself for a little bit too. Pat maybe have been one of her best friends, but it was still a lot to process at the time because they weren't together romantically and they were both gay.

But Hansa and Pol are so in love. They haven't been official for long, but Preeda and Nalin told her they had been quietly spending time together for two years. The girls had a feeling it was romantic for a while but that Hansa was afraid to take that step due to being traumatized by a horribly abusive boyfriend in the past. Pol’s demanding and technically dangerous job as a bodyguard and his status as Arm’s best friend would also make a committed relationship with Hansa complicated. Namphueng remembers being upset for some of the bodyguards. Kamnan was very restrictive about their personal lives. If any of them would get into a relationship - even with a staff member - it would be heavily scrutinized, controlled, and evaluated. If it was someone from the outside, they needed to be investigated thoroughly, cleared, and contracted to be under observation at the compound. Any subsequent children were often contracted to become staff or guards in exchange for a fully paid education.

As for gay relationships, they were heavily discouraged at best, regardless if both parties were already staff or not.

While Korn - admittedly - doesn't seem nearly as bad as Kamnan in this regard, he is still controlling. He likely would have done the investigations on Hansa prior to her moving in, so it makes sense why Pol may have been hesitant to be more open about any developments on that front, just like it is understandable that Hansa would be hesitant to enter a relationship at all if the last boyfriend she had hurt her.

But Namphueng sees how they look at each other, especially when the other isn't looking. It's how she used to look at Milan and how Milan used to look at her. They are meant to be together. Namphueng knows it. Hansa will be her daughter-in-law.

And the mother of her grandchild, if Namphueng is definitely right.

She will bring her some foods that helped her with her own morning sickness. Although with Chay, she was often sick throughout the day regardless of the time. Pat made sure to have go-to foods on hand, especially in her first semester.

She supposes she can make some of it herself, but the main kitchen often has things prepped and ready that are suitable for any potential illnesses or dietary restrictions. The problem is if SHE asks for it. Word may get back to Korn.

Part of her wants it to get back to Korn. She wants him to get paranoid and sloppy. Maybe he will try and hold her in a room again, but she might be able to see Milan that way, get answers, and stab him to death. No one could hold a grudge about it that way.

She will forge Kim’s handwriting with what she needs to bring Hansa. Kim will cover for her. She knows it. Plus, she's always finding things he jots down. Grocery lists, potential song lyrics, notes to Chay. It will be easy.

When she finds a shopping list from a couple of weeks ago still on the fridge, she practices a few times before writing down her requests for the kitchen.

Khao Niaow

Steamed Vegetables in Chicken Broth

Ginger Mint Tea

Crackers

It honestly looks just like Kim’s writing. She can tell no difference. She was always good at that.

“Stay here,” she signs to Phoenix and Koda, “Watch the kittens while Opal is in Kim and Chay’s room. I will let them out to play after I come back.

While they don't voice or sign their answer, Namphueng expects that they understand. She has learned to expect all possible outcomes. She expected that Korn would likely find out about her going down to request food from the kitchen. And while she had preferred he wouldn't spot him herself, she also expects it when they both walk into the cafeteria at the same time.

She keeps her expression neutral and continues her walk to the counter. He quickly approaches her, of course, standing next to her as he practically breathes down her neck. But Namphueng stays pleasant and waits for one of the kitchen staff to assist her, as if Korn isn't a threat at all. She knows he is a threat and how much of one he is.

But she also feels like Korn isn't aware how much of a threat she is, despite his likely suspicions of her improvement.

“What are you doing up?” he asks quietly. Namphueng says nothing and just stands with the paper in her hands dutifully. She feels his eyes on her and she doesn't give him a glance, much less a stab wound.

“Namphueng.”

Her name is said calmly, but also demands respect and attention, two things Korn doesn't deserve. Regardless, she will give him the attention if he wants it so desperately.

“No!” Korn says, stepping back when Namphueng reaches for his face and steps closer with her tongue out, ready to lick, “Stop! What is wrong with you?”

Many things. Korn made sure of that. But she will not get into the more serious ramifications of what he did to her and how she was robbed of raising her sons when she had been a good mother. Instead, she reaches forwards and tickles his stomach, barks like a dog, and gives her now disturbed ex-foster brother a peaceful smile. When the cook comes out and nervously clears her throat, the smile stays in place as she turns to her and hands her the piece of paper. When Korn intercepts it before the woman can take it, Namphueng gives him seven seconds to analyze the expertly forged handwriting before she lets out an ear piercing scream.

“Uh, Khun Korn?” the cook calls out, wincing at the sound, “Is that a request from her?”

When Korn meets Namphueng's eyes and hands back the paper, Namphueng immediately falls silent and starts smiling peacefully again, “It's from Kim...who I will be calling.”

She made sure to text Kim. And even if Kim hasn't seen it, Kim is smart enough to not answer the first phone call from his father. He always lets it go to voicemail, checks for any messages expressing a heads up, and calls him back if it is warranted.

So she isn't worried at all. Her smile stays peaceful as she waits for her order. Korn never takes his eyes off of her once, but she also never takes her eyes off of him.

[iamvegorott]

Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 17

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

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“I can’t believe you did that!” Marvin laughed as he and Chase appeared in their hotel room. 

“I was being a bodyguard,” Chase said, using a knuckle to scratch the tip of his nose. 

“And that was so hot.” Marvin giggled, holding the front of Chase’s shirt and yanking him into a kiss. “I should get you to punch people more.” 

“I don’t think my hand could handle it.” Chase chuckled. 

“Oh, darling, I’m more than sure you can-” Marvin stopped when Chase’s phone started ringing. 

“Henrik’s calling,” Chase said, recognizing the song as Henrik’s assigned one.

“Boo.” Marvin rolled his eyes but didn’t try to stop Chase from answering. “Tell him he’s a cock-block.” His tone was playful as he decided to step aside and wait for the call to finish. He took out his nail file and worked on evening out his, as he called them, claws. He might paint them tonight. Maybe a blue or a fun red or-

“What’s up? Hen? Hen, are you good?” Chase’s worried questions made Marvin stop and put the nail file down.

“Is everything okay?” 

“It’s Robbie.” 

“What about him?” 

“Hen, you gotta tell me what’s going on in English. Is Robbie hurt? What do you mean he’s bigger?” Chase answered Marvin’s question with a shrug as he tried to get more from Henrik. 

“Shit,” Marvin said to himself and started packing up. He had a guess on what was going on and knew Chase would want to help. Sending him and Chase back to Henrik’s would be hard, maybe taking him out for a day, a few hours at least. He’s been to Henrik’s enough that he almost knew it like it was his own home. It should be-

Oh no.

Marvin got pulled from his thoughts again, but this time it was from a feeling within him. He knew this feeling. He knew what was happening. 

Someone was trying to take him away. 

A magic user was able to force someone to appear where they were. It was much easier to do it to someone who wasn’t one since they weren’t aware of what was happening. Marvin knew damn well it was going on. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Marvin rushed over to the bag of ingredients. Surely with everything he had, he could throw something together to block this. 

“Are you okay?” Chase asked when Marvin dumped the one bag on the bed. “Marvin?” 

Marvin could feel the pull getting stronger, deeper, and almost painful. The more he fought against it, the more it hurt. It started to make breathing practically impossible, and a strong shiver went through his body. 

“Hey, Marv? Marvin?” Chase stood next to Marvin, holding his waist to hug his side. 

Marvin looked down at his hands, eyes wide at seeing black veins crawling across his arms to his fingertips. Several people were trying to get him. He was doomed. He couldn’t fight back against that much magic on his own. He was going to leave.

Wait.

Was Chase touching him? 

“Chase, you need to let go!” Marvin barely finished his cry when they were both sent away.

Out of the room.

Out of the hotel.

Out of Paris. 

Marvin landed in a soft chair hard, and it didn’t topple over because someone held the back of it. He clung to the arms of the chair and panted heavily, swallowing and gasping for air. The magic used to get him was slowly leaving his body, the black veins fading, and his brain finally back to the present. 

“I have to admit, you and Chase? That’s a couple I wasn’t expecting.” Marvin recognized Wilford’s voice behind him. 

“Not a couple,” Marvin grunted. “I don’t do that shit.” 

“Anymore~” Wilford sang his correction. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Let’s not get too carried away.” Another voice got Marvin to take in the room. The one who spoke sat behind a desk, Dark, dressed formally, and as smug as ever. He also saw Anti on the edge of the desk, and there was a fourth person. It was the same man he had seen with Jackie. Phantom? Or something like that. Of course, Jackie would get himself involved with another magic user. He swore himbos had a magnetic pull to them or something. Phantom must be new since he had no idea he was a part of this group. He might have even gotten sucked in the same way Marvin had. 

“You can fuck off even more.” Marvin spat. He knew he shouldn’t be trying to anger Dark. Maybe even attempt a touch of politeness to ensure he didn’t get hurt or even killed. But he didn’t care. He was pissed, and he didn’t want to be here. He got brought here because he was needed for something. Something big and dangerous. It took four of them to get Marvin to this place when it usually only took one or two. He was getting stronger, which meant he was more desired. 

“Do you want out of your contract or not?” Dark’s question made Marvin go still.

“What?” Marvin went to stand, but Wilford held his shoulders and forced him to stay down. His magical strength was nothing compared to Wilford’s physical one. He could probably use a spell to get away, but even he wasn’t cocky enough to try to fight four people at once. 

“I know you’ve been running to avoid working for me anymore,” Dark stated. “At the current moment, we’re in a predicament that we need all hands on deck for, including yours.” 

“What does that have to do with my contract?” Marvin asked. 

“If you can recall what you signed all those years ago, there is a clause at the end that if you complete a job to a high enough level, you are welcome to leave the company. No fights, no buying yourself out of it, just out the door with no worry.” Dark casually leaned back in his chair. His face told Marvin he knew this was an offer he couldn’t refuse. 

To finally be free. 

“What’s special about this that you need me? What am I doing?” Marvin asking more questions was a sign he was considering it. 

“A certain…counterpart of mine has recently acquired himself a new magic user, a new apprentice.” Dark looked like the word counterpart left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“Okay? And? He gets those all the time. Nothing ever comes out of it.” Marvin watched Anti bounce off the desk. He went over to Dark, leaning over to whisper something in his ear, a hand playfully rubbing the other’s chest. Dark rolled his eyes and moved Anti’s hand away. 

“You can go,” Dark stated. Anti giggled and winked at Marvin before he disappeared in a blink. “He’s going to visit your friend. His name is Chase, right?” 

“Where is he?” Marvin had to dig his nails into the armrest to sound as even voiced as possible. 

“You sound like we’d harm someone innocent.” Dark’s own voice was mocking. “He’s with JJ. You know how our usual routine goes. He’s likely eating some cookies, cupcakes, or something overly sweet.” 

“My Jamie’s been wanting a new taste-tester for a while.” Wilford chuckled, his hands still heavy on Marvin’s shoulders. 

“Yes, yes, now, back to the point at hand. This new apprentice has a relation to you. Not through blood, but through how you were when you first discovered your magical abilities.” Dark gestured toward Marvin’s face, pointing out the mask. “I’m sure you are more than aware of what I mean, considering the scars you still bear.” 

“I need to step out,” Phantom spoke softly and did as he said. Dark waited until Phantom was gone, and the door clicked shut before speaking again. 

“This new apprentice, believe it or not, is worse than how you were. He’s dangerous and out of control.” 

“You want me to kill this kid or something?” Marvin hoped that wasn’t the route. 

“Firstly, he’s not a child. He’s only a few years younger than yourself, and secondly, no killing. I want you to get him and bring him here. He needs an environment that knows how to handle his struggles.”

“And then trap him in a contract for the rest of his life?” Marvin’s comment made the room go silent. A long pause before he decided to break it. “If I get him here, you’ll leave me and everyone I know alone?” 

“Yes.”

“Are you going to kill him if he doesn’t want to kill for you?” 

“No.”

“How can I trust you?” 

“You only have my word.” 

There was another pause. A longer, more painful pause as Marvin thought about everything. If he said no, not only was he putting himself at risk, he’d be doing the same to Chase. Chase didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t deserve to have Marvin’s past trying to hurt him. 

“Fine…I’ll do it.” 

“Excellent. I’ll send all the information you need to your home. I’m assuming you’d like for us to do the same for yourself and Chase?” Dark seemed to relax more in his seat, satisfied with the outcome. “Don’t worry. All your belongings in Paris will arrive with you.” 

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” That question made Marvin bite his tongue, almost causing it to bleed. 

He wanted so badly to jump out of his chair and punch Dark across the face. To claw it open with his nails for even saying Chase’s name. Everything in his being was dying to kick him down and just keep kicking and kicking and kicking until either his foot or Dark’s body broke. But he stayed. He knew that this would be the last job he’d have to do for him. He could go back to just living freely and know that he’d never have to worry about Dark ever again. 

“Yes. Sir.” 

“Perfect.” 

----------

Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing

[sharenadraculea]

My 40k-OCs (so far)

Johanna: Very grumpy, very old terran-born Dark Angel. She is very no-nonsense, get the job done and move on and has a weakness for orbital bombardement. Do not misgender her or you get a heavy flamer to your face. She also has pretty severe dysphoria and thus is basically always wearing armor and just generally a lot of issues from multiple centuries of basically always figthing. And post-heresy she becomes the chapter master of my homebrew chapter, the Archangels.

Inia: Also known as Pretty Boy. Originally from the Second Legion, but he stayed loyal enough and now Johanna has to deal with him. They end up in a „They have been a couple for how long?!“-situation. He is very upbeat, very dramatic and has a thing for cannibalism and a gigantic oversized anime-sword. He‘s very gender. My whole second Legion is based on mermaids and whales and sirens and Inia is very siren-y. Also he absolutly has opinions on which traitor-legion tastes the best.

Ishtor: Thunder Warrior I made up for a one-shot and got attached to. He and Johanna were friends and then he died

Nia-9: Tiny Tech-Priest. She has been travelling with Johanna since the start of the great crusade and the two has been best friends for a very long time, do not attempt to seperate them. Also of course all the archeology she conducts is completly ethical (by the standards of the mechanicus)

3V-α-14142 (EVA): Nia‘s favorite creation, a heavily costumized Skitari serving as her bodyguard, research assistent and secretary. Technically there have been multiple EVA‘s because sometimes they die

Annabella: Originally the thirteenth bastard of a minor Caliban noble, later becomes a Space Marine and then goes renegade. At least a little bit chaos-touched, but won‘t admit it. Actually very chivalrous and knigthly. Also likes monsterhunting. She is hard of hearing and lost a arm and a leg during the destruction of Caliban. Also goes by Annie

Scarlet Roserio: Last of a exiled Navigator-house. Stupidly rich and has approximatly a thousand health issues. Annie crashlanded in her backyard and now the two are gay space pirates for each other.

Umbra: Psyker Night Lord that kind of hangs out with the pirate-warband. His grip on reality is less than good and he likes to mutter about inevitable doom. Also he is definetly in cahoot with some minor warp-entities and has a whole pack of hunting dogs.

Angelique: Umbra‘s adopted daugther and a blank that somewhat keeps him sane. She is also a actual psychopath and generally takes after her dad. Also she‘s a sniper

Phillip: Navigator-child Umbra kidnapped picked up semi-recently. He‘s not having a great time, especially since Angelique would like to be a only child again.

Caramel: Noise Marine. He‘s been doing this for like three days and has no idea how anything works.

Emilia: Titan-Princeps and cool old lady. I need to work more on her

Orcus: Second Legion Primarch. She‘s based on a Orca. She‘s having a good time nearly all the time. This does not guarantee that anyone else is having a good time. Might later turn into a funky warp-mutated space-mermaid.

[whywontyoucomeout]

Pregnant ronin

She was heavily pregnant, and due any day now. She had no husband, no family, no friends to help her. She had only her sword, her wits, and her will. She knew she had to find a safe place to give birth, but where? She had no money, no connections, no allies. She had only her honor, her pride, and her courage.

She came across a small village, nestled in the mountains. It looked peaceful and prosperous, but she sensed something was wrong. She saw fear and suspicion in the eyes of the villagers, and heard whispers of a tyrant lord who ruled over them with an iron fist. She learned that he had imposed heavy taxes, confiscated lands, and conscripted men into his army. He had also taken a liking to the young women of the village, and had claimed them as his concubines.

She felt a surge of anger and pity for the villagers, and decided to stay for a while. She rented a room at the inn, and offered her services as a bodyguard and a sword instructor. She soon gained the respect and admiration of the villagers, who saw her as a hero and a savior. She also caught the eye of the tyrant lord, who heard of her skills and beauty, and decided to make her his next conquest.

He sent his men to the inn, and demanded that she come with them. She refused, and fought them off with her sword. She was outnumbered and outmatched, but she fought with the strength and fury of a mother protecting her child. She killed several of the men, and wounded the rest. She then fled the inn, and headed for the woods.

She knew she had to leave the village, and find another place to hide. She also knew she had to deliver her baby soon, before it was too late. She prayed to the gods for guidance and mercy, and hoped for a miracle.

She found a cave, deep in the forest. It was dark and damp, but it was better than nothing. She made a fire, and prepared herself for the birth. She had no midwife, no medicine, no tools. She had only her breath, her pain, and her faith. She pushed and screamed, and felt the life force leaving her body. She thought she was going to die, but she didn't. She gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and held him in her arms. She felt a wave of joy and relief, and thanked the gods for their blessing.

She looked at her son, and saw his eyes. They were bright and blue, like the sky. She remembered his father, the man who had given her this child. He was a foreigner, a sailor from a distant land. She had met him at a port town, and had fallen in love with him. He had been kind and gentle, and had treated her with respect and dignity. He had also been brave and adventurous, and had taught her many things. He had given her a name, a necklace, and a promise. He had said he would come back for her, and take her with him to his home. He had said he loved her, and she had believed him.

She wondered if he was still alive, and if he would ever find her. She hoped he would, and that they would be together again. She hoped he would love their son, and that he would be proud of him. She hoped he would accept her, and that he would understand her. She hoped for a lot of things, but she knew they were only hopes.

She was a ronin, a masterless samurai, wandering the land in search of a place to belong. She had a son, a precious gift, who gave her a reason to live. She had a sword, a loyal companion, who gave her a way to survive. She had a dream, a distant memory, who gave her a hope to strive.

She was a ronin, and she was a mother. She was a warrior, and she was a lover. She was a woman, and she was a legend.

[misomythus]

They had fun recording this album

It was one of those periods when my chops were impaired, and I wasn't in the right kind of condition to resist Phil's very strong influence on and eventual takeover of the record. There were lots of guns around in the studio and lots of liquor, a somewhat dangerous atmosphere. He had bodyguards who were heavily armed also. He liked guns - I liked guns too but I generally don't carry one, and it's hard to ignore a .45 lying on the console. When I was working with him alone, it was very agreeable, but the more people in the room, the wilder Phil would get. I couldn't help but admire the extravagance of his performance, but at the time couldn't really hold my own."

During a cryptic exchange detailed in Ira Nadel's Cohen biography, Various Positions, Spector pointed a loaded pistol at Cohen's throat, cocked it, and said, "I love you, Leonard." Quietly, Cohen responded, "I hope you love me, Phil."... As Anthony Reynolds reports in his 2010 Cohen biography, the sessions did not even "officially" end:

One day Phil just failed to return to the studio, keeping all the tapes (as he had done with Lennon's masters) and going on to mix them alone. Cohen was aghast. He did not consider his recorded vocals to be anywhere near definitive. As far as he was concerned they were merely "guide" vocals for the benefit of the musicians. He had expected to be able to take time on his singing but with Spector holding the tapes hostage at an unknown location this now seemed impossible, unless he brought his own bunch of heavies to take on Spector's. "I had the option of hiring my own private army and fighting it out with him on Sunset Boulevard or letting it go...I let it go."

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"5 gunmen captured in shootout at Weston residence in Ireland," The Globe and Mail. August 8, 1983. Page 1 & 2. ---- [AL: That time Galen Weston, the father of Galen Weston, Jr., the current head of price-fixing grocery chain Loblaw's in Canada, was almost kidnapped by the Provos.] DUBLIN (Special AP) - Four gunmen were seriously wounded yesterday at the country home of Canadian supermarket tycoon Galen Weston when anti-terrorist police exchanged gunfire with a gang of masked guerrillas. Five men were captured but two escaped.

Police had received a tip on a possible kidnapping or robbery attempt and were lying in wait for the heavily armed gunmen at the secluded lakeside mansion in County Wicklow, about 45 kilometres south of Dublin.

Mr. Weston, 42, multi-millionaire chairman and president of George Weston Ltd. of Toronto, was at Windsor in England, where later in the day he played for the Maple Leafs in a polo match. The family also has a residence south of Windsor at Sunningdale and a home in Toronto.

Police sources said the outlawed Provisional Irish Republican Army was behind the apparent kidnap attempt. No group immediately claimed to have been involved in the shooting.

One of the wounded men was reported to be in critical condition in hospital, and three were described as "serious but stable." The fifth captured man was being interrogated in Dublin.

Last night the BBC said police had been expecting a kidnap attempt for two weeks and planted a decoy car at the estate "to make the gang believe the family was at home."

The terse police release said that "not less than five men" opened fire when surprised by members of the Special Task Force - the elite anti-terrorist squad that routinely provides bodyguards for politicians who returned the fire.

Police said the shootout occurred shortly after 8 a.m., but people camping nearby told reporters they were awakened by the crackle of machine-gun fire at about 4 a.m.

According to a senior officer there was a vicious hail of bullets involving at least 100 shots. The terrorists, wearing coveralls and balaclavas, "were well-prepared, that's for sure," one source said.

Two of the gang staked out the magnificent white mansion from neighboring fields, apparently ready to cover any escape attempt by the occupants, while the rest moved up to the house, the sources said.

In normal circumstances it would have been easy to do so undetected. The house lies at the end of a long tree-lined drive, and there are wooded areas all around the 200-acre estate at Roundwood, an isolated farming community deep in the Wicklow hills.

By the end of the battle the two men in the fields, one of whom may also have been wounded, had dumped their coveralls and balaclavas and fled. Last night police were combing the hills and woods nearby with tracker dogs.

Through his family company Mr. Weston has the controlling interest in one of the biggest supermarkets and clothing chain stores in Ireland, Quinnsworth and Penney's respectively.

Like most rich businessmen living in Irish country houses, he does not advertise his presence in the country. In the past few years scenic County Wicklow has attracted a number of best-selling writers, horsebreeders and trainers, and businessmen, some of whom have received "door knocks" from the IRA threatening reprisals unless they contribute to the "freedom fighters' fund."

In one case a dinner party of distinguished guests was tied up and robbed of money and jewels, the house ransacked for valuables and paintings. Rather than risk vengeance by filing charges or helping police, the guests agreed to say nothing.

It is not, however, usual for members of the Special Task Force, which is usually occupied in anti-terrorist duties on the border with Northern Ireland, to provide a guard for anyone but a politician. In the Weston case "they just got a tip off," one police source said.

The force has been on the alert for possible kidnappings since the October, 1981, abduction of Irish supermarket millionaire Ben Dunne, who was released unharmed after his family paid a ransom of about $1-million.

Mr. Weston is one of nine children of Garfield Weston, who parlayed his father's small baking business in Toronto, founded in 1882, into a multi-national conglomerate that includes the Loblaw supermarket chain and, among other subsidiaries, E. B. Eddy Forest Products Ltd. and William Neil. son Ltd. Galen Weston is a director of Associated British Foods Ltd. and the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce.

His Irish-born wife, Hilary, founded the Ireland Fund of Canada in 1979 to support peace, culture and charity in Ireland and Northern Ireland. The fund makes donations to recognized Irish charities.

The Westons have two children.