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halsteadlover · 23 days ago

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𝐀𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲

*Pics not time credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.

• Requested by anon: Reader x Charles Leclerc where he’s gets a remote control vibrator during his press conference and he’s trying not to to come or moan and he’s hiding it and when he’s done reader teases him and finally makes him cum really hard.

• Warnings: smut, oral sex (m. receiving), explicit language, dirty talk, use of sex toy.

• Word count: 2K.

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+. I hope you like this one, please let me know what you think and comment, like and reblog ❤️ Thank you so much for your support xx

Charles knew from the moment he saw the mischievous smile plastered on your lips that something was wrong. He definitely didn’t believe that your sweet and innocent smile would lead to nothing but trouble.

At first, it had been the usual, your playful teasing while he got ready, brushing up against him, bending over while casually wearing very revealing shorts, whispering things you knew would drive him insane.

It didn’t take much to drive Charles crazy though, he had no self-control whatsoever when it came to you, even the mere flutter of your eyelashes was enough to have him at your mercy.

“What are you trying to do cherie?” He had murmured in your ear as he grabbed you from behind, wrapping his arms around your hips and pressing his body against yours.

You moaned as you felt his erection pressed against your ass and he hissed as you—not innocently at all—rubbed yourself against him.

“What’s the matter, baby, are you needy this morning? Is my princess horny?” He whispered, grinning against your skin as he began to kiss your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“Mmmh yeah, I want you so much,” you replied, in that sultry voice that drove Charles crazy as he cupped his hands on your breast, making you sigh in pleasure. “But I wanted to give you something before you go.”

He was intrigued but reluctantly let you go. He watched you take a small black velvet box from the closet, and he didn’t miss the spark of mischief in your eyes.

“Wear these for me, baby.”

He knew it.

He should’ve known better. Should’ve known you were up to no good. But Charles Leclerc? He always loved a challenge, especially when it came from you, because he knew how it would end.

But now, sitting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the media room, he regretted indulging you, with every fiber of his being.

The vibrating boxers were a menace. An absolute menace.

He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his face neutral while the journalist droned on about tire degradation and race strategies. But he wasn’t listening to a single word, his attention was totally focused on that low, persistent buzz pressed right against his dick, just enough to make his skin prickle, his pulse race.

Charles cleared his throat away from the microphone, fingers twitching where they rested on the table. He threw a glance toward the back of the room and, of course, there you were. Leaning against the wall, looking like an evil but gorgeous goddess.

God, you were breathtaking, and Charles was so horny and frustrated he didn’t know if he wanted to fuck you first or punish you for the torture you were subjecting him to.

You weren’t even paying attention to the questions. No, your eyes were fixed on him, eating him completely. And when you lifted your phone—just slightly—his stomach twisted.

You wouldn’t.

The smirk on your lips said otherwise.

A sudden jolt of vibration surged through him, again, and Charles sucked in a sharp breath, barely disguising it as a cough.

Max, seated beside him, raised an eyebrow. “You good, mate?”

Charles forced a tight smile as he felt his face grew hotter. “Oui. Yes. Uhm… Just—eh, I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine.

Not when you kept pushing the intensity higher, till the point he was afraid of busting a nut there in front of the whole world.

His thighs tensed under the table, and he pressed his heels into the floor, desperate to keep himself composed. His mind spun, not with racing lines or lap times, but with thoughts of your hands, your mouth, and the wicked gleam in your eye when you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

And right now? You definitely had him.

Another wave of pleasure rolled through him, a teasing pulse that had him gripping the mic a little too tightly. The moderator called his name, and it took everything in him to process the question.

“Uh… yes. The car… feels good. A strong package this weekend.”

Of all the words he could’ve chosen.

He glanced at you and saw how you bit your lip to stifle a laugh, and his jaw clenched as he narrowed his eyes at you.

By the time the press conference ended—and it felt like an eternity—he was on his feet in seconds, slipping past the other drivers and heading straight to you, internally praying no one would notice the huge hard on in his pants.

The moment you were alone in the hotel room again, he backed you against the wall, his voice low and rough in your ear as his hands groped your ass. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

You giggled softly, fingers grazing the waistband of his jeans as your nose brushed his, without kissing him. “Actually, yes. But don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it baby, I know you loved it.”

You weren’t wrong. As much as you drove him crazy, he craved every second of it. But in that precise moment he craved you, he wanted you, every inch of you.

“Turn it off.”

“Hmm.” Your nails traced his hipbone, featherlight and taunting, making his skin shiver. “Make me.”

Without another word, he grabbed your throat and slammed his lips on yours, in a deep and pornographic kiss, so messy and passionate it made you literally moan into his mouth. His other hand was in your hair, having you completely at his mercy as he took the soul out of your body.

You returned his voracity, his desire with equal passion, making him almost lose the ground under his feet. His patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped the moment your hands started to wander again, this time caressing his hard dick over his pants.

“On your knees, chérie,” he ordered, voice thick with frustration and desire. “You made this mess. You fix it.”

Your smile was nothing short of victorious as you sank down in front of him, your eyes always fixed on his.

He looked at you with such an adoring expression, almost like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have such a beautiful creature on her knees for him.

It took every ounce of his strength not to come right there and now when your fingers started fumbling with his belt and the buttons of his jeans. The mere image of your face next to his dick was too much, especially when all he had done was imagine the feeling of your warm mouth around him all day.

When his fingers tangled in your hair, Charles thought you were worth all the trouble in the world. He let out a shaky breath, his entire body thrumming with anticipation. He was already so wounded up, so desperate for relief, that the slightest brush of your fingers against him sent a fresh wave of frustration coursing through him.

“Fais quelque chose, chérie…” His voice was rough, strained, filled with barely contained hunger. God, he wanted you so badly, so desperately he felt like he was dying.

You hummed in amusement, dragging your nails along his lower abdomen before finally tugging down his jeans and boxers in one slow, torturous motion. His dick sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip flushed and leaking from the relentless teasing you had subjected him to all day. The sight alone made your mouth water.

“Look at you,” you murmured, wrapping your fingers around him, relishing the way his breath hit the contact. “So worked up for me. Was the press conference hard for you, baby?”

Charles let out a low, almost pained groan. “I’m hating you so much now.”

Your laugh was pure mischief as you leaned forward, trailing your tongue along the underside of his length, slow and teasing, not giving him nearly enough. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, but you pulled back just in time, keeping control and making him curse under his breath.

He lets out another frustrated groan, his hand clenching around your hair. “Arrête tes conneries.”

But you only smiled up at him, your lips brushing over his sensitive tip. Your tongue drew imaginary circles around his tip, tasting and licking away him precum. You whispered, “Make me.”

That was all it took for Charles to snap.

His grip in your hair tightened, and with a deep, guttural moan, he guided you forward, urging you to fully take him into your mouth. The second your warm, wet heat enveloped him, his head slammed back against the wall with a curse.

“Merde… oh, putain, bébé…” His thighs trembled, and his fingers flexed against your scalp as he fought not to thrust too hard, too fast. He wanted to savor it, to punish you by making this last, but you were already setting a devastating pace, your tongue swirling, your lips tightening around him in a way that made him see stars.

Charles had always prided himself on his control. On the track, in his career, even in moments like this, he knew how to hold back, how to prolong the pleasure.

But you? You stripped him of that control effortlessly.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his accent thick, voice rasping as his hips started to move, matching the rhythm of your mouth. “You take me so well, chérie. So perfect…”

You moaned around him in response, and the vibrations sent a shudder through his entire body. His abs tensed, his grip turned bruising, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer, not when your hands kept massaging his balls like he loved it.

Your eyes were fixed on his, on his face twisted with pleasure and the pure sight was an aphrodisiac. You loved seeing him like this, you loved having control over him, you loved driving him so crazy that he didn’t even know how to act anymore.

He threw his head back, the column of his throat so sexy you wanted to lick every inch of it, his jaw defined and clenched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. God, he was breathtaking.

“Baby,” he warned, his breath ragged as he looked at you again. His free hand rested on your cheek, his thumb drawing imaginary circles on your skin, smearing the mascara running down your face even more, a gesture so sweet and in total contrast to the filthy things you were doing. “Yes, fuck, oh yes… Don’t stop. I’m going to come in your mouth and you’re going to swallow every single drop.”

But you had no intention of stopping. If anything, you doubled down, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, letting your fingers stroke what your mouth couldn’t take.

And that was it, he was completely done for.

A deep, wrecked groan tore from Charles’ throat as his entire body tensed, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. He spilled into your mouth with a shuddering gasp, his muscles trembling as you took every last drop, not stopping until he was completely undone.

It took him a moment to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling as the aftershocks of his release still pulsed through him. Slowly, he looked down at you, and the sight nearly undid him all over again—your lips swollen, your eyes dark with satisfaction, your mascara smeared, your tongue darling out to collect the last traces of him.

Charles exhaled sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him as he pulled you up to your feet. “You... Mon Dieu. You’re going to be the death of me.”

You grinned, draping your arms around his shoulders. “But you love it.”

His hands settled on your waist, tugging you flush against him, and despite the exhaustion still tingling in his limbs, he smirked.

“Oh, chérie, you have no idea how much,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with a promise before crashing his lips on yours. “And I’m going to love it so much more now that it’s your turn.”

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soft-kitty-warm--kitty · 18 days ago

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Introduction

Hi everyone!

You can call me bunny<3

Nsft blog! x

I'm 19 °●°

This is a sideblog!!

I'm from Australia, but i live in China.

I'm a softie and I'm new to this, please be gentle with me, I'll cry. I'm a Sub!

Just trying to explore and meet new people ♡

I'm a busy girl, i go to university and tutor students in English all day after that. I get a two hour break everyday that i nap in. I really want to talk to everyone but it's just not possible <3

DMs closed since people cant treat me like a human before they treat me like porn

Tags:

#☆bunny speaks☆: usually fantasies or sexy stuff sometimes rants

#☆bunny speaks to the people☆: answering asks or if I'm trying to get opinions from you guys!

#☆reblogs <3☆: self explanatory

#☆tight pu$$y problems☆: your girly has a tight pussy that I'm trying to stretch out so i can actually fit cock, just a chronicle of posts relating to that xx

#☆bunny girl☆: lewds and photos <3

A friend of mine is helping monitor this sideblog after some mean dm's i received. If i seem a little out of character, he might be responding xx

Thank you for the understanding <333

DNI:

Minors

Ageless profiles

Ped0s

Zionists

Fascists

Anti Trans

Anti Queer

Feeders

Fetishized anorexia

Forced Fem

#☆bunny speaks☆

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cowboydisaster · 2 years ago

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Dark Red

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader word count: 5.6k summary: The Task Force 141 goes out drinking, and you wind up on your stomach in Ghost's bed. If you knew it would only take a few rounds of drinks, you would have gotten drunk with him earlier. (eventual smut, lots of family 141 interactions beforehand) a/n: This is my first COD fic and also the first thing I've written since May, so go easy on me if it's ooc pls xx. If you like this fic please give a follow or a reblog, I'm fixing up my blog and I'll be writing a lot more Simon. beta read by @margowritesthings warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni (smut, fingering, size difference, doggy)

masterlist

Your dress is wrapped tightly around your frame, held up by tiny golden chains that drape over your shoulders. It's dark green, and just barely covers your ass. It's definitely not the tactical gear that you’re used to wearing. You swallow thickly, pulling it down over your thighs as much as possible as you glance over yourself in the mirror. You barely recognize the reflection in front of you. No eye black, no tac-vest or combat boots. Tonight you’re not a soldier, you’re a civilian.

Price had arranged a night out to celebrate the 141’s latest win. He invited the Task Force alongside some allies for drinks at a club of all places, figuring everyone deserved to unwind. You were hesitant at first, but the boys all reassured you it would be just a few drinks.

Once all the little details of your outfit are in place, you give yourself a onceover before pushing open Price’s bathroom door. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price are all leaning over the kitchen counter, speaking quietly about the mission. They smile, oblivious to you as you exit the bathroom, feeling a bit self conscious about the dress Kate insisted you wear. That is until Ghost catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye and quietens. He turns, and you watch his back straighten, hands in the pockets of his jeans as his eyes slowly run up and down your body. Something about that stare… you wonder if Ghost would ever see you the way you see him. It's been years now of you pining after him. You could never tell him. He’s your lieutenant, and besides, you’ve heard what happens to the recruits who make a move on Ghost. Every single one of them was harshly rejected and dropped from the program. You can't compromise your job, especially not for someone who doesn’t want you back.

Ghost stares, and the other three men turn to you in sync. A fierce blush blooms across your face as four pairs of eyes land on you. Ghost is wearing that familiar balaclava, the one he wears out in public or around the base. It hides everything but his eyes, and you stare into their swirling depths for a moment before the eye contact becomes too much. You clear your throat, glancing down over your dress.

“Too much…?” You whisper, questioning your choice of fashion and makeup.

“No…Not too mu–” Ghost is cut off as Soap lunges forward with a smile bigger than Texas and slaps you on the arm.

“Lookin’ good, bonnie lass!” Soap laughs. He looks nice himself. You’ve only seen him in sweats around the base, but tonight all four of your teammates are dressed to the nines.

“Not so bad yourself, Johnny.” You smile, clutching a small purse to your hip.

“We ready then, Cap?” Gaz asks, glancing up from his phone for a moment, “Laswell just got there, said she brought König.”

“Yes.” Price smiles at you, checking his watch, “I've ordered two Ubers. Should both be here.”

You follow them outside, smiling and nodding to Ghost as he holds the door open for you. The Captain and Gaz take the first car while you file into the second with Ghost and Soap. Soap sits in the front, leaving you in the back with Ghost. Your lieutenant is quiet most of the ride over, letting Johnny fill the silence, which he does. But it's hard to focus on Soap talking. You’re hyper aware of the eyes on you and how exposed you are. Your breasts are practically pushed up into your face, and the dress suddenly feels all too tight. You’re used to fighting, not celebrating, not partying. You take a few deep breaths, knowing that once you get a few drinks in your system you’ll feel better.

“You alright?”

Your eyes flick up. It’s Ghost, just barely over a whisper. His eyes are fixated on something out of the window, but he still must have noticed your anxiety. You nod.

“Just nervous.” You admit, “I’m not used to all this.” You whisper, gesturing down to your dress and matching strappy heels, then to the car that is driving you through the nightlife. Ghost smirks under his mask.

“Me neither. Bourbon helps.” He says.

“You drink bourbon?” You ask, glancing over. Soap hasn’t noticed your little conversation and continues to chat up the driver. You hadn’t taken Ghost as a bourbon man, he’s piqued your curiosity.

“I fancy Kentucky.” He remarks. You chuckle.

“Don’t let him know that.” You nod your head in Soap’s direction.

“Never.” Ghost smirks, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Your eyes fixate on the tattoos lining his left arm, just briefly exposed. You force your eyes away, knowing if you stare too long you’ll get caught up in the intricate pattern. The thought of running your fingers over those tattoos lingers in your head, soothing you enough to make the ride.

—

The club is nice. Colored lights stream from the ceiling, a steady thrum of music vibrates lowly through the walls. You take in your surroundings, watching people drink, and dance with one another. It's a bit dark, hard to make out faces. You take note of all the exits while following behind Gaz and Price, both leading you all towards a closed off section of the club. Laswell is already there waiting along with her wife and König. The man must have already had a few drinks because he’s more relaxed than you've ever seen him. König’s eyes immediately land on you, and flutter down to the short cut off of your dress. You gasp as a burly figure pushes past you, separating you from König’s eyes. Ghost. He stands between the two of you and starts unclipping the velvet rope that separates you from the VIP section, much to the bouncer’s frustration. You blush, looking back to König whose eyes are sheepishly staring at the floor. Ghost must have pulled out his famous deadly glare. Your cheeks burn red.

“There you are!” Laswell exclaims, motioning for the bouncer to lift the velvet rope that secures her area. No one seems to have noticed the little interaction between Ghost and König, thankfully.

“VIP?” You chuckle. “Was that some CIA shit?” You ask, passing into the nicer, more secluded area of the club. A couch wraps around the corner wall, a table sitting in front of it.

“Afraid not.” She smiles, wrapping an arm around her wife’s shoulders. You take a seat on the couch, watching as Ghost motions for Price to follow him towards the bar.

“We’ll be back.” He mumbles. Price pats Ghost on the shoulder as you watch them leave.

“So, König?” Soap asks as he sits down, nodding towards the masked man. You take note that a beanie rests atop his head in place of his usual tac helmet.

“Hmm?” König asks, suddenly alert. His eyes dart until they land on Soap.

“How many drinks is it gonna take for you to shed the mask?” The scot asks. König grows quiet, tightly gripping his beer bottle by the neck.

“Nein, I do not–” König begins before Soap jumps up, fist down on the table.

“Nine?!” Soap laughs, “Keep em comin’, Ghost!” Soap hollers towards the bar. König shakes his head profusely.

“No, that is not what I meant.” König tries to clear the situation up, but is drowned out by noise as Gaz and Soap laugh together. Laswell shoots you a knowing glance. You feel for her, being the only woman to watch these children.

��You went with the dress I suggested.” Laswell notes, a proud smile gracing her lips.

“I did.” You remark, blushing, “It's a bit tighter than what I’m used to.” You admit, sitting up straighter as a few from the table look back to you.

“That's the point.” Laswell laughs, shooting you a quick wink.

Before you can ask what she means by that, Ghost and Price return with two trays of shots. Half the shots are a golden, bronze color and the others are crystal clear. You raise an eyebrow as Ghost sits down beside you.

“Get your bourbon?” You ask.

“Had three down at the bar. You’ve got some catching up to do, yeah?”

As everyone plucks shots from the trays, Ghost slides three in front of you with his knuckles. Two bourbons and one of the clear liquor.

“What's this?” You ask, picking up the shot and holding it under your nose. It burns your nostrils, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with a sharp sting.

“Patrón.” Ghost replies with a smirk. Your eyes follow as he grabs a clear shot from the tray with one hand, and pulls his mask up over his lips with the other. You’ve never seen his lips before. He brings the small glass to his lips, and you try to memorize the shape of his them, the jut of his jaw. It's gone in a flash as he downs the shot like it’s water before pulling his balaclava down over his chin.

“Your turn.” He smirks, giant hand pushing the shot glass towards you.

You follow suit, throwing your head back and letting the alcohol slide down your throat. You grimace at its strength, making a sour face.

“Fuckin hell.” You cough.

“You’ve got a bit of catching up to do.” Laswell points out, nodding down the table. You notice as Gaz takes the last shot from the first tray and your eyes boggle.

—

An hour later

Steady music thumps through the building. It feels slow, sensual. Maybe it’s because you’re wasted, but your confidence is through the roof as you make your way across the dance floor. Your eyes are locked onto your group, specifically searching for Ghost. The more alcohol that enters your system, the more you find yourself staring at him, noticing his every movement, every breath. You’d never allow yourself these thoughts while sober– the thought of wanting your Lieutenant is out of the question when your mind is clear, but right now it’s not. Your eyes search for him as you make your way back to the VIP section.

“Lt?” You ask, sliding back onto the velvet sofa.

“Went for a piss.” Soap exclaims.

“Why don’t you go meet him in the bathroom, maybe he could finally bend ya ov–” Johnny starts.

“Soap!” Price cuts him off harshly. Soap only laughs, looking down the table to Gaz and the Captain. You look between the two of them, absolutely oblivious to the jokes that have been passed around the table all night.

“Oh, come on, Captain! He wants her and everyone knows it. We all see that shriveled up, cold, dead heart meltin’ at the sight of this bonnie.” Soap points to you.

“Bloody hell, we bet on it!” Gaz chuckles, adjusting his cap.

“I must admit, I do see it.” König adds in. You squint down the table at him, and he immediately looks away. Price looks down at the boys like he’s schooling children. Your mouth falls open, taking in all the new information.

“Remember that's your lieutenant you’re talking about. Leave his private life alone. You know how Simon is.” Price interjects, stopping the conversation before it gets out of hand. You blush fiercely, taken aback by their words. You don’t even think about what they’ve said, you can’t. Price looks to you apologetically.

“What?” You ask, looking between them. “Ghost?” You double check, making sure that your hearing hasn’t totally left you.

“He’s gone on you, mate.” Gaz adds, tone more serious than you would have expected.

“Christ, just pass me another drink.” You say, extending your hand out as König slides a shot down the table.

—

Thirty minutes later

You can feel his eyes on you. They’re burning through the thin fabric of your dress, where your breasts rest perfectly inside the silk, where the curve of your ass swells just above the hem of the dress. Your cheeks blush, whether from his eyes or the alcohol you’re not sure. Ghost doesn’t even try to hide his gaze, openly staring at you across the floor. His bourbon is held tightly in his hand as he watches you twirl on the dance floor between Soap and König. The lights aren't nearly as bright as your smile, and the night isn’t nearly as dark as the glint in your eyes.

Ghost had watched men approach you on several occasions, and each time Soap shoved them away from you. You hadn’t given any of them the time of day. But Ghost? You’re taunting him, testing his self control to the point that he’s about to break. Every swing of your hips accompanies a purposeful glint in your eyes, a subtle bite of your lip. You’re teasing him, and he can’t take it.

He deserves it. This is payback. He’s been apparently wanting you for months, and everyone in the damn Task Force knew about it but you. You’ve had enough of it. You extend your drink out for Soap to hold, accidentally bumping it against his chest and spilling a bit down his shirt. He takes the glass with furrowed eyebrows, looking down at your tipsy frame.

“Where ya headin’ to?” He yells over the music.

“Have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back, j-just watch my drink.” You stumble over your words, eyes never leaving Ghost’s. Soap nods, taking your cocktail and continuing his conversation with König.

Ghost inhales deeply from across the room, eyes fixated on the taunting little “come hither” motion of your finger. You turn away from him, making your way towards the VIP bathrooms. You walk slow enough that he can follow after you, not that you’re even capable of walking too fast, lest you lose your balance and fall over. You push past a few other people, your heart beating quickly as you go. The music is loud and the lights are low, which you’re grateful for. Hopefully no one notices Ghost trailing behind you. A warm buzz radiates in your chest, pulsing down your bones as the liquor you’ve been downing boosts your confidence and slows your movements.

You push the door open, stepping into the dimly lit bathroom. It’s clean and orderly, perks of the VIP section. Immediately, you walk in front of the oval mirror, checking over your outfit and fixing your hair. You reapply a quick layer of red lipstick, tucking it back into your purse just as you hear the lock click.

Before you can turn around, a solid warmth presses against your back. Ghost. The sink digs into your hip bones as he sandwiches you in, one hand pushing your hair over your shoulder. His skin on yours is more intoxicating than any drinks you've had tonight. He's never touched you, not like this. You giggle, tipsy as ever as he rolls his balaclava over his nose.

"Ghost–" You whine, fingers clenching around the sink as he gently nips at the skin of your neck. He inhales your perfume, exhaling in a deep growl that rumbles through you.

"Simon." He corrects, hands wrapping around your hips. For just a moment, you sober up. He wants you to use his real name?

Your coherent thoughts fall away as he turns you around, hands nearly bruising your waist. He kisses you. It's sloppy and drunk, but it's everything. All the months of wondering, and hoping– he's kissing you. If you'd known it would only take a few rounds of drinks for the courage, you would have gotten drunk with him earlier. Painted fingernails dig into his shoulders as you lean up for more. His tongue delves into your mouth, and you whine. He tastes like his favorite bourbon, smells like expensive cologne– his signature scent that you could recognize anywhere. Eventually, you pull away for the oxygen that he's so easily stolen from you.

"Everyone said…" You take a deep breath, glassy eyes flicking from his scarred lips and chin up to his eyes. He waits for a response, but sees hesitation.

"Hmmm, what did they say, love?"

"They said you wanted me."

"How couldn't I?" Ghost growls.

You yelp as he grabs underneath your thighs and lifts you up onto the sink. His hands are massive, maneuvering you as if he was trained to do so. Your legs wrap around his waist, grinding against the pressure in his jeans.

"Fuckin hell, I've wanted you since you first joined the Task Force." Ghost growls in between kisses and bites to your pulsepoint.

You think back to all that time ago. It seems like ages since you met the cool headed, brooding, terrifying Simon "Ghost" Riley. You remember thinking how easily he could break you. Now?– Oh, how you want him to.

Hearing him say it out loud sends a wave of need straight to your core. Your hands shoot for his black leather belt, but he shakes his head, stopping you before you can unclasp it.

"Not here, love." He shakes his head, gripping your chin to press one slow, sweet kiss to your plump lips. Your eyes slip shut, and you pout as he pulls away from you and slides his balaclava back down over his chin. Disappointment pools over you as you search for an explanation.

"Flat's not far." Is all he says before he grabs your wrist and pulls you off the sink. He unlocks the bathroom door and begins pulling you back towards the crowd. "Here. Order us an Uber, yeah?" Simon asks you, slipping his phone into your free hand.

It's too much for your drunken mind to take in as he leads you through the crowd of people. Colored lights strobe, making it hard for you to make out faces, but eventually you spot your group across the club. Soap is still holding your drink, but now he's looking around. Price and Laswell are with him, eyebrows drawn together in worry.

Remembering your task, you look down to Ghost’s phone. It's already opened up to the app, but messages are coming in and you can't swipe them away quick enough. The light bothers your eyes, and you attempt to read the messages as they flutter across the blurry screen.

Cpt. Price:

-Is y/n with you at the table? We seem to have lost her. Very worried.

You swipe the message away, and quickly order an Uber to Ghost’s saved home address. It's difficult, and you have to squint to make out all the swirling numbers and bright lights. But eventually, even in your state, you manage to get a confirmation code and receipt. An unsaved number pops up, more than one notification at a time lighting up the screen:

-LT, where'd you end up?

-Y/n asked me to hold her drink, disappeared on me.

-OH SHIT

-LT!

-YOU HOUND!

-HAHA! Getting a pump, eh, LT? No worries, lad. I'll tell the Cap what's going on.

Several erotic emojis pop up on the screen and you blush fiercely. Then you giggle. Soap, of course. You shake your head to rid yourself of the idea. The last thing you want is for Soap to blab about this.

Simon pulls you through the exit and into the cold night. The breeze causes a shiver to run up your spine, and your dress helps none. As he leads you towards the road, you check the address once more and slip Simon’s phone back into his blazer pocket.

"I d-didn't know you lived in Manchester." You whisper as he leads you out into the cold night.

"Manny, born and raised.” You can hear Ghost huff through his mask, as if something humors him, “But no one knows where I live." He mutters, leading you down towards the busy street.

No one except for you.

Cars pass by, and scantily clad men and women rush down the sidewalks searching for the same pleasure that you’re seeking. You bite your lip, feeling a bit nervous now that this is actually happening. Simon squeezes your hand.

A steady trickle of rain begins to sprinkle down from the dark night sky, and goosebumps trail down your bare arms and legs. As soon as you tense, Simon is pulling his blazer off.

“Simon, that's not necessary, really–” You begin to protest, but he is already wrapping the expensive jacket around your shoulders.

“Hush.” He warns, and you obey. It's instinct. He’s your lieutenant after all.

You can see the tug of a smirk under his mask, blonde eyelashes fluttering as his brown orbs flick down over your body. You frown lightly, feeling bad that he’s given up his jacket for your sake.

“Don’t worry, love. I'll be taking it all off soon, yeah?”

The alcohol buzzing through your system, making everything fuzzy, only intensifies the burning desire in between your legs. You don’t know how much longer you can wait. If you had it your way, he would have already taken you, bent you over the sink and had his way. The thought alone causes butterflies to fall in your stomach. Cold fingers wrap around Simon’s phone, still resting in the coat you’re now wearing. His recent notifications are all from Soap, and you scroll through them until a new one pops up on the screen.

“Car’s here.” You whisper, half lidded eyes searching until you find the sleek, black Volvo as it pulls against the curb. He takes your hand again, pulling you towards the car.

“Simon, how long is this ride gonna be? I don’t know how much longer I can take this.” You admit, wanting nothing more than to tear your damn dress to shreds and throw yourself at the man beside you. He only huffs, showing a self restraint that you could only dream of.

“Patience.” Is all he says as he opens the car door for you. You step inside the nice car, scooting towards the other side to make room for Simon to sit in the back with you. You see the momentary panic in the driver’s eyes as a 6’4 masked man climbs into his backseat, but Simon only places his hand on your thigh and politely confirms the details with the man.

Simon grips your thigh, the large pads of his fingers leaving imprints on your soft flesh. You shake your ankle, distracting yourself from the desire growing in your abdomen.

“Drive fast, yeah?” Simon mumbles, sliding twenty quid to the driver.

—

The door lock clicks. Simon checks it twice.

His hands are on you in an instant, picking you up by your thighs and pushing you up against the wall. He didn’t turn the lights on, and your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark as Simon’s lips run over your jaw in sloppy kisses. You moan, hands wrapping around his neck and resting on the back of his balaclava.

“Simon, please–” You whine, throwing your head back as he nips your earlobe.

“Just a second, darling.” Ghost growls, holding you against him. He carries you through the dark flat, maneuvering drunkenly down an even darker hall. He approaches a door, and kicks it open like a human battering ram. You’re slowing him down, your lips pressing against him everywhere that they can reach, leaving love bites that he’ll still have in the morning. You kick your heels off before he even sets you down, your hands tearing off the blazer from your limbs. It hits the ground, Simon’s phone buzzing silently in the pocket. He’ll find several missed calls from the boys in the morning. You don’t even want to think about the notifications your phone is receiving. Luckily, you dropped your purse as soon as you entered the front door, so it can be a problem for tomorrow.

Simon gently tosses you down on his king sized bed, and you fall onto the plush black blankets. They’re warm and soft and they smell like him. It’s all too intoxicating. You lean forward and unclasp Simon’s belt buckle as quickly as your intoxicated hands can manage as he pulls his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it. You’re taken aback as you notice a sizable scar on his ribs. It's a messy, deep, pink scar that indents into his otherwise pale skin. Your eyebrows wrinkle, fingertips brushing near the flesh before he snatches your hand away, squeezing it too tight to the point that it hurts.

“Don’t.” Is all he says. It’s a warning, and you blush a deep crimson out of embarrassment.

“Sorry.” You mutter, quietly. Simon brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles.

Ghost leans forward, hand gripping the side of your neck as he kisses you again. His balaclava tickles your nose as you deepen the kiss, leaning more into him. Any embarrassment or awkwardness from your last interaction falls away as he pushes his jeans down over his legs, lips still interlocked with yours. Simon steps out of his jeans and boxers, and your jaw falls slack.

“Simon–” You stutter, eyes fixated on the length between his legs. Your eyes flick back up to his face, seeing the proud smirk he wears, even through the mask.. He simply won’t fit. It’s just not possible– He’s too big.

“I can’t-” You shake your head.

“I’ll be gentle, love.” He reassures, climbing overtop of you on the bed. Nervously, you nod. You trust him. Big hands grab you by the waist and flip you onto your stomach. You whine, clutching the sheets below you. He shushes you, and you gasp as golden beads and zipper teeth fly across the room, bouncing off of the floor and the glass window overlooking the city. A loud tear rings out as Ghost shreds your dress from the seams.

“Fuck, Simon! That was expensive!” You yelp as he pulls the ruined fabric from your body, discarding it on the floor. Laswell’s gonna kill you.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He growls, warm hand running down your bare back. His finger loops under the black lace thong you’re wearing. Simon smirks, “All for me?” He asks, releasing the lace so it smacks back down onto your skin.

“Yes– all for you, only you, Simon.” You mumble, pushing your ass back up in hopes that he’ll touch you.

“That’s my girl.”

You moan at his words, hands moving to your hips to shove the lace down off your legs, but he brushes your hands away, stopping you.

“Leave it on.” Simon rumbles at your back. You nod your head against the pillow, bringing your hands to rest under your head. Ghost pulls your thong string to the side, letting it rest just out of the way.

“Fuckin ‘ell, love.” Simon takes a breath, trying to keep the control that you’re so close to snapping as his fingers trail over your dripping folds.

“Fuck, Simon. Stop teasing.” You beg, hips pushing back against his hand. He chuckles, dipping two fingers into your throbbing cunt.

“O-Oh!” You whine, gripping the sheets as he hooks his thick fingers, hitting every sweet spot inside of you. Simon kisses your back, nudging your legs with his less busy hand so that they’re folded under your stomach and spread apart. He positions you low enough that your stomach touches the bed. He curls his fingers, scissoring them occasionally as you throb and whine for him. He groans at the noises you make, working you open until you’re ready.

“Perfect.” He grumbles, sliding his fingers out of you. You whine in confusion until you feel the tip of his length teasing at your entrance.

“Ready, love?” Ghost asks. You moan, biting your lip and nodding your head.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes. Im ready, just– please Simon, fuck!” You stutter.

Simon slowly pushes in, and you gasp for air as he parts you like the fucking red sea. It hurts a little, and your nose wrinkles as you exhale. Simon notices the hitch in your breath, carefully examining your reaction to make sure you’re comfortable. It only takes a few moments for you to acclimate, and then he feels incredible. His size stretches you, reaching depths you didn't think possible. He hits every sweet spot as he spears into you.

Simon’s chest presses against your back as he pushes into you. His scarred lips lock onto your neck, biting you as he fucks you from behind. He grips the headboard to steady himself, nearly leaving indents in the wood as he thrusts.

It's rough, drunk and sloppy as he drills into you. He starts out at a slow and steady pace, grinding into you rhythmically so as to not hurt you. Your exhales become sharp huffs, swirling together with the puffs of air he exhales next to your ear. If only you could turn around and kiss him again. You crave his lips against yours, satisfying the craving you’ve been ignoring for so long. But you know Simon might not be ready for that level of intimacy yet. You’ve heard stories, connected the dots.

All too soon, you find yourself teetering on the edge from his movements. You gasp and moan under him, whimpering out his name so loudly that you’re sure the entire building can hear. The headboard rocks against the wall with every thrust, loudly slamming and leaving dents in the drywall. Neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to even realize.

Your neck is bruised from Simon’s lips, adding to the pleasure that’s pushing you over the edge. You fight it, but lose as pulsing heat tears through your core. Stars explode in your vision, eyes shut tight enough that they wrinkle.

“F-uck, Simon!” You scream, nails digging into the sheets as your whole body trembles with the weight of your orgasm. Your walls squeeze Simon’s length in time with his thrusts, turning him into a groaning mess.

“Bloody fuckin ‘ell." Simon groans, accent thicker than usual. His warm breath tickles your ear, and you gasp as he bottoms out, hitting your cervix.

“You- You on the pill?” Simon manages to stutter out between deep grunts. He can’t risk pregnancy, can’t be a father. But you feel so fucking good and he can’t bring himself to unbury himself from your perfect, dripping cunt.

“Got the patch– you’re good. Just fucking fill me up, please.” You beg, rocking your hips against him. He nearly curses at your words. You have a foul mouth in bed, something he wouldn’t have guessed. You whimper his name, and that’s all it takes.

Simon grunts deep and guttural, and with one an iron grip on your hips, he fills you up with his spend. You moan, taking it all until you can’t, and it comes dripping out around him before he’s even finished.

“That’s it, fffuck– y/n.” He grunts as the last of his seed spills out.

You press your forehead against the sheets, wincing as he pulls out of you and collapses beside you on the bed. A sheen of sweat lines both your bodies, but as much as you’d like a shower, you’re exhausted. A digital clock rests on the table beside Simon’s bed, and you sit up, squinting to look at it. 0300. Damn.

You look back towards Simon. He’s half sitting up against the headboard, half laying down. You notice the thousand yard stare that he’s putting off, and you gently cup his chin, pulling his gaze towards you.

“You okay?” You ask, rolling up his balaclava with your dainty fingers. You uncover the subtle smile on his lips. You smile in retur, half lidded eyes focusing on the shape of his lips. Your thumb traces over them gently.

“Better now.” He whispers. You press a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet before pulling away.

“Get some sleep, love.” He says, softer than you’ve ever heard his voice. Much to his surprise, you tuck yourself into the crook of his side, wrapping your arms around his torso. Sleep overcomes you almost immediately. He’s too warm, too perfect. It’d be impossible for you to stay awake next to the comforting, human heater that he is.

Simon hesitates. It’s been a long time since anyone has been this close to him. The bourbon gave him confidence enough to bring you home, but this is a very new territory, and not even the alcohol can guide him through this one. Sex is one thing, but intimacy? Emotional vulnerability? Simon burned those handbooks long ago.

“Love?” He asks, awkwardly looking to see if you’re awake. You don’t respond, asleep he confirms. Simon’s not sure what to do. He doesn’t want to move you. Are you comfortable? Is he too close? Too warm?

He sighs, looking down at your arms tightly wound around him. No one’s shown him this type of affection, not ever. He’s not sure how to reciprocate it, but he wants to. One day at a time. Simon pulls the blanket up over your waist, checking twice to make sure that it's covering you. Carefully, he places a hand over your back, feeling your soft skin against his.

He doesn’t sleep at all, opting to stay awake and watch the small rise and fall of your back on his lap. He doesn’t deserve you, he's sure. But you’re here, and that’s something.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #cod mw2

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slasherscream · 9 months ago

Note

could we pretty please have just some general nsfw headcanons of kevin khatchadourian 🥺 i love my toxic lil boyfie xx

small nsfw headcanons under the cut. tw: consensual choking and light degradation

Kevin doesn’t really have sex because he craves sex. What Kevin craves is control over you, and sex is such an easy way to get what he wants. He wants you compliant. He wants you obedient. He wants you dependent.

You argue with him so much less when he shuts you up with his tongue in your mouth. You’re less fussy when he turns off your brain. You don’t have to think when you’re with Kevin, you just have to feel when you’re with him. Doesn’t he make you feel good?

What he most enjoys is fingering you or jerking you off. He likes to be above you when he does it, just watching. His face is a mask of impassivity. No matter how long he moves his hands, how many times you cum and stain his fingers, his face hardly moves.

His eyes are where you can see it. The desire. Desire is such a minuscule emotion for Kevin. He’s experienced it so rarely it hardly registers. And listening to the way other people describe sex. Craving it. Begging for it. Mindless slaves to their passions… Kevin is sure the emotion doesn’t affect him at all.

But his eyes burn when he watches you. Shark like, never faltering, he hardly blinks. He wants to eat you alive. He wants to see your every reaction. He likes to watch the way your hips chase his touch. The shape of your mouth as you beg him to slow down, give you a break, give you less, give you more.

He doesn’t do much talking, but when he does it’s usually scathing. Even his praise has a bite: You always gonna be this pathetic for me? / Look at the mess you’re making on my hand. Don’t you have any self control? / If you cum before I tell you to you’ll regret it.

He likes to wrap his hand around your throat and watch you go breathless. He waits until your eyes roll back in your head and you start going limp before he lets you breathe. There’s something so fascinating about the way you put your life in his hands.

A/N: trying to get more comfortable with nsfw. if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

#kevin khatchadourian imagine #kevin khatchadourian x reader #nsfc #hope you like it !

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lokideservesahug · 11 months ago

Text

Little Miss Ferrari

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Ferrari!Reader

Warnings: Overuse of the nickname Little Miss Ferrari, thirty twitter users, badly translated Italian from google (sorry)

Notes: This won the vote unsurprisingly. However, I am shocked (and very pleased) to see that Mick was the runner up and only lost by a tiny bit. But here you go.

Summary: It's that infamous time of year when Y/N (A.K.A Little Miss Ferrari) visits Imola but what will this year bring?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: Non c'è posto migliore in cui trovarsi che tornare in pista.🇮🇹❤

(No better place to be than back on trackside)

Liked by Scuderiaferrari, Charlesleclerc and 787,543 others

View all 312 comments

User1: Mother is back again

User2: Forza Ferrari Sempre

↳Yourusername: Per sempre❤ (Forever)

User3: Y/N what are your thoughts about Lewis joining Ferrari next year?

↳User4: WHY HADN'T I THOUGHT ABOUT Y/N AND THIS SITUATION

User5: Red really is your colour❤🏎

↳Yourusername: Thank you xx

User6: Anyone notice that all of the Ferrari gang are in the likes except Carlos?

↳User7: Girl stop trying to make something out of nothing🙄 He probably hasn't been on insta today and he isn't legally obligated to like her posts

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Scuderiaferrari

Scuderiaferrari: Our favourite 3 people all in our favourite place this weekend 🇮🇹🤩

Liked by Yourusername, Charlesleclerc, Carlossainz55 and 3,654,087 others

User1: I was going to comment that Charles and Carlos both had their last names on their back and Y/N only had a giant Ferrari ther instead...And thennI remembered.

↳User2: No but like fr. I forget the power she truly has sometimes.

User3: So yall are just ignoring the rumours now?!?!?

↳User4: Rumours!?!??! I thought that was cold, hard evidence.

↳User5: Not proven so maybe just would lukewarm evidence?

User6: Carlos and Y/N in one post just after those photos!?!?!?👀 Admin I see you...

Yourusername: ❤

↳User7: She only commented this because I was actualy in the backround of one of the photos guys

↳User8: Carlos, I found your burner account

↳User9: LMAO

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Carlossainz55

Carlossainz55: Mi vida❤🔥

Liked by Yourusername, Landonorris, Scuderiaferrari and 1,089,654 others

View all 52 comments

Yourusername: Ti amo tanto ❤

(I love you so much)

↳Carlossainz55: Ti amo di più ❤❤

(I love you more)

↳Yourusername: Non possibile

(Not possible)

↳Carlossainz55: Ti amo in ogni lingua. En cada universo. Forever.

(I love you in every language. In every Universe.)

-This creator has limited comments-

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed.

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome.

Taglist:@nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smau

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rainbow-starheart · 5 months ago

Text

Block, Avoid List aka B.A.L update

@Chocosirtartz (proshipper)

@basedhartman (fatphobe and inappropriate hater)

@xx-thefrostweavers-realmxx (narcissist truther, they will and change their username in one way or another, so heads up) update: they gone like their dad for milk

@Angelbabyspice (Self shipper hater and a failed mother)

@KarmaIsMyFriend (narcissist truther)

@Coulsonlive/Momantai (main account) of Dnihallofshame (Dni hater)

@Flowey-The-Lanternflower55 (ComShipper/proshipper)

@asillyauthor (she sends her white knight to harass a minor almost to the point of self harming)

@warmshotamilk (proshipper)

@narcissistic-abuse-blog (their name says it all)

@Skumhuu (Proshipper)

@Kokomoniii (Proshipper)

@nonelethal-au (Proshipper)

@rapemurderandkillallageres (they have a weird hatred on age regressers)

@i-reblog-racists (Karen, don't bother talking to them)

@nullheaven (Albeist)

@zorailys (Proshipper and suicide baiter)

@eric-cartman-my-beloved (proshipper)

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askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

Text

ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ɢᴏᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ: ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ

pairing: dilf!Jake Sully x (f)human/avatar!reader

synopsis: It took a lot of time and advancements, but, with the humans' return to Pandora 8 years ago, and thanks to the constant raids of the Omaticaya, the scientists managed to make you and Spider an Avatar. Unlike him, though, you know nothing about and want nothing to do with it, and when your struggle to adapt becomes too overbearing, Jake decided to take matters into his own hands.

this story will contain an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship, and dark themes (smut, mental health, death, violence, infidelity), so pls read at your own discretion.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, angst, age-gap (23 vs 43), pet names.

wc: 4.5k words

a/n: hi besties, and welcome to my first jake series! i have had this series in my mind for so so long, and it feels good to bring it to life finally. i am excited to get back into writing - i needed a little time to recharge after monster in me, and take a break and actually sleep and live my life hahahaha. anyway, i hope you enjoy this story, i'm so excited to write it and see where it takes me! xx

ps: this story will move perspectives and timelines a lott, so i hope it's not too confusing but pls do let me know if it is and i'll figure something out xx

replies and reblogs are massively appreciated, i loveee to hear from you so much!

na'vi compendium: tanhi - bioluminescent freckles, tsamsiyu - warrior, tawtute - human

series masterlist (x)

I want you to know, I’m a mirrorball I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

It was excruciating, the pain. It was never-ending, never relenting, it was enough to warrant the current position you found yourself in, curled up on your bed, knees brought close to your chest, hands grasping at your worn-down pyjamas, that much like everything else in this room, smelled like him, felt like him, was imbued with his presence and the memories he’s left that you’d never be able to forgive or forsake. Glossed-over eyes moved slowly through your room, at all the little trinkets you now had that you didn’t just a few months, all of them sharp and painful as they felt like they were digging painfully in you, leaving cuts and bruises in your already broken heart. Eventually, your gaze settled on a feather you were given the first day in your Avatar body, and it was an appropriate place to stop, as this was when it all began - this whole mess, that you were still debating whether it was worth it, worth all this, but which, at the time, was a pure and innocent new start, in a new body, in a new life.

I'll get you out on the floor Shimmering beautiful And when I break it's in a million pieces

“Come on, honey, it’s late already. You know life in the village starts early.”

The dragging of your feet did very little to make you appear more enthusiastic than you were feeling currently, and Norm sighed as he took it your deflated predisposition. It should be a happy time. You knew that. How many people can say that got a new chance, at a new life, on this planet that felt weirdly in between a home and a prison? A new chance to belong - the first one, actually. A chance to thrive and to experience this world the way it was meant to be experienced, the way that the natives experienced it. And yet, a few weeks in, you still felt like a complete stranger in a body you couldn’t recognise, in a culture that has never been your own, in a village that has never accepted you, that never ceased to look at you and see through you, right to the flimsy core of insecurities and self-doubts that plagued you constantly, that followed you everywhere you went, like a shadow in a dimly-lit room.

You looked across the room where the other neuro-link pod was being prepped, and next to it stood the only other young, human, adult on Pandora - your brother for all intents and purposes, the boy who you loved always, but hated in the moment, as you watched his lively and animated body language, practically beaming with anticipation. Spider, unlike you, settled in his new taller, bluer, shinier body almost immediately - a born acrobat, a made warrior, even before the Avatars were complete. He had no such compulsions, no shame or guilt, no embarrassment or anxiety, no feelings of inadequacy or imposter syndrome, just a pure, unadulterated joie de vivre and unquenchable fear of missing out. He got everything he’s ever wanted with that Avatar, and unlike you, he didn’t seem willing to squander the opportunity. You knew you should be more like him, and you were trying. The effort just wasn’t enough to overthrow the paralysing fear you felt every time you stepped foot in that village. You wondered if it ever will.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, doing your very best to ignore the racket coming from just a few pods over, you allowed Norm to close the lid on top of your caged body, doing your very best to clear your head of the screaming voice that got louder by the second, the harder you tried. You’ll never make it. You will never be one of the people.

Hush When no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

Life in the village did indeed start early, and while you walked away from Hell’s Gate and through the thick forest that surrounded you, you could already hear faint sounds coming from the general direction of the Omaticaya settlement, a dead giveaway people were preparing for what the day would inevitably bring, from training in the healing practices of the Tsa’hik or the warrior skills of the tsamsiyu, it was the relentless will to improve and contribute to the overall wellness of each other and their planet that fuelled Na’vi every day.

Soon enough, the carefully crafted tents came into view, each one unique to the owner, with pieces of bone or hides that gave it a personal, intimate appeal, and it was easy enough, once you knew the people, to be able to tell who each tent belonged to. You smiled as your eyes fixed on one tent in particular, small and understated, despite who it was inhabiting it - Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, never found any use for unnecessary embellishments, be it on his person or any of his belongings, always preferring to keep the showing off to the actual battle or training, his impressive skill set and his ability to thrive in every challenge his brightest adornment. When he came out of it, like he could sense you were near, your smile widened taking him in, in all his tall, blue, muscular beauty. He was a handsome young man, the perfect mix between Neytiri and… him. He used to look more like his mother when he was younger, but now, all of 23 years old, he was more and more Jake with each passing day, and the thought both intrigued and scared you, almost in equal parts.

It intrigued you because, well… because there was something special about Jake, there always has been. Not just because he was the first and only human to do the consciousness transfer, to be accepted into the clan, to become one of the people, or that he was Toruk Makto, one of only 6 to have ever existed; not because he was Olo’eyktan, and a revered warrior and leader… but because he was him. He was kind and patient, he was sweet and caring, he was funny and fun… he was everything.

On the other hand, it was for the exact same reasons that Neteyam’s resemblance to his dad scared you. Because every time you looked at him, you saw Jake, and the feelings you harboured for him since you were old enough to pay attention, that dwindled in time, were mingled with the deep familial affection you felt for Neteyam, who has been your best friend since you were old enough to... well, have memories. You didn’t want your relationship with him to be marred by feelings you couldn’t, wouldn’t ever feel for him, you didn’t want your history erased by the possibility of more, not when it would be wrong - not when, at your core, you would just settle for him because you couldn’t get the person you really wanted.

“Oi! A little late for the mighty warrior to be coming out of his tent, isn’t it?”

Neteyam snickered as he noticed you and Spider approaching, and shook his hand in Spider’s direction.

“Why is she this mean only to me?”

Spider shrugged and patted Neteyam on the shoulder simpathetically.

“Girls, man… Am I right? Anyway, going to find Lo’ak and Kiri. See you guys on the training grounds.”

Hush I know they said the end is near But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

As Spider took his leave, almost skipping to the Tsa’hik’s tent, where he knew Kiri would be, you started walking quietly, anxiety rising in your chest with each step taken towards the grounds, where you’d once again, as you have for the past few weeks, prove to yourself and everyone around you that you weren’t made for this - the fighting, the battles, the wielding of death machines, be it a gun or a bow, none of it was yours to take, yours to concur. You were made for the labs, for the quiet, analytical lifestyle. You were made for wielding a guitar, and playing it until the strings broke, you were made for daydreams and illusions and fantasies you could only fathom yourself part of, for a happier, easier world that would allow you to be all of those things without incursions. Alas, the world was not what you envisioned for yourself when you were younger, and with this great opportunity, came sacrifices you hoped time would lessen and sweeten, and turn them into blessings in disguise.

“Are you ready for today?”

“Does that make a difference?”

Neteyam’s sigh was answer enough for you. He tried to help, he really did. He went above and beyond for you and you were grateful. He was a patient teacher and a great friend, and his determination, as always, came at a cost, the cost of another burden he had to carry, another person he had to parent and take care of, and while it was not lost on you, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“You’re going to be okay. You just have to give yourself time to grow. You can’t compare yourself with Spider, who’s been in the village with us his whole life. It’s going to take you time and effort, but you can do this, Tawte. And I’ll be here, at every step, ready to catch you if you fall.”

You smiled a little, slightly distracted, as you always were, by his sweet nickname, and your thoughts flowed gently at the memories that stirred in you whenever he said it, at the way the first word he ever uttered as a babe was a slurred version of a word he heard all the time from his mother: tawtute... human. From her mouth, it was laced with poison and disdain, but not from Neteyam's, who loved you, ever since you were young, who accepted you for who you were. Tawte was a gentle reminder of how far you've come, and how the familial love between the two of you hasn't faltered through time, but only blossomed and deepened, much to your eternal gratitude.

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me

Your eyes, hidden behind a sea of glossy tears settled on the next item, the broken tip of an arrow, that you kept since that day, when you somehow did so poorly in bow practice, you managed to break an incredibly sturdy arrow, much to Spider and Lo'ak's amusement, and much to your deep dismay. You thought how about your feelings of inadequacy were exacerbated by the Olo'eyktan's watchful eyes, who observed you intently the whole time, and how that inadvertently set everyone's gaze on you. So many eyes - watching, judging...fearful; so many words - whispered and snickered, and it hurt. It all hurt. But then... he changed everything, not just in that moment, so far removed from you now, but for the rest of your life, with just a few simple words.

“What?” the shock couldn't be shaken off your face, no matter how hard you tried. You knew you needed to get a grip of your emotions, but that was always easier said than done for a girl who was aptly described her whole life as "wearing her heart on her sleeve".

“Ouch, kid. You’re hurting my feelings. I would have liked to think anyone would be honoured to be personally trained by the Olo’eyktan, but I think I’ve been humbled.”

“No, Jake… of-of course I am, I just think… your efforts are better spent on someone else, someone… who’s worthy of it.”

It was minuscule, the change, but it was there - his eyes, his smile had an edge to them, that wasn't there before. He wasn't happy with your words, and yet, he remained calm and maintained the easy, outgoing, friendly nature of his tone.

“How about you let me decide what my efforts are better spent on, kid?”

That was enough to shut you up, but when he noticed the purple tinge in your cheeks, and the way your gaze dropped in shame, his expression softened. He brought a hand to your face, his thumb grazing your chin so that you'd look up at him, and you hoped the shudder that tried you went unnoticed to him, and to the rest of the clan.

“Here’s the deal. I think part of the reason you are having such a hard time is because you’re here, in this village you’ve never truly been a part of, with so many watchful eyes on you. You feel the pressure of performing well in front of the people, in front of my kids… in front of Spider. You shouldn’t have to do that. So, my solution is simple: you and I go for a few days’ hunt. I will teach you the basics, like I learnt when I first joined the Omaticaya. This way you get to relax a little, get to remove yourself from this place for a while and enjoy the beauty of Pandora, and who knows, kid? Maybe you'll find it's easier to be a part of us than you ever could have imagined. What do you say, mm?"

I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try

How could you have said no to such an offer? Even now, with all this hindsight, standing on the edge of a cliff with so much room beneath you to fall, with one foot on the ledge and the other on a banana fruit peel, able to look at the situation from a vantage point you only got with all the months of history you've amassed, even now... you still would say yes. Because no matter the pain and the hurt that now seeped into you like rain through the cracks in the withered, dry ground, soaking into every facet of it... just like the rain, his presence and memory also gave you life, a purpose, a way to go on. And you wouldn't give that up, not while there was still breath in your lungs.

So you said yes. And you left, that same day, on the back on his beautiful ikran, for a long ride that would take you somewhere deep in lands you've never experienced before, away from whispers and prying eyes, away from the doubt and the fear. As you were flying far above the world you've known and loved your whole life, that scared you your whole life, you couldn't help but think of what Jake was doing, and feel grateful for it. You thought about how it only consolidated the way you've always viewed him, as a great warrior, a great father, a great mentor... a great man. You thought about your crush, and how it embarrassed you as a teenager, and how you couldn't look him in the eye whenever he came to the lab and asked you a question, how you couldn't be around him without thinking you're gonna catch fire. That was long ago.

It passed, you thought. The crush, slightly weird and completely unattainable, passed through time. Yet here you stood, bare back, yet another foreign feeling you were trying to get used to, flush against his muscular chest, his palm protectively wrapped around your abdomen, and somehow, you forgot to take in the beauty of this world you’ve never seen from such a high vantage point, forgot to enjoy the fact you were literally flying, the air flowing through your luscious, thick hair… you forgot to breathe.

“You okay there, kid? Tell me if this is overwhelming, we can take a break.”

“N-no. I’m alright…Thank you.”

“Good girl.”

I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me

Jake struggled to rationalise how things could have ever ended up this way. How did this happen? A few short months ago, it seemed, his life was... normal, or as normal as life could be in the middle of an ongoing territorial war with a species that was once his own, that he now disowned, that he now despised most days. Still. Normal. The same way it had been since he arrived on Pandora, since he mated with Neytiri, since he had one kid, and then another, and another...

He's known you since you were born. He took pity on you, much like he did Spider, for the cruelness of the Universe, for whatever it took for you to be born on this planet he loved, but knew was inhospitable to those who weren't made for it. Aliens. That was about the extent of your similarities to Spider, though. Unlike him, you were sweet, docile, quiet. You never came out to the village, and the few times you did, you just stood in a corner, on some tree stump, clinging to Neteyam like a little lost puppy.

How did it end up this way? It was wrong, it was all wrong. He knew it in his heart he had to stop, and he's been trying... so hard, it was all so hard. In these months, despite his mind telling him otherwise, urging him to consider all he stood to lose, he still ended up putting his life, everything he's built up on the line for you, doing things that frightened him, ashamed him, embarrassed him, but that he couldn't stop doing because it was you. And you were everything, and the way you made him feel was everything. And it all started that night.

The training was not necessarily any less painful than it had been, but he was right - it was easier. He was a good teacher, you told him. You say you understood now where Neteyam got it from, his penchant for imparting wisdom in a calm, collected and patient manner. He went through all the basics, and after a good few hours, he felt like you were almost... relaxed. By eclipse, you were hunched over food that he was preparing over fire, while practicing your Na'vi - the only thing you felt comfortable enough to call yourself good in, and for the first time since you got your Avatar, you looked... happy. You needed this and he knew it. You didn't even know it for yourself, but he knew. And thinking about it, and him, made you blurt out a secret you held in your soul for years and years, before your mind had enough time to talk you out of it.

“I used to have a crush on you, you know?” You chuckled a little, and Jake was fascinated by the sound, which sounded less like a laugh and more like bells chiming in the wind, and by the purple tinge of your cheeks as you confessed something that he couldn’t believe his ears, that were now pushed back flat in shock.

“You used to have a crush on me?”

His tone amused you even further, it seemed, because you brought a hand to your mouth to stifle the sound Jake felt a sudden desire to continue hearing for the rest of his life.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know, kid, just… never thought out of everyone in this village, and the labs, people your own age, including my kids and Spider, you’d ever have a crush on an old man like me.” He chuckles his own rugged, awkward laugh and looks over at you, the way he couldn’t stop himself doing, it seemed, to gauge for a reaction that he didn’t know whether he wanted to see.

“I think that was part of the charm, actually.” As you catch yourself talking, you stop and turn, the tinge in your cheeks no longer a tinge but a splash of violent colour as you pat yourself aggressively with both hands, to release some of the heat that pooled unwelcome in your face. “I… I really should not… say things.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused and intrigued at the new development. “So you like ‘em older, huh, kid? Always the shy and quiet ones, ain’t that so?”

You retreat further in yourself at the way he just called you out, unconsciously making yourself smaller by bringing your knees in and wrapping your arms around them, your face buried in between your legs in embarrassment and you let out a small groan. You couldn’t believe this was happening to you. First time in your life you were fully alone with this great man, this man that is a legend, that will have history books written about him even back on Earth, this man that knew so much and achieved enough to last lifetimes and instead of learning from him, instead of doing what you came here to do to begin with, here you are, running your mouth faster than your brain could catch up, making sure you would never be able to look him in the eyes ever again.

“Are you still playing that guitar of yours? You used to drive Neytiri crazy with that thing when you were young.”

“Yeah, I still play, just, I keep it to the rec centre mostly.”

“Why?”

“I just... don’t want to bother anyone.”

You sounded sad, too sad. He saw your eyes swimming with tears and he cringed at the way he was unable to make you feel fully comfortable around him. This shouldn't be this hard.

“Ah, kid… you can play in the village. The Omaticaya love music, they’re called the Flute Clan for cryin’ out loud. They just need time.”

“It’s been 23 years.”

Jake didn’t push anymore, not when you were right. It’s been a long enough time, but some things… some things don’t get better with time. Jake’s always hated that stupid old saying anyway.

“Y’know… I play a little guitar, too.” He scoffs a little as he thinks more about it. “Well, used to play. Probably not any good anymore, but at some point, I used to be.”

Your eyes shoot to him and the glimmer in them makes Jake’s mind come to a standstill - they were so beautiful. You were so beautiful.

“Really? That’s amazing!” And just like that, your previous outburst was swiftly forsaken and forgotten, the new piece of information far too exciting for you to dwell on anything else. “How come I’ve never heard you? You should play for us sometime.”

Jake smiled a sorrowful smile that stopped short of reaching his eyes. “Just… haven’t had the chance.”

There were a lot of reasons Jake hasn’t done so many of the things that used to bring him joy when he was human. But ya win some, ya lose some, that was always his philosophy for life anyway. He had so much to be grateful for in this life, so much more than he ever thought possible for a grunt like him. The Universe has been more than generous in compensating him for a lifetime of resentment and regrets, and so if he had to give certain things up, that he did so without thinking twice about it.

“So how did you learn?”

“My old man taught me, probably the only thing he ever taught me, unless you count how to run a backdoor draw while high off your ass.” Jake lets out a humourless laugh, enjoying the look of confusion plastered all over your face, and the way your tanhì seemed to shine brighter when you ruminated over something in your head. Your nose crinkles a little, as his words register fully in your ears and they twitch, and the humourless laugh quickly evolves in a warm, inward smile.

You were beautiful, he ends up acknowledging yet again, taking in all the mannerisms that somehow escaped him all these years.

“A what?”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“Did you not… get along with your dad?”

Jake finds himself, for the first time in years, too many years, thinking about his dad and his life as a young kid back on Earth, and all the shitty memories that came along with that thought, memories he’s tried to repress most of his life. He catches yet another sigh before it escapes him, a habit he’s seemed to have quickly picked up in your presence, as you asked questions most people never did, questions he didn’t want to answer, questions he wanted nothing more than to be asked.

“My dad was a mean ol’ dog, who liked women and booze more than he ever liked Tommy or me. I could never find it in me to care when he died.” That was morbid, he recognises, but it needed to be said. Something about you just makes him want to just… confess things he shouldn’t be feeling, and shouldn’t be saying out loud, and yet here he was, heart thumping and palms sweating almost nervously, and the word vomit didn’t seem like it was anywhere close to over.

“He made mean sloppy joes, though. And he played the guitar like he was born with a six-string in his hands.” There were some good memories. The memory of his dad teaching young squirt Jake Future Days, his old, cigarette-imbued hoarse voice singing the lyrics that still had the power to bring tears to his eyes… that was one of the good ones.

You smiled as he spoke, a warm, inviting smile, that made the breath catch in his lungs and begged him to spill all the secrets that he tried so hard to bury deep inside, and he feels his stomach drop when he realises the feelings you invoked in him, for the first time in his life, were no longer ones he could justify or explain, but ones that demanded to be felt.

The silence was heavy and awkward after that, or so he thought, and he watched you as you ruminated over his words, as you nibbled at the fish he managed to catch while teaching you the basics of fishing. He shouldn't have said it, any of it. What the hell does he think he's doing, going around confessing the depths of his somewhat bitter soul to a kid who knew nothing about life, and who shouldn't have to carry his burdens to begin with. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe being alone with you... was a mistake.

"You should go to sleep, kid. There's a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and the sooner we're done, the sooner your life can go back to normal."

You nodded gently and obliged.

“I think you’re lying.” You say, as you turn your back to him, closing your eyes and preparing yourself to return to your human body, as soon as sleep would find you. “I think you cared. I think you still care. And it’s ok to care. Sometimes… people are horrible and they suck… and we love them anyway. And I think that’s what makes humans special… and good.”

Jake was too stunned to be able to say anything else, as he stared mouth-agape at your back.

“Sleep well, Jake.”

Maybe he did lie. Maybe life will never go back to normal again and the thought... the thought terrified him.

Because I'm a mirrorball I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself Tonight

taglist: @yagirlheree @mashiromochi @deepdarktower @tojisleftarm @childofgod-05 @youngpersonaathletebear @cinetrix @hinataashoyos @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @misscaller06 @v1l-ismissing @legendarynoodlebowl @analuw @imjustcal @the-fractured-eye @pandoraontop @sweetirilly @kouyoumarryme @blxkstar @ok-boke @myheartfollower

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mishellii · 3 months ago

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anxiety .ᐟ.ᐟ

requested by: @mybusinessco

🎵thinking 2 much - jeremy zucker

including: nanami, gojo (early relationship / talking stage) megumi & yuuji (relationship)

warnings: mental health talk, self indulgent ??, .

likes & reblogs appreciated <3

masterlist

a/n: i hope this is somewhat like what u requested and i didn't disappoint too much ,,, i only like gumi and yuuji's tbh cuz i had a hard time putting those feelings into text messages? and couldn't figure something out for suguru, im sorry. (so hard to properly characterise for me, sadly) ,,,, anywayyys i'll see u beans next time uuhbye bye xx

divider by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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o2studies · 7 months ago

Text

GUYSSSS!!!!

The Sci Journal has been published!!!

Find it by searching: thescijournal.weebly.com unfortunately you do have to type out the whole thing rn, goggle doesn't show it with just 'thescijournal' quite yet

About the website:

"What quickly grew to become a small community project, The Sci Journal is a place where students of any kind come together to share their interests and grow their love for research.

Once a month we will produce article entries aimed to inspire and educate based on a variety of science-related subjects such as astronomy, medicine, programming, and many more."

Our first article has been written by @becloudedsagacity about the immortal jellyfish and it is so so interesting!! (this is not just self promo— I geniuenly find it super interesting!)

I'm so so happy and proud and excited and omgggggg! Can't belive this has happened!!

I have been so blessed with your expression of interest and those that have helped with its creation or tools for it ❤️❤️ I would really appreciate if you could check out the website, see if its something you might be interested in (for either reading or also contributing to), and if you could reblog this to reach more people 💕

Our current (& amazing) team: @jasmine_008 @chefeader @breathing-soil @uncontrolledfission @qnamvnin @elu-xx @thecollapsingneutron @pharmagene @me-be-bubbles @myseniorliving @larstudy @chaotic-but-cute @becloudedsagacity @paramnesia9 @juneability @theamazinglilskate @sparklingstarr-tv @chaiandcuriosity @mikachem @scaryaxolotl @usuallyobsessedtumblr @nenelonomh @hyacinth-dancing-in-rain @nyxscave @studyobsessedgirlie

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freak-accident419 · 9 months ago

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playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | More parts coming soon

Summary: You and Derek prepare for the party. When the night finally came, it was up to the two of you to impress his mother.

Word Count: 4.3k

Content: gender neutral reader, swearing, shopping yay, Derek’s mommy issues, dancing hrngggg, fun banter

Ao3 Link

(A/n: thank you to everyone’s support! I wouldn’t have been able to do this fic without you all! Please comment if you want to be added to the tag list!! Reblogs, likes, comments, and kudos on Ao3 are highly appreciated! Love you all xx)

“Okay, so…” You began, gently chewing on the pen in your hand. “What is our stance on six months?”

“Too long, don’t you think?” Derek replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Hm. Yeah, maybe.”

The next day, you and Derek rejoined at your penthouse, lounging in your bedroom with index cards in your grasp. Together, you were coming up with your ‘backstory’ to make sure that the two of you were on the right page, especially if you were ever met with specific questions regarding your newfound relationship.

“How about just three months?” You finally suggested, looking up from the index cards to glance at Derek.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he shrugs casually, granting you to write it down.

You quickly scribbled on the notecard, littering the blank space with sloppy, black ink. “Alright, quick rundown,” you say abruptly, covering the thin stack of index cards with your hand. “Go.”

“Okay, uh… Three months ago, on the morning after a huge rager, I got a, um, really bad hangover, as one does. And you, being the best friend you were, took care of me and lectured me about my consequences or some kind of… self-righteous bullshit like that,” he recalled, trying to remember what the two had went over just now. “Uhhh… Soon after, you confessed your feelings for me, I told you they were reciprocated, and now we’re, like, fuckin’ dating or whatever.”

You raise an eyebrow with a slight grin. “Wow, that is actually completely correct. What are you, fuckin’ sober?” you chuckle softly, admittedly impressed with him. You flipped over and went through some of the other index cards until you stopped to stare at a specific one. “First date?” you challenge, looking back up at him.

You watched Derek’s expression turn into deep contemplation, noting how his eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty. “It was, uh… fuck. It was… We… Wine tasting. Yeah. The wine tasting at, uh—”

“No, we actually scrapped that one, remember?” You remarked, shaking your head. “Your mom would never believe that, like, you’re way too immature for that shit—hell, I’m way too immature for that shit.”

“Right,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck… Fuck. It was, uhh,” he snapped his fingers suddenly, conveying a triumphant epiphany, “Dinner! It was fuckin’ dinner, down at the, uh… the Mistral. That one restaurant on Columbus Avenue.”

You scoff lightly with a satisfied grin on your face. “Damn, you are a thousand percent correct again! Bonus points for remembering the place too.” You stacked the notecards neatly on the table. “Alright, and so everything from there on is just unscripted, plain bullshit, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding his head. “Okay, yeah. And—fuck—if anyone, like, asks either of us a question and we have to make up random shit on the spot, we have to update the other about it immediately, okay?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, that’s what the index cards are for,” you remark, lifting up the small stack to his view.

“You know, I don’t—I don’t understand, why can’t we just use, like, the fuckin’ Notes app or something?” he scoffs, raising an eyebrow.

“Science says you can memorize things more easily if you write them down,” you shrug with a slight pout.

He rolled his eyes and decided to dismiss it. “Okay, right, uhhh—Hey, what are you going to wear for the party?”

“Oh right, um, here,” you say, walking towards your closet and opening it up. You grabbed the outfit by the hanger, which was covered entirely by plastic after a luxurious dry cleaning, displaying it to Derek. “I was, uh, thinking of this.”

Derek’s expression, however, dropped. “What the hell is that?” He asked bluntly, looking at it with resentment.

“What’s—What’s what?” You ask with a baffled expression.

“You’re seriously not thinking of wearing that,” he huffs, glaring at you in disbelief.

“What—What’s wrong with it, I spent, like, a thousand dollars on it!” You exclaim, taking another glimpse of the clothing in your hand.

“That’s the thing, it’s not enough,” he grumbles, wiping downwards at his face with his palm.

You scoffed in utter confusion. “What?”

“Look, if we’ve been dating for three months, I would’ve already bought you a goddamn plethora of expensive shit. You need to wear something that’s at least, like, five to ten thousand bucks.”

“Seriously? Are you fucking serious?” You scoffed in frustration. “Look, no one’s—No one’s gonna even notice the fucking difference, y—”

“My mom might!” He interjects firmly. “Look, if we want to create the illusion that you and I are dating, we really have to fucking sell it, okay? I wouldn’t date someone who wears shit like… like that,” he gestures bitterly at the attire.

“You know what, fuck you! Are we seriously—?” You groaned, pinching your eyebrows together. “Derek. You literally fuckin’ dress like you’re in a goddamn midlife crisis and you’re not even close to pushing forty! Like, are you colorblind, what—what even is that?” You point towards his outfit, which was the revoltingly mix-matched clothing combo that somehow costed significantly more than your own damn paycheck.

Derek gaped in surprise at your insults as you proceeded on with your rant. “Well, news flash, fuckwad! Your mom also knows me very well, and she knows that I wouldn’t date a fuckin’ clown like you! So how about we both make a deal to improve our own clothing choices? What are—What are you even planning to wear to the party?”

“The uh…” Derek scratched at the back of his neck briefly, raising an eyebrow. “That one sage green suit of mine,” he replied stiffly.

“Hell no.”

“What—”

“Hell no! Are you serious? No!” You exclaim with a dark chuckle.

“Wh—” His face was quite priceless.

“No.”

“Fuck…” he sighs. “Fuck, fine.” Derek eyes your disapproving expression. “Fine. I’ll call the fuckin’ chauffeur and have him take us to Copley.”

***

Later on, the two of you arrived at the Copley Place, the posh Boston shopping center that you would frequently visit for most of your apparel. You were rich, indubitably, but not nearly as rich as Derek, of course. Before, you’ve made your money through several technician occupations in the form of job hopping, and it wasn’t until Derek took over Danforth Enterprises that he hooked you up with a seemingly long-term and high-paying job there. You’d been friends with him ever since your college years, after all. He wasn’t at all hesitant to help out his best friend. He was quite the selfish, greedy man, but he had his moments. Especially with you.

“This one,” Derek says, gesturing to an outfit that he found for you.

“Ew, no,” you grimace, nearly scowling at the sight of it. “It looks fuckin’ stupid.”

“What do you mean, it looks—? It looks great,” he retorted with a baffled expression.

“Well, of course you would say that,” you interject, “your fashion sense is fucking horrendous, it’s like you don’t even have one to begin with.”

Derek groaned impatiently at your tireless insults. “Jesus fuck.”

“You just need a reality check! That’s all I’m saying, dude,” you huff, proceeding to walk around further into the store. Suddenly, your eyes caught sight of a rather pleasing outfit, slightly rushing towards it. “Okay, how about this? I think it looks fine.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t look so against it. “How much is it?” He asked, eyeing it curiously.

“Uhh… Around six thousand,” you shrug after you had glanced at the label.

“Alright, good. Okay. Yeah, we’ll get it,” he nods in compliance. Finally, god damn.

“Will I get to keep it?” You ask with playful curiosity.

“Uh, if the night goes well, then sure,” he replied, “but if not, I’m returning it.”

You pouted.

Soon enough, the two of you were fishing for clothes for Derek, walking into each and every designer store at the Copley. He was excruciatingly picky and difficult to work with, but then again, it was nothing you weren’t used to.

You eye an elegant three-piece suit, the blackout appearance grabbing your attention. “I like this one,” you hum softly, “It’s all black—simple, classy, it looks nice.”

Derek examined the suit in front of him, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… It’s not really… me, though, is it?”

“Yeah, well… Isn’t that the whole point, though? Being the complete opposite of yourself, a changed person? Yeah, we don’t want you to be you tomorrow night,” you scoffed with a slight chuckle. “I think you should get it. And maybe, you’ll actually look very nice for once.”

“Y/n—”

“C’mon, dude. Isn’t the whole point of this is to impress your mom?” You point out.

“Well, yeah,” he grumbles, scratching lightly at his cheek.

“Then buy the suit, man! None of that fuckin’… crypto bro nonsense that makes her shit her pants,” you urge, chuckling softly.

Derek looks at you with a now serious and inquisitive expression. “Do you really think it’ll impress her?”

You cross your arms, looking at the suit once again. “She would cry tears of fuckin’ joy, man.”

He turned his head and looked at you, genuinely surprised at your answer. “You serious?”

You nodded with a cheeky grin. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Okay, fuck it… I’ll take it.”

***

The next day came by very fast. In the afternoon, you and Derek ‘rehearsed’ a couple of things, ensuring that the two of you were all set for this ridiculous stunt. Then you both went back to your homes to get ready for the party. It was a genuinely classy and elegant event, so you figured you would actually put effort in looking nice and presentable. Plus, you were attending the party in $6,000 clothing that Derek bought for you. You wanted to do it justice.

Later that evening, the two of you would regroup at Derek’s mansion. You met up with him outside of his estate by a black limo. And you found Derek’s expression to be quite curious once he practically gazed upon you; his eyes were wide and his lips were parted slightly in awe.

“Holy shit,” he scoffed amusedly, crossing his arms, “you actually clean up well.” He was shocked, to say the very least. He’s never seen you dress up like this, considering he’s only ever seen you in your casual, day-to-day outfits.

Ultimately, his reaction surprised you, making you pleasantly stunned. “Yeah? I could say the same thing about yourself. It’s nice to see you not wear a fuckin’ eye-straining suit for once,” you chuckle brashly, getting Derek to roll his eyes.

“Yeah?” He went inside of the car through the backseat doors as you followed promptly. “Well, don’t get used to it. I just have to pull off this stunt for one night and once my mom realizes I’m not that much of a reckless asshole, everything will be back to the way it was.”

You groaned with a slight, teasing smile on your face. “God, just at least let me enjoy this while it lasts.”

“You know—I don’t—I don’t fuckin’ get why you’re always being such a fucking hater!” He nearly laughs, mocking an offended tone. “I—All my assistants respect my fashion choices, they’ve said it themselves, you just have no fuckin’ taste!”

“You know, have you ever considered that they’re just saying that because you’re the one paying them?” You smirk playfully.

“You’re a dick,” he chuckles gently, shoving your shoulder lightly. “You’re a fuckin’ dick, you know that?”

Later on, the two of you arrived at the venue. It was a refined and impressively massive establishment, in which you later actually recognized as part-art museum. Exiting the vehicle, you stood beside Derek at the front of the entrance, glancing at all the other wealthy people walking in.

“Hold onto my arm,” he directs in a mutter.

“Ew,” you scoff.

“Y/n.”

You rolled your eyes as you gave in, holding onto his arm as you walked into the building together. It was a bit crowded, occupied with older people in elegant getups; gentlemen in respectable suit and ties, women in sparkly dresses, et cetera, et cetera. The interior of the venue was spacious and exceptionally sophisticated, consisting of dignified architecture with the ceiling littered with expensive chandeliers. It definitely was not Derek’s scene, but it wasn’t even yours either.

“Shit. I forgot how pretentious your mother’s parties were,” you mumbled to him as the two of you walked further into building.

“What, did you forget that she’s the fucking President of the entire country too?” He retorted, which made you punch him lightly in the side with your free hand, making you grin once you saw his pained reaction.

“Dick,” you grumble. “Hey, where’s your mom?” You ask, trying to look past the crowd.

“I don’t know, she’ll turn up eventually,” he says, guiding you to a rather secluded spot against the wall. Suddenly remembering the whole purpose of this event, you weren’t sure when the actual auction would begin. But then again, you weren’t sure if you even cared.

“Oh shit, Nathaniel and Ophelia are here,” Derek interjects, pointing to a familiar pair across the room.

“Huh… Hey, why are you friends with them again? Didn’t you say they were, like, pretentious douchebags?” You remarked, looking at the said couple, who were drinking champagne and chatting at the opposite wall.

“Not friends, just, like… I don’t know, my mom wanted me to be in a good social circle, so she introduced me to them a few months back,” he shrugged. “But they’re just irritating, arrogant fucking pricks.”

“And you’re not?” He glared at you as you smirked. “You know, I don’t know if this is wrong of me to say, but… I really can’t tell if they’re siblings or dating,” you confess, squinting your eyes at them.

“Right? Like, I swear to fucking god, I thought I was the only one!” Derek exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Like, fuck, I’ve met up with them so many times in the past, but I still don’t fucking remember which one it is!”

The two of you cackled together as you observed the pair from across the room. “Oh shit, imagine if it’s just a whole Alabama situation,” you suggested, snickering towards Derek.

“God, that would be fucking terrible. Though, it would definitely explain the matching blue eyes,” he laughs. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting to find dirt on those two, they are fucking infuriating.”

“Jesus, it’s the whole Toad and Toadette debate all over again,” you chuckle softly.

“What?” He looks back at you curiously.

“What?”

“Toad and Toadette, it’s confirmed they’re dating,” Derek claimed.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? No, no, I could’ve sworn I read somewhere that they were siblings.”

“Uh, no, the creator himself said that they were girlfriend-boyfriend,” he remarks.

“Wh—Dude! All this time, I thought they were siblings!” You exclaimed, placing your hands on your head in shock.

“Yeah, well, they aren’t. You said you read it somewhere, what was it, fuckin’ Reddit?” He scoffed brashly with a cheeky grin.

“No. Fuck off,” you retort, frowning. “If anything, you’re the one on fucking Reddit, like, 24/7.”

“What? No—”

“Looking at ‘r/Crypto’ and ‘r/Nudes’, you ‘r/Dickhead’,” you teased, smirking playfully.

“Oh, fuck off—”

“Derek.”

Your pretend boyfriend’s speech freezes and you could see him tense up slightly at the mere voice of his mother. You noticed her in a stunning, carmine dress, her blonde hair pairing very well with it. Red was definitely her color. She glanced at Derek and then at you, a bit surprised. “And Y/n. I didn’t know you’d be joining us this evening.”

She looked back at her son. “You look very nice tonight, Derek, I’m very glad you were able to make it.” She then raises an interrogating eyebrow. “So, will your date be arriving here anytime soon?”

Derek eyes his mother, chuckling awkwardly. You felt like you were going to cringe at his next words, knowing what they would be. “Actually, Mom, uh… The date that I spoke to you on the phone about is actually… my partner, Y/n.”

And you did—inside, at least.

Jessica’s eyes widened as she looks back at you again. She knew you as Derek’s best friend—hell, his best friend since college. You didn’t work at Danforth Enterprises until she made Derek the CEO, resulting in him offering a job to you. But most of all, you and Derek had been strictly platonic friends for years, and it shocked her to her core to find out about this. “Seriously? You and… When did… When did this happen?”

“Well, you see, uh,” you began, playing with your fingers as you tried to recall everything you wrote and memorized on the index cards, “there was always—there was always something there, you know? Don’t you—don’t you think? Well, uh, one day, your son was very, um, hungover, and I stayed to take care of him.”

“They, uh,” Derek interrupted, chiming in. “That was, like, three months ago, right? Three, and um, they confessed their apparent romantic feelings towards me. You—you know, it was a very vulnerable moment, and I reciprocated… and yeah, now we’re dating.” He then stuttered out, “We, uh, we wanted to keep it under wraps for a while, but now, we figured we should… tell everyone now.”

And if it weren’t for that stupid, phony grin on his face, maybe she would have bought it. Though actually, you couldn’t really tell if she was convinced or not. There was a look of curiosity in her expression, paired with deep contemplation. You felt like you could detect doubt, but even that could be mixed up with bewilderment.

“Wow, uh… I wouldn’t say I expected this at all,” she says with a raised eyebrow. Then she looked at you with a small smile. “So you’ve been keeping my son on his toes if I’ve heard correctly, yes?”

You nod, glancing at Derek then back at her. “That’s right, ma’am. Uh, we all know his reputation, but, um… You know, ever since we started dating, he felt the urge to become a better person. And so did—so did I,” you remarked, remembering how Jessica also knew you as quite the trouble maker. After all, she caught the two of you getting high at another party before, similar to the sophistication of this one.

She was intrigued, to say the least. And suddenly, you had an epiphany: you just realized that what you were doing was deceiving the President of the United States. Fuck Derek, man.

“And that trending video of him?” You began, “That was taken, uh, three months ago during a party. It was actually the night before we started dating,” you explained, observing her reaction. “Why is everyone posting it now? Well, you see, uh…”

Fuck.

Fuck, you forgot. Did you seriously forget? Shit. What the hell was the reason?

She was looking at you expectedly. Fuck. What the fuck are you going to say? How did you forget something so simple?

“That video was taken on one of those digital cameras,” Derek butt in immediately. “The storage card was lost for a while, but I guess somebody found it and posted it, and now everybody’s reposting it.”

What. The. Fuck.

You were way more of an organized person than Derek. How the hell did he remember the lie that you wrote down, but you didn’t?

Nevertheless, Jessica nodded, a seemingly neutral expression plastered on her face. “That’s relieving to hear,” she hums softly, “well, I know that you aren’t really into these charity events, Derek, but—”

“Actually,” he began with a charming grin, “I think I will be participating in the auction this evening.” Way to go, Derek.

She looked at him in awe, glancing at you for a while, then back at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he nods pridefully. “I think this is a great cause, Mom.” Wow, he is killing it.

“O-oh. That’s wonderful of you to say, Derek. Well, this entire event is a gala and charity auction, so feel free to help yourselves in the drinks and food. There’s also dancing, but I know you aren’t—”

“I, uh, actually,” he chimes in once again. Jesus Christ, it was like she was testing him. “I would, uh… love to dance with my partner.” Your eyes widened as you felt the both of you cringe at his own response.

“Oh.” Suddenly, there was a small, genuine smile that creeped up on her lips. And you could tell that Derek noticed it too, because his face had just… softened. “Well, I hope you two enjoy the night.” She cupped Derek’s face with one hand and kissed the top of his head. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” he mutters softly.

“You look very handsome.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“I am so proud of you.” Then she walked away to greet other people, disappearing in the tame crowd.

You noticed Derek’s widened eyes and chuckled softly to yourself at the sight.

“Holy shit…” he mumbled before lighting up. “Did you—Did you hear that? She said she was fucking proud of me. She’s never said that in, like, a long fucking time, or ever! Holy—holy fucking shit.”

“Congrats, man,” you grinned warmly. “But like… the dancing thing. I can’t fucking dance. I mean, you know that.”

“It’s easy, don’t worry,” he dismissed, getting two glasses of champagne from a caterer that just walked by, handing one of them to you. “Just copy what I do.”

You took a rather long sip of the champagne. Liquid courage, you figured. “I just… You know, I really don’t want to do it. We can—We can just say I got sick from one of the little gourmet shits and I can’t dance.”

“Y/n—C’mon, you heard my mom. She was proud of me. She’ll be even prouder when she sees me out there, dancing like a sophisticated, pretentious prick, like the other fucks here. Come on, Y/n. Please,” he pleaded, looking at you with utter desperation.

“I—I don’t understand, she did say she was proud of you. I’m sure you won’t have to worry about her cutting you off anymore since she’s seen that you ‘changed’,” you reason, raising an eyebrow.

“No—Y/n, Y/n, I’m hanging on by a fucking thread right now. She sees us dancing, she’ll be a hundred percent sure that I’ve ‘changed for the better’ and won’t take any drastic measures. Y/n, please.” You knew your best friend well. And you knew damn well that this wasn’t just about the money and being cut off. He wanted to please his mother, he needed to.

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you downed the remaining champagne in your glass. You pointed at his face with aggression. “I’m raising the damn price to one thousand, then. You know how much I can’t stand dancing.”

“Yeah, whatever, that’s fine with me,” he shrugs, then eyes you gently. “Thank you.”

It was no surprise to you that you would instantly regret saying yes to him.

“Ow—Fuck—Stop—stop stepping on my fucking toes,” Derek snarled as the two of you were in an embrace, your hands clasped together while your other hand was placed on your shoulder and his on your waist. Sophisticated, slow jazz music played in the background as you were surrounded by other people who, not surprisingly, danced better than the two of you.

“I fuckin’ warned you, didn’t I?” You scoffed in response, trying to move your feet correctly.

“Whatever, just… Is she—Is she watching us?” He mutters, looking at the crowd behind you.

“Umm, I don’t know, I don’t know where she is,” you reply, searching the room for the woman in the red dress.

“Ow—Goddammit, Y/n, keep your fucking feet to yourself!” He winces, giving you an angry glare.

“Fuck! It’s not my fault, dude, I already warned you!” You retort petulantly. “Where—Where did you even learn to dance, huh?”

“When I was younger. I had to take ballroom classes. I came from a rich family, you know, we had status, a reputation to uphold,” he explained, making you roll your eyes.

“Oh shit—I can see her, she’s in the crowd,” you say abruptly.

“Where?” Derek’s eyes suddenly widened as he looked at you with anticipation.

“Like, behind you. I think she’s talking to—Oh shit, she’s watching us now,” you say, glancing at Jessica from far across the room, watching the two of you dance.

“Fuck, okay. Okay… I’m gonna dip you,” he mutters.

What?

“What?!” You exclaimed.

“I’m just gonna dip you, earn us some more brownie points,” he figures.

“No! Fuck! No, no fucking way! Do not—do not fuckin’ dip me!” You warned furiously, feeling your face heat up.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“No! Fuck! Derek, I swear to god, I swear to fucking god, I will—I will put cyanide in your bourbon, you will never see the light of fucking day, I—”

You felt his hand reach towards your back as he kicked at your ankle, making you lose balance and fall back towards his hand. You frown at him as you see his cocky face above you until he brought you back up.

“I hate you,” you murmured.

“It’s not a big deal, dude, it—ow!”

“I did that on purpose,” you huff after you had stepped harshly on his foot.

“How does my mom look?” He asked.

“She’s…” you raise an eyebrow, then looked back at Derek warmly. “She’s crossing her arms and smiling at us. She looks really proud. Jesus, for the first time in her fucking life.”

Derek smiled to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Oh, by the way, just for that little stunt you did back there, I’m raising it to fifteen hundred.”

“Fine with me,” he shrugs, now holding your hand in a looser grip. He guided it above your head, stretching your arm upward to spin you gracefully before bringing you back to him.

“God, I can’t wait to break up with you,” you chuckle softly, your movements more trained and fluid.

“Oh yeah?” He scoffs at your remark, laughing briefly, “Me too.”

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bebacebe · 8 months ago

Text

letter to my 13 year old self

ft. yuuji itadori!!

cw. lil bit of angst, crying, fluffy, reader is itadori’s girlfriend, insecurity, lowercase intended, mentions of possible burning.

-authors note-

plsplsplspls PLEASE feedback is very much appreciated!! reblogs and comments also help a lot!! my first fic/drabble ever, hope you like it!! xx

moving to japan, or really moving at all at such a young age is bound to be tough. but what didn’t help was realizing just how different you really were.

how your curls would make you stick out in a room full of pin straight hair, how when you did hit puberty it was different from the other girls. you were “too full” in some places, while the other girls stayed nearly flat as a stick. how your sun kissed skin was blinded by the surroundings fair and milky complexion, no matter how hard you scrubbed. you were different, and that was okay. but… as always, progress and growth comes with some off days. days where you feel like your 13 again.

it was one of those days again. where you’d feel too bizarre to be out with how you look. you figured you’d might burn your hair off with how many times you’ve gone over it with the straightener. barely managing to escape a third degree burn, you drop it in shock once yuuji bursts the door to your dorm open, his excitement just making you even more embarrassed.

“baby, gojo just gave us 15000 yen as pocket cha-” he nearly giggled in excitement before looking up from the band of colorful money, seeing you on the verge of breaking down, the straighter steaming next to you. in hindsight, you probably looked crazy, half your hair poorly straightened, eyes red and teary and cheeks rosy and wet. “what happened?” he asks worriedly, his smile dropped as he rushes over to you.

sniffling, you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, looking up at him pitifully. “i-i dunno. ‘m just tired of looking like this, y’know?” you mumble, looking into the mirror of your vanity and picking at your curls. he stares at you, confused, before squishing your cheeks in his big palm, turning your head up towards him. “no, i don’t know.” he stubbornly replies, causing you to roll your eyes. “wouldn’t i look prettier with straight hair? or… or a nice, straight nose?” you elaborate, voice muffled by your cheeks. he blinks at you, thoroughly confused, and even a little annoyed with the thought. “i don’t think it’s possible for you to look prettier.” he truthfully remarks, watching as you nearly laugh, removing his hands from your cheeks and turning your head before he stops you, cupping them again, this time gently and carefully.

“im being serious, y/n. why would you wanna look like those boring ‘ole girls anyways? their skin doesn’t glow like yours. their hair doesn’t bounce with every step, its so boring. even their smiles are boring. why would you wanna be boring when you can be you? and anyways, i literally have pink hair, but do you think im weird? or ugly?” he muses, rambling on about you with furrowed eyebrows and a serious expression.

you nearly burst out in tears again, smiling at his words as you coo his name lovingly, watching as his face immediately brightens with yours. he squishes your cheeks again, smooching your lips with a big “mwah!”, his smile widening as you snicker a “gross!” at his wet kiss. he lets go of your face, hands trailing down to your hands. “you’re different, not weird.” he finishes tying up your hair carefully to hide the straightened pieces, and this time you beat him to the kiss. he wipes your lingering tears with his other hand, pulling you up by the hand and interlocking his fingers with yours, a wide smile on both of your faces.

“now c’mon, nobara said we should spend this money before gojo realizes how much he gave us.”

#first fic kinda nervous #jjk #yuuji x reader #yuji itadori #jjk fluff #angst with a happy ending #light angst #i love laufey #letter to my 13 year old self #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori fluff

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staticscreenwriting · 2 months ago

Text

I took the good times, I'll take the bad times II Joel Miller

Summary: Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (I always try not to describe the reader physically, if I missed something please let me know so I can change it and make this "applicable" to every reader. Thank you!)

A/N: This is my entry for the dear-uary challenge by @jolapeno . My prompt was "Character A keeps finding X and traces them back to Character B, who might be leaving them intentionally—or not." And I chose Postcards as my form of epistolary.

TW: This is mostly angsty fluff. There is some talk of self doubt and loss of a child but I think that should be it.

Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.

It all starts with a simple postcard tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Joel almost doesn’t realize it’s there, folded twice into a tiny square. It’s only when he’s looking for the list Maria gave him of all the things to look for on this run, that he grabs a hold of the card.

His gloves make it hard to unfold the small paper but it’s way too cold to take them off. Joel was never big on winter and snow, even before everything went to shit. He doesn’t like the way it lingers, the way it consumes you from the inside out. Now, an unforgiving cold is all he feels as a thick blanket of snow has settled upon Wyoming.

Bold bright letters scream out to him from the wrinkled paper “ Greetings from Tampa Florida. Wish you were here!”.

It’s one of those campy vintage ones where the letters are filled with drawings of landmarks and beaches. He remembers sending one just like this to his High School girlfriend when Dad took him and Tommy on a trip to Nashville when Joel was 16 maybe 17. It was a good trip, the last one they ever took together. Sometimes Joel wonders how his dad would deal with all of this. This new reality. This fucked up world. He always seemed so strong, so fearless. That man was unstoppable force and immovable object all at once. Every vulnerability Joel finds in himself, he’s sure was absent in his father. Maybe if he was a little more like his own dad he could’ve saved Sarah, could’ve spared Ellie the pain of living in this limbo of knowing and not knowing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joel moves closer to the fire, his only light source other than the stars. There’s writing on the back, blue ink on off-white paper. It’s not a handwriting he knows and for a second he wonders if the card has been there ever since he found the bag years ago, back in Boston. But he would know that, right? Would've found it by now. This must be new. This must be meant for him.

“ I know you hate the cold. I know it makes you sad and gloomy, well gloomier than usual. So let me tell you about the hottest day I ever experienced. I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8 and my mom took me to Florida. Not Tampa (it was the only postcard I could find at the library), but Orlando. We went to fucking Disney World!! We didn’t have a lot of money back then so mom must’ve saved a long time for this. Anyway, Joel, it was so hot. Unbearably hot. My clothes stuck to my skin and my hair got all frizzy. Maybe July wasn’t the best time to go. The air was so thick and heavy, so moist (ew). It felt like breathing in honey, syrup maybe. I still had the best time. I know it doesn’t take away the cold but I hope I can take you away to that hot and humid Florida summer for one small moment. If not, there’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag. Made it myself. You never told me what your favorite color is. I hope you like blue. xx

P.S.: I wonder what happened to Disney World.”

A chuckle falls from Joel’s lips and forms a cloud against the sharp winter air. He's never been to Disney World. The Millers just weren’t a Disney World kind of family. They were more of a local fair kind of family. All corn dogs and funnel cakes and first kisses behind the bumper cars. Sarah would’ve loved Disney World though. Ellie too. Ellie who doesn’t even know what the hell Disney is. 14 years and the girl has no idea who Mickey Mouse is. What a surreal thought. What a strange world. More than 20 years and it still feels strange. Joel wonders if life will ever let him settle in this new reality. If one day this feels like home and not a bad dream. Not a cosmic punishment. A bad joke that no one’s laughing at anymore.

His eyes travel back towards the blue swirly writing. It’s not Ellie’s bad chicken scratch, he could pick that out of a line-up any day. This looks much neater, more deliberate, and thoughtful.

“There’s a wool scarf at the bottom of your bag.”

Quiet, as not to wake up the others sleeping just a few steps away, Joel opens the zipper on his bag and rummages through it with a gloved hand. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, food rations, ammunition, a second pair of gloves. Going on supply runs is not something Joel enjoys but it is a way for him to give back. To Tommy and Maria and the entire community. Jackson and its people have taken him and Ellie in as one of their own without much hesitation. They provided them with food, with shelter, with trust. He has so little to give in return. Going on a supply run to look for medicine and other necessities, that’s the least he can do.

Something soft and squishy meets his hand and he pulls out a dark blue woolen scarf. There are so many holes and even in the dim light of the campfire, Joel can tell those holes are not there on purpose. Maybe it was Ellie after all, but then she never showed any interest in knitting, and the idea of her doing just that is far too ridiculous. No matter how imperfect it is though, Joel has to admit the scarf does make him feel warmer as he wraps it around his neck.

“Hey,” Adam, one of the other guys on the run, speaks up from beside Joel, “you can catch some sleep if you want. I can take over the watch.”

It’s a strange thing, how sometimes you don’t notice just how tired you are or how hungry you are until someone points it out to you. Until they offer to take it from you. Then it hits you like a brick to the face. A wave pulling you under.

Joel feels his eyelids grow heavy and nods at the younger man. "Thanks".

This mystery, it can wait until tomorrow. Until then he will bury his face in the warm soft wool of the scarf and think of that Florida sun. And though it most definitely is just his imagination, Joel could almost swear the night feels a little less cold.

His boots leave deep imprints in the white icy blanket as he makes his way past the Tipsy Bison and the community hall further towards his house. His home.

No place has really felt like home in years. Not since all of this started. Everything was temporary. 4 walls and a roof. He wonders if this place will ever start feeling like home? Will he ever get to a point where he doesn’t wait for the second shoe to drop? It all feels like he’s Charlie Brown and life is Lucy pulling the football away at the last second. And it always ends with him falling. He’s so tired of falling. So tired of getting back up.

Joel almost expects the house to be silent as he steps inside. Ellie is slowly making friends with the other teens living in the settlement and is spending more time at their houses than she is at home. He can’t blame her. If he was more like his father he’d find it in himself to start conversations with people, get to know them, forge connections, make friends. Of the Miller boys, Tommy is the one who inherited their dad’s social gene though, Joel only got the snarl and the crippling inability to talk about his feelings.

Laughter echoes through the house as Joel rounds the corner connecting the entryway to the living room. Ellie’s laughter, loud and bright and light. As if for a moment all the horrors and the pain and the trauma have been taken from her.

When he steps into the kitchen, Joel understands.

(Y/N) is standing by the counter, a smile on her face so soft and radiant it might just rival the sun. That joy she brings out in Ellie, it’s familiar to Joel because he feels it too whenever (Y/N) is around. Not always but sometimes. It’s a spark of warmth that starts in his chest and crawls up his spine. It settles in his lungs, his heart, his brain. Like a parasite. Like a virus. Like a wonderful dream. He doesn’t allow himself to feel it all the time but sometimes, sometimes he can’t deny himself this little bit of warmth.

Joel can’t even remember when exactly (Y/N) became a part of their life. It’s like one day she was there and refused to leave. And really that’s kind of how it went. She works at the library and the school, lives across the street from him and Ellie and for some reason, she’s taken pity on them. Joel isn’t sure if it's him or Ellie she pities. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, she brought over some soup one day and that’s the beginning and end of it all. She’s wormed her way into Ellie’s heart and by extension his too. Whether he likes to admit it or not. Doesn't hurt that she's so damn beautiful too.

“Joel, you’re back!”

Ellie pulls him in a tight hug. It’s something Joel still has to get used to. Ellie isn’t a particularly affectionate person. She’s definitely not a hugger. And neither is Joel — not anymore at least. So when they do hug, it’s still a little strange. Not bad strange just unfamiliar.

“Yeah, I’m back.

“How did it go?” (Y/N) asks and meets his eyes over Ellie’s head. A silent conversation happening between her and Joel. It’s that thing she does where she doesn’t need to say a single word but Joel can tell exactly what she’s thinking just by the look in her eyes. He sometimes wonders if this is a them thing.

“Did someone die” her eyes are saying. “Did someone get hurt?”

“Did you get hurt?”

He quickly shakes his head answering her unspoken questions. Not this time.

“Good. It went good.”

Maybe the relieved sigh he sees her let out is just his imagination. But Joel doesn’t think so. Joel thinks it's very real.

“Did you bring us something? “

He can’t help but smile at that. It feels good to smile. In a world that gives you grief and sorrow, you start to count the moments when it gives you a reason to smile. They are few and far between but the number has surely increased since Ellie stepped into his life — and since (Y/N) did.

“I brought food and medicine. Isn’t that enough? “

A determined “no” falls from both their lips in a chaotic harmony.

“Geez, you guys are demanding.”

“Well — did you bring us something?”

Joel just rolls his eyes and rummages through his bag for the goods.

“For you— “ he says and throws the old wrinkled comic book towards Ellie who regards it with that endless sense of wonder she does possess. It’s the kind of spark that flickers and dies once you grow old. Or maybe just his did. Maybe grief leaves no room for wonder.

Placing his bag on the ground, Joel moves into the kitchen and holds out his loot to (Y/N). Green background. White goats. Yellow bubble letters.

“Oooooh, you did get me something. Pet Sounds, nice!”

There’s a spark in her too. Dulled and dusted from time but it is there and it flickers and grows every time Joel brings her a vinyl record from his trips outside of the settlement. In a world with so little joy, music seems to be one of the few things that hasn’t changed. In the face of immeasurable pain, humans turn to music. They have done so for a long time and judging by the world as is, they always will.

“I hope it works still. Didn’t really have a record player to try it out.”

“I’ll try it out as soon as I get to the library. Feel free to come by and listen with me.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Joel. I hope you didn’t have to do anything stupid to get this.”

He didn’t. Not this time. He would’ve though. It scares him how willing he is to put himself in danger just to get her something that will put that radiant smile on her face. He’d walk to the end of the earth if he knew there was a record there she wanted. That thought scares the shit out of him. It’s bad enough he cares so deeply about Ellie, about Tommy. The more people you care about, the more you open yourself up to hurt. Losing either of them would tear him apart. Joel is not sure he can handle opening his heart to yet another person no matter how much his heart wants just that.

“ Nah. No issues.”

“Good.”

She just looks at him for a moment. All soft eyes and gentle smile. There must be something she sees in him, Joel thinks, something he doesn’t see. A version of himself that he isn’t, that he will never be. A version he once was, maybe. A version he so desperately wishes he could be. For her.

“Well,” (Y/N) says and snaps him out of her enchantment “Ellie and I made some stew. I know you must’ve been freezing outside, some good warm stew might help warm you up a little.”

“It smells great.”

“You have impeccable timing because we just got done. So, dig in. And uh — I guess I’ll see you guys at the movie screening?”

He doesn’t want her to leave. The devil and the angel on his shoulders are both screaming at him to ask her to stay. And if he was any stronger a man, any more like his own father and more deserving of good things, he would ask her. To stay for dinner. To stay forever.

But he isn’t. And he doesn’t ask. Just watches as she wraps a scarf around her neck and slips into the thick jacket that's a few sizes too big on her.

“I left the recipe by the fridge. Just in case you ever want to cook it yourself.”

“Thanks.”

And he really is grateful. For her. For everything.

“Oh Joel,” she says and stops in the doorway. “I like that scarf. Blue looks really good on you.”

And then she’s gone, swallowed by the cold winter air.

Joel hasn’t thought about his favorite color in forever. It’s something you stop thinking about once you start growing hair on your chest and fantasizing about girls in a way you haven’t before. Kids talk about their favorite colors all the time. Sarah did. It’s just once you grow old you lose that sense of self, define yourself through different things.

Looking at the scarf now, all holes and imperfections, there is no doubt in his mind that his favorite color is blue.

“Have you ever been to Paris?”

The lights are dimmed in the big community hall, the movie playing on screen providing the only source of light as the people of Jackson have gathered for another movie night.

A glimpse into a world that was but no longer is and never will be again. And for some of them, like Ellie, a world that never was to begin with.

Ellie is sitting in the front with some of the other teens, her friends, Joel supposes. She has friends now.

“Joel, have you?”

A soft hand rests on his arm, shaking him from his gloomy thoughts. (Y/N) sits next to him, eyes focused on the pictures dancing across the screen. Ilsa and Rick, falling in love over and over again in Paris. The beginning of a love story doomed from the start.

“I uh — no. Never.”

“Me neither. I would’ve loved to go though. It looks beautiful.”

He doesn’t know why or how it happens but the words just flow from his mouth like a waterfall. For the first time in a while, he finds himself wanting to talk more. About the past. About Sarah.

“My daughter, Sarah, went to Paris once. Some school exchange program. They don’t usually do it until later but her French class was above average and I guess they won some contest. I don’t know it was a long time ago.”

“Sounds like she was a smart cookie.”

"Oh, she was. Too smart for me, that’s for sure. Was hard letting her leave and fly to a whole different continent though. I was scared out of my mind until she was back home. Drove Tommy crazy for a whole damn week.”

(Y/N) turns her face away from the screen and regards him with that infinite sense of something more. Soft and endearing. If he was a different man he would call it love. He would see the way she looks at him and he would kiss her stupid and life would be all sweet dreams and gentle touches.

But he is the man he is. Not worthy of whatever she is willing to give.

“What’re looking at me like that for?”

“It’s just sweet how much you care. About everyone. I think you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time.”

“Do what?”

“Care for others. For Ellie and me and all of us. You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for a change.”

He doesn’t need to be taken care of. He can do it all on his own. And anyway, he is not as good of a man as she thinks he is. Good men don’t have the blood of their loved ones stuck to their hands. Good men don’t let their daughters die in their arms. Good men don’t kill. Good men don’t do all the things he did.

Joel doesn’t want to be a good man. He just wishes he was good enough a man to allow himself to be with (Y/N).

“I ain’t a good man. And I don’t need someone to take care of me.”

“You wore that scarf, did you not? You allowed me to take care of you then.”

That damn scarf. He had a hunch it was her. The handwriting on the postcard matched the one of the recipe stuck to his fridge an awful lot. But it’s something else entirely to hear her say it outright.

“That was you, huh? Had an awful lot of holes that thing.”

“Hey, I never said I was good at knitting. You wore it anyway.”

Joel turns back towards the screen as Rick and Ilsa share a loving kiss.

“Yeah, I wore it anyway.”

And to the sound of bombs and tanks, (Y/N) rests her head on his shoulder.

That’s what you do for the people you love. Even if you don’t allow yourself to love them.

You wear the scarf anyway.

The mailbox flag is up. Bright red against the sharp white of the winter's day.

It’s never been up. People around here don’t get mail. It’s but an ancient relic of a life they used to live. Remnants of a society long gone.

But Joel is nothing if not curious. So he stomps up to the mailbox, leaving deep imprints in the freshly fallen snow.

It’s another postcard. Only this time it doesn’t come with a mystery. This time it comes with that silly little feeling that makes his heart beat just a little faster. That makes his head swirl with stupid thoughts of stupid dreams.

“From Paris with love,” it says on the front. Fucking Paris, of course.

Sometimes the way he feels about her is infuriating, confusing, scary.

And sometimes, like right now, it feels like a ball of warmth settles in his ribcage and warms him from the inside out.

“Dear Joel,

We’ll never have Paris. Not in this life at least. And while I would’ve loved to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle with you and make you eat a croissant (which you would’ve pretended to hate but I think you would’ve enjoyed it secretly), I am glad to get this life with you at least. Or alongside you. Whatever it is we are, I am glad this life gave me that in between all the pain. Despite what you like to tell yourself, Joel Miller, you are a spark of fire, a light in the dark. You are more than the sum of your failures, you are more than your pain. All the good that is in you, that counts. That’s all that matters in the end. And there is so much good in you.

I wish you’d let yourself see it.

We will never have Paris. But we’ll always have Jackson and that is enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you.

Here’s looking at you kid! ;) “

There’s a tragedy in knowing someone else sees all your good parts and none of the bad. A tragedy in knowing how much they like those good parts and being awfully aware that seeing all the bad parts would destroy them.

A tragedy in still wanting to show them all of you, even the ugly soul-destroying parts.

But if she thinks he’s a good man, then Joel needs to be just that. A good man who keeps those ugly parts hidden and away from her. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants.

“What’s that?” Ellie speaks up from beside him, a curious look on her face.

“Postcard.”

“Like what people would send from vacations and stuff?”

“Yeah, how do you know about that?”

She rolls his eyes at him and it’s one of those moments where he feels like a dad again. Those little moments that mean the world to him because he gets to feel like the old him. The Joel he thought was long dead and buried beside the bones of his own child.

“I watch movies? I talk to people? I read books? Take your pick.”

“Wow, when did you become such a smartass, huh?”

She shrugs his shoulders at him “Was born that way. Nothing I can do about it.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey, you’ve grown to love me! You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

And she isn’t wrong. Ellie, with all her curiosity and her bravery and her lust for life, whatever that life may look like, is exactly what he needed. Which makes him wonder if saving her from the fireflies was ultimately more of a selfish act than that of a heroic savior.

“Who’s it from?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, so (Y/N).”

His eyes flick up and he is met with that satisfied, mischievous grin that is so uniquely Ellie.

“What makes you think that?”

“You always change the subject when I bring her up. And that way you just jumped when I mentioned her? Yeah, you’re not slick, old man.”

“Hey! Who are you calling an old man?”

“You! Old and scared!”

“I’m not scared!”

Like hell he is. Terrified even. But there ain’t no way in hell he’ll admit that to Ellie. She’ll never let him hear the end of it.

“Then go talk to her! She likes you, you like her. Why do you have to make it so complicated?”

If only she knew all the ghosts swirling around inside of him threatening to break free. Things could be so easy. Only nothing ever is.

“Mind your own business, kid! Anyway, don't you have someplace to be? Think Dina came by earlier asking for you. You two are getting along well, huh?”

“Aaaand on that note. See you for dinner, old man!”

She’s gone before he can even hurl a reply at her. It pulls his lips into a smile. There’s no better way to get a teen to shut up than to bring up their crush. Nice to see that some things never change.

Another run. Another record.

Joel feels silly, standing here in front of her door with his heart beating fast and heavy as he clutches the vinyl record in his hand.

If Ellie saw him now, she’d surely make fun of him. Tommy too. Sarah even.

What happened, Joel? You used to be so brave. What makes you so afraid now?

Life, he thinks. Life has made him scared and bitter and sad.

“Did you wanna knock or — ?”

Joel turns around as the voice calls out to him. There it is again, that softness, that smile.

“Uh, yes.”

“Okay, good. Did you come to see me? Sorry, I was helping Maria at the farm.”

“Yeah no uh — don’t worry about it. I just came to drop this off”

Her eyes grow wide as she catches sight of which record it is he’s holding up.

“No way! The stranger! You found it.”

“ I did.”

He had to clear an old dilapidated bar full of clickers to get that record. Almost lost his damn arm in the process. But her smile, that god-damn, life-ruining, world-shattering, heart-beat-faster, smile of hers makes it all worth it. He would give both arms, all of him. He would give it all to see her smile.

“Do you wanna come in and listen to it with me? Got my player fixed so I don’t have to use the one at the library anymore.”

Say no. Just say no and go home. Be a good man! Be a better man!

But he’s not. For this one moment, he can’t be that man. He’s just as weak as the rest of them.

“Sure.”

This feels so — normal. So before everything. Different and twisted and warped. But normal.

It’s scary and comforting all at once. Like a tipsy dream when you know you’ll wake up with a headache for sure.

(Y/N) is twirling around her living room, a beer in hand and a smile on her face. Joel leans against the door connecting her living room and her kitchen and all he can do is stare. At this woman who means so much to him. Too much for him to ever put into words. If he even knew how to. He’s never been a poet.

“I said I love you, that's forever

And this I promise from the heart, mmm

I couldn't love you any better

I love you just the way you are, right”

“I love this song. Can you imagine someone loving you enough to write something like this about you?”

Yes, he thinks. If only he WAS a poet. He would write a hundred songs. A thousand. And all of them would talk of her smile and her eyes and the way there is no single thing about her he would change.

But words fail him. They always do.

So he just nods.

“Joel,” she says and moves closer. The bottle of beer now placed on her couch table, her hands find his chest. So warm. So soft. And all he does is stare.

“I know you got my postcards. I know you know how I feel. And sometimes I think you feel the same. I see the way you look at me. I know the dangers you put yourself in to get me those records. I just — you never say anything. So am I making a fool of myself here? Please tell me if I — “

“You’re not.”

Wow, so eloquent.

“I’m not?”

Her voice sounds so small. So unsure. He hates that he’s the one who put the uncertainty there. Be a better man, Joel! Be a good man for once!

But all he does is stare. Words fail him. Again. again. again.

“Then can I — can I do this?”

(Y/N)’s gaze falls to his lips then back up to his eyes. She is so close. He can feel her warm breath on his skin. Can smell the scent of her shampoo. Notices the tremble of her fingers as her hands rest on his chest.

And he wants to kiss her. Every version of him that ever was and ever will be wants to kiss her. But all he does is stare.

All he does is stare and pull away.

And it breaks his heart to see hers break in that moment.

“I uh — oh I’m sorry Joel.”

Tears gather in her eyes, fill them with sorrow, fill his heart with rage. He can’t do anything right, can he? Everyone he’s ever loved, he’s disappointed. But how can he let himself love her, how can he let her love him, when he is so broken? When all he does is break things? Taint them with this infinite sadness that lives and grows inside his bones?

“It’s not you.”

“Oh please, Joel. I made a fool of myself already. Don’t make it worse.”

“I ain’t trying to. It just ain’t you. It’s all me. It’s always been me”

His palms are sweaty and he feels like someone has reached into his ribcage, cracked every rib on the way to his heart, and ripped it out with bare hands. Snapping veins and arteries and all.

“I want you. I want this but I can’t have it. You think I’m a good man but the truth is, I am not. I do bad things all the time, over and over again and time and life have made me so numb to it. But you, you are so good. You deserve someone better. Someone whole.”

It’s like once he’s started it all comes flowing out like a fucking waterfall. All his fears and insecurities and pain. It’s all there for her to be disgusted by. Because god knows there is no way she won’t be. He is. All the time.

“I have not been the same since this all started. Since Sarah — since she died. I live with this immense grief. It surrounds me. It IS me. All of me. And I so desperately want to claw my way out of it. Rip it apart and leave it behind. But at the same time, I want to bury myself in it. Because what if I do leave it behind and I start to forget? Her and all that she was? How is it fair that I have to remember her far longer than I got to know her? So if I get better, if I become the man I need to be to be worthy of your love, am I still gonna be the man she knew? Can I still remember? Because that is all I have. And that is not a burden I can put on you. Not you and not Ellie.”

Joel takes a breath then another but it does little to calm him down.

“You two mean everything to me and I am sorry I am bad at showing it. That I can’t say it. I need you to know, it’s all me that’s the problem. It was never you. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t wait for her to say anything. He doesn’t think he has the heart to hear a reply anyway. It’s like he just ripped himself open and spilled all his guts, his heart, his lungs, and all his inside out on her living room floor.

If he was any better of a man he’d pick them up and try to rearrange them.

But he is not a good man. Maybe he never was.

“There was something for you in the mailbox” Ellie exclaims and slumps down on the couch next to him. “I was this close to opening it but I didn’t want to make you even more grumpy than you already are.”

“I’m not grumpy”

He has to admit, the tone in which he said those words does not do much to counter her point. Ellie knows too, judging by the way she raises her eyebrow “Sure, you’re not.”

She drops a sunflower yellow envelope on his lap. ‘Joel’, it says in that swirly handwriting he’s become so familiar with.

It’s been a few weeks since he’s seen (Y/N). Since he spilled all his sorrows and worries to her and then ran. And, surprisingly, Jackson makes it very easy for someone to avoid another person if you only try hard enough.

Maybe Ellie has a point, maybe he has been exceptionally grumpy lately. No correlation to any recent events though. Absolutely zero.

“Sooo are you gonna open it?”

Ellie looks at him with curiosity and that little spark of mischief as if she knows something he doesn’t.

“Not with you watching over my shoulder, I ain’t.��

“Why?”

“Cause it’s none of your business.”

“Excuse me? I have to live with your grumpy ass because you guys can’t get your shit straight. I think it very much is my business.”

“Jesus, Ellie. Language!"

“Sorry,” she says and gives him that pseudo-sheepish look he’s grown familiar with. “You guys need to get your stuff straight.”

He used to scold her for it but really, he isn’t one to talk.

“Anywayyyyy, I’ll go stay at Dina’s tonight … just in case you decide to go over and apologize for whatever it is you did and you guys finally sort it out and need some privacy later.”

“Why do you think I did something?”

And there it is again that sassy eyebrow raise. The same one he’s seen on Sarah so many times before. It truly is a woman’s world and he’s but a fool living in it. And they let no opportunity pass to remind him of just that.

They are also absolutely right.

“My lawyer advised me not to answer that question. Anyway, be nice. Have fun. Byyyye”

Her voice trails off as she grabs her bag and rushes outside leaving Joel alone in this big empty house with nothing but his demons and this mysterious envelope.

Carefully he opens the seal and shakes out the contents. A postcard, a photo, and a — cassette tape?

His eyes find the photo first. It’s a polaroid of him and Ellie and (Y/N). All 3 of them smiling, yes even him. He remembers that day back last summer. It was one of those warm but not yet hot days. (Y/N) was wearing that agonizingly beautiful red sundress. The one that made his heart beat twice as fast. She brought over a whole basket full of cherries from the tree in her garden. A pie too. And that damn Polaroid camera.

Of course, Ellie was enamored by it, wasted almost the whole damn film.

“Come on Joel, let's take a picture together,” she had called out to him and pulled him to sit down next to her and (Y/N) on the blanket they had placed on the lawn.

“I’m not a picture guy,” he had grumbled, “ ain’t nobody want to see my old mug.”

“Oh shut up. Joel, you are so handsome, don’t even pretend like you don’t know that.”

It was the first time (Y/N) had ever called him handsome. It was hard for him to believe it then, hell it still is. But she has done it a lot more since then. Calls him handsome and gorgeous and pretty all the time. At first, he thought she was just humoring him but slowly but surely it dawned on him that she meant it. Means it still.

“We don’t know how many good sunny days we have left. Ain’t no shame in trying to remember this one, right?”

Her eyes held so much honesty then. Vulnerability too. And gratefulness for all they had then after all they had lost. It made him smile then and it makes him smile now.

The Postcard is next, big bold letters spell out TEXAS and in the corner, there’s a drawing of the Texas State Capitol in Austin.

When he turns the Postcard over, there it is again, that swirly writing he’s grown to love so much.

“Joel, the ‘Postcards from around the world’ book I got from the library didn’t have an Austin one but it did have a Texas one so that’ll have to do. I’m not even sure if you're going to read this. I hope you do because you didn't give me a chance to say my part when you stormed off & I think I deserve that.

You're not the man you were in Austin, you lived through the worst thing imaginable and it changed you. But you are not just your pain. It is part of you but it doesn't define you. I know you see all the bad but none of the good but believe me I see it! Ellie does! You are your pain but you are also the smile on Ellie's face when you bring her a new comic or teach her a song. You're the guitar chords echoing through the air on a warm spring afternoon. You are those fluttery feelings in my heart whenever you look at me.

Joel Miller, I understand if you don't want to be with me but if it's only because you don't think you're good enough then I think that's a choice I get to make. Taking that from me is a dick move.

You said you're bad at showing love but you're not. You showed me through all those records. Through all those songs. Now let me love you back.”

Joel can’t quite name the feeling spreading through him. It’s both foreign and familiar at the same time. Like an old friend. A hazy memory. Pictures blurred and dulled by time and age.

Maybe he was wrong, and he hates admitting that. Maybe he ain’t a good man but maybe that is hers to decide. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

He takes the cassette tape in his hand and squints his eyes at the tiny writing on the label. God, he really is getting old. Those eyes ain’t what they used to be.

God only knows - The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

You’re my best friend - Queen - A Night at the Opera

Just Like Heaven - The Cure - Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (you should!)

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel - So

Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper - She’s so unusual

Your Song - Elton John - Elton John

Can’t Help Falling in Love - Elvis - Blue Hawaii

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton - Slowhand

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (!!!! LOVE SONGS!!!)

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel - The Stranger

"You gave me all these records with all these songs and all these words to tell me you love me and I’m not sure you even knew.”

And she’s right. He got her those records because he knew they’d make her smile. Because that smile means everything to him whether he wants to admit it or not. He got those records to show her that even when he’s gone on a run, she’s always on his mind. He believed it to be a curse, a ghost haunting him for all his past mistakes and taunting him with what he shall never have.

But maybe it’s not a curse.

Maybe it’s a blessing. A sweet song to remind him that someone back home is waiting. A gentle reminder that life can and will go on and good things can come from immense tragedy. And moving on doesn’t mean forgetting, in fact, it means remembering. Remembering the bad and believing that there can and will be good and that it’s worth it to go on. Even if you are a different you. Not worse or better, just changed. And that you deserve love. And kindness. And warmth.

Joel drops the envelope and its contents on the table and grabs his thick winter jacket as he rushes outside. The cold feels only half as bad as it nips at his skin, he barely notices. There is a fire inside him now, burning away all the doubts and hesitation.

He’s back at her door, only this time he doesn’t wait to knock. He’s spent so much time denying himself the one thing he wants that he can’t lose just one second more. The rapping of his knuckles against her door echoes through the winter day. Oh, how he can’t wait for the spring and the summer and her in that gorgeous dress.

“Joel?”

Back before — everything, Joel remembers a movie night with Sarah. She got to choose and despite being an avid fan of trashy action and horror movies, that time she chose a romantic comedy. All things considered, Joel can admit that when Harry met Sally wasn’t the worst choice but he still would’ve preferred Star Wars or Terminator.

He does remember the ending though, the grand finale. He remembers Sarah trying to wipe away tears without him noticing. And he remembers Billy Crystal’s words “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Back then he thought it was some silly, cheesy movie speak. No one feels that way, right? It’s grandiose and kitschy for the sake of movie magic.

But no, he’s sure now, that one is true. Because it’s how he feels.

“I love you!”

That confession should come with ribbons and flowers and fireworks but it doesn’t. It comes with honesty and that is all that matters. It comes from the heart.

“Huh?”

“I got your postcard. The photo too and the tape. And I love you.”

“I know. Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“I’m sorry. I — I still believe that I am not a good man and that you deserve better. But it would be selfish to punish you for my own insecurities. I love you and I want to let you love me. If you still want to, that is.”

“Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?”

“Please just fucking kiss me.”

Joel remembers a lot of kisses in his lifetime. Some rushed, some clumsy. Quick kisses in secret. Long drawn-out smooches in smokey bars. Loving, fast, aggressive, and soft.

This one is different, as cheesy as it sounds.

This kiss makes him feel like all he’s ever been and all he ever will be can live in peace with one another. This kiss makes him feel like none of it matters as long as he has her.

She tastes like peppermint and sunshine and he’s sure he’ll never get enough of her. The feeling of her skin against his as he gently cradles her face in his hand. The soft movements on her chest as she breathes. The twitch of her lips as she smiles into the kiss.

For the first time in his life, Joel is sure that a kiss is more than a kiss. It’s a healing hand on a shattered heart. It’s a new path to a new future. It’s sunshine melting the ice from his bones.

It’s a promise to try every day and to be better and to be enough. ---

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