#thank u again michelle !!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

formulaforza · 6 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!”

602 notes · View notes

chaotic-mystery · 6 months

Text

Pairing: dbf!Joel miller x f!reader (no outbreak)

Summary: You kissed Joel after you had that terrible fight with your dad and you have no idea what Joel’s thinking now. Did you just ruin everything or will he finally admit he likes you just as much as you do him? What about Michelle?

Content warnings: my blog is 18+ so mdni! Eventual smut, age gap (readers in her twenties and Joel is in his 40s) dads best friend, enemies to lovers, slow burn, infidelity, family issues and daddy issues, talks about emotionally absent parent and effects it has, reader not feeling good enough for someone to love them, talks of healthy father daughter relationships, as well as a brief mention of being drunk. Let me know if I’ve missed anything!

|| wc: 4.2k || notif blog @chaoticnotifs || I love u ||

Within a few short moments, Joel was pushing you off him, his breaths shallow and the look on his face was already telling you something before his words did. “Darlin’, I-” He started, and he sighs deeply, great.

“Baby, I think you’re a little drunk. We can talk about this tomorrow, okay? Cmon, let’s getcha inside and get some sleep, lord knows you need it after all that cryin’. His hand smooths down his jeans over his thigh while his other hand takes yours gently, giving it a slight shake. You were sober as one could be but there was no more fight in you to argue, especially not with him.

“Yeah, probably right. Thanks for today, Joel. I appreciate it, more than you’ll ever know.” A soft smile grew on your lips before climbing out of his truck, walking to your front door. You wanted to turn around so badly and follow him into his house to his room, climb into his bed and just be held by him. Instead, you were faced with your cold, empty bed you dreaded laying in because Joel wasn’t there. It didn’t even dawn on you about Michelle until you noticed the last clean shirt you had with the bar logo on it that was hanging in your closet. The last you knew he wasn’t really with Michelle, more so on a break after everything at White Pony.

All night you tossed and turned, constantly looking out your window to Joel’s bedroom window who had a lamp on each time you glanced over. Your dreams were flooded with him, he suddenly consumed your every thought, awake or asleep. He was haunting you, the ghost of his fingertips on your skin, the way his soft lips felt on yours before he pushed you away. To be in the truck again and do it over, to kiss him longer and touch him, feel his skin and how his strong hands felt around your waist, to sit on his lap and just have him hold you right against his chest until he was content.

–

“Sarah cmon, you’re gonna be late, girl!” Joel shouts from the porch and you're awake, eyes fluttering open slowly to look at the ceiling. Sarah climbed out of who you assumed was her mother’s car and shut the passenger side door, running up the sidewalk.

Dad, stop! I’m coming, don’t eat all the pancakes!” Her giggle echoes between your houses and up your window, causing you to smile subconsciously.

Joel went inside before she made it to the porch, and her laugh got quieter as she shut the front door behind her. Soon enough it was quiet once more and you were left alone with yourself. Before you left to come back to Texas, one of your good friends mentioned to you about journaling and how healing it can be for you. With every intention of making it work, you started to dig through your drawers to find the little dyed green leather journal you got from the book store. It’s been through a lot, the way the pages are wrinkled from when it fell in the bathtub one night, some of the corners burnt from sitting next to an open candle flame for too long. Everything on its pages are things from being a kid you’re trying to process, doodles, everything you wish you could say to your dad. Journaling was sometimes helpful but most of the time it left you feeling empty.

If you didn’t harbor the feelings inside and constantly think about it, what were you supposed to feel? Is it normal to feel this empty on a day to day basis and was that something you really looked forward to? You sighed and tugged on your hoodie and pants, walking out into the hall to go downstairs and start your day with a cup of coffee. Ever since Joel watched you make coffee once at work, he hasn’t let up since. Every time he sees you with a travel cup he asks if it's hot or iced, knowing what the answer will be and he’s disappointed every single time.

With your glass almost empty by now and four pages scribbled on, you finally felt comfortable to stop. It was almost like you blacked out writing, not really sure what exactly you wrote down but it brought you that same empty feeling once more so that must’ve meant you were done for the day. A knock on your door takes you from zoning out and you’re met with Joel’s face, a plate of pancakes, and a glass of orange juice.

“Before you start, the orange juice was Sarah’s idea. I know you hate eating breakfast when you first wake up so I figured you’d nibble on these until you’re hungry enough to eat them normally.” His small smile makes your heart skip a beat and you reach out to grab the plate from him, along with the orange juice and you take a small sip, tipping the glass to him with a nod.

“Give Sarah my thanks, yeah?” The awkward silence was killing you and you were hoping he’d bring up last night. He just shoves his hand in his pocket and clears his throat, looking around at the neighbors homes as Joel racks his brain on what to say.

“Joel I-” you start but he cuts you off.

“Darlin’ it’s fine, you were drunk. We’ve all been there before.”

You groaned in annoyance and walked to the kitchen island with the front door wide open, signaling him to follow.

You leaned your ass against the counter top and folded your arms across your chest, glancing out the window above the sink to the left of you. “I wasn’t drunk, okay? I was perfectly sober. I wanted to kiss you, I’ve thought about it a lot and it was something I wanted. I’m sorry if you didn’t feel the same way. I know you’re with Michelle and I know she doesn’t trust me around you and I just gave her all the proof she needs to keep thinking that.” You were rambling out of nervousness and he just stood there and listened, his hands were on his hips while he looked at the floor. The bundle of anxiety was growing in the pit of your stomach and you were worried you just fucked everything up even more by bringing up Michelle.

“I-I just…I needed to know what it’s like to kiss you, Joel. I’m sor-”

“Honey, jus’ stop,...’kay? First of all, Michelle not trusting you isn’t because of you, it’s because she caught me one too many times checkin’ on you at work and she didn’t like it. You are a smart, funny, sarcastic woman and you’re beautiful but baby, you’re so much younger than me, not to mention my best buddy's daughter. This would never work, you and I.” Joel barely whispers the last part of his sentence and his shoulders drop, eyes finally meeting yours. The same rejected feeling crept up and bit you in the ass once more, a common feeling for you from almost every person you’ve met in your life.

“Not to mention you slept with Tommy, couldn’t do that to him.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, shaking your head at Joel. “Oh suddenly you and Tommy care who you share and pass around between the two of you? That’s really rich, Joel, considering he dropped that little nugget about you two tag teaming a girl while his drunk ass had to come get yanked out of my bed?”

Joel’s jaw clenched together and his nostrils flared slightly, the anger in him rising the more you called him out.

“Be careful if you’re gonna run your mouth about shit you don’t know.” The look on his face gave you a slight jumpstart to your heart and excitement in your tummy. He’s sexy when he’s angry but telling him that right now would only make him even more upset.

“So are you saying if I didn’t sleep with Tommy, wasn’t my dad’s daughter, and about twelve years older, I’d have a shot with you?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and walk over to him slowly with your arms behind your back, trying to look innocent.

Joel however, sees right through your bullshit and chuckles at your attempts to get more answers from him. “Did I say that?” He cocks his head to one side and watches you get close until you stop right in front of him.

“I might be reading between the lines, but oh well. Was I at least a good kisser?” You smirk at him and see the sparkle in his eye, Joel tries to fight back the corners of his lips from curling upwards.

“Why is it so easy for you to piss me off and then you wanna be sweet? You’re a damn sour patch kid.” The annoyance in his tone was only masking the laugh he was containing.

“That doesn’t tell me if I was a good kisser or not, Mr.Miller.” You grab the collar of his flannel and fix it so it laid flat and Joel’s breath hitched when you brushed against his skin.

Joel cracks his fingers in nervousness and hesitates before answering quietly, ��I don’t remember, honestly. It was short.”

“Aw, is the age catching up to you, old man?” You tease, batting your eyelashes up at him.

Gently but firm enough to feel it, Joel’s hands meet your hips and squeeze firmly as he leans in, lips ghosting over yours. Now it’s your turn to have your breath hitch and the nervousness bubbled in your stomach.

His eyes close for just a moment before he grumbles,”Yeah I bet you wanna kiss me again. Does it get you all excited, baby? Kissin an older man like me when you’re not ‘sposed to?” He pulls back, standing up straight this time with the evilest grin on his face.

Joel could see you panicking to find an answer, an excuse, something. Without waiting for your answer, he turns on the heel of his boot and heads for the door, leaving you speechless and heart racing in the middle of your kitchen.

“What’s wrong sweet girl, cat got your tongue?” The door was shut before you could come up with a smart ass response to retort. Even worse than a cat having your tongue, Joel Miller had your tongue. If he wants to play this game with you, he’d soon be figuring out how much better at it you were than him. With the warm plate of pancakes calling your name from the marble counter behind you, you pulled back foil and watched the small amount of steam roll up into thin air.

Tearing into the fluffy pancakes, you rip a piece off and put it in your mouth, the butter soaked into the layers but still present. It was good at first and it had been a long time since you had a homemade breakfast. Before you can understand what’s happening, your fingers grip quickly and pull apart piece after piece and shove it in your cheeks as you close your eyes and feel the tears sting. To be cared for by a man who’s old enough to be your dad but isn’t your dad will always be hard for you. Why was it so easy for them to do kind things for you without a second thought but it was like pulling teeth for your own blood? For just a second you felt the jealousy of never having what Sarah and Joel have, that connection and inseparableness of father and daughter. The hot tears fall down your cheeks as your arms drop, no more soft pancake shoved in between your teeth as your brows furrowed in sorrow… anger, confusion…jealousy. It was almost as if a switch flipped and you were yanked out of your dark mindset over a kind gesture from your neighbor.

You grab a napkin from the holder in the middle of the counter and quickly spit out the mush, your vision so blurry and fuzzy from the tears. Your home was quiet with only the fridge buzzing softly and your runny nose sniffling subconsciously. Cold fingers wrap around the orange juice and you bring it to your slightly puffy post-cry lips, taking a small sip and letting the tangy liquid roll down your esophagus. You try to swallow your feelings and bury them deep inside once more to hide away the things you don’t dare talk about with anyone.

What little bit of jealousy still inside you causes you to push the plate away from the end of the counter, groaning in frustration at the meltdown you thought you had controlled.

Weeks go by and you haven’t heard much from Joel. His truck was gone when you got up early in the mornings trying to find a new job and his driveway was still empty by the time you were going to bed. Not a single phone call returned to you from him, your red landline phone he made fun of you for buying at a garage sale hardly rang unless it was someone trying to sell fake insurance. Thanksgiving came and went and it was like nothing happened between you and your dad, or at least no one brought it up when you gathered with the rest of your family at his house. They were all surprised to see you since you left years ago with your mother and never visited for the holidays but no one wanted to ruin the day of pretending you were a big happy family. The only people you called while you were away were your grandparents. They were like your best friends, always knew what was going on with you and they wanted better than what you got, they even knew their son made many mistakes when it came to the way he parented you. Even at your age now you still need them how you did as a little girl, clinging to their side when you felt overwhelmed by all the people swarming you asking millions of questions while you’re trying to get a plate of food. You sat in the corner in an uncomfortable chair while you ate your food but all you could seem to think about was Joel, where he was or who he was with, was he even celebrating today? He was probably with Michelle and her family, talking away about how great she is to her parents while the reality was that she was still upset with him over Halloween. They were just like your family, everyone pretending to be something they weren’t. Luckily it went okay without anything bad happening this time but there was still Christmas to come.

With the holiday just passing a couple days ago and still no sign of Joel, you decide to call him just to check up on him. Three rings into the call and you were praying to the universe he didn’t answer, not because you didn’t want him to be okay but you didn’t even know what to say if he did pick up. Just as the fourth ring starts, Joel’s deep voice fills your ear canals.

“H-hello?” He sounds confused at first but then it fades to irritation quickly.

“Joel..? Hey..” You stutter out as you shove the red handset into the crook of your shoulder and ear while you fiddle with the cord.

“What do ya want, kid? Somethin’ wrong?” You can hear muffled voices behind him but all you can focus on is Joel and the way his voice sounds like velvet over the phone.

“N-no, no nothing wrong I just..” your voice wavers for a moment and something inside your mind tells you to be honest with him even if it’ll blow up in your face. “...I miss you..and you left without saying a word…was it something I did-” You stop yourself from babbling on and cut the risk of looking even more dumb to him. Joel’s end was consumed by the muffled voices and laughter, a door being shut silenced the noise and it was just you and Joel.

“It’s kinda hard to talk right now, honey. I went with Michelle to her parents in Kansas for Thanksgiving. You didn’t do anything wrong. I'm just trying to get all of this sorted out, okay? You gotta remember I’ve been with her for a long time and it’s not just somethin’ I can just leave out of the blue.” Joel sighs deeply and your heart starts to get heavy inside your body, the phone cord tangled in your fingers.

“Okay, sorry for bothering you. Have fun and have a safe drive back, guess I’ll still be here waiting for you.” It wasn’t your goal to get annoyed with him but this was how you coped. You’d shut down as soon as something bad was happening and acted like it didn’t hurt. Like it didn’t make you want to curl into a ball of embarrassment when he didn’t say he missed you back. Before he could respond you hung up on him and unplugged the phone line from the handset so he couldn’t call back, not that he even would.

With the kitchen clock reading almost nine o'clock at night and your head in a mess, you figured it was more than needed for you to go to bed. Your bedroom window seemed so incomplete with the safe sight of Joel’s lamp lighting up the window it sat in. Before getting into bed you thought you’d feel better if you put on the Wizard of Oz, your favorite childhood movie. Tucking yourself right between your pile of blankets and pillows, you laid there watching the house spin and spin in the tornado but you couldn’t resist not looking over at Joel’s house every two minutes like he’d suddenly be back and throwing rocks at your window like those corny rom coms. Even imagining it seemed too crazy, you and Joel could never be like that. The ruby shoes were sparkling on your eyes as your lids got heavy and you were asleep within seconds, dreaming of Joel once again.

You wake up hours later to the DVD menu on loop and your front door being pounded on. With your heart racing you look out your window and see Joel’s truck in the driveway with the engine still running, driver's side door wide open. You wrap the throw blanket around your shoulders and practically run down the stairs to look through the peephole. A messy haired, sweaty, disheveled Joel was leaning against the door waiting on you to answer. Swinging open the front door, he yanks back the screen door that was separating you two and stepped inside, grabbing your face and walking you backwards.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’? You unplug your phone after throwin’ a tantrum and I can’t call you back, don’t know what’s goin’ on with you?!” Joel’s voice rattled you even though it was caring, it was still coated in frustration.

“I’m sorry I went to bed, I meant to plug it back in I’m- I’m sorry..” You look at his face and it dawns on you just how freaked out he was. He drove ten hours straight just to come see if you were okay.

“What did you think I was gonna do? Hang up and just go about my time in Kansas not knowing what happened to you? Bein’ a goddamn brat making’ it hard for me to get in touch with you.” Joel’s jaw clenches as his hands tighten on your face. His eyes haven’t relaxed yet and it’s almost like he’s searching in yours to find some truth to your actions, to find some reason.

You were speechless at him. Every time he did something it surprised you even more that someone cares about you that much to go the mile for you.

“Did you really drive all night to come back and check on me?” The hint of excitement in your voice makes Joel roll his eyes and a small smirk grow on his face. His face finally softens and he pulls you against him with his hands rubbing your back.

“Of course you wanna hear me say I drove ten hours just for you, crazy brat. Don’t ever do that to me again, understood?” Joels scruff softly brushes against your ear and you finally feel safe again, even if your relationship was up in the air.

“Would you maybe wanna stay with me, just until I fall asleep?” It kind of came out of your mouth before you thought about it but there was no more hesitating.

“I can, yeah. Let me go shut off my truck and I’ll be back in a second.” He kisses your forehead softly and walks back outside to his driveway, pulling his keys out of the ignition and locking the door. His black suitcase rolls against the pavement behind him on the walk back to your house. The sun would soon be up and shining through the tree branches but you had a hard time accepting this wasn’t a dream. He leaves his suitcase by the door and sits on the couch, sighing as he gets comfortable. Joel’s eyes watch you closely as you walk back to him with a water bottle directed to him to grab.

“Just try to be quiet when you leave, okay?” You mutter as you lay your head on his lap while tugging the blanket over you as you curl into a ball like a cat. Joel chuckles and rubs his chin slightly as he adjusts and gets comfortable with the pillow behind his head. It came as no surprise to yourself that you were already preparing for the heartbreak you’d eventually have to feel when he left while you’re fast asleep no matter how much you tried to enjoy Joel being there in the moment.

“I’ll try my hardest, baby girl.” He teases, softly running his fingernails against your scalp. Joel’s breathing slows to soft snores that fill the living room, the only sound that was audible as the sun came up and soon drowned the room in warm rays.

Joel’s watch on his left hand read just a little after eleven and the house was still, your light snores getting his attention as he rubs his eyes of sleepiness. You looked so peaceful to him and he didn’t want to leave you just yet.

He grabs onto your shoulder and shakes you awake gently, brushing the hair out of your face that fell during your nap.

“I’m starving and I know you don’t have enough food here to feed the both of us. Cmon, let’s go eat…I’ll buy.” Joel was trying to bribe you and you hated that it was working. You sit up and look at him with barely opened eyes.

“Really?”

Joel stands up to stretch and his midriff is exposed by his shirt, causing your eyes to glance at the skin you hadn’t seen until now.

“My offer is good for another thirty seconds, clock is tickin’.” The playfulness in his voice makes you grin and you grab your house keys from the bowl of clutter near the front door. Your head nods towards his truck and he strolls outside, shaking his head at your outfit.

“You really gonna wear that? Don’t think the waitress would take too kindly to a shirt that says, “Cougars” with a heart…” His fingers pinch the fabric and he lets go, a small indent left on the shoulder piece.

While you both buckle in, Joel looks around for anything you could use to cover what he thought was a god awful shirt. He tosses a black hoodie at you to wear and you begrudgingly tug it on when you notice his company’s logo on the back.

“There’s nothing wrong with showing cougars love, Joel. Would you rather it say dad’s best friend?” You can see his eyebrow raise as he cocks his head slightly to glance over at you.

“Don’t push it.” He mutters and starts to head to the diner.

You both decide on a booth and look over the menu before ordering and Joel sips his coffee, taking in the strong notes of the blend to prepare clearing his throat.

“So uh- think it’s pretty obvious I can’t leave you alone no matter how hard I try. I need to get some stuff sorted out but I’m really not trying to string you along, kid.” His brown eyes flick up to meet yours and he extends out his hand to grab your arm across the worn table.

“I know I just…I hate not knowing if you’re with Michelle or not. We need to be careful around everyone, ya know- pretend that we still hate each other..” You lead on and cough slightly at the hand laying on your arm.

Joel nods understandingly, knowing exactly where you’re coming from.

“No, I’m not with-“

“Michelle, hi!” You finish his sentence as your eyes meet her piercing stare as she stands behind Joel. Her arms were crossed and nostrils flared, not understanding entirely what she walked in on.

“Michelle..”

fuck.

407 notes · View notes

cieloclercs · 9 months

Text

what would you say (if i told you i love you)? — charles leclerc

PART: 1/?

summary. in which childhood best friends blur the lines between what they’ve always known, and something more

warnings. swearing, reader and charles are oblivious idiots but they’re cute so it’s ok, ending is annoyingly abrupt (sorry)

pairings. charles leclerc x artsy!reader

face claim. tara michelle

author’s note: so this is a multi-part social media fic inspired by this ask that i’ve been working on for a while. as always, all media and pictures used in this belongs to the original creators. hope you guys enjoy! ps, all i really know about art is what i learned in my gcse class (and my teacher was awful) so if i use any incorrect terminology at any point in this series i’m so sorry! i’m trying my best 🫶

liked by pierregasly and 11,386 others

yourusername monaco summer 🐚🌊🦋☁️

view all comments…

yourfriend prettiest ever 🥹

yourusername oh hush you 🤭

username girl your figure 😮

username she literally has my dream body 😭

charles_leclerc no photo credits? 😃

yourusername 🙄🙄 photo creds to char ig

arthur_leclerc looking a little windswept there

yourusername do you want me to block you again

arthur_leclerc no thanks u look very pretty !!!!

yourusername aww thank you arth 🥰

username wait who tf is this girl and how does she know charles??

username she’s his childhood best friend! they’ve known each other since they were five 🫶

username i firmly believe y/n y/l/n is a goddess not a human being

*charles_leclerc liked this comment

username CHARLES WHAT THE FUCK???

liked by carlossainz55 and 2,376,926 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc opening day for y/n’s latest exhibition, ‘flow’! je suis très fière de toi, mon artiste. ne jamais cesser de rêver 🌊 / beyond proud of you, my artist. never stop dreaming

view all comments…

username now if this isn’t obsessed boyfriend behaviour then i don’t know what is

yourusername aww charlie 🥹 merci de m'avoir soutenu, je vous en serai toujours reconnaissant / thank you for supporting me, i’m forever grateful

charles_leclerc toujours

username and they say they’re just friends?? THIS IS NOT FRIEND BEHAVIOUR

username omg these paintings are so beautiful! what’s the exhibition about?

charles_leclerc it’s a study of water and the ocean!

username they way he’s answering questions about y/n’s own exhibition for her 😭 babes ur not subtle x

username she’s so talented wtf

*charles_leclerc liked this comment

leclerc_pascale Incroyable 😍

yourusername merci, maman 🥰

username SHE CALLS PASCALE MAMAN OH MY GOD???

liked by joris_trouche and 17,936 others

yourusername summer break, week one ✅

view all comments…

username everyone say ‘thank you y/n’ for feeding us the soft charles content 🥹

username thank you y/n 🙏

joris_trouche elvis is the star of this dump

yourusername i’ll let him claw you again

joris_trouche PLEASE DONT

charles_leclerc woah who’s that handsome guy in slide 2? 😏

yourusername you wouldn’t know him he’s kind of annoying x

charles_leclerc ouch

username charles featuring twice?? we’re losing her 😔

username three guesses who took the pictures of y/n

username hmm…joris? 🤔

username try again

username elvis 🤨

username close!! but not quite

username is it maybe…charles?!

*charles_leclerc liked this comment

username bingo!!

username trade lives with me please 😫

charles_leclerc i hope summer never ends

yourusername you and me both

username he doesn’t want to go back to the sf-23 and ferrari fucking up his race every week 😔

*yourusername liked this comment

username LMAO Y/N LIKED

username she’s just as sick of ferrari’s shit as we are

joris_trouche everyone ignoring the fact that i’m also in this dump as well !!!

charles_leclerc mate you’re not even looking at the camera

username GAHAHAHA CHARLES

➜ part 2

981 notes · View notes

frankoceanluvrr · 1 year

Text

𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 — 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑

pairing : fem!reader x peter parker, reunited childhood friends to lovers 😫, college!au

warnings : english isn’t my first language, so there could be a couple of grammatical mistakes! plz lmk if u see them! This is so long btw I’m sorry 😭

summary : before he moved away, he gave her a necklace to remember him by. she hasn’t taken it off since.

a/n : you can imagine any peter for this, not specifically tasm i just like the gif -> mj will be included, u can imagine mary or michelle it’s up to you😊 also tysm for 19 followers!!!!!!!!

“Take this,” the young boy sighed, passing the necklace, “it’ll be a reminder of me or whatever. I know I’m not dying or anything but I don’t think we’ll see each other again in person.”

“You really think so?” You sniffled.

“Hey, don’t start crying now you big baby, we can still email and call each other” Peter smiled, nudging your arm.

“You’re the baby, not me, I just had something in my eye.”

“Yeah right [Name], you’re like totally miserable I’m going.”

“You’re the one who got me the necklace! It’s really pretty by the way, I love it,” You said, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me before high school though”

“Look, just promise me we’ll keep in touch?” He asked, eyes meeting yours, “and even if we don’t, take care of the necklace for me?”

“Promise.”

And you hadn’t seen him since that day. It wasn’t like you didn’t try to keep in touch though, it was just a matter of life getting in the way. You had been good friends ever since you were little kids, you had always felt it was a shame you never got to see each other grow up properly. He never forgot you either.

But let’s not dwell on the past. First day of college and you were a wreck. You had always hated change, and you were nervous going somewhere and not knowing anyone except your extremely antisocial roommate, Mj.

You fiddled with your necklace as you struggled to find the room you were in.

“Um, sorry to bother you, but do you know where Professor Browne would be?” You asked, tapping the tall boy on the shoulder.

He turned around, soft eyes looking down at yours, then to your necklace. He smiled, waiting to see your reaction after seeing your childhood friend after years, only to be met with your polite smile. In your defence, he looked completely different. Being bit by a radioactive spider changes a person, including their physique, but it especially changes them while they’re still growing into their bodies. When you knew Peter, he was around about the same height as you and a little chubby. He was now tall and lean, the only thing that hadn’t changed were his brown eyes.

“It’s just down the hall.” He pointed, directing you toward where you were meant to be.

In reality, he was slightly hurt you didn’t recognise him.

“I’m Peter, by the way.” He said, in hopes you’d remember him by his name.

“I’m [Name], thank you for helping me! It was really nice to meet you, but I really need to get going. Thank you again!” You smiled as you walked off.

He felt the urge to call after you, then it dawned on him you probably forgot about your friendship with him. Which obviously wasn’t true, you just didn’t recognise him, but he kept convincing himself it was because you forgot.

“Wait, Peter?” You turned around, “like the Peter from middle school?”

“Took you long enough to realise.” He laughed.

“Shut up no way! You’re kidding right? You look so different! We really need to catch up, what’s your number?” You said, eyes bright and wide.

“Oh, hitting on me already [Name]?” He smirked playfully.

He ended up giving his number as you hurriedly walked to your class, even though you were barely late.

After your class, you decided to meet up with Peter at a nearby cafe. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, but you were excited regardless.

“Hey,” you smiled sheepishly, “what are the chances, right?”

“Your necklace,” he said, completely ignoring what you said, “you kept it?”

“I promised, remember? It’s beautiful.”

He could only blush at what you said, the fact you kept it after all these years meant so much to him. He remembers the day he picked the necklace for you so vividly, because it was the day he was going to confess his feelings for you. He never did, but he doesn’t regret it since it wouldn’t have worked out anyway, you were both young and he was moving away. Relationship set up for failure.

“How did you even recognise me?” He asked, looking at you with curiosity.

“Your eyes.” you smiled warmly.

“Stop flirting with me, [Name]. I know I’m incredibly handsome and all-”

“You’re still a major geek, by the way.” You cut him off, “biophysics, really? I knew you had a thing for science but wow.”

“Hey! No need for that honestly, we both used to like science” He raised his hands in defence.

“Yeah, used to. Past tense.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

The conversation flowed so easily. It was as if he never left, you talked till cafe closed which was around 10pm.

“Hey, let me walk you to your dorm. I’m sure mine nearby anyway.” He shrugged.

“So chivalrous, Parker. Really, I’m impressed.” You teased, walking beside him, “oh, that totally reminds me, you know spiderman right?”

“Uh, I’ve heard of him before”

“Yeah okay right, you’ve never seen me and him in the same room before,” you started, “I’m definitely him, this is me telling you.”

“Wow, thank you so much [Name] for telling me this massive secret of yours, no idea how you could keep it to yourself honestly.”

“It’s about time I let the whole world know, don’t you think?”

You honestly didn’t mean anything by these comments, you were just joking around, but Peter could feel his heart tighten a bit. He felt like you knew he was Spiderman, which was impossible, but it still worried him.

“Anyways, thanks for dropping me off,” you smiled, “it was really sweet of you.”

He blushed, but you could barely see because it was so dark.

“Before you go,” He said, grabbing your hand as you turned around, “I just wanted to tell you I really missed you.”

You could feel yourself melt a little, “I missed you too.”

He waited for you to go into your dorm as you waved goodbye. His dorm was actually on the other side of campus, he just wanted to walk you.

He spent the whole night thinking about you, how pretty you’d become, how you were still kind. He could feel himself falling for you again already, your energy was just so attractive to him.

Chapter (?) 2 : Late Night Calls

It had been months since you guys had reunited, and you had grown closer than before. It was about 2am and you were still studying. You could feel yourself drowning in what felt like millions of topics, constantly feeling the need to check your phone. You had texted Peter and he hadn’t replied, so throwing yourself into your work was apparently the best option. You liked him so much. It felt silly to have such a big crush on him, but he treated you so well.

While you were studying, Peter was out on night patrol. Balancing education and heroism was always difficult, it left him feeling so overwhelmed he’d shut people out. During night patrol, he’d gotten into a pretty bad fight. He found himself swinging to campus, more specifically your dorm.

Your phone buzzed.

Incoming call..

You answered, squinting at the bright light coming from the device, “Hello?”

“[Name]? I’m so sorry to bother you, but can I come over?” His voice rushed and breathless.

You sat up, feeling way more awake, “Is everything okay? What’s happened? Are you out?”

Your questions were interrupted by a soft knock on the window.

Peter had gotten used to the quick clothes changing by now. He left his suit nearby outside, he was 99% sure no one would take it.

You walked to your window to see Peter, but he had several cuts and bruises across his face.

“Oh my God” you gasped under your breath, trying to stay quiet as you opened the window.

He came through the window as you sat him on your bed.

“Just stay here,” you whispered, “there’s a first aid kit in the other room.”

You came back with the first aid kit and began to help him, no questions asked yet.

“Thank you,” his voice inaudible, “I mean it, you’re so sweet [Name].”

“How did you get to the window?” You asked, placing a bandage on his head.

“Uh, adrenaline?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “what happened?”

He sighed, avoiding eye contact with you. Was he really about to tell you his secret?

“I’m Spiderman.”

“What?” You said, forgetting all about mj sleeping in the other room.

You quickly brought a hand to your mouth, eyes still wide.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a shock, I just haven’t told anyone before.” He started, “but um, I have something else to tell you.”

He reached for your hands, squeezing them slightly, “I really like you, [Name].”

Your eyes were practically about to pop out your head.

“You’re joking right?” You chuckled sheepishly.

“No, Im serious [Name]. I love everything about you. I love your smile, your laugh. God I love your laugh.”

Your brain was trying to process all of this without making too much of a scene.

Your hands reached for his cheek, “Can I?”

He answered your question by planting a soft kiss on your lips, smiling into it.

You pulled away, “I really like you too, Parker.”

All he could do was blush.

“I cant believe you’re Spiderman, though. I have a million questions.” You laughed.

“Shoot.”

a/n : so sorry this is so rushed 😭 i just wanted to finish it idk why this has taken me SO long to write

#marvel x reader #spiderman x reader #fanfic #marvel x you #peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman x you #fluff #friends to lovers #peter parker fluff #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter fic #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter imagine #college au #college!peter parker

945 notes · View notes

zepskies · 13 days

Note

Hi, Zep! I’ve read your Beau fics and I ADORE them. Are there any other recs you’d give? Series, drabbles, one-shots, anything :)

Hey there!

Thank you so very much, lovely anon. 🥰💗 I have so much fun writing Beau Arlen and the rest of the Big Sky cast, especially most recently with the Take Me Home series.

But what a good question! And I do have some fic recs for you...

🤠 Beau Arlen Fic Recs:

(Stories are Beau Arlen x Reader unless otherwise noted. Minors beware, many of these are 18+ only!)

The Fix - @waywardxwords. This is a lovely friend of mine, and this story is both angsty and gripping, but also very sweet, with plenty of protective Beau to feed my hopeless romantic soul.

Beau Arlen Masterlist - @waynes-multiverse. My friend Wayne is a brilliant writer. She pairs "hilarious" with "heart-gripping angst" so well in her romances. I'm rec'ing her whole BA masterlist, but she also just started a new series: Polaris, which is already shaping up to be angsty, smutty, romantic, complex, and amazing.

When Fantasy Pales - @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior. This is a series of one-shots that I enjoyed immensely by another very talented writer. Absolutely love her writing style.

Beau Arlen Masterlist - @luci-in-trenchcoats. Another lovely friend of mine (I think most of you know Michelle). I haven't had a chance to read all of the Beau stories on her masterlist, but I really enjoyed Bad Day in particular.

If It's Meant to Be - @jawritter. This is Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!Reader. To date, I haven't found another Beau ABO story I enjoyed more than this.

All My Ghosts - @abramswife. Series in progress, and it hooked me right away. This story has strong themes and is very emotionally gripping.

Light My Fire (Again) - @raised-u-fr0m-perdition. Beau Arlen x OFC (series in progress), very twisty plot centered around a murder mystery, with a slow-burn romance and a badass, caring OC.

I may add to this list as I get to read more of my favorite cowboy sheriff!

#ask me stuff #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x oc #Beau Arlen series #beau arlen smut #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #beau arlen fanfiction #big sky #fic recs #zepskies answers #thank you for asking!#reader appreciation #zepskies recs

46 notes · View notes

wlw-imagines · 5 months

Text

Inevitable - Camila Mendes/Reader

prompt: "Hello! Maybe something where reader joined the riverdale cast and her and Camila Mendes gets close?? Like they flirt every day and after a while they start dating? Thanks💋" - anon

a/n: these are from my old tumblr thefandomwritings from back in 2018 ! re-vamped and re-purposed!! hope u enjoy and forgive the 2018 me style writing

Your relationship with Camila had started out as a strange one. You were clearly bound to be friends from the moment you met when you joined the RIverdale cast for Season 2. The idea of joining a cast that had already bonded terrified you but she had welcomed you with open arms and always spent her spare time with you.

At first you had thought she was just one of those extra friendly people, her and Lili always mentioned how they got on so well from the beginning, but your friendship wasn't really like that. At least not in your eyes.

That may have been because you had very quickly developed feelings for the girl. Your relationship had quickly become a flirtatious one, only fuelling your feelings. But you were sure that for her it was only ever going to be a friendship - flirting with one another was only a competition of who could be the bigger flirt. You were convinced she would never feel the same as you did.

You were walking across the car park to the set for your first filming, the costume you were wearing already felt like home and the friends you were with already felt like family. You were all joking together when you were distracted by a distant wolf whistle.

Looking up, you noticed Camila standing in the direction you were walking towards. Once she noticed you were looking again she wolf whistled again and you could just about see her wiggling her eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

You looked behind you, slightly confused, "Who's she-?" Madeleine laughed and hung her arm around your shoulders and Lili smirked. "What?"

"You just got cat-called by Cami, congrats." Lili squeezed you lightly, “She means well. It must be her horny teen way of flirting, I think.”

"Who... with me?" The two nodded, laughing. "Huh?" You glanced at Camila again who was still looking at you but obviously attempting to pretend not to.

Lili looked between the two of you and let out a small gasp, "Are you guys dating?"

"What? No!" You shook your head. You'd only known each other just under a month, not that that had stopped you falling half in love with the girl.

"Well, I'm calling it. It's happening." She shrugged as if you no longer had a say in the matter any longer, it was fate. You just shook your head and rolled your eyes before heading on set.

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

It had been three weeks since you had started filming with the cast of Riverdale and you were glad to say that your character hadn't been murdered off just yet, hopefully insinuating that they liked you.

You had really settled in at this point, having to spend hours in makeup helped forge your friendships with the crew and spending even longer with your fellow actors behind the scenes meant you were as close as could be. It was strange how quickly you could make friends when you were together 24/7 in their highs and lows.

Right now was one of your lows.

You were in makeup, it was 4:20 in the morning and you wouldn't exactly say you were elated to be there. Michelle, the woman who worked on your makeup, had made your life as cheerful as it could be at such an early hour. Even so, when you had to look in the wall mirror in front of your chair, you'd immediately noticed the bed hair and dark circles under your eyes. Michelle had her work cut out for her today.

And talking about Michelle, she had disappeared. She had told you where she was going but you were definitely not concentrating. So you were kind of surprised that when you heard someone come up behind you, it wasn't Michelle but Camila standing there.

"Looking hot Y/N." You looked at Camila in time to see her wink at you, already in full make-up and her cheerleading costume. Not for the first time since meeting her, you felt the butterflies in your stomach but shook them off and jokingly rolled your eyes.

"Right back at you Mendes." You attempt to wink back but since you were still half asleep you failed miserably, causing the other girl to throw her head back and let out a loud laugh.

She came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders so you were both looking at each other in the mirror. "You know, I think you're cute... so I mean this in the most loving, supportive way but- you actually look slightly like death. You sleep okay?"

"Mhmm," You nodded, not wanting to delve into a deep discussion about your sleeping issues. It did, however, make your heart skip a beat to see Camila look genuinely concerned for you, but before she had the chance to push further you moved the conversation on, "I mean, obviously I would have slept better if you were by my side."

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards as she shook her head and softly said "You're welcome to join me any time". She stood there for a moment, just looking at you before taking a deep breath and unwrapping her arms from you and straightening up, "I'll see you on set Y/N."

"Yep, see you." You gave a small wave but was quickly distracted by Michelle reappearing out of the storage cupboard. And so began the torturous session of hair being styled, lips being painted and eyelashes being curled (it was never ending).

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

Moments like these were some of your favourites. You had reached the end of filming for the second season and so most of the cast were hanging out at Madeleine and Lili's as an end of season party. You had bought in a load of pizzas and KJ had brought alcohol. A lot of alcohol. You all took this as an opportunity to chill out, gossip and just let your hair down.

It didn't take anyone long to get way too drunk, everyone apart from Camila and Lili who seemed to be making sure no one set the apartment (or themselves) on fire.

"Camila." You smiled as you fell down next to her on the sofa, "You look very sober."

She smiled and looked at you, and if you were sober you would definitely have managed to notice the heart eyes she had when looking at you. Drunk you just thought you were hallucinating. "And you are very drunk. Come on, I'm taking you to a bed." She stood up and helped you up as well, holding you close to her to keep you steady.

"At least take me on a date first." You laughed, swaying dangerously close to her lips.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly, "Mhmm, maybe tomorrow."

You nodded, seemed a fair enough deal, "I'm holding you to that."

"I'm not so sure you'll remember." She opened the door to Madeleine's room (Madeleine was already passed out on another sofa) and placed you on the bed, "Wait here, I'll get you some water." Camila walked out and you let yourself fall back on the bed and closed your eyes. In no time at all, Camila was back with a plastic cup of cold water. She helped you sit up and drink some before relaxing slightly, her protective side showing ever so slightly.

You glanced at your water and then to the girl sitting next to you before smiling a very drunk smile, "Okay, okay. Cam, what's your opinion on water?" She took one look at you and shook her head, laughing.

"Oh god, this isn't your attempt at drunk flirting, is it?"

Nearly tipping your glass of water, you tried rolling your eyes before putting your hand on her knee, "Just answer the question, dumbass."

She cleared her throat and licked her lips, looking down at your hand before answering, "Alright, I, uh, I like water. It's good. Why?"

"Because, that means you like 80% of me."

Her face broke out in a smile and she kissed your temple (although that may have been something you also hallucinated in a drunken haze) "Oh babe, I like 100% of you." She moved some hair out of your face and took the glass of water away, putting it on the bedside table. "Come on, let's get you into bed." She stood you up again and begun to unbutton your trousers.

'Woah, woah, woah. Stranger danger." You mumbled, squirming away.

"Y/N? I'm not trying anything, I'm just-"

"Nope."

"You'll be uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans, I'm just-"

"Away!"

"You are such a pain, get in bed." Giving in, Camila forced you under the duvet and was about to leave when you pulled her in next to you.

"Good night Cam." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around her. She was about to protest when she looked at you and suddenly couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather be.

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

It had been a few months since you had seen your friends and cast members. You had been completely absorbed with your latest project working on Supergirl and hadn't managed to see anyone. That was until you started the press run for Riverdale. AKA days of interviews, comic con panels, photoshoots. Doing all this only reminded you of how much you were in love with Camila. You were hardly able to look away from her in any interview.

It took until the very end of your press tour to decide to confess. You were tired, in love, and ever so slightly drunk when you knocked on her hotel door.

Camila opened the door and looked suitably surprised to see you. She opened her mouth to say something but you interrupted her. "I've just realised something." You stared at her, taking everything about her in. This made you pause long enough that she spoke up.

"It's 2am, you're either drunk or you've finally realised that you're completely and totally in love with me." She smirked slightly but you didn’t miss the slight way her eyes dulled. You grinned and stepped (swayed) closer to her.

"Yeah."

Rolling her eyes, she gave you a fond look and pulled you into her room, closing the door behind you. "Right, I'll get you some water. Come on, I-"

"What? Why would I need water for- oh, no. I'm... It's not the drunk option. Although I did have a bit of liquid courage before with the guys at the bar to get me to-" You stopped yourself from rambling and shook your head. "I love you Camila."

Her hands became still as she looked at you, her mouth hanging open slightly in shock and her eyebrows raised. She blinked a couple of times before she cleared her throat and forced a smile. "You're drunk, kind of reminds me of the end of season party." She shook her head, "You don't mean that. Or you won't in the morning." She bowed her head, distracting herself by fixing you up a glass of water, making it look like a much harder job than it really was.

You frowned at her reaction, not quite expecting that from her. You didn't truly know what it meant but you stepped forwards, taking the glass out of her hands and turning the tap off. Putting both hands under her chin, you softly pushed her chin up so she was looking at you.

"Camila, it has taken me way too long to say this.. but, I love you. And that really isn't alcohol talking." Softly but surely you placed your lips on hers, finally doing what you should have done months ago.

Camila pulled away and smiled, keeping her arms around you and your body close to hers, "Y/N? I love you too."

#camila mendes #camila mendes x reader #camila mendes fic #riverdale #riverdale x reader #WLW #wlw imagines #wlw imagine #wlw x reader #wlw-imagines #lesbian #lesbian imagine #imagine

39 notes · View notes

plscallmeeren · 5 months

Text

YOU REMEMBER

(Aged Up) Michelle 'MJ' Jones x Reader

Request: yeah

Summary: ok so (y/n) is basically Peter (Tom Holland) and Peter is just like Ned 2.0

It's after No Way Home so no one remembers him and MJ, Ned and Peter are off to college (you've also lost all your humour and happiness in case u were wondering)

Anyways things happen and memories are triggered.... Enjoy I have edited nothing as usual (it's so late I'm so tired wtf)

Warnings: Swearing; sad MJ; yelling/fighting

Word Count: 2.6K+

You watched from a rooftop as New York teemed with activity even in the dead of night - not that that was anything unusual. Crowds of party-goers cheered with joints in hand. Mini-supermarket clerks filled out expert crosswords while casual thieves slipped candy into their pockets. Burnt-out child hackers typed ferociously in the hopes of pirating a new online game.

Those were your lesser worries. Those weren't the things you dared worry about. Not that you worried much these days. None of it mattered much, anyway. No one was there to care if you failed at what you had tasked yourself with for eternity.

You brushed down your dirtied red and black skintight suit, to no avail. That didn't matter, either.

This was peace. Peace was leaning back against the cold concrete. Peace was pressing »play« on your playlist and hearing Sweet Gene Vincent ramble around the murky night air like a newer, cleaner mist with a Cockney accent and punk ideals. Peace was pulling out your phone and looking at old photos of you and your former girlfriend and friends even though you knew you couldn't afford the emotional exhaustion. Peace was finally letting all those tears slide from beneath folds of harsh ignorance. That was peace now.

It wasn't always like that. It used to be lying around the living room, spread out on couches, with Peter and Ned telling you about the new Lego Death Star with an electronic component and MJ lying across your lap with a smile that suggested they were being stupid as she stared lovingly up at you as you ran your fingers through her curled hair.

But that sort of peace wasn't possible anymore, so there was no point seeking or missing it.

A picture of Ned and Peter grinning like idiots as they stood in front of the cinema to watch a rerun of Alien slid across the screen.

It was replaced by an image of MJ smiling back at you, mockingly signing 'metal' with one hand as her foreshortened feet lay closer to you and the camera.

You turned your phone off. A police siren wailed pathetically in the distance like a droning call for help.

Peace was over.

•••

Massachusetts

The Hercules cafe bustled with customers overflowing the nine-person chair budget.

MJ, Peter and Ned were positioned fortunately in the best corner beside the window. It was about lunch time - peak hour at that particular instalment - but the three had arrived hours earlier already.

"Mrs. Zeis is killing me," Ned was complaining, only stopping to sip at his strawberry milkshake. "Two protocols, one theory essay and an experiment setup? Does she not remember we have other subjects, too?"

The snarky waitress who never wore a name tag - the counterpart to exaggeratedly sweet Mr. Lang - strode up to them, snarling. "Will you be here much longer? We have other customers, y'know."

"Yeah, we'll have another chocolate milkshake, thanks," MJ dismissed her smoothly, turning back to her friends.

"Yeah, she's pretty bad," Peter continued for Ned. "I wrote an essay once I knew was bad but I hadn't had time to do it properly and she literally just ripped it apart."

"That's cruel," MJ conceded, smiling as Mr. Lang brought her her order. "Any chance you'll be rid of her for the last semester?"

"Not really," Ned sighed in exasperation.

"I will," Peter added cheerily, stealing Ned's straw and slurping a great deal of milkshake away from him. Ned stared on in horror.

The waitress came up to them again, but before she could dart out that poised tongue Ned was reminding her they weren't finished. She walked away with such impotence as if they had greatly insulted her.

"I can't believe we're graduating so soon... I'm looking forward to Manhattan. It's not really a great place looking back but it'll always be home," MJ said thoughtfully, chewing on her straw.

"Yeah. We had some great times," Peter smiled, handing Ned his latte in attempted reconciliation.

"Yeah," Ned added dreamily.

MJ nodded. Then: "Hey, I'm getting major Deja vu right now. Either of you?"

"Nah, not really," Ned admitted sheepishly as Peter simply shook his head.

"Huh."

They were all silent for a moment, all in their own worlds, when Peter spoke up again: "I know this sounds totally out there and weird, but do you sometimes feel like someone's missing? I mean, like there should be a fourth of us? I don't know, maybe I'm just-"

"No, you're not wrong," MJ interrupted, peering around the cafe as if something might be written on the walls in reply.

"Hey, MJ," Ned said slowly, some eerie disturbance creeping up on his usual voice. "Where did you actually get your necklace? I mean, you wear it every day, so I just... I don't know why I thought of it..."

She looked down at where her black dahlia necklace rested on her collarbone.

She stared. There was something familiar about it, and yet it was like she no longer knew it or why it was there. But she did, didn't she? She had been wearing it every day for years since...

(Y/n).

"Are you okay? You look a bit pale," Peter commented, casting a sidelong glance at Ned, who looked similarly anxious about the look on their friend's face.

It was all coming back to her. Rushing, roaring memories like tidal waves washing up to a shore that had been awaiting them for a decade too long.

"It's (y/n). He's missing," she murmured, standing up straight in seconds and rushing right past the returning waitress, almost making her fall over.

"Children! That's what you are!" she yelled after her, but MJ could hardly hear anything beyond her beating heart and gaping lungs.

•••

You lazily pressed the »play« buttons on the remote, refocusing your attention on your Chinese takeaway as He's Just Not That Into You started. It was going to be stupid. You knew that. Scarlet Johansson was in it, though, so you didn't particularly care. Stupid was good once in a while, anyway.

Your mobile buzzed, making you groan as you set your food back down to get it from the faraway table.

+339 873 5386

Probably another scam, you thought in slight disappointment, but not much surprise. You hung up. There was no one to call you, anyway.

You sat back down on your bed which acted as a couch at times like these and pulled the Chinese food back into your lap. The credits rolled.

Your phone buzzed again. Unfortunately for your innocent food, you almost completely spilled it slamming it back down on the table to reach your phone again.

+339 873 5386

You hung up again, muttering to yourself about stupid people and their stupid money scams. You wondered if you could pay not to get scammed and then realised you were in the same issue all over again. Except maybe they wouldn't interrupt takeaway night as much.

Far away one truly stubborn woman decided she was not having your bullshit and booked the next flight to New York she could find.

•••

MJ had travelled once across Manhattan and still she hadn't found even half a lead on your whereabouts.

She was close to despairing after finding your old apartment empty, countless people who should have known you to render your name foreign and only Delmar who knew of an old boyfriend of hers at all - though even he thought he hadn't seen you in more than a couple of years.

Until she saw you.

You were walking harmlessly along in your favourite black hoodie - one thing that you wouldn't let change - when you saw her, too. Or, someone who looked like her. It couldn't be. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be in Massachusetts. Far away from all of this.

You quickly turned a corner, hoping whatever psychotic trauma you were reliving at that moment would quickly pass.

She couldn't be there. You had made sure of that. Dr. Strange had made sure of that. She was safe. Ned was safe. So was Peter. She's safe.

Your inner voice repeated it like a mantra, following you the entire rushed way to your apartment building and up its concrete wasteland stairs. You stood before your door, shaking, trembling, scrunching your eyes closed to reassure yourself her familiar gaze wasn't on your back.

You were right. You had lost her. Both now and then.

You fought a losing battle with the rusty lock on your door until it finally gave in out of pity, its swinging whine stolen and replaced by your own breathless sigh.

You kicked it shut, not bothering to lock it, considering there was hardly anyone who'd be much trouble to you in Manhattan - and if they were, no lock would stop them, most likely.

Collapsing on the mattress, the bare room's singular comforting component, your head landed in your hands as heavily as lead weight. It hurt so much. It didn't matter if it had been her or not. She would never be yours again.

You looked around your place. Nothing felt like yours anymore. This fridge with a spoon, fork and plate next to it, this iPhone charger and mattress, microwave and a closet with so few clothes the spider suit almost stood out - none of it held any identity you could associate with yourself. None.

The door creaked again, and this time there was no heaving breath to hide it.

"(Y/n)?"

Please no. Please not now, not here, not unprepared... She can't be here. She was safe. I kept it that way.

She repeated your name, but your fingers only tightened their deadly grip around the sheet. Silence. Finally, you looked up, because you were almost convinced, almost hopeful that familiar voice had been a fragment of your imagination or she had decided you a lost cause and left after all.

She was still there. Your body sagged in upset.

"Do you even eat?" she snapped, and you wondered whether she had meant it to be so harsh. More words followed, each cracking like a whip also. You plead mercy with your emotional masochism. "You haven't brushed your hair in days - don't deny it, I know how it looks. You practically have bruises under your eyes. You're like a bag of bones; no exercise, no good food, right?"

You didn't answer, simply staring at her. She was so beautiful.

"God, (y/n)," she whispered, voice so soft it hurt more; the way it cradled you while it lasted and dropped you from its billowing clouds far higher up than anything else. Her pain crawled as ugly tendrils across the floor and through the very soles of your feet to the weight in your lungs.

Silence, again.

"You remember," you stated deftly, but nothing in you wanted to accept it. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

And yet... she had remembered. Your relationship had been so strong, she had remembered. How? Curiosity danced groggily on the sidelines of your train of thought.

"Yeah. Remember this?" MJ lifted the dahlia necklace from her chest, holding it up for you to see. You did. An array of yellowing memories about your trip to France all those years ago flashed before your eyes, reminding you of every reason you had to buy it for her and every reason you should have been bursting with happiness at the fact she was standing before you.

"How did you find me?" you asked instead, earning a deserved scoff.

"I told you I'd track you down." She clenched her jaw, as if remembering how angry she was. "You promised." It was a quiet reminder, but stone in its sureness.

Your muscles tightened as you looked away. You couldn't bare it. You were certain you had done the right thing, and yet...

"You promised you would find us," she repeated, a little louder.

Still, you didn't answer.

"Look at me!" she finally yelled, making you jump, staring at her with wide eyes. She never used to be so loud. She never shouted, even when you fought. She had changed... or maybe you had given her reason to.

Tears threatened to escape her, but her expression remained firm, impossible.

"I did. I was there, just like I promised," you admitted slowly, enunciating every word so that you may never have to say any again. "I saw you, MJ. With Peter and Ned. And it was just... it was so clear you were better off without me. Without this huge Spider-Man burden on your back. You were safe not knowing me."

"So, let me get this straight," she started, in a way that unlike before was similar to the way she usually talked. Casual-sounding, light. "Not only did you assume what was best for us and ignored what we wanted, but you also - for even a second - thought I could survive seeing you like this? You really weren't planning on finding us? Ever?"

Your stood, leaning clumsily against the mattress as you watched her. You didn't need to reply.

"No. No. I won't have this. You need to apologise. You need to- to- I don't know. Make it up to us. You think this is okay? You think this way of living works? Well, it doesn't. The Bell Jar isn't this fucking depressing."

You winced. She always referenced that book when she was calling something fucked up. She began crying properly now.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'll do anything. There's nothing like this feeling that you could be responsible for the death of someone you love, MJ. That's not an excuse, but it's a pretty damn good reason. I understand you're angry, but you've gotta understand, too. You were everything. You are. I can watch from afar, but I can't watch everything end. If you're worried about me, worry about that. Your end would be my end. My fucking end, okay?"

Her chest heaved in wet sobs. You had only seen her cry three times before in all this time. You hated it. You pressed a finger to your cheek and realised you were crying, too.

"It's not fair. It's not fair," she sobbed, gesturing wildly in the air, her curls pushed to one side.

"I know. I know. Nothing's bloody fair," you sniffed, approaching her slowly, as if she were a shy animal, a stranger, perhaps.

It didn't take much. She slumped into your opening arms with all of her force behind her. Tears of yours mingled with hers on your shoulders and in each other's hair. Everything seemed tinged with the distant taste of salt.

She looked up at you, and suddenly your lips were connected once more, though it was sloppy and damp and certainly not your best kiss. But it was something. It gave your dingy kitchenette character and your mattress the air of a childhood sleepover in the living room.

"I won't leave you alone. Ever. You need to understand that. Whether you like it or not. You get it?" she murmured beside your ear.

You wanted to answer something romantic, something impressive, something to look back on - but all you could manage was a string of shaky "you remember"s.

#fanfic #fanfiction #new chapter #romance #marvel #mcu fanfiction #mj #michelle jones #peter parker #tom holland #mj x reader #x male reader #male reader #Ned #x yn #yn #spiderman #Spider-Man reader

23 notes · View notes

violettduchess · 1 year

Note

Hello hello, new to this Ikemen world. I hope u are having a good day!

Can I ask headcanons of Chevalier Michel when the Belle is a very kind woman ( just like Emma ) but she is also very cultured and good at arguments. Having a passion for law, realistic books, the philosophy of nihilism, real cases of crimes and legal failures. ALSO INTO HISTORY. She’s a very good debater, with very good morals that she protects very well through words. Her kind persona shall not give the impression that she’s vulnerable. Her arguments can destroy and she never backs down, even when she sees blood ( even if she’s scared, a lot of self-control ). A hopeless-romantic with high standards. And she is NOT AFRAID OF CHEVALIER. She is also loud about how she does not understand why people consider him so scary.

I just want his first impressions on her and how he started to fall in love.

Tbh even tho I love him, if I was in that route myself, I would have started some arguments with him… maybe this is a self-insert ( 😳😳 ) but I just want to see him shouted down in a debate/argument by Belle for once.

A/N: I am sorry this took so long, anon! I hope I was able to cover everything 💜

Chevalier x Reader

Word Count: 1453

Chevalier Michel Headcanon:

He is standing, arms crossed as his glacial gaze watches the soldiers training. The clang of metal rings through the air as swords cross, each soldier wanting to do their very best to impress the cold prince. Suddenly a loud cavalcade of metallic clanking disrupts practice. His head snaps towards the sound and he sees a young page scrambling to lift up the heavy wooden sword rack where the training swords are kept. Chevalier’s displeasure radiates off of him, cold waves of icy disapproval. The young boy’s shaking hands struggle to get the swords back in place until suddenly another set of hands is there. One rests reassuringly on his shoulder, the other lifts a fallen sword out of the scuffed grass. You speak calmly, soothingly as you kneel, helping gather up the rest of the swords. The young page shudders when he glances over his shoulder at Chevalier whose stare has never wavered. You rise slowly, back straight, head held high as you meet those impossibly blue eyes and do not look away, a defiant expression on your face. Your gazes lock like antlers and a thin sliver of surprise courses through him when you do not back down. He wins of course, but only because the young page is tugging your sleeve, nervously but gratefully thanking you for your help. You smile gently, nodding and then glance once more over your shoulder at the pale-haired prince, who has turned his attention back to the soldiers sparring. You do not see the way those eyes follow your retreating figure.

A round table discussion on what to do about a certain anti-monarchist group that has been dealing with Obsidian in secret, trading Rhodolite information for weapons. You are allowed to sit in on the meeting, listening as the princes debate various ways of dealing with the problem. Chevalier looks bored. When Leon turns heated golden eyes on him, asking his opinion, he responds by stating the only logical solution is to arrest and execute the lot of them. And then you hear your voice cut through the rumbling of the men with a simple “No, it’s not.” Again those eyes are on you, narrowing in a way that would stop the heart of most people. You are not most people. You go on to describe a similar situation that occurred within the Jade kingdom, several decades ago and how instead of slaying everyone, the ruler turned them, used them to spy on the enemy they had been conspiring with. He tries to find fault with the idea, counter points flashing through his mind like the lashes of a cat-o-nine tails but no matter how he tries, he doesn't see a disadvantage. The longer he is quiet, staring at you, the more the tension in the room grows. The other princes are still, no one daring to break the silence. Clavis’s eyes glitter like a magpie before a pile of jewels. When Chevalier rises and leaves without another word, you barely hear the murmurings of the other princes over the emphatic hammering of your heart.

He finds you later that evening in the library, reading by candlelight. He ignores you as he walks to the shelves, scanning the many leather-bound tomes for the one he wants. You lean back, one elbow on the back of your chair. “Looking for this?” He turns at the sound of your voice. “I doubt you would be reading ‘The History-” “of Mercantilism in the Benitoite Kingdom’?” You finish the book title for him. His jaw clenches, the only outward sign that you have surprised him. Yet again. You close the book, the heavy leather cover falling shut with a small thunk and slide it to the end of the table. “I found it informative, if a bit tedious. The author spends far too long explaining why the need to maintain a trade surplus is paramount to wealth building and could have focused more on the need for a strong military to ensure local markets and supply sources are protected.” You stand, gathering several other books in your arms. “But perhaps you’ll find it useful. One is never too old to learn. Good night, Prince Chevalier.”

You are in the gardens, sitting on a stone bench, surrounded by a riot of beautiful red roses, their scent wrapped around you like a mantel of beauty. In your lap, a sketchbook where you are doing your best to capture them, pencil to soft paper. So engrossed are you in your art, you do not hear the rustling in the bushes. You do not notice the deafening silence. It happens in a flash, a blur of men emerging, dark shapes with swords drawn, coming towards you, and then the white storm of vengeance that rains down on them, thundering past you to meet them head on. Men’s groans rise from bodies that fall. The iron scent of blood mingles with the soft scent of the roses, a stomach-churning mixture. Chevalier’s sword drinks deeply, bloodthirsty and relentless until there are nothing but corpses littering the garden path like fallen petals. He turns to face you. His pristine white clothing is splattered red, matching the droplets that are strewn across your sketchbook, your gown, your bare skin. Inside you are trembling. Outside, you rise slowly, closing your sketchbook, pressing those drops of blood into the paper, painting your rose drawing red. “Thank you, Prince Chevalier, for my life.”

He sits at his desk, quill in hand. But it is not moving. It has not even been dipped in ink. What had he expected? You to faint at the violence. You to weep at the blood. You to burst into tears. To scream. To tremble like the last brittle, brown leaf in winter’s wind. He did not expect you to calmly rise, thank him, and walk away from the carnage as easily as if you were leaving a tea party. The blank parchment in front of him mocks him and pressing his lips into a thin line, he wets the tip of the quill. He manages two words before he stops writing again. Your interjection at the previous day’s meeting, using the historical example in Jade to convince the other princes that allowing the anti-monarchists to live was a better choice, the gleam in your eye as you met his and refused to look away. The curve of your mouth when you effortlessly discussed that book. The gentleness of your hand as you laid it on the page’s shoulder. The shape of your body as you walked away. These are the things that are flipping through his mind, like the pages of a book fluttering in the wind. Angrily he turns his usually razor-sharp focus back to his parchment. His quill has dribbled ink all over it. If it was mocking him before, it is laughing at him now. He growls, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he pushes himself away from his desk. This is unacceptable. He must find a way to stop it. Now.

He finds you in the main salon. The hour is late and you have fallen asleep, curled up on the red velvet loveseat, wrapped in your pale yellow dressing gown, your hair shining in the warm light of the fire. Several books lay strewn about the carpet. He recognizes them as art history books. He should just turn around and go, but his steps are taking him toward you, not away. He stops in front of the loveseat, staring down at you, at the way the soft, flickering light caresses your cheek, the exposed skin of your calf, the slope of your neck where your hair has fallen to the side. And then he notices the sketchbook, laying open next to your head. His own face stares back at him, captured in perfect detail. Except there is a softness to his features, something that could only be drawn by a hand that is creating something it cares about. Something that has meaning. Do you really see him this way? Capable of this….emotion? He turns back to you and his hand reaches down, awkwardly moving strands of hair away from your face. His fingers brush your cheek in the process, a light touch. You stir but do not wake, unaware of what you have just done, of the way you have now burned the memory of your softness into his skin, the way your spirit has been branded into his mind. The unshakeable Chevalier Michel jerks his hand away from you, the unfamiliar feeling of his heart beating so rapidly is unnerving. He leaves the salon hurriedly, the fingers that touched you curling into his palm. He had come looking for you to end something. And instead, something else, something new and disquieting, has been born.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @leotoru @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @scorchieart

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen chevalier #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #chevalier x reader #ikemen headcanons #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #violettwrites

162 notes · View notes