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dear-bunnyboo · 8 months

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𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐀𝐅 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

i am suffering from the worst writers block ever! i only really had inspiration to write this fic in general so updates on my other requests and fics will take a little more time :)

IDGAF means “i don’t give a fuck” by the way for those who don’t know. I also had to research an appropriate job description this reader can brag about, enjoy! ;)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You notice the Bengals’ new staff member flirting with your boyfriend, however, Joe thinks that you are acting childish for saying so— you decide to show Joe that you didn't give a fuck.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ mature content, cursing, in denial!Joe, light angst, fluff, flirting, arguing, jealousy?, established relationship, party setting, mentions of alcohol consumption, slight sexual tension, some dirty talking, smut?, pda, allusion to sex, sexual tension, no cheating!, badass!reader, slight groveling, paparazzi

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The speakers were blaring all throughout the club— the colorful flashing lights danced across each and everyone’s skin as it circles the place.

Sitting with your legs crossed you giggled as you listened to one of your closest friend rant about a recent embarrassing moment that happened to her at her office— you are currently surrounded by the entire Cincinnati Bengals team at the VIP area of the club— the staff, crew, coaches, players, and their significant others celebrating their win at the AFC Championship not long ago.

You were sitting prettily next to a couple of WAGs wearing a copper halter neck jumpsuit that hugged your body in the right places, showcasing your curves while accentuating your height— alternating from taking a sip from your drink and nodding to what your friends were discussing, not long after, you felt a familiar warm heat land on your upper thigh.

Looking to your right, you were met with your boyfriend, Joe who was busy speaking with Sam and Tee— his eyes trained on them, however, his large hands was on your right thigh, running his hands up and down, occasionally squeezing it from time to time.

Joe was a very private person especially when it comes to his personal life. So he is not the type of guy who would do PDA and you were okay with that— it was never really your goal to flaunt your relationship with Joe out in the open— in fact, you enjoy the moments you have in private, the Joe you and only you can see.

“You should send me that video. It sounds way too good to be true.” you chucked, brushing the strands of your hair away from your face as you jokingly pointed at your friend— teasing her about the failed tiktok she attempted to do in her office that her boss caught her doing.

“If I do, you’ll have to do it with me.” She laughs.

Before you could reply back, Joe interrupted you from your conversation, “Babe, I’d like you to meet someone.” He said.

Turning to look at your boyfriend, you were met with an unfamiliar redhead.

“This is, Stacie— she is the new athletic trainer of the team.” Joe introduced her.

Getting a good look at the girl, she was pretty, Stacie was a little bit shorter than you, with red hair that was curled behind her, she was wearing a white dress, and she had a huge smile on her face that rubbed you the wrong way— you were all for women supporting women but you can smell bitches from a mile away.

It’s a talent.

It was a self defense mechanism.

You grew up in a well-off family— that only meant fake friends, fake love, fake sympathies, fake laughs— fake smiles. Growing up in such way you have learned to spot the difference from the people who genuinely enjoy your company and the people who wanted to be best friends because your dad drove a Rolls Royce.

“Hi, Stacie. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” you greeted her with a soft smile that funnily enough was as fake as hers.

“Do you also work for the Bengals? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the facility.” Stacie asked, turning her head to look at you and then at Joe.

“No, I don’t work there— I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”

And just like that her plastered smile faltered by a second— a twitch that only you managed to catch.

“Stacie has been helping me with my knee a lot.” Your boyfriend chimes in making the redhead peer up at the quarterback in awe at the acknowledgment, you could practically hear her purring.

Shaking your head off those thoughts, you took a deep breath and managed to give Stacie a real smile, “Thank you, I’m glad he’s in good hands.” I nodded at her, cause at the end of the day, she was good at her job— she wouldn’t be qualified for hire if she wasn’t. That’s all you cared about— that Joe was being taken care of, especially when it comes to his injuries.

You trusted Joe with every ounce of your being and he trusted you— there was no reason for you to nitpick on every little detail you find off from that woman. You trusted your boyfriend’s judgement, and knowing Joe, you know how hard it is for him to trust people as well— so as long as he thinks she’s cool then you’re cool.

You were rising above.

“Oh, he’s in very good hands.” Stacie giggled before running her hand up and down your boyfriend’s bicep.

Looking towards Joe, he simply chucked in response.

You could feel your eye twitch.

You were rising above— You repeated in your head as if it was some sort of mantra.

Joe was being nice. That’s it. He is a nice man.

“So, Y/N, right? Let me tell you— I have been enjoying my time as an AT for the Bengals. Joe has been doing so well and has helped me feel right at home.” She giggles again before continuing, “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much about myself. How about you? What do you do?” She asks.

What do I do?— Joe fucking Burrow that’s what.

“I’m a creative director” you sipped on your drink side eyeing Joe as he laughs with Ja’marr— still refusing to acknowledge the fact that Stacie’s hand was still on him.

“Aw, that’s cute. For who?” she raised her eyebrow, taunting you as she feigned interest.

“Vogue.”

That seems to shut her up for the meantime.

You weren’t one to brag about the achievements and blessings in your life but she was pushing your last buttons— Joe included.

“I’ll go grab a drink.” Stacie told Joe as if he cared where she was headed.

You silently watched her walk towards the bartender before making your way closer to Joe who turned towards you in time. Your boyfriend eyed you up and down before placing a kiss on the temple of your forehead.

“You look like you were having fun with Stacie, If I wasn’t mistaken it seems like you found another best friend, huh?” Joe moved closer towards you as you stoically stared at him.

“It sounds like you are mistaken cause I wasn’t having fun at all.” You said to him in a lighthearted way, almost sarcastic as you watched his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You’re not having fun, baby?” Joe questions circling his arms around your waist.

“I was having fun— not with her though and I don’t think we’ll be friends anytime soon.” You shrugged not bothering to explain as you laid your head on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

Rolling your eyes, you lifted your head to look back up at the quarterback, “Joe, she clearly has a thing for you, she’s been flirting at you the entire time— right in front of my face too.” you sighed.

Joe simply shook him head, “She wasn’t, babe. She was just being nice.”

“Oh, I didn’t know being nice involved caressing someone’s bicep in front of that someone’s girlfriend.” You said sarcastically as you pushed yourself off of Joe’s embrace.

“Babe, she’s a touchy person that’s it. That doesn’t mean she was flirting.” Joe runs his hand across his hair frustratedly as he stared at you. You don’t know why Joe is deciding to act stupid— it was either he was playing stupid or he was just stupid and you hoped for it to be the latter— which concluded to Joe being stupid.

You eyed your boyfriend’s innocence, yeah, let’s call it that. Chuckling, you gave Joe a look, “Joe, baby, she’s flirting— hundred percent. She looks at you as if you cured cancer and I don’t blame her. Hell, millions of people look at you that way, Joe and I’m fine with that. My problem with her is the fact that not only was she disrespecting you with her touching but she was also disrespecting me by doing so.”

“Joe, I don’t mind her liking you— I trust you and I know for a fact that you won’t do anything to destroy that trust but what I cannot take is disrespect, Joey you know that.” you finished softly, hoping your boyfriend could take a hint.

“I know that, baby— but I’m just saying she’s a friend who is being friendly that’s it.”

Joe was being stubborn and you don’t think that screaming at him in public was technically “rising above”.

Before you could reply back, Stacie nudges her way between you and Joe— the redhead now had her arms wrapped around your boyfriend’s neck, making Joe lean down to her height so that she can whisper whatever to his ear.

You were pretty sure you had steam coming out of your ears as you watched Joe let her do whatever to him. It takes time for Joe to warm up to people, it took you a year of friendship for him to be even comfortable with you touching him— platonically even.

Now watching your boyfriend have absolutely no problem letting a woman he just met touch him is hurting you.

Zach Taylor calls Stacie over to introduce her to more people, ultimately leaving you and Joe in your seats as you listened to the pumping music in the background that accompanied the ringing in your ear.

“Wow, am I third-wheeling?” you joked, trying to mask the pain and anger lingering in your voice but to no avail it shows.

“What are you talking about, baby?” Joe turns back towards you with a confused yet frustrated look on his face which was pissing you off even more.

“Don’t fucking baby me, Joseph. What the fuck was that? You just let her touch you like that it front of me? I don’t know if you’ve been tackled way too hard today but you have seem to forget that I’m your girlfriend.” You argued, silently thanking the loud music for masking your voice and the dark lights for hiding your now pissed off look.

There were fans all around the bar— thankfully they were outside the VIP lounge but that didn’t stop them from taking pictures and videos of their favorite NFL players— you didn’t need videos of you and Joe fighting in public.

“Again with this? Y/N, seriously you’re being childish— stop being so fucking jealous and for the last time she’s being friendly.” Joe grunts as he finishes his entire drink in frustration.

Childish and jealous

Childish is what your so-called friends would call you back in high school when you confronted them for using you for money. Childish is what they called you when you refused to be their friend anymore. Childish is what your boyfriend of four years calls you for after defending a bitch that was flirting with him.

And jealous?

Bitch please. You were never jealous. Not once were you jealous of anyone in your life. You were the only child in a wealthy family— you had loving parents who spoiled you, you went to the best schools, had the best clothes, you have the best job that people will kill for, you have real friends that cared about you, as much as Joe was pissing you off— he was the best boyfriend.

You weren’t jealous of her, she was jealous of you.

You love Joe with all your being but if he even thinks about cheating on you with her or anyone in that matter— then they can have him.

Yes, he’s the Joe Burrow. The number one overall draft pick, the star player and quarterback of Cincinnati Bengals— but you were you, you were simply better.

And you’ve had it— having the Joe Burrow as your boyfriend has its ups and downs and you've learned to navigate through it together after years and years but this was something Joe needs to figure this out alone since he wants to act dumb.

Joe Burrow have officially crossed you in a way he hasn’t before and after this you know he’s gonna wish he hadn’t.

“Ok. I’m gonna go dance.” you said nonchalantly before leaving your boyfriend alone more confused now than ever as he watches you leave with the a few WAGs to the dance floor which was filled with people.

“Girl, are you ok? That Stacie was flirting with Joe so hard. Did you talk to him?”

“What did Joe say?”

“I swear to God if she makes a move on my man next — she’s gonna get fired.”

“Did you you two fight?”

All the questions being thrown you as you all danced in your own circle. You gave them a brief rundown of what happened they stared at you shocked.

“So? What are you gonna do?” One of them asked.

“Absolutely nothing.” You smiled as you moved your hips around to the beat.

“What?!” A collective response was met with a smirk on your face.

“He’s gonna figure it out all on his own— as of now, I don’t give a fuck.”

As you took on if the girls’ hands, dancing together to Reminder by The Weeknd which was ironically perfect for your situation— you felt heat from the side of your head, you didn’t need to turn around to know that Joe was staring at you— you wanted him to.

“Y/N, Joe is undressing you with his eyes.” one of your friends says nodding towards Joe.

You simply gave her a grin, “I’m hot. Who wouldn’t, honestly?”

“Miss Stacie looks like a kicked puppy and Joe is sat far away from her— seems like your plan is working.”

Of course it is.

You knew that without you next to Joe that Stacie would make her move— that gave your boyfriend all the time in the world to realize that you were right all along.

You feigned innocence, still dancing and singing to the song as one of your friends started to film you and the others.

“Ever time you try to forget who I am, I’ll be right there to remind you again— you know me~” you sang to the camera.

As you continued to dance, Joe couldn’t help but stare at you— a cloud of emotion lingering in him. He was very much in love with you and how good you are at moving your hips, he was guilty for calling childish and arguing with you, he was angry at himself for not believing you, he was also thoroughly furious at Stacie.

As soon as you left to dance, after replying to him unemotionally that scared that absolute shit out of him— Stacie immediately latched onto his side, giggling over something she found amusing that Joe seems to find himself not caring.

“Joe you look really good in this.” She says leaning towards him as she twirled her finger around his chest which ultimately rang red alarms all over Joe’s head— taunting him almost.

“Thanks” Joe says clearly uncomfortable as he politely moved her away from him but to his surprise she moved again towards him again, her mouth now on his ears as she whispered, “Do you wanna go somewhere more quiet, Joey?”

That was it for Joe.

He pushed her off him and quickly stood up— and glared at the redhead, the same redhead he defended to his girlfriend who was convinced she was disrespectful for flirting with him— and she was right.

Y/N is always right and Joe hated himself for not believing his girlfriend of four years.

“Stacie, I have a girlfriend who is not far from here and overall, you technically work for me, so this is unprofessional.” Joe said firmly to the redhead who just stared at him like she didn’t care.

Maybe because she didn’t.

“So? That’s why I asked you if we could go somewhere quiet. No one has to know.” She smirked.

And just like that he lost all the respect he has for her.

“I love my girlfriend and you both disrespected me and her. I’ll be talking with Zach in the morning about this— this is against a lot of the companies rules. I’ll also request for Zach to assign me a different AT— goodbye.” He turned his back towards her and sat himself in between Tee, Sam and Ja’marr who laughed at him.

“Took you long enough.” Ja’marr shook his head looking at him.

“What? How did you know?” The quarterback asks his friends who looked at him as if he was stupid.

He was.

“Everyone could see her flirting with you, man. It was painfully obvious— Zach already said he’s gonna talk to Stacie tomorrow. Don’t think she’ll have a job in the morning.” Ja’marr explained before chugging his drink down.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” Joe asked exasperated, disbelief in his face as he stared at his friends.

“First of all, you’re a grown man— you should have figured out yourself a long time ago and secondly, your girlfriend told us not to do anything and according to her ‘to let you figure it out’” Tee explained doing air quotes with his fingers.

“She told you?”

“Yeah, we threatened to beat you up when we saw Stacie on you but your girl had other plans.”

Joe remained stunned thoughts circling his head as he watched you grind you hips against the other girls.

“Stop drooling and apologize to her, man.” Sam snapped Joe out of his viewing experience.

Without a second thought Joe’s long legs took him right behind you in just a few strides.

You didn’t need to see who was behind you to know that Joe was towering over you— a familiar heat draws you to him like magnetic, that and your friends gave you cheeky grins and winks before dispersing across the club.

However, you kept your back towards him, refusing acknowledge his presence. Knowing Joe, you knew that he was gonna take you somewhere private and quiet to talk— away from people seeing but to your surprise, Joe wraps his arms around you making you stiffen up before relaxing in his hold.

Joe was dancing behind you.

Good Lord— your handsomely hot boyfriend’s 6’4 stature was grinding onto you from behind.

What in the literal fuck.

“Joe wha– what are you doing?” You managed to choke out as you fought a moan coming out of your mouth as you felt his now hard length grind on your ass.

“Do you feel that? Huh, baby? That’s what you do to me, Y/N.” Joe breathes out into your hair.

“I know but why here? Let’s go somewhere els–” you rushed not wanting your boyfriend to feel obligated to do such things despite his discomfort in public display of affection.

“No. Baby I want to. You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. I’m so sorry, baby. You’re right about everything and I realize that now— you don’t have to worry about her anymore, I’ve dealt with it, my love.”

Turning around to face Joe, you see the sincerity, the vulnerability, the guilt, and anger in his eyes.

You knew he meant every word.

“I was never worried about her. I was worried about you.” You simply answered him, giving him a tight lipped smile, making him lean his forehead onto yours— determined more now than ever to see your real smile.

“I’m sorry for not believing you, I’m sorry for arguing with you and calling you such things, I’m sorry for making you think that I didn’t care— I do, baby. I love you so much.” Joe just kept on going, hoping to see your bright smile back up at him again.

“It hurt you know. It took me years to get you to be comfortable with me— and that’s only for our friendship but then watching you be so comfortable with her in such a short amount of time— it hurt.” you confessed, fiddling with your fingers as you watch the pain fill Joe’s face in the realization.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m sorry— but did you know why I was so uncomfortable with you touching me when we first started hanging out? It was because I was crushing on you hard, Y/N. I new it was you the moment we became friends and every time you hugged me, touched me, kissed me, it felt like I would go insane— I still do.”

Joe caresses your arms as he explains, slowly placing them around his neck as he swayed the two of you slowly— the two of you in your little corner of the club, the dancing bodies of strangers now became nothing but the background.

It was just you and Joe.

“But you know what I realized? Fuck it. I’m sorry it took me four years but fuck it. Who cares if they see us dancing in public? Who cares if videos of us touching each other reaches the internet? Everyone knows we’re dating— who cares? They should be worried about what we do in private.” Joe rants to himself mostly before whispering the last part in your ear— his soft lips kissing your earlobe before making its way down to your neck.

Joe licks and sucks onto the most sensitive part of your neck— marking you for the world to see, knowing very well the amount of fans and paparazzi were waiting for them outside.

“Let me take you home, Y/N. So that everyone will know your mine if they don’t already— I want all of them to know, the fans, the media, that bitch Stacie.” Joe continues before placing a wet kiss on your mouth, your tongues both fighting for dominance, teeth clashing as your lips gets sucked between his— Joe’s hands caressing every part of your body.

“I love you, please let me show you how much.” Joe practically begs making your squeeze your legs together even more.

“Take me home then.” you challenged a devilish smile forming on your face.

And before you know it, Joe was dragging you out of the club not even bothering to say goodbye to everyone— once you and Joe reached the outside, you were greeted by cameras taking pictures of you and Joe— your boyfriend keeps you locked in between his arms as you two navigated towards his car, heading home for the next party to begin.

You were right about one thing today: That Stacie was a two-faced bitch.

However, Joe was right about two things today: One, is the paparazzi did in fact wrote articles about the fresh hickeys on your neck as you and Joe raced out of the club disheveled, ultimately causing a stir in the media— and two, he did in fact love you very very very much and he showed you in a lot of different ways.

;)

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black-lake · 4 months

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astro observations 10

Hey -- I miss doing these astro notes, it’s been- years? where have I been? forced into a rat race. I’ve lately been watching a lot of stand up comedies, timeless comedy movies, rush hour, the hangover, you name it, they don’t make shit like this anymore. I’ve also been dealing with saturn transit my 10th house and conjunct my sun fucking up my life. so I got stuff to share.

——

⛄︎ Happy capricorn season! I find it ironic that capricorns are hard workers but people don’t work hard in capricorn season, it’s when everybody slows down, enjoys the holidays, reflects and attempts to make new year’s plans.

Aspects that indicate humor

☃︎ I said it before and I will say it again, strong mercury-jupiter aspects are the most common in comedians charts, every existing comedian seems to have them conjunct, oppose or square. e.g. Jim Carrey, Kate McKinnon, Kevin Hart (mercury conj jupiter). Chris Tucker, Amy Schumer (mercury square jupiter). Rowan Atkinson, Steve Carell (mercury opp Jupiter).

☃︎ Moon in scorpio or capricorn, top notch dark humor. Chris Tucker, Pete Davidson, Louis C.K. (capricorn moon). Ricky Gervais, Ryan Reynolds, Matthew Perry (scorpio moon).

☃︎ Moon in gemini or sagittarius, making you laugh at random things, making the small details in life events remarkable and ironic. Sag got that joyful light hearted spirit no matter how sarcastic they get. Bill Burr, John Mulaney (sag moon). Gemini got that chaotic animated twisted humor, can go on endless tangents but you’ll never get bored. Aubrey Plaza, Jim Carrey, and Rowan Atkinson (gemini moon).

☃︎ North node in gemini or sagittarius being a naturally funny storyteller their whole life. I also notice north node in virgo, leo and capricorn in those that pursue public speaking or stand up.

☃︎ Many comedians or just straight up funny people got MC in gemini, virgo, sagittarius, or leo.

☃︎ Mercury in aries, leo, gemini, sagittarius, scorpio, capricorn the type of people that tell a basic story but the tone of their voice, choice of words, and the underlying emotion mixed with their perspective and delivery makes it hilarious.

☃︎ Mercury in a fire sign, can be loud, the underlying anger and passion in their voice tone is what makes them funny. Chris Tucker, Kevin Hart and Dave Chappelle all got a leo mercury. Joe List got an aries mercury.

☃︎ Mercury in an air sign, they keep you engaged, animated expressions, great at impressions and mimicking when they tell stories. Trevor Noah is a good example and Jim Carrey (aquarius mercury).

☃︎ Mercury in earth and water, the way they so calmly tell an intense life event story with a straight face and calm demeanor, almost seeming high, a lot of irony and nonchalance. Pete Davidson (scorpio mercury), Ricky Gervais (cancer mercury) and Kate McKinnon (capricorn mercury).

☃︎ I have mercury conj jupiter in aries and I’m ruled by mercury (gemini rising). I’m super sarcastic and cutthroat when angry, it makes people upset, shocked, amused, wanting to laugh but also butt heads with me. My mind can find irony in literally anything. I also can change my voice and facial expressions easily when I’m mimicking someone.

☃︎ Those with strong mercury-pluto aspects, the type that could actually give you contractions from laughter. They think intensely, experience life intensely, are cutthroat and skeptical, are super intellectual and deep which is enough to make them ironic in the way they communicate. Their communication style comes across as bold, raw and shocking, saying it how it is, not afraid of joking about taboo or embarrassing stuff. It feels like my life is fucked up my mind is fucked up and I don't give a fuck typa attitude. Matthew Perry, Pete Davidson, Louis C.K, Adam Sandler, Ryan Reynolds, Steve Carell (mercury conj pluto).

☃︎ Heavy pluto and saturn placements can make someone insanely funny especially if they’ve got aspects indicating public speaking. The absolute best at self deprecating humor. They aren’t afraid to share their traumatic experiences, because not only they make people laugh but they give hope to those who can relate. They got where they are by accumulating that much knowledge and wisdom and it came through many wounds usually relating to rejection, abandonment and feeling inadequate. They use humor to heal themselves and others.

☃︎ Pete Davidson, Ryan Reynolds and Ricky Gervais got heavy scorpio and pluto conjunctions, examples of plutonian humor. Dave Chappelle and Chris Tucker got heavy saturn aspects, examples of saturnian humor.

☃︎ Now Chris Tucker got all the basic comedian placements. He’s easily one of the best and most successful comedians to ever exist. The type to open his mouth and everyone starts laughing. It’s the attitude not even the context. He was the popular kid too, friends with Michael Jackson, Michael Jordan, Muhammad Ali, Jackie Chan, Prince and literally every iconic celebrity in the US.

☃︎ Chris has a mercury square Jupiter at 0°, leo mercury 28°, capricorn moon, scorpio jupiter, saturn in gemini, jupiter conj neptune (can expand the imagination in storytelling), north node in aquarius (he was a trailblazer in rush hour and many comedians mimic him).

----

☃︎ I noticed so many times that people with saturn in gemini can be socially responsible, meaning that they refuse to cuss in some occasions and refuse to talk shit or go against their morals. Partially due to the lessons they learned on gossip and the consequences of misinformation or twisted narratives. Chris Tucker rejected an offer because he refused to cuss and smoke weed on camera, he also avoids vulgarity and profanity in his stand ups.

☃︎ Those with gemini north node are either so good at communicating clearly, storytelling and entertaining or will learn that in this lifetime. Same goes for gemini risings. One of their missions is to accumulate knowledge from everywhere they go without the need for distant travel and sharing it with others rather than keeping it confined for abstract contemplations (sag south node). They develop a communication style that is so personal to them that allows them to be a messenger, a bridge between people and a powerful speaker.

☃︎ I have a leo north node and the more I grow older the more I realize I'm never meant to act so old. This inner child in me screams to come out after every tough cycle esp when I'm mentally trapped in societal conformity. Those with a leo nn exude childlike innocence and purity, at their best spreading love and joy wherever they go. Though to get there they go through challenging experiences alone to build so much strength and confidence so they can pursue what they love and share love so freely since they are so used to being cold and detached (aqua south node).

☃︎ Those with a cancer north node are naturally so good at business matters like building a company or climbing the success ladder (capricorn south node). They learn quickly that material success alone does not bring them fulfillment. Every time they reach somewhere that feeling of achievement is fleeting and they just want to share those moments with others. They have this urge to connect emotionally to their loved ones and create memories. They might desire having a family of their own, a secure home, and a sense of safety and stability.

I somehow always unintentionally post in december and my posts be considered old next month, so I quit my toxic draining job last week, kinda feels like a life crisis, but I’m feeling so safe and cozy in my bed having my hot mocha eating all the christmas sweets and watching funny shit. so share your fav stand ups, funny movies or documentaries, anything you watch during the holidays. stay warm and cozy 🧣🎅🏼

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alloftheimaginesblog · 4 months

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holding on {alex karev}

plot: you and alex aren't friends but he's the person that sits by your hospital bed day and night until you wake up.

character: alex karev (early seasons) x reader

The steady beeping of the various machines was something that Alex had grown tired of two days ago, the machine's volumes had been turned to 0 but his anxious eyes kept flickering to them every few seconds just to be sure. The background noise of the hospital was something he was used to and it was an oddly comforting sound. Now, the silence of being in the room with you had been nice at first but now that he was here, with you, waiting... just waiting... the silence was unnerving him.

He tapped his foot, checking the clock on the wall. Bailey should've been here by now, she promised him that she'd check on you every two hours. She was late. Anger surged through his body causing his heart to pound and his fists to clench.

"You're such an idiot," he could hear you scolding him in his mind, "if you just stopped dealing with your problems with sheer anger then maybe, maybe people would actually start to like you."

He scoffed.

You and him had hardly been friends. You and the rest of Bailey's interns were the best of friends, all living together in Mer's mom's house so why wasn't George or Izzie or Cristina or Mer here? Why was it Alex? That's all the four of them had been whispering about. Cristina asked Alex, Izzie asked Alex... hell, Bailey even asked Alex. Alex had ignored each of their questions and instead gave some snarky asshole comment with an eye roll. Alex didn't even know why he was here - why he'd purposefully demanded the week off to be by your bedside day and night sleeping on a camping bed with the scratchiest sheets in the world. He didn't know and yet, here he was.

You were annoying. You annoyed him. But since the news of the accident and since you'd been in a coma, Alex couldn't stop thinking about the way you laughed as you teased him. He couldn't get one specific moment out of his head.

You and Alex had been working on a case together - much to your dismay - and Alex had opened up slightly, letting you see that he was much more than what you previously thought.

"So... you're not just an asshole with the emotional range of a teaspoon, who knew?" You helped yourself to the bar stool next to Karev. Joe glanced at you, asking if you wanted your usual to which you nodded.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

There was silence for a few seconds before you tried again, "I know you have this hard 'I don't care' exterior," you started, "and I know it's probably because of some past trauma in your life, Karev - believe me we've all got some shit - but..."

"Are you gonna keep giving me a stupid high school girl pep talk or are you gonna shut up and drink?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, "Joe, another round please."

As Joe poured the two of you more drinks, Alex sighed and looked at you, "Thanks," he murmured quietly, "I'm not- I don't..." he cleared his throat, "I don't mean to be an asshole all the time... I don't really know... Social shit isn't really my thing."

"Now who's acting like an emotional high school girl?" You teased. Alex laughed, a genuine smile stretched onto his face. Yeah... maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

So after the accident, Alex stayed.

It was then Bailey strode in, chart in hand, "Karev," she said glancing up for a second, "you look like hell. Don't you think you should go home get a proper sleep? Take a damn shower?" She could see the worry in him, she could see how stressed out he was; the dark circles under his eyes, his nails chewed down. Alex might not even know it yet but he cared about you.

"I'm staying," he said with a nod standing to look over her shoulder at your chart, "Any updates?"

"You tell me, you're the one who's been here since she got admitted." Bailey moved to you, turning the volume up on the machines, checking your levels.

"Oxygen levels were a little low at 3am, managed to level them out... No issues since." He nodded, arms crossed with a hand rubbing at his jawline, "Why hasn't she woken up yet, Bailey? She should be-"

"Karev," Bailey said, voice strong, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, now."

"I don't-"

"Now, Karev. Let me do my damn job and stop hanging over me. Coffee."

With a few harsh words which made Bailey surprisingly laugh, Alex stormed out of your hospital room, storming past O'Malley and Stevens who had come to check in with Bailey on how you were doing.

Bailey leaned down closed to you, "If you die, god help us all... that boy..." she looked to the door where Alex had left from, "he'll be lost forever. So don't you dare, you hear me?"

The coffee machine was a minute's walk away from your room so Alex would know if anything were to happen to you, he would know but he kept checking over his shoulder anyway just in case. He was exhausted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank or even the last time he'd eaten. You had consumed him for the last two days; making sure that you were okay was his first priority.

He stopped at the coffee machine punching the button for a crappy black coffee that he wasn't going to drink anyway, "Come on," he grumbled as the cup dropped and the coffee began to pour in slowly, "Damn piece of crap machine, hurry the hell up!" He yelled suddenly, slamming his fist into the plastic front. Around him, people stared but he didn't care. When the coffee finally stopped, he pulled the cup out when he heard it.

"Code blue! I need a crash cart! Room 2203!" It was Bailey. It was you.

Boiling hot coffee splashed over the floor, the cup dropped and on the ground as Alex Karev took off running.

His heart pounded, usually the thrill was the thing he loved the most but this wasn't a thrill, no, this was dread. When he burst into your room, the first thing he heard was, "Clear!" and heard the noise of the defibrillator.

"What's going on?!" He yelled over the chaos.

"Get him outta here!" Bailey yelled, "Charge to 200! Get him outta here, O'Malley!"

George tried but a determined Alex was a strong Alex. He resisted George's grip, shoving him back every chance he tried to take him out. It got to the point that George gave up, "Dr Bailey!" He exclaimed, hopelessly as Alex barged to your bedside. Bailey couldn't do anything, she was busy trying to save your life, she couldn't deal with Karev as well so she let him be.

"Don't you dare die on me," Alex hissed, eyes flooding with tears, "don't you dare. Can't do that to me, (y/n). Can't have me sitting here waiting for two days to just die on me-" he looked to Bailey, "Save her... please."

Bailey's eyes met Alex's and she found a lump in her throat, "You hear him?" She asked you as the paddles charged, "don't you dare die on us, (y/n)." With one final shock, the monitor started to beep again, "Heart rate is coming back up," she said with a relieved sigh, "Thank the Lord. Levels are stabilising."

Alex collapsed into the chair at your bedside, hand clamped around yours, as his eyes closed, letting the relief wash over him. You were alive; you were stable.

"What- what caused it?"

Bailey shook her head, "Don't know, levels were fine but as soon as you left the room they started to drop so do me a favour, Karev," she looked pointedly at him, "don't leave this room again." Normally he would've bit back, said a comment about her forcing him out but instead, he just nodded falling back into his chair, hand still in yours, "I'll check every hour, okay? You page me immediately, got it?" Again, he nodded and then the room cleared out.

Alex didn't turn the monitors down, he needed to hear the steady beep to know that you were okay, you were alive and you were breathing. For the last three hours that he'd sat here, he had prayed to every god he could remember the name of - he didn't know if it counted but even started praying to some Greek Gods as well. Why have God in the title if it doesn't count? His hand was still firmly in yours.

Bailey had checked five times in the three hours, checking on you but also on him. She brought him a soda, a sandwich and a muffin and didn't leave until he'd drained half the can and eaten one of the sandwiches. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he'd started eating, he devoured the rest of meal once she'd left. You were still stable but you weren't awake yet. Bailey was optimistic but Alex wasn't. He was dreading the worst, expecting your levels to become unstable again but as he was dosing off, he felt your hand twitch in his.

He shot up, "(y/n)?" He asked staring at your hand and then at you and much to his relief, your eyes began to flutter open. He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Utter relief crashed over him, "You're awake," he grinned, "you're actually awake."

"A-Alex?" You croaked.

"Here," he said gently as he grabbed a plastic cup and straw and filled it with water from the jug on your bedside unit, "Drink up. How you feeling?"

"Sore."

"Multiple ruptured organs and a few broken bones'll do that to you," Alex teased with a smile. You noticed his hand was still in yours, warm and strong. He saw your eyes narrow at your joined hands and he was quick to pull his back despite everything inside him not wanting to, "I- I'm gonna page Bailey, you drink up." He helped you take the water and left. He was just outside, close enough to make sure that you were still safe - still alive.

It was as he left you looked around the room and you noticed the camping cot which was set up on the floor next to your bed. You frowned. Someone had been staying here. Was it... no, it couldn't have been Alex; Alex hated you.

Your thoughts were cut off by Bailey bursting into your room, "Oh thank the Lord," she grinned, "it's good to see you awake. You scared us." As Bailey checked you over, Alex returned to the seat next to you. Bailey saw your confused expression seeing him sat there, normal clothes not working, "Karev," she said, "go and get (y/n) a sandwich, will you? She's hungry." Alex went to argue, to tell Bailey she told him not to leave your room but Bailey's pointed look made him stop and nod. He left a second later giving you one last worried look, "She's fine now go."

You looked up at Bailey who sighed and looked down at you, "You had that boy scared to death, you know."

"Who? Alex?!"

Bailey nodded, "You're not the only one who's surprised. As soon as you were admitted he was here. It was his day off and he was here. Soon as you got outta surgery he was set up in your room. He hasn't left since Tuesday."

You looked down to the cot next to you, "He's been here the whole time?"

Bailey nodded, "I don't know what's going on between the two of you - if anything - but I'd say that there's something." Your frown deepened and Bailey smiled, "Just... be patient with him."

When Alex came back, Bailey gave you a secret nod with a knowing smile before she left promising to come check on you every hour and to not dare think about going back into a coma otherwise she would kill you. "I'm a doctor, I know how to save people but I know how to kill them too."

"Hey," Alex said as he placed a sandwich and soda on the unit beside your bed, "You okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself rather overwhelmed and touched by his actions. He - Alex Karev - had stayed by your side since the accident. What did that mean? What did Dr Bailey mean? You nodded quickly, "Yeah," you said softly, "just tired."

Alex puffed out a long breath as he sat in the seat next to your bed, "Yeah, you must be. Gave me- gave us all a fright."

Silence fell and the two of you fell into the comfort of the sounds of the hospital. You sipped at the soda Alex had brought before curiosity got the better of you, "Alex... why did you stay with me?"

You could've sworn his cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink but he rubbed his hands over his tired looking face so you couldn't have been sure, "Hell if I know," he muttered, "it's not like we're friends but... I didn't want you to be alone. You're the only one that's almost like a friend and... I dunno." He shrugged, "I don't really understand it myself." Maybe there was something deeper lurking under the surface but he didn't know. That was something you'd have to navigate together, "I know you'd have probably preferred Cristina or Mer-"

You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Thank you, Alex," you whispered, "for everything. Thank you." Now, this time you could see the tips of his ears go pink. You smiled, "Now when are you going to shower cause boy you are looking rough-"

"Shut up!" Alex rolled his eyes but he laughed with you and for once, it felt nice to joke around with him. It felt normal. You didn't know what was going to happen but you somehow knew that he would be beside you, figuring out this crazy journey together and somehow, that made it a little less scary.

#one shot #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy one shot #os #reader insert #alex karev x reader #alex karev #alex karev imagine #imagine #prompt #alex karev x you #greys anatomy

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thethief1996 · 6 months

Text

Gaza has been completely cut off from the world and from each other. Gazans with Turkish SIM cards have been able to make contact with the outer world and said rescue teams don't know where to go because they don't know where bombings have happened. There's no way to call ambulances. At night, due to the electricity cut, Gazans are left in complete dark only lit up by the airstrikes. They have no way to know what's happening on the next street over. Meanwhile, Israel is publishing AI rendered videos of tunnels under Al-Shifa hospital to manufacture consent for its bombing. Al-Shifa, the largest hospital in Gaza, is housing hundreds of refugees.

This was meant to cut off Palestinians from the world, because we are sympathizing with their first person accounts and it makes Genocide Joe look like a genocide denier when he casts doubt on the death toll (a note on this, Israel has called the Gaza Municipality to threaten them with bombings. They want to erase every record that Palestinians exist in Gaza).

It's not up to us to feel defeated. Israel denies the very existence of Palestinians, and when we turn around and give up hope, we are washing our hands of any work towards liberation and becoming complicit in the zionist narrative. The people of Gaza are alive, the people in the West Bank are alive and the 5.6 million refugees denied the right of return are alive. Mosques are using their minarets to send out help signals. We're being asked to be their voices, so let's be their voices.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe).

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices, looking to inform yourself from the sources. Palestinians have asked of us only that we share, tweet and post, over and over. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera

Anadolu Agency

Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Al-Shabaka (twitter / instagram)

Mariam Barghouti (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza. He's been offline since yesterday. Keep him in your prayers.

Take action. You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour

Puma

Sabra

Sodastream

Ahava cosmetics

Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate. Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN GERMANY: Here's a toolkit to contact your representatives by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN POLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN DENMARK: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SWEDEN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN FRANCE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN THE NETHERLANDS: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN GREECE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN NORWAY: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN ITALY: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN PORTUGAL: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SPAIN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN FINLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRIA: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN BELGIUM: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN ROMANIA: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN UKRAINE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Here's a list on tumblr

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

There will a National March on Nov 4th in Washington, with the participation of 200+ organizations. If you can, get a group of friends and attend.

Feel free to add more resources. Check the links, there are too many protests and tumblr has a word limit for text posts.

#save gaza #save sheikh jarrah #free palestine #gaza under attack

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aspirationalpeony · 2 months

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Lucky Me

Summary: You and Mel do a little experimenting after she shares a disappointing truth about her past relationships. Content Warnings: Lots of smut. :) This fic is loosely set in the same world as "Finding Beauty," but can be enjoyed independently. AO3 Link

"He wasn't good at it," Melissa says. "Joe. Makin' me come." She blushes.

It's so not her--tough, capable Melissa, fearless and demanding. You touch her cheek, brush a strand of red hair back behind her ear. She hasn't had a touch-up in a while, and there's a streak of gray growing in at her temple. You love that she can be vulnerable with you, admitting these little truths about herself, in words, in body.

"Really?" you say. You have a well, duh moment in your own head: the last time you saw Joe, he interrupted you constantly, derailing your thoughts to tell his own stories, never letting you get to the punchline of a joke. He just feels like a bad lover, inattentive and untrustworthy. Plus, you know the stuff he said to Melissa about her body.

"Yeah." She plays with the band of her smart watch, then leans forward off the couch toward the coffee table, picking up her wine glass. (It's a weeknight, so the liquid inside is grapefruit-flavored sparkling water.) "And 'specially later on, I couldn't get wet, he'd get so frustrated."

"Even though you were telling him what to do?"

Putting her glass back down, she cuts a look at you for the assumption, but it breaks out into a smile, a little sheepish. Your heart does a flip-flop at the sight. "Well, yeah."

Your fingertip traces the shell of her ear. She shivers. You can't believe Joe would get frustrated, impatient, bored of trying to give this woman pleasure. Every inch of her has some private sensitivity: the lobes of her ears, the small of her back, behind her knees, below her navel. Getting to learn these secrets has been the most incredible privilege. And it's been fun.

It's taken her a while to learn to let you, rather than tell you; to give you a chance to explore. She's so used to controlling every moment, organizing her own pleasure and yours. You love when Melissa is the boss, but you also love when she gives up the authority; when she melts into the feeling and lets you be in charge.

"What about Gary?" you ask.

She snorts. "Gary who?" Her mouth twists and she shakes her head, at the question, at herself. "I mean, sometimes I'd take his mustache for a ride, but that's about it. He didn't have, y'know. It." Her eyes flick up to yours again. You haven't missed the way they've been down this whole time, unable to hold your gaze; how her chin is tucked toward her chest, her shoulders up. "It doesn't... Bother you? Talkin' about them?"

You check in with yourself, but end up shrugging. "Not really." You've spent time with Melissa and Joe together, and there's no heat between them, just the friendly chemistry of two people who've known each other half their lives. Gary you did see once, and he looked kind of like an uncooked ham. What is there to be jealous of?

You study her face. She's still pink and a little twitchy. "Does it bother you? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You drop your hand to her nape, rubbing your thumb comfortingly along the column of her neck. She sways into you with a sigh.

"I wanna," she says. "Talk about it. I feel like I..." Her lips pinch. "Owe ya."

"No," you say, straightening up. The plastic of the couch creaks with your movement. "Melissa, you don't owe me anything. I want to talk about it if you do, but--"

"Nah, that's--" she shakes her head. "It's not what I meant. I mean, I... It's like, it's a part of... Me. Y'know." She pushes her hair back from her face. "And 'cause I love you, and--" she laughs a little--"cause you're stuck with me, I..."

Your always-active heart gives a tremor, hearing the cautious vulnerability of her voice. You slide your arm around her and pull her in.

"It ain't that big a deal," she says, muffled, lying, against your shoulder.

Even if she can't admit it--your tough-girl sweetheart, not wanting to let her soft heart show--you can. "It is to me," you say, and squeeze her.

You loosen your grip, and she tucks herself against your side. It always surprises you how small she really is. Every day she's like a cat that's making itself big, back up, fur on end, daring anyone to come at her; here she gets to shrink back down, turn back into herself, become your kitten.

"I don't get it," you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "It's fun making you come. I love it."

"Lucky me," Mel says, very smugly.

"I sometimes think about--" you stop. This really isn't the moment for your fantasies: yeah, you guys were talking about sex, but not in the dirty sense; it was Melissa sharing something important, something emotional, and...

"Yeah?" she says. Her voice has two registers when she's turned on: airy, almost girlish, usually when you've surprised her, and throaty, a rasp. Now it's that fainter, breathless one. The sound of it sends a tickling frisson down your spine.

"Um," you say, and it's your turn to blush. "I think about... A lot of things."

"I'm waitin'."

You huff an embarrassed laugh. It's one thing to fantasize, another thing to tell the object of your fantasy all about it. "Sometimes I think about," you say, and clear your throat, "how sensitive you are. And I want to know how many times I can make you come."

You can feel the way her breathing speeds up, her body against your side, but she doesn't speak.

"We usually stop at two," you say, "but I think you can take more. I think you can take a lot more. And--sometimes, I think about how little it takes, like, when you're right there. Like I can just breathe on your clit and you'll come. I think about getting you there and telling you 'no.'"

Her breath catches.

"I bet you'd go crazy." You're smiling a little. You touch your mouth, tapping your lower lip, thinking of it. "You'd cuss me out, you'd yank my hair. You'd probably try to finish yourself off. I might have to tie you up to stop you."

"Oh," she says.

You risk a glance at her face. She's looking up at you from where she's leaning against your side, her green eyes glassy, her cheeks pink, her lips parted.

"You like that, baby?" You slide your hand down her back and feel the muscles shift as she moves, pushing herself up, then throwing a leg over you, settling onto your lap.

Having her like this is perfect. She used to hold herself up on her knees, not letting you take her weight, until you got her to understand that you loved the pressure of her body against yours, that there was no such thing as too much of her.

She dips her head and kisses you. It's not a starter kiss, warming you up; she kisses you like you're inside her now, deep and filthy, putting her tongue in your mouth with no foreplay. You groan as her hand cups your neck, feeling the prickle of her manicured nails against your skin.

"You think about me like that a lot?" she asks you when she's letting you catch your breath. The words are low, your faces close, like it's a secret someone could overhear.

"Yeah," you admit. Your hands slide over her hips to grip her ass. She gives an encouraging little motion when you squeeze. "I love thinking about what I could do to you..." Her breath hitches again. "What you'd enjoy."

"You get off on it?"

"Yeah, I do," you say. "I get off on getting you off."

Her eyelashes flutter. She makes a noise like a whimper. You have a flash of inspiration, and before you can second-guess yourself, you take her hand from your neck, the other from your shoulder, and pull them behind her back.

She gasps. It's an arrow of electricity right to your clit. Her eyes open wide, searching for yours, as you gather her wrists into one hand. It's not a very strong grip--she could yank away from you easily--but it pulls her shoulders back and leaves her chest thrust forward.

"Is this okay?"

She nods.

"You have to tell me."

"It's okay," she says. Her voice has dropped into that second register of pure arousal, throaty and low. "It's... It's good."

"Did Joe ever do this to you?" You don't know what makes you bring him up. Not jealousy, but... Maybe curiosity. Maybe wondering if he ever took the time to catalogue Melissa's reactions, to think through what would really turn her on, if he ever gave that much of a shit.

She chuckles breathlessly. "Like to see him try," she mutters. Her blush is traveling down her throat and blotching her chest.

You follow its path to the three buttons at the front of her blouse. You watch her chest start to heave as you work them open with your free hand. They expose the center gore of her bra and a hint of the silky curve of its cups.

You palm one breast roughly, squeezing. She groans. You can just feel her hardening nipple through the layers of fabric separating you. You thumb it, pinch hard, to make sure she can feel it, turning her next moan into a whine.

Her hips rock into your lap, trying to get friction. You lean back to look at her: disheveled, red, her hair spilling everywhere, her lip gloss blurry from kissing.

"You're so fucking sexy," you tell her, voice low, making her moan again.

You'd love to finger her, but there's no lube, and she's in leggings pulled up high over her hips, with not a lot of room between the two of you to get inside them. You slide your hand between her legs and over her covered sex.

She pushes down into your palm, hard, as you nose the tender inner curve of one breast, tracing your lips against the edge of her bra. Pressing through her leggings, you can feel the plump shape of her cunt. You trace those folds down, then up, over her clit.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes as you start rubbing. "Oh, fuck..." She shifts restlessly; you think she might pull her wrists away, but instead she arches toward you, drops her head back, inviting a bite to her throat, which you give. You suck soft skin into your mouth, scrape of your teeth, nibble, move down, find another spot, repeat. You can't leave marks, but there are blotches of satisfying pink where you've touched her.

"You getting close?" You work your thumb against her clit.

"Uh huh," she says, weak and needy. She picks her head up again and there's a lost, fogged look of pleasure on her face as she meets your eyes.

You hold her gaze. "Tell me when you're there," you say. "When you're right there. Okay?"

Her brow creases as she tries to focus. You wonder if she's ever tried to do this before, parsing out stages to her pleasure, or if she's always just gone up and over, never thinking about how she got there.

"I--I--I think I'm--" her voice is wobbly.

You pull your hand away. She whines and her hips jab down toward your lap, seeking a touch that isn't there. You rub her thigh, slide your hand up, over the soft curve of her belly and down to press against her mons; her hips jolt again.

"Fuck you," she says feebly.

You rub your thumb back and forth, far above where she wants it. You know she can feel the contact here in her cunt, a phantom pressure to remind her how empty she is, how close she was.

"More?" you ask.

She squirms and nods. When you give her no response, she huffs a sigh, rolls her eyes, and says, "Yes, fine, yes, more, oh--shit--"

You've found her clit again. You know this time she'll already be sensitive, and she might not be able to tell you when you need to stop. You focus on watching her: the glazed look in her eyes before she shuts them, her parted lips, her frantic breaths, her rocking hips.

You time it; you pull your thumb away. She gives a frustrated cry and squirms in your lap. You take pity and give her a distraction, rubbing your cheek against her breast, finding the hint of her pebbled nipple, the one you neglected before, and biting hard. You feel the elasticity of her bra's cup more than you feel her flesh, muting the sting of your teeth, but it makes her keen.

"You've got no fucking clue how hot you are," you tell her. You bite again and tug, drawing out another delicious sound. "I haven't even taken your clothes off. Look at you. I want to do this to you forever."

Your thumb at her clit again, this time so lightly it barely counts. "You want to come, don't you?"

Her wrists twist in your grasp, but don't pull away. She says, all breathless, angry bravado, "What do you think?"

"I think I could stop right now." She gasps, though you don't stop gently rubbing her clit. "Even though I want to make you come. And after that, I want to take you upstairs and eat you out. I want to suck on you and get you all over my face. I want--"

"Oh, shit, I," she says weakly, her hips starting to twitch.

Realizing, you say, "Just from this?" She's really almost there again? "Fuck, you're incredible. Should I stop?"

"No," she whines.

"You want it harder?"

"Yes!"

You give her what she wants. Finally, she pulls her wrists out of your grip so she can grab your hand and shove it fully against her cunt, letting her ride your palm to her orgasm. Melissa's always noisy, but this time, she's loud, the sound of her desperate cry huge in the living room.

"Oh, fuck," she says faintly as she sags down onto your lap. "I, oh..."

"You did so good," you murmur to her and rub her back, grateful to have both hands again. She buries her face in your neck and clings to you, breathing hard. She mumbles something. "What, baby?"

She picks up her head a little. "I said, 'yeah, you too.'"

It makes you snort. It's a funny mix of tenderness, affection, and gratitude you feel, knowing that even after an orgasm that took her like a runaway train, she'll still make sure to remind you of your place. Can't ever get too smug around Melissa.

You trace a hand up and down her back, finding the hem of her blouse and rucking it up so you can touch her bare skin underneath. She's hot against your palm and it makes you sigh.

"You want to go upstairs and keep going?" you ask, mouth against her ear.

"I wanna recover first," she says blearily. "What the hell was that?" She sits up a bit in your lap and you have room to reach around her and pick up her water from the table.

"A little taste," you say.

She brings the glass to her lips and sips, eyes narrowed, watching you the way kung fu heroines watch their enemies, prepared to bust out their fists at any moment.

"Of what I've been thinking about," you add. You rub her lower back. "I think you liked it."

"I think you gotta be crazy to get off on somebody not letting you come," she says, then scowls. "Which I guess makes me crazy."

"I guess it does." You can't smother your smile. "You're okay, though?"

"What do you mean? I came, didn't I?"

"I mean, sometimes emotions can get weird," you say, "after doing that kind of stuff. You get a lot of hormones and chemicals in you and they can make you feel..." You shrug.

"You got a lot of experience with 'this kind of stuff'?" Now her gaze is accusing. "You been holdin' out on me?"

"No, not a lot of experience. A little, maybe." You hold her hips, rubbing your thumbs over their soft curves. "A little experience. And a lot of things I want to do to you."

Her whole body shudders. She reaches back to put her water down, then loops her arms around your neck and kisses you. It's her post-coital kiss, lazy and loving, the hunger more muted.

"Gee," she says breathlessly when you part, and repeats herself, a grin curving her lips: "Lucky me."

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #sorry for any editing mishaps... i just really wanted to write but WIPs were a struggle!#so fired this off very quickly #i hope you can enjoy even though it's quite short/slapdash

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formulaforza · 5 months

Text

—everywhere, everything

keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

— —

Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself.

If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death.

Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did.

Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears.

“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her.

“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him.

A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now.

— —

You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention.

You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her.

Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over.

The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears.

Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down.

It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume.

Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least.

It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same.

You can’t see him, but man can you hear him.

You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do.

Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature.

He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose.

You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message.

“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” you nod.

“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension.

“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given.

He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer.

His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”

“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”

He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”

“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”

Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you.

His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”

You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”

“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

You nod. “I promise.”

— —

You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter.

Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening.

You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site.

To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door.

“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”

Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”

You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”

You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad.

Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”

Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”

“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”

“Because he is!”

You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”

“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“Are you coming to get me?”

— —

The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.

“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming.

You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”

He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”

The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”

A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”

Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception.

The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”

You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one.

“I should have been at the funeral.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”

He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”

You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends.

You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about.

There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”

“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”

“Crazy.”

— —

Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears.

You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him.

You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it.

Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick.

“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering.

“What do you want, D?”

“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”

“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”

You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”

He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”

You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet.

“Then don’t do it,” he pleads.

You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”

His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit. “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”

He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms.

Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse.

He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead.

You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”

He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket.

You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours.

— —

You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red.

Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder.

There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it.

You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print.

Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”

“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be.

He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says.

You laugh. “Where?”

Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”

— —

The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did.

You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs.

Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him.

The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs.

The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich.

Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh.

He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person.

Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn.

“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly.

“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think.

The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer.

Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high.

You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”

“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”

It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed.

Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though.

His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is.

“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”

He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”

“It’s okay,” you nod.

“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”

— —

The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes.

The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.

You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now. “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”

He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought.

“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”

Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”

“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”

He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”

A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you.

You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”

He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”

He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”

He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”

“As much as you like my dad.”

And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”

— —

“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you?

She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”

“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”

Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”

Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”

You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”

“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums.

Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”

Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny.

“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”

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seduzist · 5 months

Text

that love, the crazy kind.

guinevere beck x fem! reader

cw: mentions of sexual harassment, stalking, obsession, murder, blood, smut (just a little), reader is kinda joe in this??? idk but they’re both crazy

beck was just different, different from anything you knew, she was the type of person that enchanted since the first time you saw her, looking for some book at the store you worked at. and since this day, you couldn’t stop thinking about her, stalking her anywhere, watch carefully every step she made.

didn’t take more than 10minutes for you to find out she liked girls, it was all over her social media, likes and shares here and there, it was like she was looking almost desperately for a girlfriend. and it has to be you, you were the one.

and of course, after some months of preparation, you showed beck that undeniable truth, she fall for you easily and just like you thought she was the perfect girlfriend. she was understanding and gentle, she was funny, sexy, lovingly, respectful, smart, and all of the things you’ve ever dreamed of.

everything was just how it should be. guinevere beck was just perfect.

until, that night.

one of her terrible friends invited you both to a stupid bar with stupid people and a stupid guy couldn’t stop looking at you. at first, she maintained her calm and silence, she wasn’t the jealous type, not at all.

she didn’t even lose it when he tried to hit you, asking you if he could buy a drink and giving a little drunk smirk that made she wants to take it off his face.

but when you denied the offer politely, telling him you weren’t interested, he tried to touch you, not your arm, or your hand, he tried to grab you by the waist and give you a kiss. of course you pushed him and told him to “get the fuck off”. he did.

beck was so perfect after this, she driven you home, told you to shower, helped you sleep with a nice mug of tea. she made you feel safe and sound like always, but that wasn’t enough, she had to actually keep you safe.

when you slept, she thought about the whole plan, she could stay with you all night, or she could go back to that stupid bar and make that idiot pay for trying to mess with was hers, and the second option looked way better.

so she got back, it was late at night, she waited in the totally empty and dark parking lot. the establishment wasn’t exactly the type that have cams on it, and by this angle she had the perfect view of who enters or leaves.

two hours passed, but beck was still wide awake, then she saw him, staggering pathetically, so drunk that at every step he didn’t fall could be considered a record.

she gets out of the car, approaching him, faking a smile.

“hi!” she said, getting his attention. “want to see something?”

[…]

when beck got back home, her clothes were drained in semi dry blood and she still had shiverings all over her, she did everything right? she got rid of the murder weapon, she disappeared the body, she made sure to drive back home in the way where there’s no cameras.

when beck took her dirty clothes off and went to a good and long shower, she made sure to take a good look at your sleeping figure, to remind her why she did all of this, it was worth it.

but if she truly trusted you and knew about your past, maybe if she had told you about what she did, you would have the opportunity to tell beck that a corpse floats on water after a few days of death, and that amounts of blood can’t go away in laundry, it must be burned.

when she did wake you up, through, it wasn’t to talk, it wasn’t even purposefully, she was just making noises and shaking the bed, when you looked at your side, you saw her, all naked with a pillow between her thighs.

“beck?” you called and she immediately stopped.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you up, baby.” her voice sounded genuinely sorry, but deep inside you knew she wanted you to wake up.

“it’s okay, keep going.” you whispered back, already sitting on the edge of the bed taking off your pajamas.

you couldn’t take your eyes off of her, her perfect body looked so good while pleasuring herself, you felt eager to touch her, but still undressed yourself slowly as she looked at you, like the sight alone made her even hornier.

when you finished, you get on top of her, taking the pillow off of her hands and kissing her instead, it’s like both of you were starving for each other, you didn’t know what made beck so eager but she certainly was.

you passed one leg through her waist, putting both of your centers together, it felt so good and warm, you couldn’t help but moan against her lips, starting in slow movements against her.

but when you looked down at her, you saw it, a little stain of dry blood just above her chest, you stopped immediately.

“what’s this?” you touched her skin, showing her exactly where it was the stain, she stuttered a few times but after some minutes she told you about everything. she thought you would be mad, or scared, she thought you would leave her, but you didn’t.

that night, you both made love more ferociously and lovingly than ever, for hours until your bodies couldn’t move anymore, that was the night when you and beck recognized you were equal, that isn’t a reason to hide each other’s feelings or personalities. that was the night where you felt like you belonged with someone, for the very first time.

#vanessa shelly smut #guinevere beck #beck x reader #you #fnaf vanessa #vanessa afton #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #fnaf vanny #vanessa x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #fem!reader #wlw #elizabeth lail

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dizzymoods · 6 months

Text

During the Troubles, Civil Rights Leaders went to Ireland to learn about the plight of the Irish people and to support their fight against colonialism.

Standing on the success of their nonviolent principles which led to civil liberties here (to whatever degree the CRM was successful) and in their ignorance of the history of Ireland, they tried to get the IRA to adopt nonviolent, peaceful civil disobedience.

At the end of their tour of Belfast, where they learned the history and politics of Irish resistance, all of them come to the conclusion that here violence is necessary. The Irish have exhausted all other means including nonviolent ones. Even if some of the CRM leaders maintained nonviolence as paramount, they understood that certain exceptions must be made because — regardless of if they approve of violence or not — their job is to support colonized people and follow their lead.

There is a lesson here that we should apply to the Palestinian struggle.

I’ve seen people pearl clutch over seeing so many dead Palestinians as part of the colonial violence of the camera. This misses the point of why those images are being shared.

Last decade many Black americans, myself included, talked about the commodification of Black death. videos of state murder plastered on every news channel 24/7, going viral across social media platforms connected to the legacy of lynching postcards and gator bait. We demonstrated that those videos rarely got an indictment and only once a conviction. Many of the families of these victims of police murder made it clear they don’t want the image of their loved one to be of death. The reason why we share Michael Brown’s graduation photo instead of the photo of his corpse is because Lesley McSpadden demanded it. With all this in mind, we understand that in most cases the sharing of those images are antiblack.

The Palestinians do not have that history. The Nakba never happened, despite israelis calling this the second Nakba. genocide joe said 40 israeli babies were beheaded after it was found out that the story was some wingnut footsoldier’s lie, not even official israeli hasbara. It was like 2 weeks ago that genocide joe said the number of murdered Palestinians (at the time around 5,000 Palestinians were martyred — the number is now over 10,000) was a Hamas lie.

Linguistically there is no murdered Palestinian. All the headlines read “x amount of israelis killed and some palestinians died”. visually there is no dead Palestinian. official israeli hasbara is trying to flood social media with videos of patient-actors getting into place in Indonesian medical training programs to “debunk” the countless videos of martyred Palestinians.

The denial of the scale of israel’s genocide of the Palestinians is so bad that reporters in Gaza are holding dead children in front of press cameras because Palestinians do not die and are not murdered.

The profit motive of these images is actually in their absence. not their over saturation like with Black americans. The west needs israel as a destabilizing force in the middle east. The strategy of the western media then is to bury these images, to not give them a second of attention. So logically the Palestinian strategy is to proliferate these images to show just how horrifying israel’s crimes are.

Two things can be true at the same time; what works for you doesn’t necessarily work for me etc.

The other thing i’m seeing are liberal frameworks to understand genocide. Of particular ire is desirability politics. *jujubee voice* just say white supremacy.

Desirability is tertiary at best. israel is genociding Palestinians because they want control over Gaza and the West Bank (and Lebanon too). They are not genociding Palestinians because Palestinians are “undesirable.” They make Palestinians undesirable to justify taking their land. Talking about this psychoanalytic bullshit distracts from the primary reason for the displacement and mass murder of Palestinians: the taking of their land.

~*desirability*~ is just one way that israel tries to justify its crimes. Desirability is a circular logic that can only make sense once you manufacture its premise irl. It means nothing without the material conditions it claims are true. Its super easy to call someone an animal after you put them in a cage. It’s super easy to call a people dirty savages after you restrict their access to water. It’s super easy to call someone violent after you sequester them in small, barely livable spaces and stress them with bombings and check points.

It’s also — there’s a way in which opposition to something reifies the very thing that you oppose. Toni Morrison continues to beat everybody’s ass. What does it do when you see a baby with half a skull and say “this happened because she is undesirable”? Undesirable to whom? Not me.

Palestinians are not so passive as to oppose white supremacy and desirability. The Palestinian people are a proactive people. Palestine is the issue. Palestine has a people. Palestine has an ecology. Palestine has life. Palestine is life. Palestinians fight for life. life can neither exist nor blossom under white supremacy.

Any analysis that does not begin with this is a distraction. And distractions only benefit the colonizers.

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babydin · 1 year

Text

Make A Wish - REQUEST

ANON REQUESTED: But what if Sarah never died? And Reader was married to Joel pre-outbreak but when the outbreak happened they (Reader and Sarah) got separated from Joel and he was convinced they had both died. But then they reunite in Jackson.

- Joel Miller x f!reader - 18+, minors DNI! - Joel is dad, references to violence, domesticated af, angsty, fluff, pre-outbreak, post-outbreak, time-jumps. - 2490 words - Comments/likes appreciated. Requests are open! A/N: I had some song inspo with this one in the way of Zambezi by Rationale (released under Tinashe). I also headcanoned that the Miller brothers are (at least) half Latino seeing as they had two Latino actors play them. Fight me on it.

Do you remember the day the soldiers came with all their guns? 'Cause I remember begging you to leave my love, "Just run! Past the river, don't you dare look back for me my love. I will come. I will come, because you're the one."

You knew what you were getting yourself into. Your mother thought you were insane but she didn’t know Joel Miller like you did. He was 4 years divorced when you met him with the sweetest little girl. He made it clear from the outset that he was a single father, and Sarah’s mother had left when Sarah was a baby and she wasn’t coming back “I’m tellin’ y’now because girls tend t’ cut an’ run the second they find out I’m a twofer.” he explained on the first date your best friend had set you up on. “Sarah is my number one, she is my top priority.”

You hadn’t intended to date anyone who ‘was a twofer’ as he put it, but the way he spoke about his daughter, and the way his face lit up when he did, you knew you wanted to give him a shot. You dated, you married after two years of being together, and you had 8 years of marital bliss as a perfectly happy family before the world turned on its ass.

OUTBREAK DAY

You find Joel and Sarah in the kitchen making dinner. The Clash are playing from a vinyl record in the next room and they’re both so into it; You remember Joel telling you that Sarah had been a fan of the Clash since she was a baby.

“You should be sitting down doing nothing, birthday boy.” You tell him, swatting his rear end playfully as you lean over his shoulder to see what he’s fixing. Of course it’s a chili con carne; he was half Texan half Latino.

“And leave the cookin’ to you two? Yeah ‘cus that’s how I wanna spend the rest of my birthday… dead.”

“Hey!” Sarah drawls.

You pinch his sides and it coaxes a ticklish squeal from him.

Sarah goes to set the dinner table, singing to Joe Strummer's ongoing debate about whether he should stay or whether he should go.

There’s an almighty bang from somewhere and it’s enough to make Joel put his spoon down, “Sarah?”

You both turn around to go into the dining room but Sarah’s on her way back with a fist full of cutlery to ask the same question.

“What the hell was that?” Joel asked, “Did you drop something? Did something fall?”

Sarah shakes her head, her ringlets bounce as she does and her eyes are full of fear.

Joel’s trying to figure out if she means that or if she’s saying no because she’s scared to say yes. The second bang answers his question.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, and goes to the front door to see what’s going on. Sarah finds comfort in your arms and you rub your hand over her back and tell her it’ll be okay. You can hear commotion outside and you put one hand over Sarah’s ear and press her into your chest so she can’t hear. You can hear Joel talking to the neighbors but you can’t hear what he’s saying, then suddenly there’s a PA urging people to stay inside.

Joel comes back after a few moments, “Military jets,” he says from the hallway as he makes his way back through the house “they just sonic “they just went supersonic, there’s somethin’ happenin’.” he doesn’t come back to you, he goes straight to the living room and turns on the TV. You don’t fully listen to what is said but you hear the words ‘risk to life’ and ‘infected’.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

You jump nearly out of your skin and cling tighter to Sarah when the door bursts open and Joel’s brother Tommy runs through the house “Joelie! Joel!” He finds the two of you in the kitchen and then Joel joins you all.

“What the fuck is going on man?” Joel begs the question, leaning in to turn off the stove. The chili is ruined now, he’s sure of it.

“There are soldiers everywhere, they’re telling everyone to stay inside, but the infection is spreading like wildfire here, if we stay we ain’t got a chance in hell Joel, we have to get out of town.”

You feel Sarah’s body tremble and there’s a slight moisture that falls on your shirt and you realize she’s silently crying. If you squeeze her any tighter she might suffocate but you do anyway, just to try and shield her from the horrors that are unfolding. She had started calling you Mom when she was 9 years old, and you loved her like she was yours from the day you met, “We can’t just leave. We can’t–” You look at Joel desperately.

Joel looks at you, and he looks at Tommy. You can see he’s torn, he needs to keep his family safe and right now he doesn’t know if leaving is the safest option or staying put is.

Should I stay or should I go?

“Alright, let’s go.” He says finally. “Go upstairs, throw some stuff in a bag.”

“Hurry up.” Tommy adds.

You punch him in the chest as you walk past him, holding Sarah’s hand to lead her upstairs to help her pack a bag. You try to keep her talking to distract her from the screaming, and the gunfire from the situation that has escalated outside, through the window you see a faint glow of flames and you wonder how the hell you’re even going to make it out of the town. It’s difficult for a 14 year old to whittle down the most important things in her life to one rucksack, it’s difficult for you to decide what from your 10 year relationship with Joel means enough to survive the apocalypse. Because that’s how it felt. You take your wedding photos, you take childhood photos from Sarah’s life; things like that can’t be replaced but other shit can.

You both head back downstairs and you throw Joel his bag. The vinyl has stopped and it’s now skipping but it doesn’t feel like there’s time to lift the needle. You just leave the house and cram into Tommy’s truck. Something down the street catches Joel’s eye and he gets back out again.

“Joel!” you and Tommy both yell at the same time Sarah cries out “Daddy!”

“I’ll catch you up!” he yells back.

“The fuck you will.” You mutter under your breath, getting out of the truck too, “Joel Miller!”

He stops and turns around, “Run.” he orders, looking over your shoulder at his crying daughter in the back seat of the truck, “I’ll find you.” he looks back at you, “I promise I’ll find you.”

There are soldiers surrounding you who start to scream at you to get back inside your house, their guns aimed to tell you that their threats are serious.

“I’ll find you.”

FOUR YEARS LATER

You knew what you were getting yourself into. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you fell in love with Joel Miller and his four year old daughter. Your mother thought you were insane and maybe she was right. What you didn’t expect was for a bunch of mutant mushrooms to eat away at people’s brains and turn them into, well, there was no easier way to say it than zombies. You didn’t expect Joel to be missing, presumed dead, and to raise Sarah mostly by yourself. The people of Jackson were helpful people, they were in a tight knit community because they had no choice but to be. Where else were they going to go in a world of nothing? It had been four years since you last saw Joel. Four years, nine months and twenty nine days to be exact. You made a point to count the days because you didn’t want Sarah to ever miss a birthday. She was turning 18 now, and if the world was normal she’d be getting excited to make plans for college and register to vote - because Sarah Miller was very opinionated and had a good head on her shoulders, and she definitely would not have let her voice go unheard - but the world wasn’t normal. So you woke as you always did, tucked up together in a double bed, the morning sun illuminating the room with a golden glow and the two of you stretching like a couple of lazy house cats. “Happy birthday, baby!” You croak, pulling her closer. The older she got the closer your relationship became, it might’ve been pathetic but she was your best friend and you hoped you were hers. She wasn’t a child anymore, she was an adult (although it pained you to admit she hadn’t been a child for a long time). “Thank you.” She smiled sleepily and scrubbed her eyes. She wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for you counting down the days. “What’s your birthday wish this year?” You ask. Sarah sighed and looked over your shoulder at the photograph on your nightstand of you and Joel on your wedding day, six year old Sarah who had been a flower girl, tucked onto his hip as you all smiled into the camera. A perfect picture of a happy family. “Him.” It’s been the same wish for the last four years, and you wish you could fulfill it for her. “I know, baby. I miss him too.. More than anything actually. I don’t miss going to the movies, or grocery shopping, or parent-teacher conferences or any of the boring, mundane stuff that just doesn’t exist anymore. At least not in the capacity that it used to… I just miss him.” In an attempt to lighten the mood a little you add, “I made a cake for you last night, you want some for your breakfast?” “For breakfast?!” “It’s your birthday! And you’re an adult now.” The day passes by as the days often do, slowly and unspectacularly. On slow days nothing happens in Jackson, occasionally bandits come and try to raid the dam that powers the town but their missions are always shut down quickly by those appointed to secure it. You and Sarah are tending to the patch of vegetables you have in your front yard when you hear a voice from the entrance of the town echo “Stop right there!” Both of you look up. You can’t see what’s happening but you wish people would stop pointing their guns. You can only assume someone has wandered through the forest and found the town, the guard on the gate has stopped them in their tracks. Understandably, newcomers aren’t welcomed warmly in fear of infection. You see the person set down a rifle, and a backpack and their hands disappear from their side to, you assume, rise in surrender. You strain slightly and hear a gruff voice speak but you cannot make out words and no matter where you position yourself you cannot get a good look at the newcomer. The guard yells for Tommy, who is always close by and your interest is piqued. You rise from your knees and your eyes scan for where Tommy is going to come from, when you find him you watch him, you study his face and you watch it fall. He points a finger at the guard, “Put your fucking gun down! Don’t you dare! Don’t you shoot!” he picks up his pace, he jogs, he runs. You start to walk and you hear a second voice yell for Tommy. It’s the newcomer’s voice. It’s familiar somehow. The two men come into view, locked in a tight embrace, you can only see Tommy but you keep walking towards them, you barely hear Sarah calling out ‘Mom’ from the swirling in your head. “Tommy?” You ask when you’re in earshot. The newcomer pries himself out of Tommy’s grip and his head snaps in your direction. A lump forms in your throat and your chest heaves so much you feel as if you could throw up. Joel. It’s him. It’s really him. He’s got flecks of silver running through his hair now, maybe a few more wrinkles. Patches of darkened skin from wounds he’s gained over the years, and a few small fresh purple bruises. You haven’t seen him cry since Sarah moved up from Kindergarten to big girl school and she was gone all day and he didn’t know what to do with himself. You thought he’d be better when she went from middle school to high school but he was just as bad then. But he was crying now. He was sobbing in such a way you wondered if he’d been alone for these years apart; you didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. He was here. You could hardly believe it. Your eyes filled with tears of joy; you had dreamed of the day that Joel might be returned to you, although you had given up hope of that ever happening, you had imagined yourself being the same sobbing mess that Joel was but you weren’t at all. Your body was vibrating with delight, and your smile was so big your cheeks were hurting. “Hi.” you whispered. That was all it took for him to drag you into his arms and squeeze you so tightly that it almost winded you. You took all of him in again, the feeling of his body against yours, his arms wrapped around you, the smell of him in your nose. “I thought I’d lost you forever.” he whispered, “I thought you’d—” he couldn’t finish that sentence, but you knew, because you thought the same of him. “You said you’d find us. You did.” Us. Joel’s eyes open and scan the surroundings over your shoulder, you hear him sob and he pulls away from you and he runs towards her. His baby girl. Sarah starts crying as she jumps up into his arms, her limbs wrapping around him like a koala bear. It doesn’t matter how old she gets, she’ll always be his baby. You approach them and hear Joel whispering “Look at you,” as he brushes his hand over the back of her head, “my little girl, look at you.” Sarah dropped down so she could look at him too, your arms wrapped around Joel’s middle as he studied her face so carefully, his fingers delicately mapping out her features, “You’re all grown up,” he says in a chuckle, but with a hint of sorrow in his voice. “I wished for you.” Sarah tells him, her voice has more childlike innocence in it than you’ve heard in a long time. “Today is my birthday, Daddy. I wished for you.” Joel put one arm around you so he could embrace the both of you, “I always knew you were magic, babygirl.” “Are you staying here with us? Are we going to be a family again?” “No.” you answer before Joel does, much to the surprise of your husband and daughter, “Not until he’s had a shower.” Joel breathes out a sigh of relief and kisses your forehead.

#( requests: joel miller )#( requests: babydin )#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #( joel miller: babydin )

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thewalkingthread · 6 months

Text

"He's Mine" - R.G.

pairing: rick grimes x f!reader

summary: s4 ep16. Joe's group finds you in the woods. reader is the one targeted instead of Carl

warnings: cursing, angst, mentions of sexual assault, blood, gore

a/n: this scene is my Roman Empire

You were tired, exhausted from the day's journey. It's been three days since the attack at the prison. Three days since you've seen most of your family. You were lucky enough to have found Rick and Carl after everything went down, even luckier when Michonne came knocking on the front door of the house you were hiding out in.

It was nighttime now, you sat in the front seat of a rundown truck while Carl laid down in the backseat. It was unlikely that you'd get much sleep being so vulnerable in the open right now but Rick and Michonne insisted that you get some rest.

Your eyes stayed on the pair as they sat on a log off the side of the road. Every so often Rick would look into the truck, his eyes locking on yours before he returned back to his conversation with Michonne.

Things with Rick has always been a bit confusing for the both of you. It was clear from the moment you met that there was something there between you. Of course, nothing ever came out of it. He was married and desperately trying to fix the brokenness in his family.

Now that Lori has passed, it's been even weirder. Neither one of you wanted to make the first move and burst the safety bubble you were in, in terms of friendship. Nonetheless, you both knew you cared for one another deeply.

Your eyes dart to the woods when you see movement. Your heart drops as you see a few men creeping in the trees, eyes directly on Rick and Michonne. You knew what was about to happen. You weighed your options. You could scream and warn them, but you had no idea how many of them there were, nor do you know their intentions.

You guys are incredibly unarmed, nothing good would come out of this.

"Carl." You mumble quietly, trying not to make it obvious that you weren't alone in the truck. You have no idea how many of them are our there, no idea how many people were looking at you right now.

Carl stirred and grumbled slightly at your call, you shush him immediately.

"Carl, I need you to very slowly and quietly lay down on the floor of the truck. Keep the blanket over you completely." You mumble. "There are people surrounding us. I need you to hide until me or your dad tell you to come out. Do you understand me?" Your heart raced as you saw the men creep out from the treeline.

Carl quietly did what you said. "Y/N? What's happening?" He was scared. Carl tries his best to keep up with his dad and be a man, but he's still just a boy. It's a scary world now.

"Everything will be okay. Stay hidden, no matter what you hear, okay? Promise me." Your breathe hitched.

"I promise."

That was the last thing he said before one of the men shoved his gun against Rick's temple. You jumped in your seat as another man smacked on the window next to you. You tried your best to avoid glancing back at Carl.

The man grinned at you through the mirror, the creepiest grin you've ever seen. You couldn't hear what the other men were saying to Rick, but eventually a few more men came into view.

The creep tapped on the window, licking his lips as he stared.

Daryl strolled up to the group, it looked like they knew each other?

"Joe!" Daryl yelled, giving a name to the mystery man. You could tell he was trying to talk down the man that held a gun to Rick's head. It looked like whatever Daryl was saying was working, the man still held his gun against Rick but it looked like he was thinking about what Daryl was saying. All hope and relief you felt when your eyes met his vanished when two men grabbed Daryl, punching and kicking him.

Your heart drops as the other man throws Michonne to the ground. The door of the truck swings open and you pray that Carl is brave enough to be silent.

The man grabs you roughly, pulling you out of the truck before patting you down and throwing your pocket knife a few feet away. You fought to wiggle out of his grip but he pushed you against the ground faster than you could blink.

"Shhh.." He says into your ear. "We're gonna have some fun, sweets."

"Leave her be!" You could hear Rick yell over all the commotion. The grunts of Daryl filled your ears as he got punched and kicked only a few feet away from you.

The man on top of you was chuckling as you tried to fight him off, clawing at him and squirming to get out from underneath him.

"Listen, it was me. It was just me." Rick grumbles to Joe.

"See, now that's right. That's not some damn lie." Joe chuckles. "Look, we can settle this. We're reasonable men."

"Get off of me you sick bastard!" You shout, spitting at the man. His hands found it's way to your chest and you screamed as he touched you.

"First, we're going to beat Daryl to death. Then the girl. Then when Dan finishes having his fun with that one over there, we'll all have a turn." The smugness in his voice was deafening.

"Then I'm going to shoot you and then we'll be square." Laughter leaves Joe's body.

"Let her go." Rick says again, as your being turned onto your stomach.

You wanted to cry as Dan pressed your face into the dirt. The pain was forgotten as the sound of his belt buckle clanking rang through your ears.

"This is going to be a whole lot worse for you if you don't stop fighting." Dan grunts into your ear, pressing against your butt. Sobs begin to leave your mouth as reality of what was about to happen sets in.

There was no hope.

The man tugs at your jeans, trying to pull them down.

A gun fires. Everyone seems to pause for a moment. Dan stops for a moment and you take the opportunity to look up, praying that none of you were hit by the bullet.

You see Rick take a swing at Joe before Joe hits him right back, knocking him to the ground. Dan immediately goes back to what he was doing, trying to rip your clothes off of you. You reach for you pocket knife that was just out of reach.

Your cries filled at air when Dan pins you down once again.

"What the hell are you gonna do now, sport?"

Then a squelching sound fills the air before a body thuds to the ground. This time everyone freezes in surprise. You look back at Rick to see him completely covered in blood from his nose to his chest. He spits out blood and skin and your eyes fall onto Joe's limp body on the ground, blood gushing out of his throat.

Fuck.

Michonne doesn't waste a beat as she grabs a gun and shoots the guy holding her before taking out the ones that held Daryl.

Dan is on his feet in seconds once he realizes he's the only one left. He pulls you up, pressing against you as he holds a knife to your throat.

"I'll kill her. I'll- I'll kill her!" He shouts as Michonne points the gun at him.

"Let her go!" She demands.

Rick pulls a knife out of Joe, standing up and balancing himself. His eyes lock onto Dan, it was almost like he had tunnel vision. He pants.

"He's mine."

Rick takes a few strides towards you and you feel Dan's grip on you loosen as he's consumed with fear. He pushes you forward, staring to beg Rick for mercy.

Daryl catches you from hitting the ground as you watch Rick stab Dan over and over again. Michonne stands by you, trying to block your view of the slaughter.

"Carl." You whisper, realizing that he was still tucked inside the truck. "C-carl." You wiggle out of Daryl's grip, running to the truck and swinging the back door open.

You could see Carl's figure shaking underneath the blanket. "Carl." You say again. "Come on out, it's okay." You whisper. Slowly he peaks his head out, once his eyes meet yours, his body instantly relaxes and he's pushing himself off the ground and throwing himself into your arms.

You, Carl and Michonne stayed in the truck for the rest of the night while Daryl and Rick stayed outside. Nobody talked. Rick looked to be in his head.

Carl laid on across the back seat, his head resting on my lap. You tried to lull him to sleep but it was clear that nobody would be getting a blink of sleep after what just played out.

When the sun started to rise you asked Michonne to take your place, not wanting Carl to be alone. Daryl had gone out to scout the area.

You poured some water onto a clothe and sat down in front of Rick, settled between his legs but leaving enough space to make it appropriate.

His eyes flickered to yours as you wiped the blood off his face.

“Should’ve saved the water.” His voice was hoarse. You shook your head, trying your best to clean him.

“He shouldn’t see you like this.” You say calmly, wiping his hands clean once his face and neck were clean. Rick watched you intently.

“Are you okay?” His voice softens as he asks. You clear your throat, flashbacks of last night playing through your head. Ricks clean hand reaches up and his thumb rubs your cheek softly.

You were able to catch sight of your face in the car mirrors. Red scuff marks littered your face where you were pressed into the ground.

“I’m okay, it’s not that bad.” You shrug. Rick stared into your eyes, his hands still holding your face.

“Are you okay?” He asks again, really holding your gaze. Your chest tightens and you know you won’t be able to fight the tears.

Rick let’s go of your face but pulls your body into his immediately. You let the tears fall as he held you. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered in your ear. “I will never let anything happen to you. Ever.” He kept apologizing, his voice cracking every so often.

“You’re safe.” He says. “You’re safe with me.”

And you knew that he was telling the truth.

#Rick grimes #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead one shot #Rick grimes one shot #Twd #Rick grimes fanfiction #Rick grimes fanfic #Carl grimes #Daryl Dixon #the walking dead fic #Rick grimes fluff #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n

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dear-bunnyboo · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐕𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 - 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐆 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

important note: my face claim will be madison beer but you can imagine whoever you desire. also the songs mentioned are not all technically all madison’s i will be incorporating other songs from other artists.

all the pictures seen below are not mine, however they were edited by yours truly. credits to the owners.

This is part of my ‘ONE-SHOT’ category in my The One Series which means you can read this as a Standalone if you want too. This sill takes place in the same au and still follows Joe and Lovebug!!! Hope that made sense 🤍

First one-shot of The One Series!! Message me if you have any confusions I can clarify!!

she’s baackkkk!!!

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader / Brief Ex!Jack Hughes x Singer!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Y/N Y/L/N takes the time to show us everything inside her bag.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, social media, some fluffy moments

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐍𝐇𝐋 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐓𝐮𝐛𝐞

IN THE BAG with Y/N Y/L/N

"Hey, Vogue! It's Y/N Y/L/N, and today I will be showing you what's in my bag." You introduced yourself as you stared at the camera in front of you.

Bringing your bag up on your lap to show the camera, you smiled.

"This is my new baby. My newest purchase, the Hermès Birkin in the color—" You looked down at your bag as you finished your sentence.

"I forgot what the exact color is called but I'm pretty sure it's the Orange 30," you said looking back up at the camera.

"I have an obsession with bags, I love collecting them—bags, shoes, and jewelry, not in that order. I... might have a problem." You giggled as you slowly opened your bag and continued your introduction.

"Also, before I begin— I just want to say that big bags aren't for me. This is a medium size at best, I prefer small bags and medium-sized bags. That's because I am the type of person who would fill their bags up to the brim when given the chance and I try to avoid that cause it gives me the opportunity to bring useless things that I would never use. So, yeah— this is the biggest it could get for me." You pointed at the Birkin on your lap.

Opening the bag, you reached in before pulling out your phone, "First thing in my bag is my phone which I placed in my bag before we started filming actually." You raised your phone up facing the camera.

"That's because I usually prefer my phone either in my hand or my pocket because for some reason I don't trust having it in my bag— if that makes sense." You furrowed your eyebrows as you slightly giggled at your explanation.

"I have slight attachment issues with my phone, which— we all have these days. So, yeah— my phone is only in my bag when absolutely necessary." You finished before placing your phone on the table presented in front of you.

"Next is—" You announced as you pried your bag open wider.

"My iPad. Which I always bring with me especially when travelling which I do a lot. It's either my iPad or my laptop— or both if I am traveling. But in this case just my iPad."

"Next thing in my bag is my notebook or journal." You pulled out a baby pink notebook out of your bag before smiling at the camera.

"This is a very special and important notebook. I'm not the type of person to journal or write about my day in a notebook like a diary. I know some people do that but I could never get myself into it. However, I do something similar to journaling which is writing music." You smiled cheekily at the camera.

"Yup. So this notebook has song lyrics in it. I literally have at least five notebooks back at home that I have all gone through— filled with song lyrics of my existing songs, scrapped songs, and songs that are in my archive. This one is my newest notebook." You smiled as you scanned through the notebook within yourself as you explained— your eyes trained on the unreleased song lyrics you've written recently.

"Some people prefer writing on their notes app on their phones but personally, there is just something about writing with a pen and paper that makes it real— if that makes sense." You shrugged as you placed it on the table as well before pulling out more of your belongings from the bag.

"I also have a pen, obviously for writing. Then I have two Sharpie markers— a black and white one for my fans. Whenever I meet them they ask me to sign their stuff."

"Next is my wallet and card holder from YSL." you quickly went through the things you didn't have to explain.

"I have my shades." You pulled out the black case before pulling out the black sunglasses you frequently use— putting them on to show the camera.

"This is from Gentle Monster and these sunglasses are my most frequently used." You remove them from you and place them on the table.

"Next is— what is this? Oh, I have a mini jewelry holder." You pulled out a square-shaped box, "It's empty cause I am wearing my jewelry. But this is just for when I need to remove my jewelry, you know? For shoots and stuff— so that they don't get lost or damaged."

Rummaging through your bag to look for the next item to pull out, you settled on the three small pouches you had inside your bag— placing the nude-colored pouches on the table you smiled at the camera.

"Now, I have these cute small pouches that contain all the small items that I have. My problem with bags with no pockets or inserts is that I hate when my things are cluttered in there just flopping around. So, these mini pouches help a lot since I like being organized." you finished before opening the first pouch.

"The first pouch contains my makeup that I use solely for touching up. I also have some other items here—" you pulled out a small compact, "I have my Chanel Travel Face Palette which has a powder, blush, bronzer, and highlighter. It's all here so it's very convenient."

"Next is my Fenty Blotting Powder, for blotting— obviously." you laughed.

"Then— my concerning amount of lip product which is the majority of this pouch." You explained before pulling out your insane amount of lip products all in your hand.

"First is my favorite lip liner by Charlotte Tilbury in the shade 'Lip Cheat'. Then I have the Dior Lip Glow Oil in the shade 'Mahogany' which is my favorite shade in any lip product."

"I also have every single shade of the Rhode Peptide Lip Treatment which is concerning. I re-apply every second." You said as you opened one to re-apply just like you said.

"I literally just reached in this pouch and choose whatever I grab without even looking at it— I love it."

"Moving on from the lips— I have the Glossier Lash Stick. Then— what else? That's it for makeup. But I also have my Chanel Hand Cream which is a need for me since I travel a lot, and my hands get dry on planes— so yeah."

Looking down at the remaining items in the pouch, you smiled to yourself.

" Finally, perfume— mini perfumes. I always make sure that whenever I purchase perfumes I also buy the small ones so that I can bring them with me, since I don't like bringing the huge perfume bottles— it's an actual hazard."

"I love smelling... good. So, I do have several here on me. First is the Valentino 'Born in Roma' perfume — one is 'Intense' and the other is 'Coral Fantasy'. Finally—" you smiled down on the last perfume that was hidden in your palm before turning back to the camera.

"This— this is a tiny male perfume which is my boyfriend's. Uhm... he gave it to me 'cause I love how he smells." You smiled shyly as you giggled.

"Uhm...yeah, I just spray a little whenever I miss him and I'm traveling without him." You shook your head with a smile before moving on to the next pouch.

“This pouch has the important necessities. So, vitamins, medicine, pain killers— just in case anyone needs them.” You said before pulling out the next item.

“Next is this lavender essential oil which by the way, I can’t leave the house without.” You pointed at the camera to emphasize your point before showing the product.

“I need it whenever I feel nervous or anxious— I just put a little on my nose or behind my ear. Also, whenever I get motion sickness— which I get often whenever I’m in a vehicle for too long.”

“Hand sanitizer… very important.” You placed the pink spray bottle down the table before pulling out the final item in the pouch.

“And lastly, bandaids… and oh, my Tide Pen, in case I get a stain on my clothes.” You nodded as you placed every little thing back into the pouch it came from.

“This is the smallest pouch out of the three.” You said as you showed the camera the last pouch.

“It has my charger for my phone and iPad— and then my wired earphone which I only use if I feel too lazy to charge my AirPods.” You explained before reaching down to look for the thing you are looking for.

“Which leads us to— my AirPods. I live for music. So I cannot leave the house without any type of earphones on me.”

“Now the remains stuff in my bag— a scrunchie. I have mints, gums, and my favorite lozenges for my throat since I sing for a living. Gotta take care of that.” You shook the tin case of the candies as you showed them on camera.

“Passport! And my digital camera— Very important since again, I travel a lot.” You grabbed the remains items in your bag in your hands before turning to the camera.

“Last things in my bag are keys.” You shook the dangling objects that’s on both your hands.

“This is my car key. While the other one has my house keys, room key, and my studio key— and plus this right here—” you continued as you pointed at the small hanging keychain at the end.

“This is a small Lego keychain— it’s Batman in a pink tutu and wings.” You chuckled remembering how you gotten it in the first place.

“My boyfriend gave it to me one day for absolutely no reason whatsoever. We love building Legos together so it means something to the both of us— I gave him a matching one not long after. His is also Batman but in a blue bunny costume.” You laughed as the filming wrapped up.

“That’s everything in my bag.” You flipped your now empty bag upside down, showcasing how empty it indeed is.

“Thank you, Vogue for joining me!” You ended the video.

comments…

𝐟𝐚𝐧1: she’s adorable 🥹🤍

𝐟𝐚𝐧2: I legit want everything in her bad ngl

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧3: true 😫

𝐟𝐚𝐧4: she’s so organized… she’s me.

𝐟𝐚𝐧5: THAT BAG IS TO DIE FOR 🧡🧡🧡

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧6: the color is crazy pretty 🤩

𝐟𝐚𝐧7: Joe’s perfume 🥲

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧8: I literally screamed when she said it was his perfume.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧9: JOE GAVE HER HIS PERFUME. GOODBYE.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧10: I want to know what he smells like (for research obviously) did anyone see the brand!?

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧11: no 😫 y/n was covering it in her hand.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧12: y/n lowkey gatekeeping her man’s perfume

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧13: she really said ‘only I get to know what he smells like’ 😆

𝐟𝐚𝐧14: her having like 10,000 lip product in her little pouch is sending me cause same.

𝐟𝐚𝐧15: the prettiest girl 🩷

𝐟𝐚𝐧16: LET ME TELL YALL SUMN. MISS Y/N SMELLS GOOD GOOD. DELECTABLE EVEN. I HAVE THAT SAME PERFUME SHE HAS AND IM TELLING YOU… AMAZING 😫

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧17: did I just order one to know what she smells like? Yes.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧18: no cause same.

𝐟𝐚𝐧19: THE LEGO BATMAT KEYCHAIN!!!

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧20: Joe is the standard 🥹 cause that’s so fucking cute wtf

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧21: they have matching keychains… somebody sedate me fr

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧22: they are both Lego addicts. A match made in heaven.

𝐟𝐚𝐧23: no cause what she said about having her phone in her bag makes so much sense to me cause I too have trust issues.

𝐟𝐚𝐧24: MARRY ME 🩷

𝐟𝐚𝐧25: the only thing I can afford in this video is the sharpie 💀

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧26: felt.

𝐟𝐚𝐧27: don’t you just love it when Joe Burrow just gives this woman something for absolutely no reason whatsoever and it gets her so giggly and shit, cause look at her looking at that damn keychain.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧28: I mean honestly, Joe could give me a grain of sand and I’d react the same way.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧29: HBDHDHYEGWUWHUWIW

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧30: 😂😂😂

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