#blurred lines: a different christmas

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall. 

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place. 

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long. 

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train. 

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive. 

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles. 

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus. 

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice. 

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear. 

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business. 

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories. 

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk. 

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?” 

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone? 

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence. 

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape. 

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93. 

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.” 

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin. 

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar. 

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two. 

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors. 

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work? 

That was sure to go over well.  

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift. 

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils. 

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar. 

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one. 

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier. 

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn. 

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire. 

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase. 

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet. 

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot. 

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile. 

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you. 

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you. 

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended. 

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back. 

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.” 

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when  he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line. 

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it. 

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you.  Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again. 

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied. 

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions. 

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again. 

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[tightjeansjavi]

❆ I’ll have a blue heartache for certain ❆

A/N: thank you to everyone who is sending me requests for things that Joel Miller deserves most in the world <3 this one is VERY angsty, so buckle up 🥲

joel deserves nice things™ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

~word count : 2.9k~

pairing | Joel Miller x Kansas City informant f!reader

Summary: to Joel Miller, you’re nothing but an informant rat in his eyes.

Warnings: angst, mean old man Joel, morally gray reader, Joel is a bit of a hypocrite, a sprinkle of touch depravity, Ellie is her sweet self, implied age gap but reader is of legal age, grief, humiliation, hurt and comfort, a sprinkle of fluff, small mention of Christmas, allusion to child loss, talk of violence, kinda unrequited feelings, mutual understanding, sorta a happy ending? +18 minors dni!

“I don’t take kindly to strays, let alone fuckin’ rats, sweetheart.”

This was your first interaction with Joel Miller. All muscles, no heart, or so you had perceived him to be. He had a soft spot for the girl that trailed alongside him. You knew this was a fact, and not a matter of opinion.

Regardless, Joel didn’t respect you, but he tolerated you just enough to keep you alive. He didn’t want any business in knowing why you became an informant, but he had no problem calling you a rat straight to your face.

It wasn’t a lifestyle you wanted. It was a choice, but one based around survival. And for a man so brutish, you thought he would understand, empathize with you even. But instead you were met with cold, hardened stares from piercing brown eyes.

Your very existence vexed him and made him question whether he was a hypocrite himself. What difference was there between a man that murdered innocents for survival, and a woman that turned men like him in to save her own skin. He didn’t want the lines to be blurred. He didn’t want to empathize with the likes of you. He refused it.

“You and I aren’t so different after all, Joel.” You tried to reason with him one day during the tireless journey to Wyoming in search of Joel’s younger brother, Tommy.

Ellie was lengths ahead of you and him when he literally slammed on the breaks. His abrupt halt had you nearly colliding right into his back from how quickly he had stopped.

He whipped around, jaw ticked and eyes blazed with fury that you would even dare to compare yourself to him, and he to you.

“You and I are nothin’ alike. I had my reasons, and you chose to take the cheap way out. Don’t think that jus’ cus’ some time has passed out here that I’m suddenly gonna start bein’ nice to ya. You’re a fuckin’ fool if you think that to be true, girl. I will never view you as my equal.”

His words sliced through you like sharpened blades dipped in putrid poison, souring your gut and springing tears to the corner of your eyes. Joel Miller was one mean, mean man. You stood your ground, and he stood his. His eyes flickered when a silent tear rolled down your trembling cheek. He said nothing more on the matter.

“What’s the hold up back there?” Ellie had turned back around when she could no longer hear either yours or Joel’s footsteps close behind her.

Joel responded with a grunt and, “nothin’s the matter.”

You stood there dumbly with your fists clenched tightly at your sides when you tasted the salty residue of your single stray tear. You were angry at yourself for allowing this asshole to make you feel weak. One day Joel Miller would succumb to you. It would just take some time. And as far as you were concerned, there was plenty of it to go around.

The seasons began to change gradually, as they always do, until winter arrived and it was already proving to be a brutal one. Frigid temperatures, ongoing blizzards, treacherous deep snow. These changes that inevitably brought new challenges were visibly beginning to affect Joel more than he was willing to let on. You saw right through his facade. He couldn’t hide from your trained eyes that easily.

As night began to fall the three of you found yourselves situated in a cave near the river. Being this far out in the wilderness was peaceful in a sense. The threat of people was non-existent, and the infected stayed closer to the cities. Out here you could see billions upon billions of twinkling stars in the jet black sky. The northern lights, a natural feat that you had dreamed of seeing as a child. It was even more beautiful than you could ever imagine. Bright, brilliant hues of greens, blues, even some pinks.

You were so lost in a trance of nature’s beauty that you couldn’t feel Joel’s eyes staring you down. Or the way he took notice of your almost childlike wonder at the night sky. In his mind they were just stars. He’d seen plenty of them in his lifetime, sure, but were they really all that impressive?

He shook his head at the thought of humanizing the likes of you. A rat would always be a rat, and not even the damn northern lights could change his opinion on you.

“Ellie,” he gruffly said, “get down from there before you break your neck.” He sternly requested the teen who was also gazing up at the night sky in the same manner as you were.

Ellie let out a huff of air before she climbed down from the rock she was standing on and joined you and Joel by the fire.

“So, I’ve been thinking, let’s say we find the Fireflies, and it all works. They draw my blood and put it through their fancy machines and pop out a cure. Then what? Like, what do we do?”

Joel brought his flask of whiskey to his lips, taking a small swig to help warm him up, and also ease the constant ache in his back. “Didn’t realize there was gonna be a ‘we’ in this scenario.”

Ellie gave him a funny look, one that he raised a brow at. “Okay, fine. What are you doing then?”

In Joel’s mind it was never an option to think about these topics before. Not when his only goal in mind was to find Tommy, deliver Ellie to the Fireflies. From there? He really hadn’t thought about it.

“It’s never been an option for me..” he cleared his throat. “Maybe an old farmhouse, some land..a ranch. That sorta thing I guess.”

Ellie brought her knees up to her chest, scooting herself closer to the fire, closer to him. “Okay, so, old man Joel, some kinda ranch. What kind though?”

He grimaced at Ellie calling him old. He wasn’t that old was he? “Sheep.” His response was flat. “I would raise sheep.”

“Sheep?” Ellie questioned.

“Yep. Sheep. They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

You could feel yourself being drawn into their conversation bit by bit. You knew that Joel’s soft spot for Ellie was rising to the surface bit by bit, day by day.

“Sheep are nice. I mean, they are quiet, sure. But their wool is the best material to make sweaters, blankets—” you were cut off by his stern voice. Slicing you down yet again when you only had wished to be a part of the conversation.

“Ain’t nobody asked for your opinion.” Joel snapped.

“Joel..” Ellie let out a sigh. Her eyes met yours in an empathetic gaze. “Well, what about you? After all of this is said and done, where will you go?”

You ignored him entirely and instead focused all your attention on Ellie and her question. “I haven’t really thought about it either. Suppose that taking the ranch route wouldn’t be so bad. The country life is a peaceful one. Except, I think I’d have some cows..maybe some horses to keep my company.”

“Romantic” Ellie stifled a giggle. “Well, no offense to either of you, but I don’t think ranch life is for me. Sure, it sounds cozy, but all I’ve ever known is the QZ. In front of you there is a wall, and the ocean behind. There’s nowhere else to look but up.”

“Space?” You asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes! I mean, look at it up there. So much still to be discovered. I read every book I could get my hands on in the school library. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell.” Ellie responded with pure enthusiasm.

“But you know who my favorite is?” Ellie leaned in close, awaiting both yours and Joel’s replies.

“Sally Ride.” You and Joel said in unison. Your heads snapped towards one another, eyes locking before he cleared his throat and tore his gaze from you.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride! Best astronaut name ever!” Ellie’s voice echoed through the opening of the cave.

“I’ll take the first watch.” You announced while grabbing your rifle from where it laid against one of the rock formations.

Joel was already standing up with his own rifle slung across his shoulder. “I got it.”

“Joel, I’ll take the first and you can take the second.” There was more you wanted to say, but with both his and Ellie’s eyes on you now, you refrained from saying more.

He responded with a curt nod before he made himself comfortable against the cave wall once more.

While you were up on the same rock that Ellie was on earlier, you could hear her and Joel still conversing. The conversation had taken a somber turn when she questioned whether the vaccine would work. Joel reassured her that it would, and Marlene knew what she was doing.

The last thing you heard was Joel telling Ellie to get some sleep and, “Dream of sheep ranches on the moon.”

He let out a frustrated grunt when he couldn’t quite tear through the strip of duct tape that he planned to use as a makeshift patch for his torn soles in his boot. Even the warmth from the fire couldn’t keep his toes at a comfortable temperature for long. The bitter chill was beginning to seep through the cracks of the worn material.

Can’t even fix my fuckin’ boot?

His internal thoughts plagued him. Made him feel weak, unreliable, a failure.

He tossed the roll of duct tape to the side with an irritated grumble. How the hell was he supposed to keep you and Ellie alive when he couldn’t even believe himself?

He refused to look in your direction when he heard the familiar crunching of snow beneath your boots. In his peripheral he saw your hand reach down and pick up the roll of duct tape.

“Need some help?” You asked, crouching down alongside him.

“Not from you.” His jaw ticked, nostrils flaring from the close proximity. It was as if you really were the plague, or some dreadful unnamed poison.

“So you’d rather let your toes freeze?” Your question hung heavy in the air. He reluctantly turned his head to the side. Eyes flitted upwards in brief contact before he scoffed,

“No. I’d rather not let my toes freeze.”

You tore off a strip of tape with your teeth, and only when he gave you the silent nod of approval, did you then assist in taping up his boot.

“If you clench your jaw any tighter, I’m afraid you're gonna end up breaking some teeth.” You murmured quietly. You tore off a few more pieces of tape and secured them around the hole in his boot. He was watching you intently as he tried to piece together your reasons for helping out someone who was so cruel to you. Why not just let his toes freeze and fall off? Why grace him with your kindness?

“Should hold for a few days I reckon.” You placed the roll of duct tape back into his bag while he watched you in silence.

“Look, you don’t have to answer this, but I just want to know the reason.”

“What reason?” He gruffly asked.

You sighed, leaning back against the cold cave wall. Your shoulders could have nearly brushed if it weren’t for how stiff he was sitting.

“The reason why you hate me so much, Joel.”

“Don’t be naive. I already told you that I have no respect for rats. You want me to fuckin’ say it again, huh?” He sneered.

“No. That’s not the reason. You think it is, but it’s not. Not when I know what you are too, Joel.”

“What the hell are y’goin’ on about? You’re an informer. A once FEDRA rat that probably sent god knows how many people to their deaths. People who were just trying to survive. People with families, friends, partners. You’re a selfish coward that only gave a damn about saving her own skin.”

You smiled sadly, resting your head back against the cave wall with your gloved hands between your knees. “And what about my own family that I was trying to keep alive? What about them, Joel?”

He didn’t know what to say. His words were lodged in his throat, trapped there and unable to escape. He never thought about you having a family. People you cared for as much as he cared for Ellie.

“I had a family once, Joel. People who I loved. And I would do anything I could to protect them and keep them alive. My parents were old. My siblings were too young. I was the eldest. Their only daughter that had enough fuckin’ guts to do some terrible, godawful things in the name of love. All for what? I failed them, Joel. I couldn’t keep them alive. Kathleen and her people overthrew FEDRA. Myself and my family were at the top of her list. She butchered them. Made it a public spectacle all because I helped turn her brother in with Henry. Her brother was a good man, he didn’t deserve to die, but neither did my family.”

“So, you can sit there and judge me. Call me a rat, a selfish coward, but then what of you? What do you see when you look into the river and see your reflection? I know what I see, Joel Miller. I see a man who is afraid of his own dark truths. His own skeletons in his closet.”

It felt better than you had expected to get this all off your chest. To tell this man your truth. To tell him the reasons for your actions. To show him that you weren’t so different after all.

He wanted to be angry at you. He wanted to scream, spit out hurtful words to beat you down further. He was a hypocrite all along and he felt humiliated down to his bare bones.

“I’m sorry.” He finally spoke just above a whisper.

“You’re only sorry because I’ve put you into a position where you’ve been forced to humanize me, Joel. You’re not actually sorry. You just feel like you should be.” You shook your head.

“No, that’s..not true. Darlin’, you’re right. You’re right about all of it. You see a man afraid of his own dark truths. I am that man. I’m the man that couldn’t keep his daughter safe. I couldn’t save her and I blamed myself for it everyday since. I couldn’t stop my own brother from losin’ himself entirely. I’m the reason he joined the Fireflies. He wanted to make a difference in the world, and I wanted to destroy it. All of it. I’ve got more blood on my hands than you could possibly ever imagine. I hate you because I hate myself.” He admitted.

“And yet I don’t hate you, Joel. I should, but I don’t. I can’t. I can’t hate someone who I see myself in. The ugly bits of survival, the bloodshed, the sacrifice. It’s all the same. We’ll do anything for the ones we love. It doesn’t make you and I monsters. No matter what our minds tell us what we are, we know the truth. We are all just people.”

Joel swallowed the visible lump growing in his throat. He could feel tears begin to prick the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away. His fists clenched at his sides. His breath shuddered when he felt your warm palm encasing his wrist. His head snapped in your direction from the contact. Brows furrowed, lips parting, eyes wide like a deers.

“It’s okay, Joel.” You whispered.

He finally wept. Ugly, snot filled silent sobs that wrecked through his entire being. And you were still there alongside him. His tears were finally allowed to freely fall, and you didn’t judge him for it, and he didn’t judge you when your own began to drip down your cheeks.

His sudden need for comfort increased when he shakily brought his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. Your cheek was squished against his chest. Your own arm draped around his middle, hand splayed across his covered stomach where you could feel each rise and fall of his lungs inhaling precious oxygen.

Sometimes human beings could find comfort in even those they viewed as strangers.

“Joel.” You whispered. Your tears had long since dried along your skin from the bitter cold. “What month do you think it is right now?”

He sniffled, gazing up at the night sky, and the millions of twinkling stars scattered about.

“December, I think.” He murmured softly.

“Oh,” you sighed, “I wonder if civilization still celebrates Christmas. I wonder if there’s any joy left in the world.”

You can feel his heartbeat through the layers he’s wearing. The subtle shift of his arm around you when it begins to grow numb from the position it’s locked in. He doesn’t let you go, however. He keeps holding you.

“I wonder that too, darlin.’” He rasped.

Your head lifts from laying against his chest. His eyes flicker down to yours. The embers from the fire still glow brightly, just enough that you can make out the warmth in his deep brown eyes as they land upon your face. “Well, if tonight happens to be Christmas Eve, then I wish you a Merry Christmas, Joel Miller.”

A smile tugs across the corner of his lips. His head dips down, lips brushing across your forehead in a tender sweep. “If tonight is Christmas Eve, then I wish you a Merry Christmas as well, darlin.’”

banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

I no longer do tag lists so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!

[youre-ackermine]

Under the Mistletoe

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 1360 approx.

Modern AU / SFW / Friends to lovers / Love confession / Fluff

Joining Levi to celebrate New Year's Eve was the best decision you had made in a long time. Life was so boring and dull since your best friend had left for France to study. No more talking over coffee between classes, no more late night studying together at the library, no more banter and silly jokes. And above all, no more movie nights cuddled up on the couch, wrapped together in both a cosy blanket and his comforting scent. You felt lonely and miserable. In short, you missed your best friend sorely.

Of course you caught up on each other’s life during your weekly phone call, but it’s his presence you missed the most. Your heart had skipped a beat when he had called you a few weeks ago, clearing his throat before blurting out the invitation in a hoarse tone. Hanging up, you couldn't help but giggle with eagerness at the idea of ​​seeing him again after months apart.

As the reunion day drew near, you had felt the excitement revealing itself in each of your gestures, in each of your thoughts, your mind racing with the silliest scenarios. Past the first few days, busying yourself buying your ticket, packing your suitcase, choosing the evening dress you’d wear for the party, your mood had changed. You had lost your appetite. You could barely sleep. Nervousness was taking the best of you. You couldn’t wait to go to Paris.

Reuniting with him had thrown you into emotional turmoil. Despite the “Mlle l’Emmerdeuse" sign he was holding as a joke, despite the familiar smirk plastered on his face, the moment you had seen him waiting for you at the airport had made you stop in your tracks, palms sweating and throat tight. Something about the way he looked at you seemed different, something yearning and intense.

Regardless you had thrown yourself in his arms and, as he had pulled you closer to him, you had nuzzled into his neck and taken in his comforting scent, the very scent you had missed so much on countless sleepless nights. Tears of relief had welled up in your eyes and your heart seemed to have swelled in your chest. You had shivered under his touch and clung to him for a while before letting him go as the heat of embarrassment flushed your cheeks.

You could no longer conceal the obvious: you were deeply, hopelessly in love with your best friend.

The hour that followed was nothing more now than a blur of disjointed chatter, clumsy gestures and awkward silence. Levi had dropped you off at your hotel, giving you some time to get ready. You had struggled to calm down, your whole body still reacting to the unexpected realization of your feelings. You couldn’t figure out yet how to behave around him. Seeing your best friend in this new light had left you confused and, to be really honest, a little ashamed.

When he picked you up later to go to the soirée, he looked so good in his black tuxedo that you almost missed the sparkle in his eyes and the startled gasp he had let out when you had reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the lobby to join him. Your evening gown fitted perfectly, smoothly hugging your curves. The light touches of makeup here and there discreetly highlighted your face. You were breathtaking.

Uneasiness lurked into the confined space of the car as you both remained silent. Levi’s attention was stubbornly focused on the road while you admired the city Christmas lights through the window, thinking about how your silly crush on him would muddy your friendship. Luckily enough, it was a quick drive to your destination and you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when you finally got out of the car.

Your first glance at the impressive beauty of this hôtel particulier near the Tour Eiffel left you speechless for a while. Elegant garlands of warm white lights hung on the front wall, bathing the garden in a festive glow. A few candle lanterns lined the stairs, tracing the path up to the front door. Apparently Levi’s new friends were ridiculously rich.

As soon as you stepped inside, heat slapped your face and music filled your ears. The house was soberly decorated, a few shining ornaments and tinsels were placed here and there and a bouquet of mistletoe hung from the ceiling in the hallway. In the main room, people were already dancing under strobe lights. Levi helped you take off your coat and you shrugged the tension off your shoulders as you followed him across the packed room to the buffet. The fancy display of mouth-watering delicacies helped you snap out of your thoughts for good.

Levi introduced you to his group of friends who stood next to the bar on your left, laughing and raising their glasses to the last remnants of the year and the appealing promises of the new one. One of them poured some champagne in a flute for you while another shoved a plate of appetizers under your nose. They did their best to make you feel welcome.

After a few bites of delicious food, Levi, always the life and soul of the party, stuck with his friends while you hit the dance floor. Mingling with the partygoers released most of the tension building between the two of you so far. You felt his eyes linger on you at first but soon you were so absorbed in the music that you forgot about your turmoil for a moment.

And now, after dragging yourself to the bar all sweating and panting but somewhat relaxed, here you were trying your best to talk with his college friends over the deafening music, slipping a few words of French you vaguely remembered here and there into the conversation. You got along pretty well with Levi’s roommates and you would enjoy the party more if your best friend hadn’t left a while ago, vanishing into the crowd.

Around midnight, you couldn’t help but glance around to find him until you felt a warm hand settling on the small of your back.

“Je peux vous la voler un instant?” Levi asked his friends before taking you away.

He slipped his hand into yours and led you through the crowded dance floor, weaving his way out of the room. Feeling the warm skin of his palm against yours, the reassuring squeeze of his fingers, made your heart race faster and a delicious sensation spread through your body, as if you were floating in the air.

He stopped as he reached the hallway and turned to you, taking both of your hands in his and locking eyes with you. Something between worry and determination showed on his face and for a moment you couldn’t help but take in his handsome features, the sharp line of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips.

“I…I have, er…I have something to tell you,” he stammered. “Something, er. Something I want to tell you for a while now, but. You know, er…Shit...You know I'm bad with words, right?” He squeezed your hands on the last word.

You nodded, not sure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. Your heart sank at the thought that he had realized what you felt for him and wanted to put your relationship to an end because of how disturbing all of this was. But, maybe because of the changes you had noticed in the way Levi looked at you, a teeny, tiny part of you, the one that allowed the butterflies to flutter in your chest, the one that allowed your skin to shiver under his touch, that part couldn’t help but hope.

The hubbub of the party starting the countdown suddenly turned into a blur when Levi leaned in, his face so close to yours that you felt his warm breath on your skin. Your heart pounded in your ears and you finally let the butterflies deliciously flutter in your chest. Leaning even closer, he whispered “je t’aime“ against your lips before kissing you softly.

Your first kiss.

Under the mistletoe.

Requested for my 300 followers event by Suki @suukee @sckerman 🩵

I hope you'll like it!

🔸🔸🔸

A/N: Kissing under the mistletoe is a New Year’s Eve / New Year’s Day custom in France rather than a Christmas custom as in other countries // English is not my usual language

Proofreading @sixpennydame thank you so much my lovely Bestie <333

Translation

Mlle l’Emmerdeuse >>> Miss Annoyance

Hôtel particulier >>> Mansion

Je peux vous la voler un instant? >>> Can I borrow her from you for a sec?

Je t'aime >>> I love you

🔸🔸🔸

Header: @youre-ackermine

Star divider: @saradika-graphics

Fireworks divider: @firefly-graphics

🔸🔸🔸

You can find the event masterlist (in progress) HERE

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Not the Same Moon: Prologue

Read on ao3 Summary: When the Curtis parents died, Darry was only three semesters away from graduating college. He gave it all up to take care of his brothers and return to life as a greaser. OR: an AU where Darry was much farther into college when he had to come home. It changes a lot of things, some things are always the same.

Three more semesters. That was all Darry needed. Three more semesters and he could get out of Oklahoma. 

When his advisor told him that he could graduate early if he wanted, Darry jumped at the chance. Yeah it would probably mean that he wouldn’t be scouted to play football professionally, but that was alright with him. He would have a degree that would get him a nice job, a nice future with a wife and a house, that was all he wanted. 

He grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Darry had seen his brothers, his best friends be spat on and beat on just because they didn’t grow up with money. All he wanted was to get out of that life. Was that so much to ask?

Going to college was a dream come true. He was playing for the Sooners, he was wearing polos and slacks to classes. No one on campus called him a greaser or a soc. There, he went by Darrel instead of Darry. It was a small difference, but it felt like an acknowledgment that he was finally on the right path.

He loved his family more than everything. He missed his brothers and his parents and his friends every day. 

But when he went home, he felt like an outsider. He saw the way his friends looked at him. In their eyes, he wasn’t really one of them anymore. They still loved him. But he wasn’t a greaser anymore, not really. 

Darry wasn’t even in Tulsa when he got the call. 

It was Two-Bit on the other line, telling him in a shaky voice that he needed to come home right away. He just kept repeating that Darry needed to come back to Tulsa. 

When Darry asked to talk to Soda, his brother’s voice was thick with tears as he said, “They’re gone, Dar, Mom and Dad are gone.”

Darry didn’t remember anything after that. It was all a blur. He shoved everything he needed into a duffel bag, borrowed a teammate’s truck, and drove the two hours back to Tusla in complete silence. His eyes were staring forward on the road the whole time. His knuckles were tight on the wheel. 

Tears flowed down his cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away. 

Darry had made the same drive not even three weeks prior when he came home for Christmas. His whole family tried to convince him to stay home through New Years and celebrate his birthday with them. Darry left instead. He claimed that he wanted to get a head start for the next semester, but really, he didn’t think he could stand being in Tulsa for one more second. 

It got under his skin, it reminded him that he was only ever going to be a west side greaser and never any more than that. It broke his heart when Soda and Pony hugged him with tears in their eyes and made him promise to come home soon.

Soon was sooner than they ever thought.

He pulled up in front of the house. Christmas lights were still hung across the gable. Two-Bit and Dally’s cars were parked haphazardly on the gravel. It could have been any other day, from the outside it looked the same as it always had. Yet the dark clouds overhead cast a shroud. 

Darry jumped out of the car and jogged up to the house. The boards squeaked under his feet. He was just about to open the door when Two-Bit stepped out. 

The first thing his friend did was pull him into a tight hug. Darry hugged him back, digging his fingers into Two-Bit’s shoulders. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed that comfort.

“How bad is it?” Darry asked.

Two pulled back, his face grim. He told him quietly, “It’s really bad. Soda’s been crying for hours, Pony threw up for a while but Johnny and Dally got him calmed down.”

Darry’s eyebrows raised, “Dally?” He couldn’t remember Dally and Pony interacting all that much. Hell, he’d seen Steve and Ponyboy talk more than those two. It was strange to him that Pony would let Dally comfort him in that way.

Two-Bit nodded. “We can talk later, but-”

The door banged open again and Darry was confronted with his brothers, their eyes red. They were wearing pajamas. Pony’s arms were wrapped around his stomach, he definitely looked ill.

“Darry,” Soda sobbed. He launched himself at Darry, but it turned out that catching his brother was a lot easier than catching a football. With one arm around Soda, Darry reached out for Pony. Pony barnacled himself against Darry’s side immediately.

“I’m here,” Darry said softly. He could feel both of them shaking. “I’m right here.”

Standing on the veranda, the brothers held each other close. Their friends peered out the windows at them, exchanging heavy looks. They could all sense that this was the beginning of something, the terrible beginning of the next chapter of their lives.

Rain began to fall over Tulsa. Darry always loved the smell of rain. Somewhere in the city, his parents’ car was being towed from the railroad tracks and their bodies were lying in the morgue. 

Not even a week later, Darry dropped out of school. 

He found a construction job that would let him work every weekday and a job at a diner that he could work nights and weekends. His thoughts were about money and work and custody. There was time for little else.

In a flash, the life he had been working so hard for was nothing but ashes.

He was a greaser again. His time in college meant nothing. He was back to square one.

But his brothers were safe in the house they grew up in and that’s all that mattered. He told himself that over and over again. Sometimes he even believed it. He knew it was the right thing to do and he would have hated himself if he hadn’t stepped up. 

Yet, sometimes he stayed up late and he couldn’t help but think of what could have been. He tortured himself with dreams of a nice house, windows and doors that shut properly, never having to worry about rumbles or socs. 

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace- 7

Also a very Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate! And Free Palestine.

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @dark-night-sky-99 @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis

Word count: 3,4k

Masterlist

Part 6~Part 8

Us Weekly:  

“Carlos Sainz seen with a new girl on the paddock.”  

People Magazine:  

“Carlos Sainz’s new girl proves to be a fashion icon.”  

Elle Magazine: 

“Carlos Sainz seen dancing in the rain with his new girlfriend.”  

Cosmopolitan Magazine:  

“Is this new girl just a fling or here to stay?”  

You can see the news articles flash before you in full HD on the new phone Carlos got you. Fully signed in on everything. Not only that but your Instagram has blown up already. Ten thousand new followers since you last uploaded a picture with you standing by the paddock. You haven’t had time to reply to any comments or new dm’s, because you were on a flight 6 am Monday. 

“So, how was your first F1 weekend?” You know its Charles talking to you, but you’d much rather not even open your eyes right now. Eventually, you decide to be courteous, and you see he looks more than excited to talk to you. You gather up all your strength and put on the best smile you can. “It was a lot more fun than I expected. But there was also a lot of sitting around.”  

He nods and continues. “Yes, Alexandra usually stays home for most gp’s. She usually only comes for the important ones, like Italy where were going now. It’s strange that Carlos brought you to Zandvoort for your first time.” Your mind feels foggy and thinking of a reason why seems almost useless. Where is Carlos, can’t he do all this for you?  

“Yeah um, he was just so excited,” it seems good enough but thinking feels like such a chore. “Are you okay?” He asks, going closer to see if you’re okay. “Yeah, I’m uh fine...It’s just...” just then your saviour comes. Carlos sits down beside you, unaware of the conversation. “Are you not feeling better yet?” Almost instinctively you wrap your hands around his arm.  

You wouldn’t usually do this. Normally you’d be more aware of your relationship and making sure Carlos is ready. But right now thinking feels above your capacity. “Is she sick?” Charles asks and Carlos can feel the jealousy grow in his stomach. It takes everything in him not to glare at his teammate or tell him to back off.  

“Yeah, smoking withdrawals. I just don’t know what to do to help.” He pulls your hair out of your face. Charles sighs, “I’m sorry mate,” he pats you on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you then and get to know your girl later on.” When Charles is gone, Carlos takes you under the arms and pulls you closer into his arms, cradling you.  

“I got you something,” that gets you to look up but what is in his hands disappoint you. It’s a green smoothie and a big sandwich. “You brought me healthy food? You monster,” you groan taking the sandwich from him and taking a big bite. He chuckles but continues to rub circles on your back.  

“I don’t like Charles talking to you.” He mumbles, you know he’s talking to himself mostly. “He’s going to talk to me, Carlos. You take me everywhere, and where you go, he goes.” You chuckle, thinking back to the weekend. He only hums as a reply. “I’m sorry that I’m like this. I know you don’t want this.”  

You mumble, still enjoying your sandwich, taking sip from your fresh drink. He sighs and shakes his head. “You keep saying that. What on earth do you mean?” There is annoyance in his voice, you can hear it and it makes you stiffen. He’s never been annoyed with you before. “I read a few articles about our...agreement. They all say you daddies want stress-free, low-maintenance always happy girls.” 

He scoffs at you, “Siempre tan terca. Do you believe everything they say on the internet?” He asks, now regretting giving you the new phone and unlimited data plan. “So far what they’ve said about you and me has been true.” You shrug, finishing your sandwich as you think back. There were even TikTok's.  

“Oh yeah, and what do they say?” He asks, peering down as you finish your drink. “Well, that I’m incredibly fashionable and also a gold digger.” You chuckle watching as he rolls his eyes at you again. Then he stares you down, taking your chin between his fingers. “Didn’t I tell you, mi querida, you and I are more.”  

You can see his eyes flicker to your lips, and you’re entranced by his. The silence between you is deafening and you can feel your head spinning. “Can I kiss you?” the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you just don’t have the guts to ask. “I’m sorry you had a bad weekend.” He licks his lips and then takes your empty cup and paper and places it on the table.  

Carlos then takes you in his arms again and holds you tight once more. His smell almost seems to get rid of your headache. “It’s alright, this weekend will be better. I’m sure, because then you’ll feel better and you can be by my side. And with you by my side, the world championship will be mine in no time.”  

You giggle and curl yourself closer into his side. “Call it my 50%. Being your good luck charm.” He laughs and then pulls you closer to him. “I must warn you my dear, Italy is the home of Ferrari. The Tifosi are...enthusiastic to say the least.” His cheeks almost go pink at the thought of just how excited some of them can be.  

“They can’t be that bad...” you mutter, languidly making small circles on his thigh. He laughs, “I mean, without them we wouldn’t have met.” You turn on your back so that you can look up at him. “Was that the screaming I heard that day?” He smirks and nods. “Why were you running from them? And why didn’t you want to tell me then?” You ask, watching his eyes intensely like always.  

He leans back, now his hands are in your hair. You can feel your headache dissipating as his big strong hands untangle any knots that hid from you. “Sometimes, I just want to roam the streets of Paris without being bombarded to take photos. And I didn’t tell you because I was scared you might be one of them and have a... similar reaction.”  

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “Did it disappoint you when I didn’t fall to my knees and kiss your shoes?” He lets out a sigh at your shenanigans. “It was nice for someone to show me kindness because they are human not because of what I do.” This does make your heart melt; you can’t help yourself.  

You let your hands reach up and touch his cheek, letting his scruff tickle your hands. “Tell me, how can I be that person for you? What more can I do for you?” He takes your hand and holds it close before he places a kiss on your palm. “Don’t ever change. Not for me, not for your family, not for your future. Don’t ever let the world take away that smile, or that sprakle in your eyes.”  

His words bring tears to your eyes, and you can’t help but use the sleeves of your (his) hoodie to wipe away the forming tears. “Why do you cry, mi amor?” He asks, his brows furrowing to a point between his brows. You can just shake your head. “I’m just emotional, is all.” He shakes his head and the continues massaging your scalp.  

“Get some sleep, mi amor.”  

You’re awoken by a door opening. Not a plane door, a hotel door. It takes a few moments to realise, but you’re tucked in deep into the soft comforter. The room is dark, and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to get use to the light. Then, you see Carlos coming closer and then squatting down next to the bed.  

“Good morning, sleepy head. I was starting to get worried that you’d gotten sick.” He says, pushing the hair out of your face. “Good morning?” You ask, starting to sit up, confused by the dark room. He smirks along with a chuckle. “Shall I open the curtains?” He then stands and you watch him as he walks across the hotel room to the window.  

The light floods in and you peak your head back under the covers. “What time is it?” You ask, listening as he walks about. “It’s about 12-ish.” This doesn’t seem so bad, but Carlos said you’d go to the gym as soon as you landed. The realisation causes you to throw the comforter off. 

He tsks, coming over and smoothing the furrow between your brows. “Why would you let me sleep that long?” You ask with just a bit of a whine in your tone. “Because you are sick and need the rest.” You huff and push out your bottom lip. “I missed our first gym session,” you whine. For once you were looking forward to it and you can see by his wet hair that he already went and already showered.  

After all, you did see the Instagram story he posted on Friday morning. The thought of seeing him hot and sweaty is enough to get your workout shoes on. Again, he tsks and shakes his head. “Not while you’re recovering. You can take a walk, get some fresh air but that is it until you start to feel better.”  

Carlos’ voice is stern and leaves no room to argue. For now, you’ll just have to continue keeping a close eye on his Instagram. “I bought something for you.” He smiles, walking over to the bag he had placed on the couch in the hotel room. There is a pep in his step. He brings over two boxes and two bags, both from name brands that you’ve only ever dreamed of owning.  

He looks so excited to see you open the boxes and honestly you too are gleaming with elation. The first box is flat and you open it to pull out a beautiful hand spun white boho maxi-dress. “It’s hotter in Italy,” he explains before you open the next box. Its beautiful brown woven sandals to match with the boho effect. Lastly, the bag.  

The shopping bag has the unmistakable Prada logo. “You shouldn’t have,” you mutter feeling your heartbeat rise. His glare makes you want to eat your words. You take the bag out as if it is ancient Chinese porcelain. The bag matches perfectly with the sandals. The same brown with the same woven effect.  

“Oh, it’s gorgeous Carlos, thank you so much.” You reach over and pull him tight into a hug. You can smell his musky deodorant and it makes you never want to let go. “I saw all these and instantly thought of you.” He smiles and then continues. “Lastly, they made special Ferrari merch for Italy.” He explains, taking out the red, yellow and black shirt. Along with a cap with the same colour theme.  

“You like them? They make me think more Spanish flag than Italy. It suits you,” you smirk with a raised brow. Once again reminded by his strong accent. He only shrugs, “Doesn’t really matter if I like them or not. Wear or don’t wear, that’s up to you.” You gasp and this time it’s your turn to scold them.  

“No, Carlos. You must stand up for yourself.” He smirks at your reaction and raises his brow. “Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind next time you push out that bottom lip of yours.” He replies, giving your lip a swipe and then going on. “Now go get dressed. We’re going out for brunch; you must be hungry.”  

“The view is really beautiful, hold on let me send you guys a photo.” You take a picture from the balcony. In clear view is a beautifully crafted, over 500-year-old church. Not only that but you have a perfectly clear view of the circuit. If you wanted to, you could watch the race from the balcony. Knowing Carlos, he would prefer it so.  

“Woah, girl. Isn’t that so cool? In a five-star hotel in Italy right next to the formula one track.” Jasmine says over the phone. You can’t help but chuckle. “How are you feeling?” Ilsa asks, not as impressed by the fancy location. “Better, he’s really been taking good care of me.” You explain thinking back. “Oo, do tell.” It’s Jas again.  

“He let me sleep in his arms on the plane and even tucked me in and let me sleep more. He woke me up with gifts,” you can’t talk more before Jasmine demands to know what the gifts are. “He got me this beautiful dress, and brand-new shoes. Both name brand. And you’ll never guess what.” You begin but don’t even allow them to guess. “He got me my very first Prada bag.”  

You can hear screaming through the phone while you send them a photo. As well as the Instagram photos Carlos took for you. “He took these photos for you?? Damn girl, he knows all your best angles.” You blush at Jas’ words. “It seems all too good to be true...” Ilsa seems to speak your thoughts out loud.  

“Yes, there are some small things that seem a bit odd.” They both go a bit quiet. “Like?” Ilsa asks, and you know this might ring alarm bells for them. “He has these two bodygaurds to follow me everywhere.” You get two wildly different reactions. Jas coos and Ilsa gasps. “And I feel a bit like he’s babying me.”  

Ilsa asks for you to explain. “Well he’s working with a dietitian to make sure I get all my daily vitamins, and once I get better, he got me a personal trainer.” They both are dead silent. “That is a bit strange...” This time it’s Jasmine talking. “That doesn’t seem normal at all,” it’s Ilsa talking, and you know she’s right.  

“But it’s the terms I agree too so I can’t really say anything about it.” There isn’t much else to be said. “I suppose, but as soon as he crosses a line, you’ll leave him, right?” Ilsa asks and you bite your lip. “That’s the thing. He hasn’t tried to do anything to me, even once. He’s been nothing but kind to me. He keeps saying he and I will become something more but so far it’s only been words.”  

They hum as a reply, “Maybe you should make the first move?” Jas suggests and Ilsa scolds her for it. “That’s the thing, I don’t know if I want that. What if it makes things weird between us? What if I do make the first move and that’s all he sees me as after? What if I do make a move and he just wanted someone to talk to and he ditches me?” You can hear your friends roll their eyes at you. “You’re overthinking it, Y/N. If it’s meant to be, it will be. For now, just enjoy the lavish life and look hot. That’s your job.”  

The conversation plays in your head over and over. Who is right? Jasmine or Ilsa? Should you just enjoy the luxuries he gives you, or question his actions? Why is he doing all this for you? You read online that Sugar Daddies like to spoil. Take their babies on trips and buy them anything and everything. But do they form diet plans and make sure you get a full 8 hours of sleep?  

Do they tuck you into bed at night, and get you medication to help with smoking withdrawals? Do they hire a personal trainer to make sure you stay in healthy body? Do they tell you, you’re their person and promise to visit your family? Are there lines being crossed? Should you be more wary? Or should you just shut up and enjoy it?  

You toss and turn at night. It’s already 2 in the morning, Carlos had you going to bed at ten. Like you said, he wants you getting a full night’s rest. You just can’t sleep. Likely due to the withdrawals but also due to the storming thoughts in your mind. And you remember feeling this same way all of last weekend.  

The only other thing that got you to sleep last weekend, was Carlos. Being wrapped in his arms and surrounded by his scent. Now that you’re sleeping in separate rooms, would it be weird for you to ask for him to hold you? How weird is that? Would that be considered making the first move? You know for a fact that Carlos would be seething if he found out you didn’t sleep at all.  

You open the door, there are different bodyguards here. Likely the night shift and it feels so eerie to have them standing there. There aren’t even any by his door and you know other drivers are staying here and you haven’t seen them have any bodyguards. “Um, excuse me?” You grab their attention, but they don’t seem to notice.  

“Do you maybe have a keycard for Carlos’ room?” The taller of the two reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a keycard and then hands it to you. “Thank you,” you smile up at him but get little reaction. You keep across the hall and open his door with a click.  

His room is the same as yours, but reversed. You can see from here that he is sound asleep. You can feel a pang of guilt hit you at just the thought of waking him up for something this silly. He looks so peaceful, not stressed, or anxious about his future. No he seems entirely at content to be drifting away in Dreamland.  

Do you really have to wake him? Can't you just return? It's a nice thought, but you can't help but remember last weekend. You were too exhausted to even enjoy the energy and the surrealism of the moment. You spent most of the time as a zombie in Carlos' room. And when the actual finished, you had been sitting in the garage and only registered when Carlos came up to you.  

Needless to say he was furious when he found out truly just how little you slept. And how well you hid it from him. You'd gotten use to putting up a smile and hiding the exhaustion from the people most important to you. He told you that your health was on the same level of priority as his racing to him. Which, honestly, blew your mind.  

Your health has always been on the back burner. Something you'll worry about when you have more money and more time. Now you have an abundance of both and still can't help but ignore it. Because if you adress it, it makes it real.  

Now, as you stand besides his bead, you can't help but feel like a child. Is that how he sees you? As a responsiblity he's here to dress and take care of? Is that why he won't kiss you? Why his touch is soft and gentle and never show anything more than worry?  

If you leave now, you know for a fact those goons outside your door will definitely tell him. Likely, they would tell him that you didn't sleep too. Just do it! You had practiced the words so well before. This is the first time you've truly wanted for something. He's taken care of everything else before you could even think about it. But now you have to ask him for something.  

You gently tap his arm, no reaction. He must be a deep sleeper. This time you shove a bit harder, it's difficult to see exactly what you're shoving especially with the black out curtains. This time, however, he does stir and you can only assume awoke when words spill from his mouth.  

“What is wrong, mi dulce chica?” He asks, already his hand gently caressing your arm. You take a deep breath in and try not to think of your next words too much. “Daddy, I can't sleep.” You can't see his reaction but soon after he opens up the duvet and his arms. Queuing for you to join him.  

This. This is exactly what you needed. He cradles your head between his arms. Your knees pressed between his legs. You body perfect matching his. That small. The smell of a hot summer day. Of his musky deodorant and what you can only describe as a day in the beach. If you could bottle his scent, you're certain you'd make millions.  

You had so many questions that you wanted to ask him. But now as you're cuddled in his arms, your thoughts just melt away. Into a nice and warm sheen over your body. Sleep comes easy.

My tag list is open!

[shadowbriar]

Fred Weasley - Pick Up Where We Left Off

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader Word Count : 2.5k Warning : None. Let me know if I missed anything Synopsis : One last Christmas with the Weasleys, would she find her closure from his sudden withdrawal years ago? Notes : I’m trying to pull myself out of writing slump. Hope this is good enough of a comeback-ish post. Not proofread, I might edit this later. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Perhaps she’s read one too many romantic novels that it’s started to blur the line of reality in her life. Perhaps Hermione has told her too many tales of happy endings that it’s started to dilute her idea of realism. Perhaps she’s taken Divination class too seriously that it’s started to make her believe that the Universe holds a better, sweeter, and dreamier ending for her and him.

It was no question for her on whose palms her heart belongs. Long before Snape taught her class about Amortentia, long before Trelawney taught her about crystal-gazing, she already knew whose magnetic force her world would revolve around. One look of him after being sorted to her house and it felt like the thin haze of uncertainty in her life was lifted. She might only be a child then, but she knew that this wouldn’t be something she could walk past from. 

For the first few years of her school life, everything seemed to be falling to its place. It wasn’t hard for her to grow close with him, like how bees are naturally attracted to flowers, in no time he was always just an arm’s length from her. He was always around. Always had his hands on top of her head as they walked on the corridors, always saved her a seat in the Great Hall for every meal, and would always find her first to share the mischief he’s accomplished during the day.

Yet some day in their Third year, something changed. Like someone had just pulled the rug she was standing on, snapping her to the reality that things are simply too good to be true. She has misunderstood his affection and tender gestures. Fred Gideon Weasley has never held any romantic feelings for her.

She bites her lip as the memories of their once fond friendship slowly evaporates to thin air. He slowly distant himself, for whatever reason she still couldn’t decipher. His bright beaming smile turns into a tight line before eventually gone entirely from his handsome face. His fingers no longer play with her hair and the space between them during meals seem to grow further each day until he’s found himself eventually sitting on a different spot.

“Will you come and spend Christmas with us?” Ginny asks, linking her arms as they walk to the train “It’s been a while since we see you on breaks.”

She smiles, shaking her head lightly, “Not this time, Gin.”

“Is Fred still being an arse?” The younger continues with her questions “It’s been years, surely he’s warmed up to you.”

“He sure has.” She lied, giving the red head a squeeze on the arm “We’re just not as close anymore and I think it would be awkward for us all if I were to pop out of nowhere at your family dinner.”

“Nonsense! Everyone would be delighted to see you, I can guarantee that.”

She shows an apologetic smile, still not giving in.

“It’s been years,” Ginny continues to plead “You’re graduating soon and Merlin knows when else we could spend Christmas together. You know, Charlie’s back from Romania and it wouldn’t be complete still without you there.”

“I don’t know, Gin.”

“Please? I’ll hex and petrify Fred in his room if he’s making you uncomfortable.”

She chuckles a little before letting out a sigh, “Alright.”

—-

She tidies her skirt in nervousness, standing in front of the Burrow’s door as she wonders if coming here was a mistake. One last Christmas, she thought. One last Christmas before she could move on from the long attaching chapter in her life that is Fred Weasley. One last Christmas with the Weasley before she shuts the memory away. One last Christmas to say goodbye.

With a long inhale, she hesitantly knocks on the wooden door. Her grip on her purse tightened as the person who greets her first was the one she least wished to see. He looks just as surprised to see her, a light hint of rose tainting his cheeks. Perhaps from the cold breeze of air.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” She greets back “Your family invited me for dinner.”

He blinks, seemingly at a loss of words, “Right, of course.”

“Sunshine!’ A voice called behind him, revealing Bill who’s now coming to her with large steps “Oh, it’s been decades since I last saw you!”

She giggles as he pulls her for a hug, lifting her slightly, “Hello, Bill.”

“Oh, Merlin.” He says, staring at her beamingly as he puts her down “Look at you now! You’ve grown! You’re a lady now.”

“Still far shorter than you, though.”

“Nah, your height is the perfect one. It’s cute.”

Fred clears his throat, “I think you should let a woman come inside first before flirting with her, Bill.”

“Of course!” Bill says, pulling her by the shoulder and leading her in “Come on, there’s so many things we should talk about. How’s life, Darling?”

The warm happy smile is still plastered on her face, feeling genuinely happy as Bill starts to share the bits of his life that she’s missed about. He’s always been the welcoming big brother for her, always there to embrace her with such warmth and love she would never find elsewhere. Yet with all the joy and delight of hearing Bill’s pleasant stories, she couldn’t help but to notice the annoyed scoff and the louder slam of the door as they entered the house.

Perhaps her presence really is a bother for him.

—-

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She curses with a sigh, placing her hands to hips.

To say dinner went pleasantly would be such an understatement. Everyone welcomed her as if she was the missing jigsaw the family has been missing for years. Bill was always by her side, Charlie sharing all of his adventurous tales from Romania, and Percy who blabbered about his new position at the ministry. The shared night felt like it went by too quickly that Mrs. Weasley persisted for her to stay the night, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Perhaps it was the blissful warmth the house has always been filled in and the waves of emotions she hasn’t felt for years that made her struggle to drift off to sleep now. That or the fact that Fred was the only silent party on the table. He was the only one who didn’t try to engage in a conversation with her, yet she could feel his eyes boring into her like a tiger prying on their prey. The not so subtle, dare she say, jealousy he shows when Bill rests his arm around her shoulder, or when Charlie played with her hair, or when Percy give her a slice of their mother’s cookings, or when George made her laugh so hard she cried, or when Ron hugged her as he opens her present, or even when Ginny stole her to gossip about her little crush on Harry at the sitting room. All the little mundane things they used to do, she couldn’t help but to wish that Fred would miss it too.

But he’s made no effort to come to her, not even a step closer. He kept his distance, a tight forced smile decorating his face whenever their eyes met. It was as if her presence was torturing him.

“Need a hand?”

“Oh, Godric!” She yelps, turning to see the angel of her nightmares standing by the stairs “I couldn’t find where the sugar’s placed.”

He nods, not saying a word as he opens the overhead cabinet and puts the sugar to the table.

“Thanks.” She muttered with a small smile “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No,” He says short, now leaning to the basin “I couldn’t sleep.”

She nods.

The sound of her stirring her cup of tea is now the only thing breaking the silence between them. She could feel him staring, with his hands folded in front of his chest as if he was studying her. She dares not to look up. Merlin knows just how much of a shamble she would find herself in to lock their gazes. Even after all these years of separation, she knew that he’s still the one magnetism her heart belongs to.

But minutes passed and he still hasn’t spoken a word. Her tea was getting cold, untouched for she fears the slightest change of action would make him leave. Though the tension was ripping her apart, she would gladly be stuck in this situation forever if it meant she could keep him around.

“How have you been?”

She looks up, finally gathering enough courage to see him, “You mean lately or the past few years we’ve been apart?”

“Both,” He says with a slight frown “I suppose.”

“I’m doing alright. You?”

“Could’ve been better.”

“Lately or the past few years?”

He smiles, repeating his words, “Both, I suppose.”

She looks down to her tea. This would be the very time for her to find her closure, find the answers as to why he would leave her so abruptly with no warning. Yet now that the universe has aligned them their moment, why is she now feeling scared? Why does it feel like laying on the bed of uncertainty, the one thing she’s found comfort with over the years of his absence, feels like a better course of life than to have her heart broken for whatever reason he might have?

“I know that I owe you an explanation,” He says as if he could read her mind “But I fear that it would only make you hate me.”

“What makes you think that I don’t already hate you?”

He smiles painfully, “Silly of me think that you haven’t.”

“Say we live in a world where I could never hate you,” She whispered, fingers tapping on her tea cup “Would you give me the answer?”

“In that world, yes.”

She looks up, pleading for him to continue in silence.

“In that world I would tell you everything.” He continues “I would tell you everything, give you everything. Hell, I wouldn’t even leave in the first place.”

“Say that is our world, this world. What answer would you give me?”

His gaze softens, guilt and regret seeping through them, “That I was just a boy. I was scared of what our friendship could lead us to.”

She remains quiet.

“We were so close.” He reminisced with a sad smile “There were times when I felt like I was closer to you than George, and he’s always been with me since I first took my breath in this world, yet somehow you overthrone him and it scares me.”

She nods, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not something you should feel sorry for, Love.” He chuckles bitterly “I was afraid you would somehow, in my most narcissistic mind, fall for me. I know that there would be no chance in the seven hells for that to happen, a girl like you falling for a boy like me, hell that would’ve been the most dubious wish I could hope for.”

She frowns, not following where his confession is going to.

“But I was scared that that would happen. I was scared that our friendship would grow into something more and I could never forgive myself if you were to fall for me when I haven’t sorted my feelings out.”

“I see,” She speaks, taking gulps to try and suppress the growing lump on her throat “And have you sorted your feelings now?”

“I have,” He nods, a sad smile still plastered on his face “I have for years but it was too late already.”

“Too late for what?”

“To make you mine.”

Her head now spins. She felt like her ears had lied to her, that her mind had somehow misunderstood his words, for there could be no chance in every lifetime that he would ever reciprocate her feelings. Never.

“I’m sorry that I ruined everything.” Fred says with a shaky voice as if he was trying to bottle his emotions “I’m sorry that I left you, I’m sorry for realising my feelings too late, I’m sorry for making you hate me, and I’m so fucking sorry for being jealous at everyone who gets to spend their time with you because no matter how many times I tried, I can’t stop loving you.”

And there it is. The confirmation that she wasn’t just making the words in her head. That he indeed, is confessing his heart for her.

She places her hands to her forehead, trying to stop the dizziness she’s feeling right now. Everything Fred said was all she’s been praying for but now that she’s heard it, she wasn’t sure what to say. That, and the fact that she still needs to comprehend that this wasn’t just a lovely dream her mind’s playing.

“Please say something.” Fred begs.

“Merlin, I hate you so much.” She sighs, now looking up to meet his saddened eyes “If I had my wand with me right now, you would’ve find yourself in a casket already, Fred Weasley.”

He smiles, “That doesn’t sound like a very bad way to go.”

“Oh, it is.” She nods, scoffing “Because then you wouldn’t know that I’ve been loving you too.”

His smile dropped, blinking as he heard her.

“Now you can hate yourself even more.” She says sarcastically.

“You’re-” He stammers, now standing up rigidly “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m as serious as you are.” She answers, standing from her seat too “So tell me, Fred, am I being serious?”

Fred was at a loss of words. He stares at her with a conflicted look, like desire and restraint was fighting to take over his body. He hesitantly takes a step closer to her and when she doesn't flinch, he closes the gap between them, now standing in front of her with his hands resting on either of her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

She squints her eyes, confused, “What for?”

“For what I’m going to do.”

And with that he leans in, sealing their lips together in the most delicate way. The kiss was short but it was enough to fuel both of their aching hearts. They sigh as they break it off, eyes still closed for a few more seconds as they try to bath in each other’s presence. Something that they’ve longed so painfully long for.

“I love you.” Fred says, looking at her tenderly “I would do anything, and I mean by anything to fix us. We can start from the beginning, I could be a friend or anything you like. Just- Please give me a chance to fix this.”

“I don’t know, Fred.” She teases, faking a sad face “You’re cute, but Bill looks so hot now.”

His mouth was agape, gasping at her taunt, “And here I thought you were a loyal friend. Siblings are off limits, you know it!”

She smiles, kissing the palm of his hand.

“Please?” He asked again, whispering his plea “You won’t regret it.”

“Okay,” She nods, cheeks red from the bliss “But only if you promise you’ll kiss me at the podium when we graduate.”

“Yeah, about that,” Fred awkwardly chuckles, one hand now finds its way to the back of his neck “You’d still love me if I got expelled, right?”

[atamascolily]

Those of you who have read my ridiculously long Homura essay will already be familiar (heh) with my argument for why the missing Clara Doll "Ai" is actually Homura, so I'm not going to rehash those arguments here, but I did find some more evidence while combing through the Rebellion Production Note that is worth taking into account.

(CW: discussion and imagery of self-inflicted surgical procedures and suicide.)

This drawing shows the original 14 Clara Dolls with Homura in her "orphaned Victorian waif" outfit right in the center. This in itself proves nothing, but it's interesting that she's right where #15 would be, if #15 was present, and that her face is drawn as a blank. This same juxtaposition happens elsewhere in the Rebellion Production Note--sometimes with a clearly delineated "Ai" figure, sometimes with a clearly delineated "Homura" and sometimes with a more ambiguous figure, thus blurring the lines between them

Here's a close-up shot of a clearly delineated "Ai" figure. Unlike the equivalent shot in the final film, this image is large enough that we can see that she comes with an accessory: a hand drill. And what do you think she uses it for?

Trepanning is a surgical procedure that literally drills a hole in the skull, usually for the purpose of "letting bad spirits out", i.e., a crude form of mental health treatment. The metaphor in context of Rebellion is obvious, so I won't belabor it, except to say that we see both Ai's outfit and her drill again and again in these production notes... with Homura.

This drawing is different from the version that made it into the final film, but note that this is very clearly Homura, right down to the cobweb tears under her eyes (which are red in the film version), actively drilling a hole for trepanning with the hand drill.

In addition to being drawn with the classic "Clara Doll eyes"--again cementing the fact that Homura perceives herself as yet another Clara Doll, at least in this particular context--she is clutching a plushie of Madoka. Compare this to other drawings in the notes:

Here we have a proto-Homulilly, clutching Madoka to her via some kind of shadowy tentacle things (?) while Madokami (Madoka as the Law of Cycles) looks on. Once again, Madoka is an object of comfort to Homura, albeit represented in a more mature form.

These same motifs appear in both of these images, except that the Clara Dolls are now the ones connected to Homura via these long shadowy tentacles, and in the drawing on the right, Homura is separated from Madoka and reaching for the "angel" on top of the Christmas tree instead of actively holding onto her the way she is on the left. Note also that Homura appears more as the Devil than the witch in the left drawing, and that her white veil is reminiscent of a wedding veil. This is evocative of her pulling Madoka the human (and in this case, the magical girl) out of the Law of Cycles, just as she does in Rebellion.

(For what it's worth, Homura attached to the Clara Dolls didn't make it into the film, but it does appear in the concept movie trailer and her doppel form in Magia Record.)

But anyway, back to Ai and trepanning! Here's another sketch of Homura wearing the same outfit as "Ai" and again paired with her signature drill, although this time only the handle is visible:

Homura's eyes are rounder here and lack the distinctive uncanny valley Clara Doll look, but as a general rule, Inu Curry seems to really enjoy representing her with them:

Ultimately, the trepanning drill is not present in the final version of Homura's confrontation with Kyubey in the dollhouse, but it does appear in at least one place during the tunnel sequence, where it is shown boring into the heads of two identical Clara Doll heads devoid of any distinguishing feature. I guess SHAFT ultimately decided it would be too obvious anywhere else, although I'm not sure why--they certainly didn't have a problem with Homura shooting herself in the head, so the blood and violence wasn't the problem here. Most likely they thought it was redundant to have two different head wounds in the same movie, IDK.

Granted, all of this material I've presented here is supplementary to Rebellion and may represented preliminary ideas that ultimately weren't realized in the final product... but given that "Ai"'s name and existence is known only through supplementary material to begin with, I think it's fair to take it into consideration when drawing conclusions about her. However, I think there's no question that regardless of your interpretation of the finished film, it's abundantly clear that Inu Curry was thinking of Homura as Ai (and vice versa) during the design process; otherwise, there would be no reason for all the symbolic overlap.

TL;DR: Rebellion is incredibly ambiguous and open to multiple different and frequently contradictory interpretations, so believe whatever you want to believe about Ai. That said, based on all of the evidence I've outlined above, "Ai" likely represents the Homura we see in Rebellion and thus is unlikely to appear as a separate entity; anyone who expects her to turn up in a different form in future installments will be most likely be disappointed.

[agendabymooner]

TO LOATHE AND TO LOVE || MV33 SERIES: a masterlist

f1 masterlist: a - n o - z

max verstappen x hearth sister!ofc (sylvie ford) - wip

summary: there is a massive difference between the two words, but sylvie was more than willing to blur out the line if it means for her to spend some time with what others called her soulmate, max verstappen.

content warning: 16+ content, use of explicit language, social media file + written fic format, mentions of paternal relationship issues, jos verstappen, mentions of mental health and problems with it, best friends to enemies to best friends to lovers (lol), gossips + rumours

one, it’s time to go: sylvie attended a christmas party and couldn’t seem to do what she normally did on the paddock: avoid max

two, closure: her memories haunted her so much that the red bull team principal thought of her to be incompetent, so it was only ideal of max to face the music too.

three, goodnight n go: she wasn't sure what was more surprising: toto's presence on her graduation celebration or max's expensive graduation gifts.

four, gorgeous: there's nothing more satisfying than seeing christian horner own up to his own mistake. that, and max's office-warming gift that he dropped off in sylvie's new on-site office.

five, cinema: sylvie was left feeling unsure when she and max did things that friends normally wouldn't do after she was broken up with by another man. (16+)

six, satellite: max verstappen might've avoided talking about what they had done before all of this, but he was certain he wouldn't get out of his way just to ignore her as he swore not to her one way or another ever again.

seven, mean: sylvie found herself with a million and a half pounds and winning against the boys who brought her racing career to an early end.

eight, long story short: they're friends, they said. they bought a house and adopted a dog together, they definitely did.

nine, mastermind: max wasn't going to admit that he was jealous. he wasn't going to tell her that he sabotaged her blind date, either. not that she didn't know.

ten, comfort crowd: ah yes, the first monday of may. when everyone speculated that sylvie was merely using him and when she finally admitted to missing him for the past four years.

eleven, matilda: they don't know much, maybe, but they know how they'll raise their children away from the toxicity that they grew up in, all thanks to their fathers who did nothing but set expectations. (hc)

extra: matilda volume two, smau: set years after the tltl series in which sylvie and max have the most adorable set of kids called emilia, lila and maximilian. (f)

twelve, wild: sylvie is smart and she was always quick to realize things. what she did not expect, however, was realize that she was in love with her best friend.

[feyhunter78]

I NEED THE NEXT PART OF PINK PASTELS 😿😿

Ask and ye shall receive, my love

Pink Pastels Pt 32

Description: You have to fess up to your boss about your relationship with Miguel, and afterwards come home to a rather heartwarming sight. Part 33

It’s awkward, sitting in front of your principal, hand folded in your lap as you wait for him to digest the information, you’re giving him.

His office is decorated for Christmas, brightly colored tinsel strewn about, a papier-mâché snowman on the corner of his desk. Your own room is also decorated, though you tried to include all the winter holidays, so it was less cohesive, more of a menagerie of festive colors and symbols.

“So, your relationship with Mr. O’Hara has progressed to marriage?” He asks carefully, his hands steepled, a tan cardigan over his shoulders.

“Yes, I wanted to keep you updated since I know this could become a conflict of interest.” You tell him, your fingers laced tightly together.

“I mean, Ms. Y/N, this is a conflict of interest, there’s no way you can prove you won’t favor Gabriella now that you’re her stepmom.”

Your shoulders slump. “I know, but I swear I’ve never treated her or any of my other students differently from each other, and if you move her now—the year is half-way over, it wouldn’t make any sense.”

Mr. Eddie sighs heavily, massaging his temples. “I don’t want to move her from your class, she’s clearly thriving, but… Okay, how about this, can you promise me that you’ll keep your relationship away from the kids and their parents until the school year is over?”

You nod excitedly. “Yes, absolutely.”

He sighs again, shuffling the paperwork on his desk. “Be careful y/n, I don’t want this to blow back on either of us.”

You nod again, solemnly this time. “I will, I promise.”

He dismisses you from his office, and you walk back to your classroom, anxiety clogging your throat.

You toy with the daisy pendant around your neck, the same one Gabi and Miguel gave you months ago at the zoo, as you enter your classroom and begin to pack up your stuff. You know you’re going to have to tell Gabi that she has to be careful, and that you can’t take her to and from school or let her eat lunch in your room when she’s feeling sad anymore, and it’s going to crush her.

As you trudge to your car, you pull out your phone, and press Miguel’s contact, pulling your winter coat further around you.

He picks up on the second ring, his warm voice settling over you like a thick blanket.

“We have to be careful; I can’t dote on Gabi like I usually do; people will find out, and they’ll have to move her from my class, and I just know she’s going to be heartbroken and I just…” You slump into the driver’s seat of your car and rest your head on the steering wheel. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

The line goes silent for a moment, then Miguel speaks. “Maybe what was a mistake?” His voice is eerily calm, and it sends a shiver of fear down your spine.

“Maybe it was a mistake to tell Eddie, or maybe we should’ve held off on the wedding until summer.” You answer, tears collecting on your lashes.

Miguel hums in response, sounding much more like his normal self. “You said it yourself; the guilt would eat you alive if you didn’t tell him.”

You let out a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“And you wanted a winter wedding, wanted it to be snowing when we left the courthouse.” He reminds you, his tone colored with fondness.

You let your mind drift back, two weeks ago when you, Miguel, Gabi, Monica, and Brett bustled into the courthouse, a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath clutched in your hands.

Sure, you wanted a big wedding, but you wanted to keep your job more, so you put on a tastefully scandalous wedding gown you and Monica had found, and stood in front of the judge, Miguel’s hands in yours.

The big party could come later, all you and him wanted was to be bound together forever, as soon as possible. The ceremony was a blur, and truly all you remembered was the flash of the camera as you and Gabi held up her adoption papers naming you as her mother, her real mother.

That and the way the snow fell as you ran out, Miguel’s large hand engulfing yours, his broad back swathed in black, snowflakes dusting his dark hair. He looked over his shoulder at you, his smile so bright it was blinding, his eyes filled with adoration and pure joy, and you were struck with a singular thought. This is how someone who loves you looks at you.

Not just with annoyance or lust, not with mild contempt or boredom. Not as if you’re an object for him to use for his own pleasure. You’re precious and priceless, worthy of love and respect, of pure devotion.

“I did, and it was beautiful.” You smile, wiping under your eyes and starting up your car.

“Why don’t you let me handle Gabi, and you focus on getting home safe?” He suggests, soothingly.

“Would you?”

He chuckles. “I’d do anything for you, cariño, you know that.”

You both say your goodbyes and hang up, the sound of the radio filling your car as you drive home carefully, mindful of the incoming snowstorm. Part of you hope it’ll snow so hard school will be cancelled, but you live in Neuva York, the chances of that are very low.

You pull into your apartment building, waiting for the gate to open, humming along to the songs on the radio. You travel up the parking garage until you pull into your parking spot and enter the building.

It’s warm in the building, and you begin to unzip your jacket as the elevator climbs to your floor. Stepping out, you take a moment to steel yourself before entering you and Miguel’s apartment.

The smell of clementines and hot chocolate envelops you when you open the door, the sound of Christmas cartoons floating in from the living room. You shut the door quietly and shrug off your boots, before hanging up your coat, scarf, and hat. Neither Miguel nor Gabi come to greet you at the door, even though you know with their enhanced hearing they heard you enter. You appreciate that they’re both giving you space.

When you enter the kitchen, Miguel has a bright white apron with a pale blue snowflake pattern on it, and he’s bent over pulling something that smells absolutely delicious out of the oven.

You admire the way his lounge pants hug his thighs. The curve of his back, and the silver of skin that’s exposed where his shirt has ridden up, the low hanging white strings of the apron stark against his tan skin.

Maybe he’ll let you use those apron strings to tie him up? It’s an interesting idea, one that sparks a hunger within you. You shake your head, clearing your horny thoughts, now is not the time to try and jump your hot husband’s bones.

“What’d you make?” You ask, leaning against the kitchen counter opposite of Miguel, the cabinets blocking you from anyone in the living room’s view.

Miguel turns on his heel after he sets the dish down atop the stove. “Tater tot casserole? I got the recipe from your mom; she said it was one of your favorites.”

“So that’s why she was texting me asking about spices.” You laugh, remembering how your stepmom had been bombarding you all day with oddly specific questions.

Miguel approached you with a smile, discarding the oven mitts, so he could cup your face with his warm hands. “She isn’t very subtle, I take it?”

“Oh no, she lives for the drama.” You joke, leaning into his touch.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Like mother, like daughter.”

You scoff in mock hurt and try to push away from him, but he grabs your wrists, holding them in one big hand.

“This is the thanks I get for slaving away in the kitchen for you?” He asks dramatically, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your eyes dart from him to the stove, to the entrance to the kitchen, before you drop your voice to a whisper. “If you made the casserole right, I can guarantee a reward I think you’ll like.”

Miguel’s eyebrows quirk up in interest and he releases your hands. “Oh?”

With deft fingers, you untie and pull the string from his apron, wrapping it loosely around his wrists.

He groans quietly, his eyes half lidded with lust. “Que seductora.”

You giggle and pocket the string. “But it’ll have to wait, I’m hungry.”

TL: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars TL 2: @sxnasbitch, @111gltzpzy, @lucilavenxoxo, @ray-rook, @elizamelody, @soapbar99, @trashieboii, @erissco, @gardenof-venus, @vlads-dracula3 , @yaoisenpaiii, @the-occasional-artist1125, @polireader, @mvchmp, @shadowxfheaven, @hxlytrin, @melomichuwu, @weirdothatwritess, @ash-aragami, @deguzu, @angelarcheangel, @nekotaetae, @milohatesspit, @lollipop974, @miggyyyyohara, @itzsab, @namjooningera, @hana-1235, @amberpanda99, @joceymoo, @tfamidoingwithmylife, @itsashree, @battinsonwhore05, @namjooningera, @tortilla-chips-and-allioli, @fluffy-koalala, @fandom-ash, @angelarcheangel, @yuuotosaka3, @latersgaters-steven, @ariparri, @wanda-maximoff-enthusiast, @lycaninelizard, @angelarcheangel, @yuuotosaka3, @allysunny, @lollipopin, @allysunny, @loves0phelia, @caslistener, @tayleighuh, @namtaeh, @freehentai, @hellomrstikbot, @comeonatmebruh, @jacejawp, @cowboylikeevie

[lindszeppelin]

A Taste For Vulgarity

♥ Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

♥ A flirtatious twirl of a holiday treat from the mouth of your boyfriend while at work leaves you craving his touch, and also makes it worth his while.

♥ 5.4k words

♥ Warnings: a bit of christmas fluff, swearing, pining, SMUT; oral (f. and m. receiving), foodplay, verging on public sex if you squint

♥ THANK YOU to the amazing @plasticfantasticl0ver , @karamelcoveredolicity , @burninlovebutlerr and @powerofelvis for helping me with ideas for this story. Hope you all like it!

There's nothing quite like New York City in the splendor of Christmas. The year seems to all fade together in a blur when you reflect back, and now all of a sudden it's December. This gorgeous Monday afternoon lends itself to the most magical of dreamscapes. Fluffy white snowflakes flutter down from the sky, smearing across creaky windows and staining your flushed cheeks. Holiday wreaths wrapped in plush velvet bows litter the doors of the winding boroughs from Albany through to Queens. Every holiday season you're reminded of why you moved out here - you sat contented to be right in the thick of what felt like the most enchanting snow globe scenery. You could stare out into the vast white blanket of glistening snow for hours, but as far as you were concerned you had an even more magnificent vision that captivated your heart.

Your blonde haired beauty worked his fingers to the bone jumping from film project to film project, getting his hands on any scripts that would beguile him enough to say yes to taking on a role that suits his fancy. While you were always supportive of Austin's career, having him away from you for weeks or months on end leaves your heart heavy and your bed empty.

Thankfully Austin was finished with his latest biker film in Ohio, just in time to get back home to you and spend some much needed quality time with his best girl. But what you didn't know was that Austin was set to having his hosting debut on Saturday Night Live. To say he was nervous would be the understatement of the century, and to help quell his nerves he asked you to tag along with him to Studio 8H.

There were a few things the studio execs had to take care of first for housekeeping, primarily taking pictures of Austin that would be shown during commercial breaks and in-between skits. Getting his picture taken was something Austin was a master at, but still even in his gorgeous blue suit you could tell he was trembling under the expensive fabric.

You stood idly by, off to the side, trying to get out of the way of rushing staff whizzing by you with coffees and clipboards. And you watched Austin work his magic to the photographer. He kept you in his line of vision, always - never letting his girl out of his peripheral. Knowing you were there was enough to get him through the arduous day.

It was a fun holiday photoshoot, and they tried to get Austin to open up with a lot of different props. At one point you laughed under your breath when you saw Austin throw silver tinsel over his shoulder in dramatic fashion. To think your wallflower of a man was hosting Saturday Night Live in only a few days made you beam with pride.

So you watched, content to stand there as Austin slowly gets more relaxed in front of the camera. At some point, the head photographer brought out a bowl of candy canes. He gestured to the minty confection and let Austin decide for himself how he should use the prop in a creative way.

Austin's brow quirked playfully as he held a candy cane in his hand, the cogs moving in his brain of how he can best use this. It would be too easy to play it innocent. This was Saturday Night Live, it was the one time where being raunchy was not only accepted but practically required. So Austin settles on doing what he knows he does best - torturing you.

Why not make it a bit of harmless fun? He feels on top of the world as the man everyone wants to get their hands on. The shell he reverts into comfortably was cracking before your very eyes. And suddenly, the handsome blonde standing before you moves with newfound confidence.

Austin unwraps the plastic covering of the candy cane slowly, his deft fingers clinging to the film and pulling it down languidly. He wets his lips with his tongue, and with a sultry stare down the barrel of the lens he slips the end of the candy cane past his pouty lips.

The noises you made to yourself were practically obscene as you shifted in your spot, crossing your legs in an attempt to dispel the rushing of blood down below. But the bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Momentarily, his cerulean orbs glanced over to you squirming in your little corner with your legs tightly knit together. Austin knew his plan was working. His game of sexual control over you even in a room full of people was not lost on him. For a sensible gentleman he craved the thrill of depraved gratification.

He upped the ante. With his focus back on the camera he put that mouth of his to work and wrapped his plump lips around the candy cane, sucking away on the sweet treat.

"Fuck." You said faintly to yourself, hoping it was soft enough so no one around you could hear you curse. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and Austin glanced over subtly in your direction while he swirled his wet tongue around the candy cane.

Throbbing, wet, and aching. You were desperate for his mouth on you. How you longed to be that candy cane in his mouth right now. If only his tongue was swirling in the sweet nectar of your juices, making a mess of his face as you writhe in pleasure above him.

You were flustered now. As the cameras snapped a few pictures of these seemingly playful candy cane shots, you and Austin were engrossed in a silent battle of mutually assured destruction. As he stood on the set he could tell that you were blushing, not from the cold but from something more salacious. He watched with his eyes affixed to yours as he saw your voluptuous chest rise and fall sharply with labored breaths. The knowing thought that you were probably ruining the lace panties you were wearing all because of him and this candy cane set the blood rushing to his cock. But he had to control his urges. Not now, not here. Later.

The pull of your hand.

The lock of the door.

The groping of your soft, pliable body against his.

Somehow you and Austin managed to escape the crowd of staff without so much as a word as he takes your hand in his, taking massive strides and you trying to keep up with his pace as he throws you into his private dressing room and shuts the door, perhaps a little too rough.

You fall back onto the couch, losing your balance and letting gravity take you where it needs. Click. The metal lock on the doorknob seals your fate. Austin turns around, a fire burning in his eyes. His shoulders are squared off, and he stands up straight, determination written all over his face as he makes his way over to your heap of a body on the nice couch.

"You liked that little game I played out there, baby?" He asked with a knowing cocky smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Oh, you certainly did. But why give him the satisfaction right away? Let the sexual tension brew a little deeper. Keep playing into this cat and mouse game you've found yourself in.

"I don't know what you mean, Austin." You say in an airy tone, playing dumb.

Austin scoffs. Rolling his eyes. "Now you wanna act all innocent, huh?" He says lowly. As he makes his way over to the side of the couch he reveals to you one of his hands from behind his back. And in it, was the minty confection that started it all. He raised his brows, holding up the half eaten candy cane. "This," He starts. Bringing the candy agonizingly slow up to his mouth., his tongue fell from his lips, and he purposefully made a loud slurping noise as he brought the candy cane into his mouth, sucking away on the treat. His crystalline orbs bore holes into your doe eyes, melting away your façade. You felt your wetness drip out from your needy core, soaking your already ruined panties further. A little whine slipped past your lips that you hope Austin didn't catch - but he did.

With a wet pop he released the candy cane from his teasing mouth and hummed in delight. He continued on, "Even with an entire room of people watching my every move, I can still manage to make you so needy for me. I could practically smell your arousal from the other side of the room." He purred huskily.

You trembled under his intense gaze as his eyes narrowed in on you, surveying the landscape of your body and watching as your legs slowly fell open naturally on their own accord, as if instinctually your pussy naturally calls out for him without even a second thought. Your body betrays your mind, but you allow it. You both know he's right.

Without so much as breathy moan reverberating in your throat and into Austin's ears, he smugly smirked. But now he was on the attack, no more messing around. Austin placed the candy cane back in his mouth, most of it hanging out of his mouth as he firmly hold onto it between his full lips as if it were a cigarette.

Austin makes his descent on the couch, his long body slithering over yours as he follows you. You scurry back to the other side of the couch, allowing him the room his long legs need to fit his entire lean frame over you. And he does. He slots his hard body into yours like two pieces of a puzzle. Your legs go to wrap around his waist, and his hands make their final destination on either side of your head as he holds all of his weight in his arms.

His face is mere inches away from yours, that god forsaken candy cane is so close that your tongue could reach out and lick the sweet treat while still in Austin's mouth. But he has other plans.

With a devilish twinkle in his eye, he takes one of his hands and takes the candy cane out of his mouth, a string of his saliva comes with it. Holding it with his thumb and index finger, he taunts you with it by dragging the end of it that was in his warm mouth along your lips. The peppermint tingles on your mouth, and somehow you just know to open your mouth just a little and wait for Austin to slip the confection inside.

Austin breathily chuckles. "I didn't even have to ask you to open your mouth, you just do it on your own accord. Such a good girl you are." He watches intently, chewing on his bottom lip as you eagerly accept the candy cane dripping with his saliva. You wrap your lips securely around the length of the candy cane, swirling your own tongue and collecting all of it's minty freshness in your mouth.

As Austin watched you suck on his leftovers, he ground his semi hardened cock constricted by his blue trousers against your sopping core. You whimpered around the candy cane feeling his shaft grind delicious friction against your pussy. Even through his slacks Austin could feel how wet you were for him. Your slick was coming out in droves, free to ooze out from your ruined panties. You were nervous to make a mess of him and have Austin walk around the studio with a giant wet spot directly over his crotch for the rest of the day, but he didn't care. In fact, he moaned and rolled his hips harder and slower against you, making sure you felt every single hard inch of his cock.

You rolled your eyes back and hummed in pleasure, your hands reached around and clung onto his strong shoulders trying to grasp ahold of him for purchase. Wet kisses trailed up the column of your neck from Austin as he left a sticky mess in his wake. He growled when he lavished that sweet sensitive spot where your ear meets your jaw, sticking his long tongue out and licking the erogenous zone tenderly. You swear you could feel your soul attempt to leave your body with how committed Austin is to your pleasure. Your back arched off the sofa as your nails dug a little deeper into the shoulder pads of Austin's suit jacket.

His hot breath pooled at the shell of your ear as he buried his face in your neck. "As much as I wanna hear those sexy little moans of yours that I love so much, you gotta promise to keep being my good girl and keep that pretty mouth shut. Don't want everybody hearing you come undone. That's for my ears only." He warned.

You furrowed your brows in frustration. That wasn't going to be an easy task. Even the slightest of movements from Austin has you babbling incoherent things and moaning for him like it's the one thing you were put on this Earth to do. But, you wanted to be good. So you nodded along with his command.

He smiled against your skin and kissed your cheek. "I know you can do it, baby. Just keep your mouth full of that candy cane for me."

Austin began to travel south down your body, leaving searing kisses and hot little whimpers on every ounce of flesh he could get his mouth on. You adjusted your body so your upper half was a little propped up with a couch cushion behind your back for support. Your eyes fluttered closed as Austin sank to his knees on the floor below you and hiked up the hem of your thick winter dress that hugged your body in a way that drives his crazy.

You shivered when the cold winter air hit your exposed legs and even moreso when the rising heat of your pussy was in direct contact with Austin's mouth. He spread your legs wide for him with his strong hand and licked his lips. With his nimble finger he looped around the waistband of your panties, yanking them down your legs before pocketing the stained fabric in his jacket pocket.

The evidence of your arousal was clear as day as it stared him in the face. He didn't have the brain capacity in this moment to come back with a remark on just how wet you were for him, all he could focus on was the task at hand. Your perfectly pink pussy blossomed open for him naturally, becoming him to sample the divine nectar inside.

And like the good girl you were, you kept sucking on the candy cane above him, moving it in and out of your mouth to keep yourself occupied from not moaning to the high heavens as you felt Austin press adoring kisses to your inner thighs, sticky with your slick.

Looking up at you with an almost boyish charm behind his eyes, he puckered his lips and blew his minty fresh breath directly on your already swollen bud. You shivered and choked back on a lusty groan, balling your unoccupied hand into a clenched fist to stop yourself from making any discernable noise. He was gonna make this the most sinfully torturous experience of your life, and you had to sit there and obey like his bestest girl should. And like hell he was gonna fucking enjoy this.

Austin's hands loomed large over your body, making permanent residence on your hips as he brings you down a little more to the sofa's edge to get the best position. His lips tweaked into an eager smile - and with one long, wet, calculated brush of his wet tongue gliding across your dripping folds he began his mission.

Already your head was thrown back in ecstasy, legs trembling as Austin's masterful tongue set to work on licking your pussy like it's the most succulent desert he's ever had. Your moans were muffled by the candy cane that was shrinking my the second. While your mouth was drowning in the peppermint swirls, Austin was drowning in your never ending supply of heavenly juices made just for him.

Up and down at a nice and steady pace, his mouth sloppily worked through every inch of your dripping folds, suckling up and happily swallowing your slick. His raspy, long drawn out groans were drowned out and you felt them vibrate right through to your throbbing bundle of nerves. The faint tingling of the minty confection lingered on his tongue and only added to the delightful sensations of him eating you out.

You unballed your fist and instead carded your fingers through Austin's golden mane of waves. You tried to arch your back off the couch and grind your pussy over Austin's mouth, but he was stronger than you. The grip on your hips tightened as he pushed you down further into the couch, making you helpless to his onslaught of heavy swipes of his tongue.

His mouth engulfed your entire cunt, and he greedily slurped up every drop of your wetness that came gushing out of you. He knew exactly how you liked it and at what pace to eat you out to make you cum in seconds, but he was purposefully taking his time. Afterall, he was the man of the hour. Austin knew the SNL crew would wait for him to finish up doing whatever it was he needed to do before continuing with the day. And if they were gonna wait 20 minutes or 1 hour before you came all over his face then so be it.

Your dainty fingers wrapped around Austin's tresses as he went down on you, bringing him further into your sticky cunt. You need him as far as his tongue could possibly reach, and he would be content to suffocate in your pussy for life if it were possible.

He took on your non verbal cue to edge you even further. So with the tip of his tongue he collected as much of your slick as possible and dragged the muscle over to your clit. As soon as he started swirling and twirling your throbbing bud you were a goner.

You couldn't help but let out a high pitched moan from your throat, never once daring to open your mouth and project your wails of pleasure for everyone to hear. But damn, did your man ever make it hard for you not to. The candy cane was the least of your thoughts by this point. Austin soon enough planted a sticky kiss to your clit before he lowered his plush mouth over the bud and sucked away. The obscene slurping noises that came from his mouth as he maneuvered his lips over your clit with pin-point precision had you welling up with tears due to the overstimulation. He was sucking on your clit like you would suck on his thick cock, bobbing his head up and down. Your wetness and his spit pooled out the corners of his mouth and trickled down your cunt, finally trailing down your thighs and making a resting stop at Austin's knees on the floor. Eating your pussy like this had him painfully hard. he wanted nothing more than to unzip his trousers and release his engorged cock, perhaps even jerk himself off to the pleasure he was giving to his girl's luscious pussy.

But he knew you were close, so damn close. And you knew it too. Your pussy was clamping shut around nothing, and your whole body practically levitated off of the couch. You shut your eyes, shook violently and let an airy groan rip through your vocal chords. With your mouth still hold on for dear life to the candy cane, you manage to somehow mumble Austin's name, albeit not that clearly. But all that mattered was you could scream his name as you felt your orgasm crash over you like a tidal wave.

Austin moaned long and thickly against your cunt, releasing your clit from his mouth and dipping his tongue back into your folds to lap up your climax like a good boy. He fluffed his long lashes at you, searching for your face of approval from him that he did a good job. And finally you manage to open your eyes and throb at the sight before you - Austin looking completely fucked out with your slick coating his lips and nose, cleaning you up ardently.

A weak little smile stuck to your face as you tenderly ran your fingers through his hair. At long last that candy cane had withered down to nothing in your mouth, melting away in the back of your throat and leaving a minty aftertaste in it's wake. Finally, you had your voice back.

"Holy fuck, Austin." You moaned wistfully. Your head lolled back against the couch, savoring in the way his mouth is still slurping up every last drop of your cum.

Austin whimpered below you. "Goddamn, that was so fucking hot." He panted against your folds.

You chewed on your bottom lip, still on cloud nine from what Austin was able to to do your pussy. "Thank you, baby." You softly purred.

He smiled, delivering doting little nibbles to your soaked inner thighs. "You're welcome, sweetness. My pleasure". With one or two last kisses to your extremely sensitive clit, he rocked back on his boot heels and placed his hands on his knees, allowing himself to stand back up.

His sizable cock was practically staring you in the face, taunting you even further. Austin tried his best to collect himself as he ran one hand through his locks and the other one over his mouth, wiping away your juices and swallowing the remnants of you that lingered on his palate.

With enough strength you peel yourself off the back of the couch and sit fully on the edge. Your hands reach up to glide over his lap, your fingertips danced up his toned thighs. You could feel him trembling beneath your gentle touch. His cock twitched in his pants hard and proud as he peered down at you with a glazed over look in his eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, one of your hands palms his hearty erection. He knits his brow and clenched his jaw, already losing his mind at the feel of his cock getting some form of attention. "Just what do you think you're doin', missy?" He asks playfully, the lust sticking to his vocal chords like glue.

You bat your pretty eyes up at him and unzip his fly. "What, am I not allowed to suck my man's cock?" You ask seductively.

Austin pursed his lips and chuckled. A rosy flush donned his cheeks. "You wanna make me cum right now, babygirl?" He asked with a raise of one quizzical brow.

You nodded, your fingers hooked onto the waistband of his pants and his boxers, pulling them down his delicious ass and exposing his red cock to the chilly air, making his hiss. "I can't wait until later. And by the looks of it, you can't either."

Honestly you don't even give Austin the chance to respond to you before you spit generously into your hands and wrap them around his impressive girth. Austin bit down on his full bottom lip, letting out a ragged groan. The sound of your slippery hands milking his cock made you wet all over again, and made his cock heavier in your palms.

"Fuck." He moaned as he threw his head back for a second, trying to keep his volume at an even keel. "You're determined to get me fired, aren't you?" He breathily laughed as he looked back down and watched as his cock got lavished with much needed attention.

You giggle cutely and wet your lips. "No, just determined to have you cum down my throat." You retorted.

Austin eyes widened as he saw you open your mouth and wrap your glistening lips around his aching tip. He balled one of his fists and brought it to his mouth, clamping down on his knuckles to suppress the primal anguished moan that threatened to escape him. He was determined to not make a peep, which in retrospect was not his best idea for these sudden turn of events. There was no chance in hell he would keep quiet, but he had to try his best.

You worked on sucking on the aching head of his cock at first, and stroking his veiny shaft in time with the bobbing of your head to get him started. He was already hot and bothered, sweating profusely under the collar. Fuck, why did he have to be wearing this suit right now?! if it were up to him and you he'd already have been stark naked right now. But the royal blue suit made him somehow even more ethereal, and it turned you on in droves.

Hearing Austin writhe and moan above you as you worked his cock was like music to your hears. He was a mess up there trying to keep his composure. The feel of your lips around his needy cock was always one of the best feelings in the world, next to plunging himself deep inside your dripping pussy. He savored in every lick and stroke of your fingers.

You hummed around his length, and you took him further into your mouth. Removing one of your hands and placing it upon the back of his thigh, you softly gagged around his cock as you took him into the back of your throat.

He shuddered and closed his eyes at the feeling of being swallowed whole by your mouth. When you felt like your gag reflex was under control you went back to sucking him off and jerking off the rest of him that you didn't want to deepthroat. This was all about his pleasure, and right now you wanted to shower his cock with as much adoration as humanly possible. You set a steady pace of blowing his engorged cock, heavy on your tongue. Moans muffled by his girth blanketed him and made his cock throb in your mouth. Not only that, but he could feel the minty tingle of the candy cane on your palate. He was in pure heaven.

Drool seeped out the corners of your mouth, making a mess of him. He sucked in a harsh breath as he hissed in sweet agony. "Oh god. Yes my love, suck my cock just like that. Please." He begged, moaning barely above a whisper, straining to not scream your name from the rooftops. His rocky baritone struck your heartstrings and made your pussy flutter, getting yourself all worked up with a fresh pooling of arousal.

His hands found their way into your long tresses as he was getting lost in the serene pleasure of your mouth sloppily stroking him to another planet. It was wet, it was messy, and it was just how he liked it. Pure devotion from his girl's mouth to his cock. All the love he had for you came pouring out of him like a faucet, and he let one long drawn out moan float in the air from his mouth and into your ears.

That was the one chance he thought he had to allow himself to let go completely. If someone had walked by his dressing room and heard him groaning in ecstasy then he wasn't the wiser. At this moment all he cared about was his impending orgasm, which was vast approaching.

You knew this too, as you could feel his hips stuttering in your mouth as he plunged his cock in and out of your mouth as you slurped his cock like that candy cane.

Austin's eyes sprang open, feeling his climax building in the depths of his aching balls, ready to spill out into your mouth. He panted hard above you, threading his long fingers even more in your hair. You sped up your pace, bobbing your head a little faster now on his cock, letting your tongue caress the underside of his shaft.

His vocal chords let out a shredded, desperate moan. "I-I'm gonna cum". He whined helplessly.

With a few final masterful strokes of his cock and licks of his shaft, Austin ceased his thrusting hips and allowed his body to take over. The feeling of being possessed by spirit was just about equal in measure to how violent he shuddered above you. "Fuuuuck, here it comes, baby." He bellowed gruffly.

His thick hot cum spurted out in your mouth, and you greedily swallowed everything he had to offer you.

Austin heaved ragged breaths, his lungs craving the sweet oxygen as his cock paints your throat with his cum. "Holy shit. I can't stop cuming." He chuckled, grunting after the last few drops of cum drained his cock.

You moaned around him, and when he was finished cuming you slowly slid your mouth off of his cock. Thickly swallowing his seed, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "I always make sure my man is properly satisfied." You wink, batting your long flirty lashes at him from below.

Austin ran his hand down his face and heaved a heavy sigh, feeling like he just ran a marathon. He breathed in and out before placing his hands on his hips. "Goddamn, you sucked my cock so good I don't even know where i'm at." He laughs bewildered.

You stand up from the couch, feeling your orgasm from earlier and your newfound wetness trickle down your thighs. And you gently pull Austin's pants back up his hips, helping him out as he stood there aloof trying to regain his composure. "I'd rather pretend that we were at home instead of on the set of SNL, to be honest." You chuckled.

Austin raised his brows, suddenly reminded of his surroundings. "Ah yes, that's right. SNL. Let's pray to God nobody heard the goings-on in here. What happens in the dressing room stays in the dressing room." He laughs with that pearly white smile you love so much.

You nod, laughing along. "You don't have to tell me twice honey. My lips are sealed."

Gathering up Austin's pants you help him to tuck his cock back inside his undergarments seeing as he's too love drunk to do much of anything, which made you smile proudly to yourself.

Austin looked down at you fumbling with his cock, finding it an oddly romantic gesture of helping to put him back where he belongs. He blushes and flicks his eyes down at yours. "Thank you, baby. Always so good to me." He says sweetly.

He kisses your forehead and softly bats your hands away from him so he can do the rest of the work for you. You turn your attention away from Austin to give him some space to adjust himself in his pants to the vanity table with a large mirror on the opposite wall of his dressing room. You scamper over there and attempt to clean yourself up, making yourself out to be like you didn't just get eaten out and gag on your boyfriend's massive cock.

You heard the final zip of Austin's pants behind you as you fluffed your hair and put down your dress to where it should properly be. And from behind you, you feel Austin's long arms wrap around your waist, bringing your flush to his body. He looks at you with tender soft eyes through the mirror, and you look back at his reflection with just as much love, smiling shyly.

Austin places a kiss to your cheek. "Ready to head back out there?" He whispers, his bassy timbre still sending chills up your spine.

You take one final look at yourself in the mirror and sigh. "Ready as i'll ever be."

He chuckles lowly and unfurls himself from your body, taking one of your hands in his. Somehow the two of you manage to get through the rest of the day unscathed, and the crew on set were none the wiser to the sinful erotica happening in Austin's dressing room.

One thing is for damn sure, you're never gonna look at a candy cane the same way again.

I didn't know who to tag in this, so i left all my usual tagged besties in here <3

@aconflagrationofmyown @harringrove-sketchbookpages @samfangirls @2lekk @moonchild-daniella @austinbutlersworld @unadulteratedkingdomzombie @sapphirescripts @ash-omalley @pearlparty @denised916 @cartooncoaster @flowersofcement @allittakesisoneflight @purejasmine @austinbutlerinleather @allittakesisoneflight @madisonafangirl @sournatromanoff @denised916 @donnamarie23 @houseofcoquettes @pennyroyalcreep @austin-butler-library @lrd98 @fallinlovewithurlove @raspberry-coulis @bisexualwvtson @elvisstyles @mymamalife @oldermenluverrr @pennyroyalcreep @houseofcoquettes @flwrs4aust @auztin777 @sparklemichele @presleyobsessed @avengen @elvisabutler @blurredcolour @tacozebra051

@kendralavon7 @michellelv @comfortzonequeen @slowsweetlove @unstoppableminx @infatuatedharleys @oh-kurva @troubleinapinksuit

[libraryofloveletters]

Messy

Aaron Ramsdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cheesy aprons, Aaron is more interested in eating the cookies than helping, some bad frosting, the two of you are sweeter than the cookies.

Word Count: 661

Author's Note: okay this is my first time writing aaron, I don't know if anyone will even read it but here you go anyways lmao

--

Aaron can’t help himself when he comes home from training and finds you baking Christmas cookies.

A year tradition; Christmas cookies lined the counters of your kitchen and dining room table.

You always baked cookies for your coworkers, to take to your nieces and nephews and for Aaron to hand out at work. Somehow you always ended up with nearly 400 cookies by the end of the week, slowly parceling them off and sending them to who they needed to go to.

Aaron wasn't shocked to find the house smelling like a bakery when he returned from training, in fact he sort of expected it. You had dragged him to the store over the weekend to get everything you'd need; flour, butter, eggs, sugar, chocolate, icing sugar, milk etc.

Your red apron tied around you, it was the one he had made for you. The Arsenal logo poorly painted onto the front with Mrs. Ramsdale on the top left of it.

He quietly walks over to you, his arms snaking around your waist as your back is turned to him.

"Aaron!" You jumped, smacking his arm lightly. "You scared me!"

Your husband laughs, his chin on your shoulder. "Sorry love," he's quick to kiss your cheek, making up for it. "How's the cookie making going?"

"Slow but it's going." You tell him, swatting his hands away from the hot tray you had on the counter. Aaron pouts a bit but he mumbles an okay when you push his hand away.

"Can I help?" He asks, watching as you frost the cookies carefully. He was always in awe of your skills; every colour mixed to the extra shade you wanted, the lines perfectly straight and you free handed the figures you put on the cookies.

You nod, stopping your frosting momentarily to dig out a apron for Aaron seeing that he was still in his training kit; kiss the cook - some cheesy apron he had picked up after he bought a bbq last summer.

He shrugs off his sweater, putting the apron on and letting you help him tie it. "You have to promise not to eat the cookies." Your finger pointed at the man.

His index finger makes an X over his heart, "I swear to god, I won't eat them."

You nod, satisfied with his commitment to the cookies when you start telling him about the different kinds; peppermint chocolate, gingerbread and sugar cookies.

"You can do these," you set a plate with 4 snowflake shaped gingerbread cookies in front of him. "Just make the lines and do the little edges like this," you show him one of the cookies you had frosted already; the lines making up the lines of a snowflake.

"Okay, easy enough." He nods to himself, carefully holding the piping bag you handed him.

Aaron is careful, his hands steady as he does the first line. He looks up as your cookie and back at his, pleased with himself before he starts on the other line. It takes him a few minutes of pure focus to finish the cookie but he seems to have gone wrong along the way.

the lines are all crooked and a bit blurred together, perhaps he put too much pressure and they merged.

He decided to take the easy route out, picking up the cookie and taking a big bite out of it, the frosting on his nose. You heard the noise and turned towards your husband to see what he's done.

"What happened to not eating the cookies?" You asked him, hands on your hips.

"I didn't."

"The crumbs on your face and the frosting on your nose say otherwise," you reach up to wipe his nose off with your thumb. Aaron smiles, shrugging. "It looked wonky, baby. It didn't look like yours but it tastes fantastic."

"That's because I have years of practice," you tell him, reaching up to take a bite of his cookie. "But it does taste good," you mumble, mouth full of cookies.

Aaron laughs, pulling you to him for a kiss.

[beautifultypewriter]

The First Day of Christmas ~ Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky

Prompt: Going to a tree lighting celebration

Pairing: Tom Kazansky x reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 538

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written Iceman, so I’m sorry if it’s terrible. I’m so excited about this event!

Christmas music drifted through the air as you walked quickly with Ice at your side, your arm holding tightly to his. You increased your pace, overtaking the man next to you, but still holding onto his arm. He chuckled as he kept his pace unchanged, letting you pull his arm. You huffed as you failed to get him to move any faster, “Ice! Come on, I don’t want to miss it.” You looked back with narrowed eyes, but Tom only smirked at you.

“We’re not gonna miss it.”

Looking forward again, you tugged his arm, “Yes, we will if you keep this glacial pace.” He laughed and you rolled your eyes, deciding to just leave Tom behind at this point. Your own smirk spread over your lips as you dropped his arm and started to skip away, lights and tinsel blurring in your peripheral vision. You didn’t make it very far before a strong arm wrapped around your waist and you were pulled into a hard chest.

Tom’s lips were close to your ear as he moved forward, taking you with him, “You trying to leave me behind, sweetheart?” Your eyes moved to the starry night sky as you pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile. Tom pressed his lips to your temple, and he released your waist and instead moved to wrap his arm around your shoulder, “Come on.” He matched your pace this time as the pair of you continued down the candy cane lined path. You could hear an increase in chatter as you stepped into the clearing of the local tree farm where everyone had gathered for the festivities. You noted a hot chocolate stand and made a mental note to head over there after the tree had been lit. For now, you just wanted to find the perfect spot. Tom must have read your mind because he gently pulled you around the crowd, towards a stack of wooden crates. He sat down on one of them and positioned you between his legs so that you could see the tree perfectly through the different groups of people. As you looked back at Tom, he smirked at you, “Told you we wouldn’t miss it.”

You rolled your eyes, truing back to face the tree, “Yeah, yeah, you got lucky.” Tom pinched your side, and you shoved your elbow into his ribs. Tom laughed as his arms wrapped around you, his hands resting gently on your stomach. You leaned into him as your eyes tracked the owner of the farm who was moving to grab the microphone that had been set in front of the large tree that had been beautifully decorated, but remained unlit. She said a few words of thanks and some quick notes about the tree and then she was calling for the switch to be flipped. Your eyes lit up as you sucked in a breath, watching the tree illuminate in an array of colors, the lights twinkling. A small cheer came from the crowd. The breath leaving your lungs was visible in the night air as you smiled, “It’s beautiful.”

Ice nodded, as he stared at the side of your face, the lights dancing across your skin, “Yeah, it is.”

[boygiwrites]

Living the Vida Loca   Ep.

•  Jesse Pinkman & Reader. (Platonic)

(Here’s part one.)     (Here’s part two.) (Here’s part three.) (Here’s part four.) (Here’s part five.)

• (Find this story on Ao3.)

Summary — A short story about how a young teenaged girl gets wrapped up in Jesse's life.

Notes — Phew. The epilogue. Please enjoy :)

.

Bear Creek, Alaska.

The first thing you do when Jesse gets the keys to your new apartment is throw your bags on the floor and run around, poking your heads into all the rooms, pulling open all the kitchen cabinets, and laying like a pair of starfish on the bland carpet of the bedrooms.

Holy shit, you laugh.

Holy shit, Jesse laughs.

You lay there for a long time, waiting for your new lives to feel real.

Saul Goodman really missed out on being a real estate agent.

He picked the perfect apartment.

It’s got heating, for when the cold becomes colder.

It’s got two bathrooms, with an elephant’s worth of space in each.

It’s got spacious wardrobes that will eventually be filled with band shirts and beanies and thick, woolly socks, and a fireplace that with time becomes a mantle for you to frame your little polaroid's on, turning fleeting flashes into permanent memories above the cozy flames.

It’s got everything.

The first week goes by fast.

You’re on a high and you won’t come down.

You and Jesse have become avid thrift shoppers in the wake of your old riches, determined to fill out your home with bits and bobs; knicks and knacks. On every second corner of this mountainous town, there’s a second-hand store bursting with charm. Oh, and someone’s grandpa’s collection of Christmas sweaters. 

(Yes, Jesse buys one.)

You also buy a toaster, some sofa cushions, and a big, green blanket that will be perfect for your movie nights. You hit three more on your way back.

You also go bananas in the local supermarket.

You sit in the cart and swipe almost every cookie and frozen lasagna you can off the shelves, while Jesse hops on and scoots you both around.

Your fridge looks like an overstuffed suitcase.

You use the town library to print off a couple resumes, and some hours later, you re-converge at the same parking lot you started out in, and you both run up to each other and shout —

I got the job!

When the population is as small is Bear Creek’s, anything is possible.

You become a cashier at the supermarket.

Jesse starts bussing tables at a small steak-and-chips restaurant.

(They let him spray-paint a mural onto the side of the building. It takes three whole days and two broken ladders, but it’s beautiful, and Jesse walks around now with compliments on his shoulders and a pep in his step.)

The first week goes by fast.

A blur of shopping, moving furniture, and movie nights.

Two kids in a candy store.

Then, after that  —

It’s the slow and steady Bear Creek lifestyle.

The slow Bear Creek lifestyle.

Everybody knows everybody in Bear Creek.

The elderly clerk at the corner store knows the man who walks in with his dog, and the man with the dog knows the lady from the bookshop down the street, and the lady from the bookshop knows you, and you know the guy who busks outside the library, and the busker-guy knows Jesse, and it just keeps going in circles, circles, circles, until it’s all a big web.

Some years ago, you might have perceived this as danger.

You might have perceived this community as a reactive entanglement of whispers, and stares, and one rogue phone call to the wrong people.

But one thing Bear Creek teaches you is how to let go.

How to let go of glancing over your shoulder.

How to let go of peeking out the windows at night.

How to let go of these things that have shaped you into something sharper than what you really are. The person you used to be.

The same goes for Jesse.

For a month, he tucks a gun in his pants-line.

He smokes cigarettes while he scrutinizes your new IDs.

Isaac and Riley Miller.

He has three different phones, and refuses to text anybody except you.

You can hear him, in the night, checking on you from your doorway, like you might’ve disappeared in the ten minutes he’s been in the other room.

It’s difficult, because old dogs can’t learn new tricks, but Jesse gets better.

He’s safe enough, now, to revert back to that teenage boy he’s always been at heart, even if he is twenty-nine years old.

You build lop-sided snowmen together in the apartment complex’s parking lot, and pelt each other with snowballs. It’s a parallel image to your nights back in New Mexico, throwing frisbees in the driveway, except with two completely different people who look like you and Jesse, but have been through and seen so much more.

You go for walks and shit, like normal, healthy people.

The DVD store becomes a second home for you.

You drink hot chocolate out on the balcony and argue over who got more marshmallows while you people-watch.

You take your sleds down to the edge of the forest, and you coast down the tall mounds of snow and hoot into the trees like happy children.

Some nights, you lay in bed and wonder about your old life. Are there ghosts of you, back home? Do people think of you?

Some days, it’s hard to keep looking forward.

There are just some things you will never be able to forget. Some things you will never be able to look at with the same eyes as everybody else.

Like how all meat looks like sheep guts.

And all flies come with a flash of dead eyes.

And how sometimes, when Jesse reaches to hold your hand, you’re back in that desert and you’re being grabbed, pinned, and shot.

The days are slow, and they give you time.

Sure, the apartment is nice and all, but Jesse’s always been your home.

He’s always there to pet and shush away the nightmares.

He’s there when you need him, and he’s not when you need space.

He’s a familiar face. 

He’s family. 

He’s your twin, trapped in the same echo of an old nightmare you survived together. He’s someone who knows what you’re thinking whenever you see a grate in the ground, or a bucket, or a paperclip. He understands.

The days in Bear Creek are slow.

You spend them painting, laughing, exploring, and living.

It’s sort of like buying new shoes.

Uncomfortable, at first, but then it learns to work around you —

And everything is easy-peasy from there on out.

A visit from Uncle Goodman.

Jimmy has a thick moustache, and he can’t handle the cold.

These are the first things you notice when he shows up at your door, with that strip of carpet above his lip and the three coats he’s shivering in.

You’re in shock. Jimmy?

He is not. Are you gonna let me in, you little punk, or what?

He says he is freezing his nuts off. 

Jimmy McGill is in your living room. He’s shed all his layers, toed off his boots, and apparently, he’s jet-lagged, so he helps himself to your coffee machine like he’s lived here all his life. You stare at him while he sips it.

There’s an awkward silence.

I thought I’d never see you again, you mutter, at this version of an old memory you forced yourself to forget, currently standing in your kitchen.

Jimmy sets the mug down.

He looks like he tries to say something, but then he just opens his arms.

You hug him for the first time in four years.

You’re an adult, now.

He must sense this change in you, not just physically but mentally, because when he pulls back, he doesn’t want to let go, and he’s just looking at you and crying, which looks wrong on a guy like Jimmy.

Why’d you have to go and get all grown up on me, huh?

Then he demands that you tell him everything.

You demand he tell you everything, because, How’d you even find us?

He says he knows a man who knows everything about everyone; someone who can make fake IDs and people disappear. He says it’s how you’re living out here, and you’re reminded of the night you were herded into the back of an electronics store and given a new name.

Jimmy helped you and Jesse out in the beginning, but only as a voice through a phone line, and then as an invisible force pulling strings.

Even when he’s 2,800 miles away, Jimmy’s been there for you.

You tell him about Hank Schrader and Steve Gomez.

You tell him about the phone call, and the sheep guts.

Then you try telling him about the desert, and the Welkers, but your voice gets caught in your throat like a fish hook, and he suggests going for a walk instead.

You trail the sidewalks until you bump into Jesse.

He’s on his way home from work, and when he sees you, he almost faints.

Yo, yo, yo, hang on a second, His mouth hangs open. 

You giggle while they take each other in.

They even do a bro-hug, because Jesse does things like that, now.

He tells Jimmy that the apartment kicks ass, man, and that he can’t believe he flew all the way up here just to see you guys.

Hey, man, Jimmy holds up his hands, I just came here for the waterfalls and the moose. You people were second-to-last on my itinerary.

You both tell Jimmy to shove it, and then you walk together to the park.

Just like old times, right? Jimmy asks you.

These are nothing like old times, but you got your two favorite people in the world back together again — your weird little family — so that has to count for something.

Whatever you say, You chuckle.

You see a fire-colored fox sniffing along the frozen lake while you talk about everything that’s changed; everything that’s happened. The people you’ve become. You cry again when Jimmy says he’s proud of you, and Jesse gives you a hard noogie for being such a sap.

Apparently, Jimmy’s staying in Bear Creek for a while.

Today’s a good day.

The final piece.

You graduate college in May.

It’s been a long struggle, but you made it.

Jimmy’s there.

Jesse’s there.

Your friends are all there, too, in matching gowns and caps.

You hear your name, Riley Miller, being called, and you step up to the podium with the overwhelming sense of metamorphosizing from one cold husk of a life into a newer, brighter one. One where you have a new name and a new home, but the same old family cheering for you in the crowd.

You can’t believe how much everything has changed.

For one, Jesse shaved all his hair off, ‘cause he’s an idiot.

At least one thing makes you laugh every day, now.

(It’s usually Jesse shouting bitch at your Xbox, or Jimmy complaining about the people he works with, down at the Cinnabon, because the only young person he can stand to be around is you.)

It’s been a year since you last had a nightmare.

You’re back to walking dogs again.

You’re back to singing in the kitchen.

You moved into the apartment next to Jesse’s, and he tells you every day how much he doesn’t miss finding your dirty dishes in the sink. But you know he hates that you’ve grown up so fast. He comes around for dinner almost every single night, swaddled in that big, green blanket you bought when you first landed in Alaska, and you’ve upgraded from watching Tinkerbell to old Disney movies. He cries every time at Lion King.

Jimmy lives ten minutes away, in a proper but small house.

You know there’s days where he yearns to live on that same pillar of glory he had back in New Mexico.

He plans on heading back to the states in the coming months.

He says he’ll miss the crisp air, and the caribou, and watching the snow roll over the caps of white mountains while he eats breakfast croissants with you in quiet cafes, but it’s just not in his nature to stay in one place for too long. You can’t trap a butterfly in a bird cage.

Besides, he’s basically the poster child for burner phones.

He’ll find a way to contact you.

That skatepark seems like a million years ago.

You throw your cap in the air.

Now when you spend nights at Jesse’s place, ‘cause the two of you are like teenage girls obsessed with sleepovers, and you warm yourself up by the fireplace, there’s one more photo sitting there, now.

��Dead center. Ceramic frame.

The final piece of the puzzle.

It’s you, holding your degree and laughing while the sun blooms on your shoulder, with Jimmy and Jesse on either side of you, throwing up rock-star hands like they’re at the sickest concert they’ve ever been to.

You smile to yourself.

Because you love those fucking idiots.

And they love you, too.

End notes  — Oh my God! The epilogue, it’s finished!! I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope I was able to wrap this up in a satisfying way. Thank you for reading, everyone :)

[jokers-ghoul]

Next Episode is going to make me sad, I just know it.

Yai is going out of his way to invite Jom to things he enjoys and hopes that Jom will also enjoy - the Christmas party. However, Yai doesn't take into account which o t h e r people will be at this party.

Which we can see here when Yai realizes just how much he didn't expect to see James. See James or see Jom smiling at him so nicely when he's always only shown Yai that smile (I kind of blurred out the smile for Yai's reaction;;; my bad).

James has shown his interest in Jom from the beginning. He was very intrigued with the servant who spoke fluent English as that was how Jom spoke to him the first time they met. Since then, whenever James is in the area (i.e. visiting Yai's BIL), he seeks out Jom. Each time, Yai has stepped between them, but it doesn't seem like he will do the same this time. Maybe he's worried that, after seeing Jom interact with James, Jom might actually return James' feelings.

Which brings us to petty Yai claiming he doesn't need Jom.

That he can continue to do everything himself as he was doing before Jom came into his life and house. This is probably his attempt to brush Jom off so he doesn't feel he has to stay with Yai; even if Yai clearly would like him to stay. This all comes to a head, however, when Jom questions why Yai has been acting that way since the party.

I feel like Yai has long since forgotten his title when he's around Jom. As Yai's servant, Jom walks a very thin line anytime Yai shows him any kind of affection. It's a double-edged sword of sorts. Jom knows he likes men, but he's smart enough to realize the gravity of this time that he's been brought to. Jom is already pushing the line by requesting that Yai go and help out servants -- something no other 'master' would bother to do.

The more Yai shows favor for Jom, the more his father wants to squash Jom beneath his feet (I feel his mother is the same way). Neither parent probably expected a servant to play such a big part is getting their son to take charge of his role as the next master of the house. Jom's requests are also hurting Yai, but he's willing to do them for Jom.

This is obvious from a viewer's POV as to how Yai regards Jom. In the moment, however, Jom needs to survive if he's not able to return; even if he does like Yai.

It seems that Yai spells out his feelings for Jom another night (different shirt), but Jom's reaction is very guarded. As I said, Jom has to play this smart if he wants to survive.

We know from his dreams, however, that Jom does eventually give into his feelings for Yai. They were very comfortable sharing a bed and having small banter when Yai didn't want Jom to leave him.

I'm just curious how long Jom will be willing to walk that thin line.

Well, this is all just my thoughts. It could be totally wrong.

[joaquinwhorres]

Tis the Damn Season | The Lucky One (Jake Seresin x Reader)

Chapter 1: The Lucky One (aka. Dorothea)

SUMMARY ››››› The holidays have a way of dragging people back into places they swore they’d left forever. For you, it’s your small town of Coolidge, Texas and the arms of its golden boy: Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

PAIRING ››››› Jake Seresin x F!Reader (Nickname: Birdie)

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,322

WARNINGS ››››› None

MASTERLIST ››››› Here

A/N ››››› I am so excited to share this story that I’ve been planning out since July. These two are near and dear to me as is the playlist, so I hope you take the time to listen to the Taylor Swift songs even if she’s not your thing.

There wasn’t much special about Coolidge, Texas. Anyone who’d been literally anywhere else could see that. 

Of course, none of the people born and bred in Coolidge had ever been more than fifteen miles over the town line, and the only reason they wandered that far was on account of the Walmart being in the next town over and Travers’ limiting the amount of ammo a person could buy at any one time.

People by and large tended to stay in Coolidge. 

And it wasn’t because the town was quaint or picturesque or any of the other idyllic words your producers used to paint your hometown. The reason was far more tragic than that. People breathed their first and last in Coolidge simply because they got stuck here. Whether it was the mediocre schools, generational poverty, or perverse sense of loyalty to traditional American values, staying in Coolidge was more of a default than a choice.

So in many ways, winding up back here was an inevitability. At least your return was on your own terms to some extent.

You had needed to get away, and your sister’s annual argument for spending Christmas in Coolidge had been particularly compelling this year in light of that desperation. Add to that her point that she’d be leaving Coolidge at the end of the year, and it would be your family’s last chance at a Christmas together, and you were suckered into the second worst decision of your life.

Because absolutely nothing had changed about your hometown. 

You were still desperate to get out of the house. Still stealing the keys to the truck and letting the screen door slam behind you as you raced down the front yard. Still listening to your mother’s shouting as it followed you all the way to the truck, only growing quiet once you safely shut yourself inside the cab. 

You sighed, leaning your forehead onto the steering wheel and allowing yourself to bask in the brief moment of blissful silence. You should have stayed in LA.

With another sigh, you pulled yourself back up straight, flipping the mirror down to run your fingers through your hair and check to make sure all evidence of your own rage was indiscernible to the town’s eye. Satisfied, you shut the mirror back up, shifted the truck into drive, and pulled away from your family farm to head off into town. 

The fields of the surrounding farms and ranches passed by, blurring together into the dull beiges of your childhood, so different from the glittering golds, and deep blues and rich purples that you’d grown used to. No trees or mountains or buildings cut against the grey-ish white skyline, leaving you with the distinct empty feeling that only Coolidge could.

When you reached town, it wasn’t much better. Sure there were maybe a few more “Closed” signs than had been there when you left six years ago, but the staples remained: Mel’s Diner with the constant flow of patrons, the town square with statues of questionable historical figures, and Danbury’s Grocery with its sign of perpetually peeling green paint. 

You parked your truck in front of the grocer’s and climbed out, checking again in the rearview mirror that you were presentable, before turning and pushing inside. 

Danbury’s was still comprised of a mere four aisles, and yet, it was still impossible to actually find anything. 

You remembered perusing each of the long rows of shelves in high school, finding Oreos next to the pasta and bottles of Diet Coke on the same shelf as peanut butter. Back then, you’d blamed the disorganization on Evan Danbury’s apathy, illiteracy, and stash. Now you weren’t sure if the shelves were purposefully stocked in such a way to keep customers trapped between the rows, as close to an Ikea maze as you’d get out here. 

As a result, it took almost forty-five minutes to find the ingredients your mother claimed you’d wasted by baking (and subsequently burning) a few batches of Christmas cookies with your sister. Not that staying out of the house until your mother had time to get over herself was necessarily a bad thing. It was just a little pathetic even by Coolidge’s standards that you were spending that time in a grocery store.

You warned back up the second aisle to the cash register, setting the basket on the counter and greeting the older woman with a polite, “Good afternoon, Ms. Connie." 

The woman paused midway through setting down her book, her brow furrowing just a bit as she tried to place your face. You could see recognition hit her as her eyes widened, mouth hung, and hands moved straight to her hips, the book jutting out to the side. 

"That can’t be you, Birdie." 

There’s something almost discordant about the way your nickname sounded coming from her. 

You’d grown used to hearing the other contestants calling you Birdie during your time in the house, and a few people here and there on the street calling out to you in recognition as well. But the distinct twang of the word coming from Ms. Connie was something left behind in Coolidge when you made your escape. 

"Yes, ma'am,” you smiled widely, making sure to show just enough of your pearly whites to seem touched that she remembered you and not like a complete psychopath.  

“Look at you!” Ms. Connie grinned, giving you an up and down. She seemed to approve of what she saw, even if she was shaking her head. “Even more pretty than you were on TV." 

Your hand moved through the motion of smoothing back a piece of hair behind your ear, even though it was a pointless gesture. There was no hair out of place. "That’s kind of you.”

The cashier dismissed the modesty with a wave of her book-hand. “I’m just statin’ the facts,” she said, placing the book on the counter and turning to unload your basket. “So are you back home for the holidays?" 

"Yes’m,” you nodded, watching her lift the flour and pass it across the scanner with a satisfying beep. She seemed to notice that she’d forgotten to get a bag out to load your groceries into and bent down, searching for one. 

“I’m sure your parents are happy about that. I know they must have missed you somethin’ fierce,” she shouted up over the counter, finally procuring a brown paper bag and shaking it open. 

It’s a testament to having a camera on you 24/7 for a little over a month that your smile doesn’t even so much as flicker. “I think Mini’s even happier,” you deflect.

“She must feel so lucky to have you as her older sister,” Ms. Connie nodded, placing the flour inside of the bag. 

“I’m the lucky one,” you said, shaking your head. And you meant it. Because Mini was maybe the only genuinely good person left in the world. She was the one who saved up all of her money to buy her own cell phone just so she could FaceTime you. She was the one who reminded you not to read the comment section but used her own extensive collection of Finstas to fight and report trolls. She was the one who didn’t mind that everyone still called her Mini even though she was so entirely her own person the nickname didn’t even make sense anymore. 

“Hard to argue that,” Ms. Connie agreed, sending the brown sugar across the scanner. “But I always knew you were going to do big things. You can ask Evan. I used to tell him all the time." 

"How is Evan?” the question came more out of hope to stop the rambling monologue about you than an a genuine interest in the affairs of your classmates who nearly ruined your junior homecoming float with his stupid lighter.

“He’s working over at the Kurten’s ranch for now since him and Dana just had their second." 

"Oh,” the word comes out coo-ing, effectively masking your surprise that Evan Danbury was not only the father of two but also married to the girl with the highest math grades in your entire class. “Congratulations! Boy or girl?" 

"A girl,” Ms. Connie announced, beaming, sending the last of your items across the scanner and placing it into the bag. “It’s so nice to finally have a granddaughter I can spoil." 

You laughed conspiratorially, despite your firm belief that no woman in their late 40’s could use the word "finally” when talking about being a grandma.

“Looks like it’s gonna be $14.71 today,” Ms. Connie said, reading out the total.

You nodded, passing over a $20 which Ms. Connie took, punching the amount into the old-fashioned cash register so the drawer popped open.

“What about you? Any boys out there in California? You seemed pretty close to that TJ boy on the show." 

"No, ma'am, no boys,” you shook your head. “DJ and I are just friends. ‘Sides, if he’s not an Aggie’s fan, he’s not for me." 

"Atta girl,” Ms. Connie said, reaching across the counter to poke you approvingly in the shoulder. She turned back to the cash register, counting out the change. “You know, there’s still a few homegrown boys 'round here. Maybe you can reconnect with one while you’re in town.”

“Sounds like you and my mother have been talking,” you dodged with a gentle laugh. Ms. Connie smiled as she handed over your change. 

“All mothers in Coolidge just want the same thing for their daughters." 

It was devastatingly true.

You pocketed the change, grabbing the bag from the counter and receipt from her outstretched hand. "Best be getting home with these,” you said to excuse your quick exit, and Ms. Connie nodded. 

“It was good seeing you again, Birdie. Make sure you tell your folks I said hello." 

"I will,” you nodded, pushing towards the door.

“And so you know,” she called out, causing you to pause before pushing through. “I had Evan help me vote for you on his phone. Such a shame you didn’t win. Woulda been nice to see our Miss Coolidge win another crown." 

"I appreciate you,” you said with a nod and a glittering smile. 

Which slid from your face the moment you were out the store and turned away. 

God you hated it here.

You took a deep breath, looking at your truck and then further off into town, wondering if there was anything there that’d keep you both out of the house and out of small talk. Your eyes fell on the bar, a tempting option. Although, 3 pm was a little early even for you, and the inevitable scandal of the former homecoming queen getting day-drunk by herself was hardly worth the brief moment of peace.

You tore your gaze from the bar and back up the other side of the street, gaze going from garland-wrapped streetlight to garland-wrapped light, like the string of lights hung from the storefronts. 

It was the door of the farm supply store opening that pulled your attention back to the moment and away from the Christmas decorations. A blonde man about your age walked out with two bags of feed over his shoulder. He matched the town’s “Very Country Christmas” aesthetic, red and white checkered shirt tucked into blue jeans too dark and stiff to be anything but brand new.

A smirk crossed your lips at the sight. 

But it vanished the minute he dumped the bags into the bed of the truck and turned in your direction. An involuntary gasp left you. 

You’d known he’d probably be in town. Your sister had made a point of keeping you updated over the past few years of all his visits to Coolidge. She’d also “casually asked” the night you arrived if you had plans to meet up with him while you were here. When you said you didn’t even know if he’d be in town because you didn’t have his number anymore, she informed you that he hadn’t missed a Christmas yet. And yet, over the past three days, no word of Coolidge’s Golden Boy returning home had spread which could only mean he wasn’t here. Because if there was one thing your town loved to do, it was stick Jake Seresin on a pedestal.

“Jacob Seresin,” you called out, stopping the blonde mid-step on his way around the truck. His head snapped in your direction, eyes squinting to see who had called out to him. You started towards him, not even bothering to drop the groceries off in the truck. 

It was clear the minute he recognized you, because he shook his head and moved quickly across the street to meet you. 

“Heard you were in town,” he said by way of greeting, hands tucked in his pockets lazily. 

“You asking about me?” you smirked, enjoying the amusement reflected back at you in his own smirk. 

“Only in your dreams,” he quipped. You snorted out a laugh as he nodded to you. “Mom made sure to let me know that Coolidge’s very own TV star was in town.” He leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her that The Network isn’t a real TV show." 

If you hadn’t grown up running in the same circles as Jake Seresin, the jibe might have gotten under your skin, or at least stung a little. Instead, it landed on you like an annoying fly. An irritating presence there one second and gone the next.

"My paycheck was pretty real. How’s the Navy treating you?” you asked, voice light and breezy.

"They treat the top 1% of their Naval Aviators pretty damn well, actually. I'm sure you'd understand if you hadn't finished, what, 4th?"

“Third,” you corrected. “Of 15. You know, a number small enough where there is no top 1%. Unless of course, you need me to explain the math to you.”

The wide smile broke across his face. “It’s good to see you Birdie.”

“Of course it is,” you answered, moving forward to wrap the arm not holding your groceries around Jake’s shoulders in a hug. Instead of the quick “tap and go” hugs you were used to greeting friends in LA, Jake wrapped his arms around you, folding you into a real hug. The hug wasn’t long enough to be awkward or uncomfortable or fodder for the Coolidge whisper machine, but it was enough time for you to appreciate that in your absence, Jake had grown even more solid than he was back in high school. He’d always been strong and athletic, but there was almost an immovability to him now. You wondered if he could feel that the opposite had happened to you. 

You stepped back out of his grasp, sticking a smile on for good measure. Jake’s hands returned to his pockets. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you around here again. What brought you back?" 

"Mini,” you answered, readjusting your grip on the groceries. “She gave a pretty impressive guilt trip about how this was her last Christmas in Coolidge, and all she wanted was for me to come home." 

"All she wanted for Christmas was you?” The teasing undertone was evident in his voice as he lifted an eyebrow. 

You nodded. “And who am I to deprive the less fortunate?" 

Jake snorted, shaking his head at you. "How long are you staying?" 

"Just through New Years. "You?" 

He tilted his head in a manner that looked far more like a shrug than it maybe should have. "Hopefully the same. Depends if I get called back early." 

You hummed, eyeing him up. "So you’re saying that I’m going to have to hear my mother go on about how you’re the real golden child of Coolidge for the entirety of my stay." 

"Sorry,” he shrugged. He did not look the faintest bit sorry. In fact, his back seemed to straighten a little more. 

You scoffed. “And I bet she won’t talk about your missing accent." 

"What missin’ accent?” he drawled perfectly, and you flipped him off as he laughed. “Come on, Birdie. You and I both know I’ve always been the real golden child. Think about it. I’ve had a float in the homecoming parade the past seven years. How many have you had?” he asked, holding up two fingers as if you needed to be clued in to the answer. 

“That’s 'cause my ego won’t shatter if people don’t make a big deal of telling me how important I am four times a year." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Big talk from the influencer." 

”Ohmygoodness.“ 

Both you and Jake swung around to see two middle-school aged girls with round eyes looking up at you. Jake slid on a winning smile, his posture stiffening just a little. You eyed him with the analysis of a publicist, impressed at how this man who wasn’t media-trained seemed to shift effortlessly into the confident and charming character he was known for here. Then again, media training was nothing compared to living with the Coolidge spotlight on you.

Still, it was tempting to lean over and pinch the back of his arm the way you used to back when he was talking to girls practically falling over themselves to fawn over him. ”I figured you needed to release all that hot air somehow,“ you’d remark, and he’d always glare even as he reigned his ego back in.

"You’re Birdie,” the shorter of the two girls said.

You could feel more than see Jake deflate some next to you. It was what made your own smile grow a bit more. 

“Yep,” you nodded, good naturedly. 

The girls continued to stare at you blankly in either awe or panic, you weren’t sure. 

“Y'all doing some Christmas shopping?"  you asked, pointing at the bags on their arms. They seemed surprised to find themselves carrying things, and the taller one shook her head. 

"We’re having a party in our English class." 

The answer seemed incomplete, but even Jake had the good grace not to do much more than give a light snort. 

"You were so good on The Network,” the shorter one complimented, and the other nodded in agreement.

“You were my favorite. And not just because you’re from Coolidge,” the other said, hurrying to tag on the clarifier as if she’d be deemed a fake fan for liking you because you had something in common.

“'Preciate it,” you nodded, smiling. 

Another awkward silence overtook the four of you as the girls looked at each other, making wide-eyed insistent faces back and forth before finally the short one asked, “We were wondering if we could take a picture with you for our Instagrams?”

You nodded. “Of course. Jake would you mind?" 

"Sure for five bucks.”

The girls scrambled into their pockets as you hit him on the arm. “He’s just jokin’; y'all don’t need to pay.”

“Oh.” The two laughed nervously before one offered up her pastel pink case over to him. You placed your groceries on the ground by his feet, wrapping an arm around each girl as they came up on either side of you.

Posing for promotional photos, perfecting your posts, parading around pageants, and years of cheer had honed you into something purely photogenic. You didn’t even feel the need to see the phone as Jake handed it back to the girl. 

“Well, I hope y'all have a nice party and a Merry Christmas,” you said, waving goodbye and hoping they caught on to your dismissal. They did, scurrying away, heads together as they looked over the pictures as they went. You caught pieces of their conversation, the words “pretty” and “lucky” making an appearance as they always seemed to whenever people were talking about you.

Jake picked up your groceries and offered them back to you. You accepted, eyes catching onto your truck. 

“I should probably head home with these before my mother’s head explodes,” you sighed. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“You going to the Campbell’s party tomorrow?” he asked. 

Your brow furrowed and you shook your head. “Danny Campbell’s?”

Jake nodded. “He and Rebecca have a Christmas party every year at their place for everyone who’s back in town.”

As if anybody had ever left town besides you and Jake. You didn’t voice the snark though, instead trying to figure out which of your former classmates would exactly be there. “Rebecca like Rebecca Tunstall?”

“Hickey,” Jake corrected, shaking his head at you. “You didn’t keep track of anyone did you?”

You shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on ever coming back." 

"And yet, you’re here,” he pointed out, the statement settling between you. It seemed to grow in the space between you, the silence pushing out and making itself known. Jake was the one to break it. “I’ll pick you up if you want, and we can go together. Unless you think you’re better than the little people." 

You snorted, pulling yourself back together and out of all thoughts about what had put you on a plane back to Coolidge. "I’m perfectly capable of taking myself,” you said, starting to walk backwards towards your own truck. “And for the record, I know you think you’re better than the little people too." 

He laughed at this, the sound following you to your truck and bringing the first genuine smile to your face since you’d come to town.

You looked…out of place.

Granted, you had always looked out of place in Coolidge, even as far back as the first time he remembered seeing you filing into the pew behind your parents. You’d spent the whole of Sunday service swinging your legs, shiny red boots catching the light and his attention. There had always been a vibrancy to you compared to the rest of Coolidge. Like a piece of Oz that had found itself swept away into this taupe little town.

But seeing you now, looking like a California goddess as you climbed into the muddy old pick up with a busted ull bar just seemed wrong. You belonged with palm trees and neon cars and golden roads. Not here.

Jake sighed, pulling his attention back to his truck. He needed to head home too. HIs "quick trip to Travers” had turned into what was essentially a greeting line for all of the old vets hanging around the farm supply store. Each man seemed more eager than the last to relive his glory days either through recounting a long and winding story about his time in the service or living vicariously through Jake as they grilled him on his Naval career. 

It was exhausting and less of an honor the men probably thought their attention and approval was. Because sharing the highlights of his successes hardly meant anything when his audience couldn’t grasp just how impressive he really was. 

Thankfully, the drive home was quick, and it took even less time to unload the truck than it did to put everything in now that he wasn’t being stopped in between each bag to greet someone new.

Still, by the time he walked into the kitchen, his mother had already started supper, frying something in a cast iron skillet on the stove. Rather than helping, Melissa and Hannah sat at the table, deep into a game of cards.

“What took you so long?” Hannah demanded before he even had the time to take off his boots. His mother turned from her task to cast a scolding look at her youngest who, for her part, completely ignored it as she discarded the four of clubs.

“The senior center took a field trip down to Travers, so I had to relive World War II with the fossils." 

Hannah burst into laughter as his mother admonished him with a sharp "Jacob!” She brandished her spatula at him. “Those men fought for you. The least you can do is pay them some respect." 

"Sorry, Ma,” Jake apologized, rounding the kitchen table so he could wrap an arm around his mother and kiss her on the cheek. “I’m just tired.”

She hummed and patted the side of his head which he took as forgiveness.

“Did you run into anyone else?” his older sister asked, drawing a card from the stack in front of her.

Sometimes Jake swore that she could read his mind. It had always been unnerving and inconvenient because it wasn’t like he could lie or even skirt around it. The Seresin women were practically bloodhounds when it came to finding out the truth, able to sniff out any small fib immediately. 

He nodded. “Birdie was out doing some shopping." 

Both his mother and his little sister swiveled to face him, their separate tasks completely forgotten.

"How is she?” his mother asked, trying (and failing spectacularly) to keep the excitement from her face.

“Good,” he answered with a shrug. “Still herself.”

“So you’re still in love with her?” Hannah asked.

Jake ignored his younger sister, walking back to Melissa’s side and staring at her hand. Across from him, Hannah smirked. “That’s a yes." 

Jake moved three cards around in his older sister’s shand, and she smiled up at him. "I knew there was a reason you’re my favorite." 

Hannah’s face scrunched in confusion, the look quickly shifting to shock as Melissa lay her cards down on the table. "That’s not fair!” Hannah gaped. 

“Neither’s life,” Jake retorted, and Hannah flipped him off behind her cards, out of their mother’s view.

“How long is Birdie in town for?” his mother asked, bringing the subject back around as she flipped the sausage in the pan. 

“Just the holidays,” he answered, looking up at her from the remnants of his sister’s game. 

“That gives you, what? Two weeks of Mom trying to convince you to marry her?” Melissa asked, gathering all of the cards into her hand. Hannah passed hers over, sliding them onto the top of the deck.

Their mother sucked her teeth, and turned her gaze back to the pan. “I was going to say that you should invite her over to dinner, but if I’m just going to get accused of meddling, I won’t,” she huffed.

Her guilt trips had lost their power over the years. After facing down enemy pilots and having the lives of other pilots with families placed on his shoulders, he’d learned the threat of real guilt. But he’d be damned if he didn’t let his mother think she still had a hold over him. 

“I’ll think about it,” he said, starting to exit the kitchen. “Even if this is exactly what you did to Beth and Nate." 

His sisters laughed at the reference to their oldest sister and her husband, even as his mother made a noise of protest. And with that, he was out of the room and heading up to his bedroom.

His mom wouldn’t be able to pull the same trick with him and Birdie though, because he had already decided six years ago that he wouldn’t marry her.

"What are you still doing here?”

Birdie looked up from her phone, eyes wide only for the briefest of seconds as Jake made his way towards her from the side door. 

He watched as she relaxed a bit, placing her phone next to the plastic tiara that rested beside her. 

“Pissing off my mom, I imagine,” she said with a shrug. 

He didn’t ask. Not after word of the Float Incident with Birdie’s mother made its way around the school.

“Pretty sad way to piss off your mom, just sitting on a bench in front of the school,” he remarked, coming to a stop in front of her. “Could at least be at a party. I think Brian Thomas is having one at his barn.”

She offered a slow half-smile. “Not really up to being homecoming queen right now.”

He was quiet, eyes running over her as if there’d be any sign as to what led her here or what he should do. She seemed to feel the weight of his gaze, sighing and running a hand over her silvery dress. “I’m ok. I’m just gonna sit here a bit.”

She was not ok. When Birdie was ok she was up and moving and positively shining. This was not it.

Jake shook his head, hoisting his duffle bag up on his shoulder. “Meet me under the bleachers in five minutes.”

“Bleachers?” She repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Ambiance,” He smirked, before pointing up. “And there are cameras out here." 

She followed the direction his finger pointed, eyes locating the cameras.

"And the five minute wait?” She asked, a genuine smile teasing at her lips. 

“Anticipation,” he offered, before walking backwards towards the parking lot. “And I gotta run to my truck.”

She was waiting for him under the home bleachers looking more breathtaking than any girl with a large rip up the side of her dress had any right to be.

“Get in a fight while I was gone?” he asked, eyeing the torn fabric.

“Stupid thing snagged on a bolt or something,” she dismissed, annoyance still coating her words. Her eyes caught on the bottle hanging from his right hand, lighting up for the first time since he’d caught sight of her on the bench. “Whatcha bring me?”

“Only the finest for royalty,” he answered, lifting the bottle of Tennessee Honey up for her approval. She grinned reading for it.

“An excellent celebration of our coronation indeed,” she agreed, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink from the bottle. “Hallelujah.”

Jake laughed, reaching for it and setting himself down on the ground before taking a swig. Even with the bottle blocking his view, he could see Birdie sit down across from him, crossing her legs so the long dress rode up a bit.

They chatted, passing the bottle back and forth. Birdie teased him about his fuckup that got him sacked and he mocked her teary acceptance of the crown. They laughed and carried on for over an hour, the golden liquor falling lower and lower in the bottle. It was late when they grew quiet, the pauses of companionable silence stretching longer.

“You ever feel like you were meant for more than Coolidge?” Birdie asked out of this silence.

Jake smirked, reaching for the bottle. “Every damn day.”

She nodded, silently passing over the whiskey into his waiting hand. She was quiet even as he drank, watching him take a pull of the liquor and wipe his lips off with the back of his hand. 

“I don’t think I’m meant for this. Ranching and marriage and always being Miss Coolidge all the time,” she mused.“I’ve decided I’m leaving after graduation.” Her voice was firm even if the volume was softer than normal. 

His eyebrows shot up. “Gonna be a college girl?”

She snorted, plucking the bottle from his hands. “You and I both know I don’t have the money for that or the grades for a scholarship. No,” She looked over his shoulder, her gaze away. “The day after graduation, I’m packing a bag and moving to LA. I don’t know what I’m going to do but it’s gotta be better than sticking around here”

Jake was quiet for a moment, taking her in. Her shining eyes and the glittering tiara in her hair and the ripped silvery blue homecoming dress. “You’re gonna miss my graduation party.”

She set the bottle of whiskey down behind her, and then surged forwards, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. Her lips moved over his with a frenzy that accompanied all Birdie did, like she had to make the most of a fleeting moment. And maybe the moment was more rare than he would have liked to admit. Because it struck him that for once in his life he had said the exactly right thing and the exactly right time. 

And because lightning never strikes twice, he kept his mouth on hers and didn’t say another word. 

[guysgetbigger]

Sympathy Santa (2 of 12)

Ethan stared into the fire, the crackling flames mirroring the turmoil within him. Derek's words hung heavy in the air, each syllable resonating with an unsettling truth. His initial suspicion, the niggling feeling that Derek harbored an unusual attraction to his post-baby physique, had been confirmed. Now, he grappled with the implications, the forbidden thrill of it all mixing with a tremor of apprehension.

Derek, sensing his inner conflict, shifted closer, his hand reaching out to rest on Ethan's bicep. The touch was casual, yet it sent a jolt through Ethan, his breath catching in his throat. As if reading his mind, Derek's hand moved, tracing the soft curve of Ethan's belly, his fingers lingering on the new stretch marks like Braille inscriptions on his skin.

"You shouldn't hide it," Derek murmured, his voice husky. "It's beautiful, Ethan. Strong and… comforting."

Ethan sucked in a sharp breath, a mixture of arousal and unease swirling in his gut. He found himself leaning into Derek's touch, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. He knew he should pull away, assert some semblance of normalcy, but Derek's touch felt strangely… good. A deep, primal rumble stirred within him, a response he couldn't quite suppress.

Derek, emboldened by Ethan's lack of resistance, pulled away and reached for the plate of cookies nestled beside them. Holding one up, a mischievous glint in his eyes, he coaxed, "Come on, Santa. One more won't hurt. Besides, you gotta keep your padding up for Christmas, right?"

Ethan hesitated, then found himself nodding, his hand reaching out to accept the cookie. As he took a bite, Derek's hand returned, this time circling his belly, a gentle massage that sent shivers down his spine. Ethan closed his eyes, savoring the unexpected pleasure, the forbidden intimacy of the situation.

Derek continued feeding him cookies, each bite accompanied by a lingering touch, a whispered compliment. Ethan felt himself surrendering, his defenses crumbling under the onslaught of Derek's attention. He liked the feeling of being big, being seen, being desired for something so different from his pre-baby self.

As the night wore on, the lines between brother-in-law and something more blurred further. They talked, they laughed, they shared secrets they never had before. And all the while, Derek's hand never strayed far from Ethan's belly, his touch becoming bolder, more intimate.

By the time the embers in the fireplace had died down to glowing ash, Ethan knew he had crossed a line. He felt a pang of guilt, a tremor of uncertainty about the path he was treading. Yet, the memory of Derek's touch, the warmth of his gaze, lingered on his skin, a seductive whisper promising forbidden pleasures.

He had a choice to make – to pull back, retreat into the familiar comfort of his marriage, or to explore this uncharted territory, this strange new facet of himself that Derek had awakened. As he drifted off to sleep, the weight of his decision, heavy and sweet, sat upon his chest, mirroring the weight of his belly, now a symbol not just of fatherhood, but of a desire he never knew he harbored.

—

The morning sun, soft and tentative, filtered through the curtains, dappling Ethan's face with warmth. He stirred, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, and a low groan escaped his lips. His belly, stretched taut beneath his T-shirt, felt heavier than usual, as if filled with more than just breakfast cookies and the weight of his unspoken desires.

Ethan sat up, stretching his arms above his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, an almost imperceptible shift in his own being. As he reached for his discarded shirt, his fingers snagged on the fabric, pulling it taut across his belly. It strained noticeably, the familiar cotton clinging to him like a second skin.

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. Was it just his imagination, or had he... grown? Just a little? He pinched an inch of flesh above his belly button, marveling at its softness, the slight jiggle as he released it. A strange mix of amusement and arousal washed over him.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaked open, and Derek peeked in, his hair tousled and a sleepy smile playing on his lips. His gaze instantly fell on Ethan, and the smile widened, morphing into a smirk that sent a jolt through Ethan's body.

"Well, well, Santa," Derek drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "Looks like someone enjoyed his cookies last night."

Ethan couldn't help but grin back, a sheepish yet exhilarated feeling bubbling in his chest. He patted his belly self-consciously.

"Maybe I did indulge a little," he chuckled, "but hey, the holidays are for indulging, right?"

Derek's eyes lingered on Ethan's belly, their dark depths filled with an unspoken hunger. He circled the bed, his steps slow and deliberate, until he stood directly in front of Ethan. He reached out, his hand hovering hesitantly over Ethan's stomach.

"It's even softer today," Derek murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Like a giant teddy bear begging to be cuddled."

Ethan shivered as Derek's fingertips grazed his skin, sending a cascade of goosebumps erupting over his body. He knew he should stop this, draw a line, but the thrill of it all, the forbidden nature of their connection, held him captive.

Derek's hand moved, tracing the outline of Ethan's belly button, then slowly descending to trace the lines of his stretch marks. Each touch sent a tremor through Ethan, awakening a desire he hadn't known he possessed.

"They're like little maps," Derek breathed, his voice husky with desire. "Maps to hidden treasures."

Ethan closed his eyes, the weight of Derek's hand grounding him, anchoring him to a reality that was both familiar and utterly new. He was a husband, a father, a man with responsibilities. Yet, in this charged space, in the intimate confines of their shared morning, he was also something else – an object of desire, a big, soft man whose newly discovered curves were being explored by another man's touch.

As the morning unfolded, the line between indulgence and temptation continued to blur. The unspoken tension crackled in the air, charged with the weight of their secret desires. Each shared glance, each lingering touch, felt like a brushstroke on a canvas of unexplored possibilities.

And as Ethan looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror later that day, his shirt clinging impossibly tighter to his newly rounded belly, he couldn't help but wonder – had the cookies truly caused the change, or was it something else entirely, something far more delicious and dangerous, stirring within him? The answer, like the weight on his belly, was both comforting and unsettling, a mystery waiting to be unwrapped, one forbidden touch at a time.

—

Ethan stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting his Santa suit. The red fabric stretched taut across his belly, a testament to the weeks of indulgence that had followed his conversation with Derek. He patted his stomach affectionately, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Behind him, Derek chuckled, the sound low and husky. "Looking jolly, Santa," he murmured, stepping closer.

Ethan turned, catching a glimpse of himself and Derek reflected in the mirror. In that moment, a stark contrast struck him. He, with his broad shoulders, round belly, and thick beard, loomed over Derek like a benevolent giant. Derek, in comparison, appeared almost fragile, his slim frame accentuated by Ethan's imposing presence.

A strange mix of emotions washed over Ethan. There was amusement, of course, at the visual disparity between them. But there was also something else, a flicker of something primal, something he couldn't quite name.

Derek's gaze, usually bold and unwavering, darted nervously around the room, finally landing on Ethan's face. He seemed suddenly self-conscious, his usual bravado replaced by a hint of uncertainty.

Ethan caught his breath, suddenly aware of the power dynamic their physical differences had created. He wasn't just Ethan anymore, the husband, the father. He was also this big, powerful figure, a mountain of a man reflected in the mirror. And Derek, standing beside him, seemed drawn to that power, captivated by it.

"Do you like it?" Ethan asked, his voice rumbling like Santa's own.

Derek hesitated, then met Ethan's gaze directly. "I do," he admitted, his voice husky. "It's..." he paused, searching for the right words, "It's different."

Ethan couldn't help but grin. This different Ethan, this bigger, bolder Ethan, he wasn't just attracting Sarah's loving glances and Thomas's gurgling laughter. He was also turning heads, igniting desires he never knew existed.

And as their eyes met in the mirror, the reflected image not just a visual representation but a symbol of their unspoken attraction, Ethan knew this holiday season would be unlike any other. He was Santa, yes, but also something more – a secret Santa, bearing unexpected gifts for a boy who longed for a different kind of Christmas cheer.

The mirror, once a simple glass surface, had become a portal, reflecting not just their physical forms but the hidden desires simmering beneath them. And as their gazes locked, a silent promise hung in the air – a promise of indulgence, of exploration, of unwrapping the forbidden treasures hidden beneath the layers of Ethan's newfound weight, one touch, one glance, one shared secret at a time.

—

Ethan surveyed his reflection in the department store mirror, the Santa suit clinging comfortably to his rotund figure. His belly, a testament to months of holiday indulgence and late-night cookie binges with Derek, strained against the red fabric. A satisfied rumble escaped his lips.

"Looking jolly, Santa," Derek's voice purred from behind him. Ethan turned, catching Derek's admiring gaze reflected in the mirror. Their physical disparity was stark. Ethan, a mountain of a man with broad shoulders and a thick beard, dwarfed Derek's lean frame.

A mischievous glint flickered in Derek's eyes. He reached out, his hand trailing up Ethan's arm before settling on his broad shoulder. His fingers kneaded the firm muscle beneath, sending a delicious shiver down Ethan's spine.

"Such a big man," Derek murmured, his voice laden with meaning. His thumb brushed against the base of Ethan's neck, a silent question lingering in the touch.

Ethan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The playful banter they'd shared in the privacy of their home felt different here, amidst the bustling holiday decorations and the curious glances of fellow shoppers. It was thrilling, this charged awareness, this secret they carried like a hidden gift beneath their festive exteriors.

He leaned into Derek's touch, a low growl escaping his lips. "Just trying to live up to the Santa persona, little elf," he rumbled, enjoying the way Derek shivered at the sound.

"A very convincing Santa," Derek countered, his fingers digging deeper into Ethan's shoulder. "But I have a feeling there's more to this Claus than meets the eye. More padding, perhaps?"

Ethan chuckled, the sound rich and full. He let his gaze drop to his belly, its roundness accentuated by the tight-fitting suit. "Maybe Santa just enjoys his milk and cookies a little too much," he admitted, his voice laced with a playful wink.

Derek's hand traced a lazy circle around Ethan's belly button, the touch sending a jolt of pleasure through him. His eyes, now dark and heated, held Ethan captive. "And maybe some elves enjoy big Santas," he whispered, his breath warm against Ethan's ear.

The air crackled with unspoken desire, the line between festive fun and forbidden territory blurring with each caress. Ethan felt a primal possessiveness stir within him, the urge to shield Derek, to claim him in this hidden corner of the store, amidst the twinkling lights and oblivious shoppers.

But before he could act on his impulse, a woman with a giggling child approached, interrupting their moment. Ethan forced a smile, slipping back into his jolly Santa persona. Yet, beneath the surface, the embers of desire Derek had ignited continued to smolder, promising a night of unwrapping more than just Christmas presents.

As the day wore on, their stolen touches, disguised as playful interactions, became bolder, more deliberate. A brush of their hands in the toy aisle, a lingering hug amidst the wrapping paper chaos, each contact fueling the unspoken promise that awaited them under the cloak of darkness.

By the time the store closed, Ethan was a walking tinderbox of anticipation. The weight on his belly, once simply a product of indulgence, now felt charged with a different kind of meaning. It was a symbol of Derek's desire, a reminder of the forbidden pleasures that awaited them when the last shopper had left and the Christmas lights twinkled only for them.

And as they slipped out into the cool night air, hand in hand, their shared secret nestled beneath the folds of Santa's suit and the soft curve of Ethan's belly, Ethan knew this Christmas would be unforgettable, a celebration not just of holidays and family, but of a yearning that had found its unexpected, delicious fulfillment in the arms of a very appreciative elf.

—

With the arrival of their newborn, Sarah found herself drowning in diapers, spit-up, and a persistent feeling of overwhelming exhaustion. Ethan, bless his heart, tried to help, but between work and his newfound passion for late-night cookie sessions with Derek, his assistance often left more chaos in its wake.

That's when the idea struck Sarah. Derek, ever eager to please and strangely enamored with Ethan's "jolly" physique, was practically begging for a way to spend more time with them. "Why not have him move in for a while?" she suggested, half-jokingly, to Ethan.

To her surprise, Ethan's eyes lit up. Derek's presence, he argued, would not only be a boon to their sanity but also offer a built-in babysitter when they desperately needed a date night. Thus began the strange cohabitation of Sarah, Ethan, their newborn, and the increasingly captivated Derek.

One of Derek's assigned chores was laundry. As he sorted through overflowing baskets, his eyes widened comically when he encountered Ethan's underwear. They were behemoths compared to his own, practically flags proclaiming Ethan's newfound territory. A strange mix of awe and something else, something Derek couldn't quite name, swirled in his gut.

Seeing the fascination in Derek's eyes, Sarah, ever the pragmatist, hatched a plan. "Ethan," she declared, feigning concern, "you've put on quite a bit of weight. Maybe Derek can take you to the gym and whip you into shape?"

Ethan, secretly pleased with his growing belly and newfound strength, initially resisted. But Derek, eager to spend more time with him, proved persuasive.

At the gym, the tables turned. While Derek marveled at Ethan's effortless handling of weights that made him groan, Ethan himself reveled in his newfound strength. He embraced weight training, his focus shifting from shedding pounds to building muscle.

Under Derek's watchful eye (and perhaps fueled by protein shakes generously provided by his newfound gym buddy), Ethan's physique transformed. He still had his belly, a soft cushion atop his now broader, brawnier frame. But his arms bulged with impressive definition, and his chest boasted a formidable expanse. He looked like a hairy mountain man, a living embodiment of strength and unexpected softness.

Derek, unsurprisingly, found himself even more fascinated. The way Ethan's shirt strained across his chest, the way his belly jiggled slightly when he moved – it was like a constant visual feast. He found himself lingering near Ethan during workouts, stealing appreciative glances, and feeling a warmth ignite in his chest whenever Ethan brushed against him.

One evening, after a particularly intense workout, Sarah was out for the night. Ethan, sweaty and slightly breathless, stood before the mirror, flexing his newly sculpted biceps. A mischievous grin crossed Derek's face.

"Looking good, big man," he drawled, stepping closer. Ethan felt the heat radiating from Derek's body, his own breath catching in his throat.

"Feeling good," Ethan replied, his voice a low rumble. He couldn't ignore the spark of desire simmering in Derek's eyes, a reflection of the same yearning blossoming within himself.

As the silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken possibilities, Ethan knew their little "family arrangement" had taken an unexpected turn. The weight on his belly was no longer just a symbol of indulgence; it was a badge of strength, a catalyst for a blossoming connection he never anticipated, a forbidden desire waiting to be explored in the warm embrace of their makeshift holiday home, one rumbling growl and one appreciative touch at a time.