#make it into a little vent-y series

[tinytownn]

road rage – pt. i

joel miller x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: on a drive home after a late night shift, a tailgating truck hits you, sending you off the road. the driver—his looks catching you by surprise—offers you a ride home.

content: enemies(?? for like two pages) to lovers??, age gap, minor car crash??, subtle flirting, a lotttt of joel using sweetheart, joel trying not to be a creep lol, temptationnn, no use of y/n, pretty slow first chapter ngl

a/n: hello!! this is my first post on this account and on tumblr in general. i'm still getting used to everything, but i've just recently gotten back into writing after a few years so i'm just excited to be doing this again!! i am planning to make this a short series with maybe 3-5 parts?? this first chapter is pretty slow with just a little flirting, but things will definitely pick up as the story progresses. (also i pictured in game joel in this fic but obv it doesn't matter)

pt. ii pt. iii pt. iv pt. v

—

The cool air blowing through the vents did little to keep you awake, so you reached down to turn up the music. The seat gently vibrated in sync with the bass, almost lulling you to sleep instead of keeping you alert.

You shook your head. Only twenty more minutes.

Trees blurred in your peripheral vision, and the oncoming headlights cut through the thick night fog, almost blinding you. Silently cursing, you squinted as the combination of bright lights and loud music gave you a headache. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but as the people-pleaser you were, you had agreed to cover a shift for a friend. Which normally wouldn’t be too bad if it weren’t the worst shift possible– 3 PM to 11 PM.

Spending the entire day under the harsh fluorescent lights of the office had been miserable, but at least you avoided rush-hour traffic. Now, the highway was deserted, the pavement stretching endlessly ahead, and you took full advantage. The speedometer ticked upward—eighty, ninety—until it settled on a bold 100 mph. You straightened your back, gripping the wheel tighter.

This was the only good part of your night.

You, the open road, and the music moving in sync. Your foot pressed the gas pedal to the beat, the car swaying slightly as you danced along to the rhythm. For a brief moment, freedom rushed through your veins.

Then, your joy was cut short.

Blinding LED headlights filled your rearview mirror.

Despite your already reckless speed, the approaching truck was closing the distance fast, its lights growing brighter by the second. With a frustrated sigh, you flipped the switch on your mirror to dim the glare, but the relief was minimal. You pressed the gas just enough to hold a steady 90 mph, hoping the driver would back off.

They didn’t.

The truck inched closer, practically kissing your bumper. Your patience thinned.

"Where do you have to be right now?" you yelled, throwing your hands in the air before slamming them back onto the wheel.

You refused to speed up any further. You were already pushing legal limits, and there was an entirely open lane to your right. Why isn’t he just going around me? A quick glance in the mirror confirmed your suspicions—a middle-aged man, his expression unreadable.

"Go around me if you're that impatient, grandpa!"

But he didn’t. He just stayed there.

Your jaw tightened as the truck loomed behind you, headlights flooding the interior of your car. And then—just when you thought his lights couldn’t get any more obnoxious—they flickered.

Your irritation flared. Is he seriously flashing his brights at me?

Normally, you avoided road rage. You knew better than to test angry strangers in metal death machines. But today had been a day.

Burning coffee spilled on your chest that morning. The dreadful realization that you had to work this godforsaken shift. The mind-numbing hours spent under soul-sucking office lights. And now, this asshole riding your bumper.

Your nerves snapped.

On the third flicker of his brights, your foot slammed on the brake.

The jolt wasn’t enough to stop the car entirely, just a warning. A signal.

But the truck didn’t back off.

Instead, his brights stayed on—permanently.

Your car felt like the inside of a lightbulb, and the overwhelming glare made it hard to see the road. Your speed dropped slightly as you struggled to focus.

You have got to be kidding me…

This time, your foot hesitated over the brake. You weren’t sure how close he really was. The last thing you needed was an accident.

But fate had other plans.

A deafening horn blast rattled through the night.

The sudden noise startled you, and before you could stop yourself, your foot slammed down—

—on the brake.

Everything happened in an instant.

Your forehead hit the steering wheel, only to be snapped backward by the force of the deploying airbag. The nylon burned against your skin, suffocating and blinding you. Your tires screamed against the pavement as the car spun out of control. Your body strained against the seatbelt as you felt the car dip into the median. A sharp pain shot through your neck as your head slammed against the headrest.

"Fuck..." you groaned.

It was a minor crash, all things considered. But your car? Completely totaled.

The front bumper was crushed into the median railing. The back was crumpled—rammed in by the truck.

The truck.

Adrenaline masked the pain as you forced yourself to move. The car was a mess—your tote bag had spilled across the seats, its contents scattered. You fumbled with your seatbelt, fingers shaking, until—

Click.

You were free.

You sprang into action, anger seizing complete control. The car door slammed behind you as you stomped toward the man’s driver-side door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have killed us!”

You didn’t care that his door was closed—he was going to hear you.

To your surprise, the man opened the door, unbuckling his seatbelt as if nothing had happened. His truck sat parked on the shoulder, barely touched. A few scratches on the front bumper. No airbags deployed.

Meanwhile, your car was wrecked.

The stark contrast sent a fresh wave of rage through you. Your fist slammed against the hood of his truck—not even a dent.

“You could have just moved over.” 

His voice was calm. Unbothered.

The indifference made you freeze.

Eyes wide, you finally looked at him—really looked at him. He was older—dark hair streaked with gray, hands calloused and worn. His lips pressed into a firm line, tired eyes set deep beneath a hardened expression. He had an air of intimidation about him, the kind that came with experience rather than effort. And despite everything—despite the wreck, the rage still simmering in your chest—he was handsome. If you weren’t so pissed off, the way his unwavering gaze dragged over you might’ve made you falter—hell, maybe even blush.

You scoffed at his southern drawl, unimpressed. His voice carried the charm of a gentleman, but his actions were anything but.

“I was there first. You should have moved over.”

He huffed a laugh. “It’s called the fast lane, sweetheart. And I was the faster one.”

You clenched your jaw. “I was going twenty over. Is that not fast enough for you, old man?”

His expression hardened. His eyes dragged over you, then flicked to your totaled car.

“What, you just get your license a month ago? A little speed too much for ya?”

“I’ve been driving for over ten years, and I’ve never met anyone as obnoxious as you.”

“Double that and get back to me, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your eye twitch. The condescension, the complete lack of remorse—it was infuriating. The minutes ticked by, the night stretching darker as the two of you bickered on the side of the empty highway.

Finally, you yanked your phone from your back pocket, the glow illuminating your face as you scrolled to contacts. Turning the screen to him, you snapped, “Put your number in here. I’m getting my insurance card.”

With a grunt, the man took the phone, holding it at an absurd distance from his face. He extended a middle finger, jabbing the screen at a snail’s pace.

You crossed your arms. “Christ, you’re old…”

With the last of your patience slipping away, you turned to your car, lips pressing into a thin line as you took in the damage—worse than you remembered. You yanked open the glove box, rummaging through the mess before pulling out a small booklet of insurance papers.

The crash, the argument, the adrenaline—it had all faded, leaving behind a dull ache stretching from your neck to the back of your head. Each step back to the truck felt heavier than the last.

Joel handed your phone back without a word. He sat in the driver’s seat now, feet propped on the step bar, door wide open. Peering past him, you took in the state of his truck—well-worn, maybe just as old as him. The glove box hung open, spilling out crumpled papers, loose receipts, and junk strewn across the seats. Dirt encrusted the floors, stains lined the fabric, and the entire cab smelled faintly of sweat and sawdust. A typical work truck.

Glancing at your phone screen, you found his name entered stiffly, all caps, on the first line only.

JOEL MILLER.

A small grin tugged at your lips as you fixed the spacing before saving the contact. You sent him a message—just your name—and watched as his phone lit up in confirmation. 

Joel cleared his throat. “D’ya got anybody to get you home?”

Your eyes met his. The frustration still simmered, but his question forced you to acknowledge what you’d been avoiding.

His gaze flicked to your wrecked car. “That thing ain’t gettin’ you nowhere, and it’s not safe for a girl like you to be out here this late.”

You huffed. “A girl like me?”

You knew what he meant. You had already run through the worst-case scenarios in your head—alone, stranded, barely past midnight. Every woman’s worst nightmare.

But you weren’t about to let him have the satisfaction of thinking he was doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” Joel said, a playful tone lacing his words, “ones that like to start problems.”

You glanced past him into the truck once again—exactly the kind of scene you were warned to avoid. Cluttered, worn, the kind of place that set off alarms in the back of your mind. But your options were limited—this or the highway.

When you looked back at his face, the sharp edge of his anger had dulled. He no longer looked like the man who had run you off the road, but someone weighed down by exhaustion, just trying to get home—same as you. The toll of a long workweek clung to you both.

He exhaled sharply. “You got a ride or not?”

Your hesitation must’ve been obvious because he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Look,” he muttered, flipping the screen toward you.

A blonde girl beamed back, clutching a trophy and soccer ball. 

Joel’s expression softened, a quiet, tired smile pulling at his lips.

“I got a daughter,” he said, voice quieter now. “I wouldn’t want her out here like this.”

Something in your chest eased. This was the first time you had seen him smile all night.

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Yeah- uh no, I don’t have a ride.”

Joel motioned toward your car. “I’ll clear a spot. Grab your stuff.”

With a grateful nod, you turned back to the wreck. You reached inside, sifting through the mess until you found the essentials—wallet, keys, and headphones. Tossing them into your bag, you made your way back to the truck.

Joel stood by the open passenger door, waiting.

You climbed in with a small nod of thanks. The cool air inside was a relief from the heavy night air. The seat hugged your body, and you wasted no time clicking the seatbelt into place—already well aware of Joel’s driving.

The truck dipped under his weight as he dropped into the driver’s seat, door slamming shut behind him.

“Where am I headed, kiddo?”

The engine rumbled to life, country music blasting through the speakers. Joel grimaced, quickly turning the volume down.

“Uh—just outside downtown, by the school- the highschool. Not the college. Just take exit fourteen and it’s pretty much straight until the river.”

Joel gave a short nod, seemingly satisfied with your poor, over-explained directions.

Silence settled between you, the earlier hostility replaced by something quieter. The shift was jarring. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the realization that this wreck wasn’t about reckless driving—it was about two overworked, pissed-off people taking their frustrations out on the wrong things.

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who let emotions get the best of him—he couldn’t afford to be. Not as a father. Most days, life’s inconveniences were just that. As long as Sarah was happy, everything else was just noise.

But today had pushed him too far.

Three months of work—scrapped in a single meeting. No discussion. No warning.  The new plans were a mess, the compromises were nonexistent, and the client was an insufferable pain in the ass. Joel had spent the entire day fighting for compromises that never came, his patience thinning with every rejection. Agreeing on the original plans had been difficult enough, and now this high-paying client was proving to be more trouble than he was worth.

The rest of Joel’s day was spent reviewing these so-called new plans, searching for compromises that might salvage at least some of the work already completed. But every suggestion he made was quickly rejected. The client wanted things done his way—no exceptions.

By the end of the day, frustration had Joel gripping the arms of his chair, clinging to the hope that at least one compromise might be accepted. But it wasn’t until eight o’clock—long past the time he should have been home—that the final rejection came. Even then, he persevered, spending the next few hours adjusting measurements and sketching out a rough plan to present the following morning. He just wanted this project to be over.

By the time he eventually left the office, his patience was gone.

The open road was supposed to be his escape. Just him, his truck, and the empty highway.

Then you got in his way.

He could’ve merged. Could’ve passed you and been done with it.

But the sight of your car in his lane, unaware, unbothered—it was the final straw.

He’d done this a hundred times before.

A little bumper-to-bumper game.

A little misplaced frustration.

He never meant for it to go this far.

But here you were, in his passenger seat. And your crumpled car was proof of just how wrong the night had gone.

And now, he had to get you home.

The low rumble of the engine and the faint hum of country music filled the quiet space between you. Joel drove at a far more reasonable pace now, nothing like the reckless tailgating from earlier. The road stretched ahead, lined by dense forest on either side, the scenery offering a welcome distraction as you gazed out the window.

"I'm sorry about your car."

The sudden break in silence made you jolt slightly in your seat. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first.

Sure, he was giving you a ride home, but that didn’t erase the mess he’d made of your night—or your car. You still had to deal with insurance, miss work, and somehow navigate the nightmare that was the current car market. The frustration bubbled up again, only to be met with the nagging reminder that your own childish stunt had played a part in this too.

The thought sent heat creeping up your neck. You huffed, crossing your arms. "Deserved. Partially– I think you gave me fucking whiplash."

His eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of compassion breaking through his stoic exterior.

As his gaze fell on the lock screen of his beloved daughter, guilt settled deep in his chest. If she had come home telling him a man had run her off the road—wrecking her car in the process—he knew the rage he would feel. He had been raised to be a gentleman, to respect women, and fatherhood had only reinforced those values. Your original outburst had been justified; after all, he had watched you crawl from the wreckage of your car, shaken but alive. Yet, his pride had held firm.

Now, faced with your unexpected kindness despite his wrongdoing, the weight of his indifference bore down even harder.

“My bones aren’t as brittle as yours, old man.” A smile spread across your face, the relief of a genuine conversation lifting the tension that had been weighing on you all day. “I think I’ll live.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Speaking of,” you added, a playful gleam in your eyes, “what’s an old guy like you doing out so late?”

Your attempt at making small talk and a joke fell flat as Joel’s expression soured. The events of his shift replayed in his mind, only adding to the pit of worry in his stomach.

“Work,” he said simply.

“Me too,” you sighed. “It never gets better, does it?”

“Don’t think so.”

The conversation ended there, the soft melody of a country song filling the car as you bobbed your head to the beat. The thought of the day behind you brought a wave of exhaustion to both of you, the prospect of how you were going to get home creeping back into your mind.

You could take the bus?

Maybe call up a coworker or a friend?

Neither option was particularly appealing. With a sigh, you turned your attention back to the man next to you. In the short half hour you’d known him, your initial thoughts had changed drastically from his less-than-ideal first impression.

While the memory of your wrecked car still lingered, so did the reminder of your own fault in this situation. It was something best left to the insurance companies to handle, the previous anger dissipated.  The coming weeks of ridesharing and public transportation wouldn’t be ideal, but at least you had a ride home tonight.

Your eyes lingered on the graying man next to you. His eyes were fixed on the road, glancing occasionally at his speedometer. The tension in his jaw had faded, his face more relaxed, weighed down by the exhaustion that was evident in both of you. His hair was messy, and you briefly recalled him running a hand through it when he first exited the truck—probably a nervous habit that had turned into a kind of permanent bedhead.

Despite his somewhat rough exterior—soiled, calloused hands, mud-streaked clothes, weathered skin adorned with scars and sun-kissed freckles from years of hard labor—staring at him for too long made a warmth spread to your cheeks.

The attempt to distract yourself from your car had worked a little too well.

You quickly pulled your gaze away from his face—hopefully before he noticed—and turned your attention elsewhere. His short-sleeve, button-up work shirt clung to his arms, biceps flexing as they stretched the fabric. His hands, strong and capable, gripped the wheel with ease, barely needing to look at it as his focus remained ahead. You watched as he took the exit, smoothly navigating the almost circular turn, his gaze not shifting from the road. Without turning his head, he effortlessly merged, the awareness of his surroundings second nature—an instinct gained over decades behind the wheel.

“Fairview or Jackson?” Joel’s voice cut through your thoughts.

Heat crept up your face as you whipped your head to the side, eyes landing on the familiar split in the road. “Fairview—for another eight miles.”

You knew exhaustion was setting in from the way your mind raced. Your unblinking stare drifted back to Joel, taking in details that anger had blurred before. Maybe it was the proximity, the sleep deprivation, the whirlwind of emotions—or all of the above—that sent warmth trailing lower. You shifted uncomfortably, legs brushing against each other.

Anything to distract yourself.

“What do you do for work?” you blurted, wincing at how dumb you sounded.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure you’re not concussed, kid? Might need to take you to the hospital.”

You groaned, slouching into the seat. “Just trying to make conversation…”

His amusement lingered as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Been in construction pretty much my whole life. Started right after high school. Had other plans, but…” He exhaled through his nose. “Had Sarah young, so I did what I had to. Hard work, but I’d do anything to provide for my girl.”

Your gaze flicked to his hands, catching the glint of a passing streetlamp. No ring. No tan line.

You shook your head. Why did that even matter?

This man had run you off the road. He was just driving you home, and after tonight, you’d never see him again. No reason to get caught up in things that didn’t concern you.

“What about you?” Joel asked. “What do you do for work?”

You blinked, surprised he’d bothered to ask. His eyes left the road for the first time that night, meeting yours expectantly.

“I work at a bank,” you scoffed. “Exciting, I know. Not a teller, just… office stuff. Behind-the-scenes.”

Joel smirked. “Can’t relate. I’m shit at math.”

The warmth in his voice sent your brain short-circuiting for a moment. His smile—subtle but real—stood out in the dim glow of the dashboard. The soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the creased lines on his forehead—despite the exhaustion in his face, he looked…warm.

You cleared your throat. “I am too.” You laughed. “I’m honestly shocked I haven’t tanked the place yet. Not that I’ll have much time to—I’ll probably get fired soon.”

Joel chuckled. “Talking like that, I can see why.”

You shot him a playful glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually good at my job.”

“You sure?” His eyes flicked to you, amused.

You nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I just don’t see my boss being too happy about me missing a few days until I can find a ride to work.”

Something shifted in Joel’s expression. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes glazing over as he turned his attention back to the road.

He was thinking.

Then, simply—

“I can take you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” His grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “Unless you really wanna get fired..”

The initial temptation almost had you saying yes before your brain could fully process the offer. It was a kind gesture, but the thought of inconveniencing him—forcing him to carpool you to work every day—made you pause.

Then your eyes met his.

You should’ve known better. Should’ve recognized this for what it was—just a man doing the right thing, easing whatever moral strain the accident had put on him. But his stare held you captive, and for a moment, logic blurred.

Normally, you’d be panicking. Snapping at whoever was behind the wheel to keep their eyes on the road. But with Joel, you didn’t. Confidence radiated from him—not in a cocky or arrogant way, but the kind that came from experience, from years of knowing exactly what he was doing.

There was something in his gaze—something that mirrored what you felt deep in your stomach. A flicker of hesitation, a reluctance to let the night end. A reason to keep seeing each other.

He wanted to see you again too.

No. That was delusional.

The combination of exhaustion and your embarrassing need to get laid had clearly fried your brain. You were sitting here, crushing on a man at least twenty years your senior—someone’s father for god’s sake.

But you did need a ride to work.

You exhaled, glancing up at the moon before muttering, “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to be a burden. I know it’s hard for someone your age to remember so many things.” The quip slipped out before you could stop yourself, a flimsy attempt to break the tension—at least, the tension you felt.

Joel turned slightly, failing to hide his grin. “Not more than I’ve been.” Then, after a beat, “Unless you keep it up with the jokes. Might find yourself in the same place as your car.” He paused. “Sweetheart.”

Your heart stuttered.

The nickname had driven you crazy earlier in the night—condescending, demeaning. But now?

Now it had you looking away, pressing your legs together in a weak attempt to ignore the heat spreading through you.

And Joel paused.

Why did he pause?

He’d said it so easily before, like it meant nothing. But now, there was something different in the way it left his mouth—like he almost caught it before it slipped out.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat. “The jokes come free with the ‘totaling my car’ deal.”

“Lucky me.” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

You hesitated for a second, then narrowed your eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

Joel raised a brow. “What?”

“I don’t need a pity ride.”

His lips parted slightly before he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Whatever ran through his mind, he wasn’t letting it slip.

He smirked, settling instead for, “Maybe I just wanna see if you’re always this annoying.” 

Your breath caught. The way his voice dipped—the way his eyes flicked to your face, searching for the smallest twitch of a smile—it made something coil tight in your stomach.

You didn’t fight the grin tugging at your lips.

“Or,” Joel continued, smirking, “maybe I’m not so convinced you don’t got that concussion.”

“Oh, hush.” You rolled your eyes, giving his arm a playful shove. 

The teasing had shifted, the edge of frustration softening into something lighter. You didn’t know where this boldness was coming from—flirting with a stranger like this—but he wasn’t stopping you. If anything…was he returning it?

You bit your lip, gaze flicking anywhere but him. Then, before you could think better of it— “I get run off the road by a handsome stranger and you expect me to play it cool?” 

Joel cleared his throat—definitely caught off guard.  

“That right?” 

His voice—low, steady, unreadable—sent a ripple of uncertainty through you. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of how small the space between you felt. Had you misread the moment? 

The air thickened. His gaze held steady, the weight of it pressing into you, testing you. 

You swallowed. Nodded. 

A beat passed. Then another. 

And finally, a smirk. “Guess you’ve made up your mind then.” 

Joel let the words settle before tilting his head, eyes still locked on you. “This handsome stranger gets to drive you to work ‘til you get a new car.” He threw your words back at you, mocking—but not unkind. You exhaled a laugh, the tension giving way to something else entirely.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, so now you’re deciding for me?”

He shook his head slightly. “Never said that.” He paused. “You just don't sound too opposed to the idea. Choice is all yours, honey.”

His voice had deepened just slightly at the last word, slow and deliberate.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

“And if I say no?” You challenged.

Joel chuckled lowly, sending a shiver up your spine. “You said it yourself—you’d be out of a job. And my company.”

You scoffed. “Can’t tell which one I’d be more grateful to miss out on.”

He smirked. “Better for me, sweetheart. You’re too much of a distraction anyway.”

Your breath hitched.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, the tension thick in the space between you. His gaze flicked to you again, raking you up and down in a way that made your skin prickle with heat.

The truck jolted as he slowed, bringing the conversation to a halt. The school’s looming brick silhouette glowing under the buzzing street lamps, moths greedily swarming the light. The road, littered with potholes, sent a rough shudder through the truck as the tires fought for traction.

“Take this right,” you murmured. Joel turned down the music, his focus shifting, and you swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“It’s the third one on the left.”

He pulled into your driveway, cutting the headlights as the truck settled into park. The night air was thick and quiet, the world outside still.

Neither of you moved.

The truck rolled back slightly, settling into the incline, and for the first time all night, there was no tension, no urgency—just the unspoken weight of exhaustion pressing into the silence between you.

And still, neither of you seemed in a rush to break it.

You barely noticed the way Joel shifted in his seat, full of anticipation. His hands flexed around the wheel, the tension in his knuckles mirroring the unspoken energy hanging between you. Your mind raced through the events of the night, trying to make sense of how this even began—how a collision turned into something so unexpectedly charged.

Not that you were complaining.

You had at least a week of one-on-one time with Joel and that realization sent your heart stuttering against your ribs. This ride had already escalated in ways you hadn’t predicted, and now your thoughts wandered, imagining the possibilities of the next.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe you weren’t.

Shaking yourself from the haze, you reached for the door handle. “I should get going.” The lump in your throat made it harder to get the words out, especially with the way Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, steady and unreadable.

You clutched your bag to your side, gripping it like an anchor, grounding yourself in the reality that—somehow—your subtle advances had gone far more successfully than you expected.

The overhead light flooded the car as the door clicked open, the night air brushing against your skin. Your fingers curled around the handle, your balance slightly off-kilter from the nerves running through your veins.

You barely had time to register the movement before warmth encased your wrist.

Joel’s hand.

Firm. Steady. Completely engulfing yours.

Your breath hitched.

“Already forgot about our deal?”

His voice was smooth, tinged with amusement.

Before you could process it, he gave a gentle tug, pulling you back into the seat just enough that your face was level with his again. You kept the door ajar, caught between the instinct to flee and the undeniable pull of his presence.

His eyes searched yours, taking in any flicker of hesitation, any nervous shift of your body. His fingers, still wrapped around your arm, traced the goosebumps rising beneath his touch.

He smirked at his effect on you.

But the amusement didn’t erase the conflict in his mind.

You had just met, and the circumstances weren’t exactly the most flattering on his part. He had hit your car. He–an older man–had insisted on driving you. And now, here you were—breathless, your full attention on him, hanging onto his every word.

It was dangerous.

Tempting.

And guilt-inducing.

He didn’t let go.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening as he weighed the situation. Maybe this was just harmless flirting on your end. Maybe his immediate attraction to you had made him think otherwise. Maybe it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a late-night illusion spun by exhaustion and circumstance.

Still, he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Not yet.

His voice came quieter this time, deliberate. “What time do you have work tomorrow?”

“Joel—”

“It’s not up for discussion, sweetheart.” His grip didn’t tighten, but the firmness in his voice left no room for argument. “What time?”

You sighed, knowing there was no use fighting him on this. “Eight.”

Joel clicked his tongue, considering. “I’ll be here at seven-thirty.”

You blinked. “Joel, don’t you have work too?” A bubbling anxiety began to brew endless questions in your mind. “How are you gonna-”

“Don’t worry about it. Just be outside.”

You gave him one last look, searching for any hesitation, any sign that this was some kind of moral obligation rather than something he actually wanted to do. But his gaze was unwavering, he seemed absolute.

Finally, you relented with a soft sigh. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. His lips parted slightly as if he had something else to say—but instead, he just gave a slow nod.

“I’ll be here.”

The truck creaked as you lifted yourself from the seat, your shoes landing against the driveway with a soft thud. You adjusted your bag against your chest, the cool night air nipping at your skin.

Joel watched you, his hands still gripping the wheel, his knuckles still tight, as if holding himself back from saying more.

You hesitated, slowing your steps as you departed.

Say something. Anything. Don’t make this weird.

Before you could, his window rolled down. His tired, gruff voice cut through the silence.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

You whipped around, startled by the sudden shift in demeanor. He had spent the whole night teasing you—flustering you—but now, the words were softer. Almost… affectionate.

Your lips curled into a grin. “Don’t hit any more cars, old man!”

His chuckle followed you as you disappeared inside.

—

[joeliz99]

"You, Always." - Danny Ramirez

Warnings: Slowburn, RPF Fic, Multi-part series

Part One

Time to start over.

Danny and (Y/N) hadn’t seen each other in almost three years—since the day he graduated from college.

Honestly, they’d started growing apart even before that. But it all escalated after a conversation they had right after the graduation ceremony. That was the last time they spoke, and after that, the silence settled in—a strange, unnatural distance, only broken by occasional mentions of each other’s names through mutual friends.

They both focused on themselves. For some time, it felt like a lot was left unsaid. But, there was not much any of them could do when pride and hurt weighted more than anything else. It was over, and after some time, they accepted the idea and moved on. For good.

At least that's what Danny thought, until he learned that he was going to see her again.

Amelia and Yason, still close friends to both of them, were getting married. And of course, that was the perfect reason to reunite the whole friend group. Amelia had always been the glue in their circle, and she was determined to bring everyone back together—even if it meant flying people in from different states and countries to celebrate.

She was on the phone with Danny, making sure he’d confirmed his attendance when she casually mentioned something that caught him off guard.

"So, you're for sure coming, right?" Amelia asked, her voice relaxed but unmistakably friendly, the conversation now going on for good a while.

"Would I lie to you?" Danny grinned, though she couldn't see it. "I'll be there."

"Okay, perfect. So… should I add a plus one to your RSVP or��?"

"No," Danny replied, a breath of laughter escaping him while finishing up the last lap of his afternoon run. "Just me. No plus one."

Amelia’s voice shifted slightly, more upbeat. "Awesome. I’m working on a little hangout before the wedding. Trying to coordinate everyone's schedules. If I'm lucky, I can get the bridesmaids to come a couple of days earlier. (Y/N) and Reiny are supposed to stay with me for a couple of days, but I’m not sure about the others.”

“(Y/N)?” Danny asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice as his jog slowed.

“Yeah, (Y/N). She's one of my bridesmaids...” Amelia’s response carried a tone that suggested it should’ve been obvious.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" she teased.

"No… No, it’s just… it’s been a while since I’ve seen her. How’s she doing, anyway?"

The conversation shifted. Amelia wasn’t one to keep things to herself, but she also felt it wasn't the right thing to vent about (Y/N)'s life without her knowing. So, instead, she made sure to make it clear that her friend had being doing well, thought her life had changed in the years since. And at last, she ended up with a single expression.

" I think you two have some catching up to do. Just... Try not to waist it."

Unlike Danny, (Y/N) hadn’t known he would be at the wedding. She couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised when she found out—he had been busy with his acting career, blowing up in ways that kept him constantly moving. She figured he’d be wrapped up in projects and rehearsals, so his presence at the wedding seemed unexpected but not completely shocking.

Two days before the wedding, the closest friends and loved ones of the bride and groom met at a restaurant in SoHo. The rooftop section was packed with people, surrounded by familiar faces and the kind of easy camaraderie they tend to have. The music played, laughter floated through the air, and the evening felt just as alive as it ever had.

Danny showed up an hour late, but that didn’t stop Yason from spotting him immediately. He walked over, pulling Danny into a warm hug like nothing had changed.

As the group noticed Danny entering, the attention shifted toward him—especially from those who had been closest to him back in the day. (Y/N)’s gaze lingered a little too long as he moved through the crowd. Her heart skipped when their eyes met, and she quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the menu at the bar. The nerves started to bubble up.

But Danny, feeling that same familiar pull, walked toward her, moving through the crowd with a calm confidence that made (Y/N)'s heart race again.

"Hey." A light tap on her arm brought her back to the present. She looked up to see him standing there, smiling like no time had passed.

"Danny, hi," she greeted, trying to sound casual, though her voice betrayed her nerves.

"Been a while, huh?" Danny’s voice was light, but there was something tentative beneath it. He sat next to her, glancing around at the group before his focus shifted back to her. "How’s everything? How’s the family doing?"

The conversation flowed easier than (Y/N) expected, like they’d never been apart. It felt natural, comfortable, yet full of the kind of unspoken tension only old friends—or maybe something more—could share. That last conversation they had, the one that shifted things between them, lingered in the air, but neither of them was ready to address it. They chose to ignore it, for now.

Danny noticed how (Y/N) had changed. She was still the same person, but there was something different now—something that made him pause before speaking. He didn’t want to sound like he was only noticing how much she'd grown, but it was hard to ignore.

"This one’s on me," Danny said, trying to keep things light after they both ordered another round of drinks.

"No, really, you don’t have to," (Y/N) protested.

"I know." Danny grinned, but his gaze flickered to hers before darting away. "So, you graduated! What’s next for you?"

"Well..." She took a sip of her drink, rolling her eyes with a laugh. "Good question. I moved to Miami. Been trying to get my name out there as a songwriter. You know how it is—saturated market, fewer opportunities. Just trying to stand out."

"I get it," Danny nodded. "With acting, it’s the same. Gotta stay consistent, keep pushing through… But hey, Miami? That’s my hometown!"

"I know," (Y/N) replied, a knowing smile pulling at her lips.

Danny leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just a bit, as though making the conversation more private. "Well, listen… I’m not living there right now because of projects, but if you need—"

Before he could finish, Amelia appeared out of nowhere, slinging her arm around both of them. "Sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to order food. You guys can keep talking after that."

The flow of the night continued, and soon enough, (Y/N) and Danny were seated at opposite ends of the table.

Amelia leaned over to (Y/N) once they were settled. “Saw you two talking,” she said, an amused look on her face. “How’d it go?”

“It was good,” (Y/N) said quietly, more subdued than she expected. “I just... wasn’t expecting him to be here. You didn’t mention it.”

"I know," Amelia replied with a small, knowing smile. "I didn’t want to make it weird. It’s been a while, but I think you both deserve a second chance."

"A second chance for what?" (Y/N) raised an eyebrow, but there was a slight churn in her stomach at Amelia’s words.

"Chill," Amelia said, her smile soft and teasing. "What I mean is, there’s no need to act like strangers. You two were close—really close. Don’t let time or any other thing ruin that."

“We’re fine,” (Y/N) said quickly, her gaze avoiding Amelia’s. Her stomach twisted again, but she didn’t want to admit that part of her was unsettled by the idea of facing Danny again.

"Exactly," Amelia agreed, her voice gentle. "Just relax and enjoy tonight. That’s why we’re here."

The rest of the night passed in a blur—laughter, more drinks, and conversations that ended drifting from one hangout spot to the next one. By the time the energy started to fade, only six of them—the core group—remained, still hanging out under the soft glow of the city lights. Everyone was tired, and instead of catching a ride, they walked back to the hotel after realizing it was past 2 am.

Amelia, who'd been a bit tipsy for most of the night, leaned on (Y/N), who was trying to keep it together but clearly feeling the weight of the exhaustion, too.

“I swear we were almost there 20 minutes ago. How much farther is it?!”

Reiny, already annoyed, replied, “You’ve been saying that for the past five blocks, Amelia. I can’t believe we actually listened to the drunkest person in the group. I just want to be in bed by this point.”

"Bro, we used to pull all-nighters and still go out for breakfast. This is a warm-up. We’re 25, not 60," René interrupted, not missing a beat of the conversation.

" Speak for yourself. I was an old lady at heart back then, and I still am now." (Y/N) replied after an instant, sensing how Amelia giggled and leaned on her more heavily than necessary, making her stumble a little.

“Baby, why don’t we leave (Y/N) alone? Come lean on me,” Yason said, picking up the pace a little before both girls ended up on the floor.

“But she's fi—” Amelia started to complain.

“No, actually?” (Y/N) cut her off. “You go do that. My feet are killing me, Ame. I’ve been wearing heels since 3 pm, and I can barely feel them by now.” (Y/N) practically shoved Amelia toward Yason, who was right next to her.

As (Y/N) shifted her weight, trying to keep steady, Danny picked up the pace to walk beside her, glancing at her shoes before his gaze met her face.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then casually stopped forcing the guys to do so too and pulled off his sneakers to hand them over to her. "Here, these’ll probably be more comfortable," he said, his tone completely unbothered, almost as if it were no big deal.

(Y/N) looked down at the sneakers, slightly taken aback but not wanting to make it awkward. "What? I— No. That’s kind of... I don't know. You don't have to."

"So, you’d rather get blisters than take up my offer? It’s only like 10 minutes more before we get to the hotel."

"You know how dirty the streets of NY are, dude?" (Y/N) raised an eyebrow, still not believing what he was doing.

"I have socks on. You’re not going to last two more minutes more in those. C’mon, just take them. Don't overthink it."

Her hesitation lasted a moment longer before she gave in, still unsure of what in the world was happening right there. "Alright, fine. Thanks."

Danny didn’t make a big deal about it, just slipping his hands into his pockets as she changed shoes for all of them to continue their way. The guys, still trailing behind, and having noticed the exchange, passed a few quiet chuckles between them.

Yason muttered low enough for only the guys to hear, his grin broadening. "Oh man, I missed this."

René chuckled under his breath, looking sideways at Danny. "Classic move, man. Taking one for the team, huh?"

Danny shot them a look, rolling his eyes with a small smile on his face, but didn’t say a word as they kept walking.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) pushed herself to go back to Reiny's side, grateful for the offer but still feeling the oddness of the situation. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she didn't know how to act around him, and for the mean time, it was just something she had to live with.

As the group finally took the last turn to get to the hotel, the faint sound of laughter and quiet chatter filled the air. The night felt light again, the easy rhythm of old friendships slowly falling back into place.

Second part now available here!

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny's shots to read. You're welcome!!!!

[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 4

Pairing: Lance x Reader, Grid x Reader

Summary: no spoilers 😈

A/n: I’m not ready to let them go, so send in book club requests so we can keep the club going 🥲

requests are open 🗣��� masterlist series masterlist

—————————

“Nico, when did you ask your wife to marry you?” you dangle upside down on his couch, just chilling and asking for life advice, similar to how the book club started.

“When I knew the time is right and she was the one. Are you second guessing Lance?” he asks, sitting in a chair beside you. You are both in your racing suits, ready for the upcoming race.

“Not necessarily, it’s just that we’ve been together for so long, and god I really love him. You could ask me to marry you right now and I’d say no, that’s how down bad I am,”

“He’s your pookie,” Nico says, smiling proudly at using slang.

“Hell yeah,” you high five him. “I know he wants to marry me, I just wish he’d propose,” you groan.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Never, ever, ask a girl that. And the answer is no. I just- I don’t want to rush him. I know Lancelot, and he’s gonna want to make it perfect, so I don’t want to make him feel rushed,” you explain and Nico nods.

“Well then, in an alternate universe, I have already asked you to marry me,” Nico says, trying to comfort you.

It’s true, on Earth 2, you and Nico are closer in age and married.

“God, I can only hope,” you grin at the Haas driver, moving to sit normally.

“Don’t worry about it, I see the way he looks at you, it’s only a matter of time,” Nico reassures you.

“Thank you. You really are one of my closest friends. Our little club is my family,” you tell Nico who pulls you into a hug.

“We always will be. Competitors on the track, family off the track,” Nico says as Kevin walks in.

“Y/n, you okay?” Kevin asks, sitting on the other side of you.

“I’m okay, just a little in my bag, probably about to start my period or something,” you wave Kevin off.

“Okay, well you are basically our grid daughter so if there is anything bothering you, let me know,” he gives you a small hug.

“Guys, stop, you are gonna make me cry for real,” you tell them, a little laughter in your voice.

“Alright, go crush this race,” Nico says, walking you out of Haas. You head back to your garage, feeling a lot better than you did before.

Little did you know, was you were venting to Nico, Lance was panicking in front of Fernando, Lewis, and Valtteri.

“What if she says no? Oh my god, she will finally admit that she actually despises me and barely tolerates me,” Lance paces.

“Mate. I don’t know if you noticed, but she looks at you like you hung the moon and the starts. You look at her like she is the thing that makes you live and breathe. You will be ok,” Lewis quotes the song he wrote based on the book you selected.

“Really?” Lance stops his pacing, his eyes shining happily.

“Yes, you two are insanely love sick, it is cute,” Fernando says, amused at the Canadian.

“Just ask her when she wins, she will be too excited to say no,” Valtteri says, Lewis and Fernando gasp, as well as Lance.

“That’s not nearly romantic enough,” Lance groans.

“We arranged for a romantic track walk and picnic at turn two, here is a book with a hole in the pages. When she opens it, eso,” Fernando says, confirming what they had been working on.

“It took a little convincing the FIA, but we did it,” Lewis says. Lance visibly relaxes, a lot of tension releasing.

“How can I repay you for this?” Lance asks, a little overwhelmed, but very grateful for their help.

“Take care of our grid daughter, make sure she is happy for the rest of her life,” Valtteri says simply.

“Hey guys, sorry we are late,” Daniel walks in with Checo.

“What did we miss?” Checo asks, sensing the odd atmosphere.

“Just giving Lance permission to marry our grid daughter,” Lewis tells them.

“Did you ask Kimi?” Daniel asks, the whole grid knows how close the two have gotten. You don’t have a great relationship with your dad, similar to Max, so Kimi has easily filled that role.

“He was the first person I asked, then I asked Kevin and Nico since she is really close with them,” Lance nods, knowing you are probably with them.

“We will be out there taking pictures, don’t worry,” Valtteri reassures the young Aston Martin driver.

“Amigos, it is race time,” Checo says, leading everyone out to the track. Lance spots you with Logan.

“Yeah, you can totally join, I’ll give my copy of this weeks book since I finished it. Just don’t tell the other non-club drivers,” you tell the American. You have gotten closer with him, seeing how excluded he is from some other groups in the Paddock.

“I’ll see you later, thanks for being a good friend,” Logan says, squeezing your shoulder gently.

“Hey, Lancie,” you grin, pressing a small kiss to his lips.

“Hello, love. Are you excited for our date after the race?” Lance asks, his hand resting on your waist, his warmth blocked by your fireproofs. You chat until you reach your respective destinations.

“Good luck, I’ll see you when I overtake you,” you tell him, and he returns your sentiments with a laugh.

You end up placing P4 after pushing the car harder than you ever had before, so you were extremely pleased. After a shower, media responsibilities, and debriefs, you change into a sundress and fix your hair. Lance meets you outside the motorhome, looking handsome in a button up and dress pants.

“You look so hot,” you tell him, jaw dropped a little. 10/10 girls would agree that the only thing hotter than a guy with a baby or small animal, is a guy dressed up in a well fitting suit.

“You look cuter,” he kisses you sweetly, grabbing your hand as he leads you through the paddock to the track. He told you about the track walk after weighing in. The grid helped him set up the date spot while you got ready. Your breath is taken away a bit when you approach turn two. There are fairy lights hanging from the fence and a blanket with a picnic basket on the track.

“Lance, this is incredible. How did you set it up?” you ask him in awe. The clear night sky lets stars shine bright above you.

“The grid helped, especially Fernando, he’s a big romantic and really liked the idea,” Lance admitted shyly.

“It’s perfect,” you take his hand to assist you in sitting down. Lance sits beside you, offering you a snack from the picnic basket. Conversation flows easily between you, talking about anything and everything except for racing, the one topic always off limits on date nights. Lance reaches into the basket and pulls out a book.

“I got you a little something,” Lance says, pushing down his nerves. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the grid popping out of their hiding spots in the grass area.

“I do love my books,” you smile, taking the book from him. As you usually do, you flip through the first few pages, pausing when you see a ring taped to the third page.

“I had a big speech planned, but will you let me make you happy for the rest of your life and make me happy the rest of mine by marrying me?” Lance asks and you can only nod as tears start flowing. You launch yourself into his arms, holding him close.

“I love you so much,” you whisper and he holds you tighter.

“I love you more,” he says. You pull away slightly and kiss him. Lance carefully removes the ring from the book and puts it on your hand. It’s simple yet stunning, absolutely perfect for you. You both look at the grid when they start cheering and hollering.

There is a social media intern for Formula One somewhere in the group who captured the whole thing on video, Fernando paid her under the table for it and he hid another camera and microphone on the wall of the track. He knew the guys would only remember to get pictures.

You take your time thanking each driver and hugging them, you really tear up when you see Kimi there.

“Congratulations, you raced so well today, I am very happy for you,” Kimi actually hugs you, if there wasn’t photo proof from Lando and Daniel, who’s jpg accounts broke the news of the engagement (you wouldn’t want it any other way), people wouldn’t believe it.

“Thank you. Wait, you said you weren’t going to be here for the race!” you gasp, looking at him a little betrayed.

“If you knew I was here, you would insist on getting dinner with me instead of going on a date,” Kimi shrugs, a small knowing smile on his face. Not only is he basically your dad now, he has been mentoring you a few times a week, even hopping in the sim once in a while.

“You’re right. I’m just glad you approve,” you smile as Lance wraps an arm around your waist.

“He was the first person I asked,” Lance kisses the side of your head.

“Wait, I thought we were the first,” Kevin says, looking at Nico.

“As long as she’s happy, I’ll get over it,” Nico jokingly mourns his loss of you.

“The ring is gorgeous,” George says, inspecting it. He is the babygirl of the group.

“Alright guys, let’s leave the happy couple alone,” Logan says, Lewis helping him herd everyone away from you and Lance.

“This may have been the most perfect day ever,” you sigh happily.

“Only because I am with the perfect girl,” Lance grins at you, holding you close as a blush covers your face.

“Shut up,” you giggle, pulling him down onto the blanket with you. He holds you in his arms for a few minutes before you yawn.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” Lance chuckles, helping you stand up. He is grateful that his assistant is taking care of the cleanup and your assistant packed up your drivers room for you.

“Mhmm, I need cuddles ASAP,” you yawn again, thankful for everything the day has brought you and that the hotel is close by. When you get back, it doesn’t take too long for you to crash.

“How did I get so lucky?” Lance whispers, pulling you close to him. Your steady breathing lulls him to sleep.

[ginervacade]

Honeybee and Ladybug

Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Summary: The Grid Kids wonder why Seb and Reader decorate with Bees and Ladybugs. The answer? Jenson Button and Y/N is a sap. Seb just loves his wife.

Warnings: none that I can think of? There’s a tiny, skippable period joke ( as is customary to this blog)

Author’s Note: My first attempt at RPF! ( it took forever because I was being a chicken about it lol.) I was wanting to use “little ladybug” as a pet name in some sort of writing and the Jenson Button girlie in me said “ I have an idea!”

SECOND, MORE IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic is heavily inspired by the lovely @pucksandpower and her ADORABLE Grid Kids series. ( particularly Gentlemen: A Short View Back To The Past) I did change the reader’s past occupation Go read her series, it is the cutest thing ever and you will giggle the whole way through!

Onward to the fic!

*****

“ Mom?” Lance said as Y/N sat back down on the couch, watching as she pulled the little pillow into her lap and held it close.

“ What’s up babydoll?” She replied, smiling as he leaned in toward her from his spot in the floor. There were plenty of chairs, she noticed again as she ran her fingers through his hair, yet he always seemed to prefer the floor. She suspected it had to do with being able to stretch out and move around, as Georgie and Lando sometimes did the same.

“ This is not me saying I don���t like it, it’s very cute,” Lance began and Max chuckled, mumbling something along the lines of “This should be interesting.”

“ What’s with the insects theme in your decorating?” As if to prove his point he gestured to the little pillow she held, which was embroidered with a little bumble bee and a lady bug.

Now that the rest of the boys thought about it, they were sort of everywhere. Canisters in the kitchen for Seb’s coffee and Y/Ns tea were a honey bee and ladybug respectively. There were nature photographs of the two on the bathroom walls. Charles remembered the guest room being all done up in bees and ladybugs too. Y/N had a vent clip in her car that was a sparkly ladybug. The key hanger by the door was a pair of flowers and she and Seb had matching key chains of the two insects that slotted into place to light on the flowers. Her favorite blanket, old and worn out by now, the one she wrapped around them all whenever they were feeling overwhelmed, had ladybugs on it too.

“It’s not just insects though Lance,” Mick pointed out.

“ It’s always bees and ladybugs,” said Lando, then the realization seemed to dawn in his eyes, “ Wait, do they represent you and Seb?”

“ Yep,” she replied, smiling fondly at her husband.

“ Aaaw, that’s cute!” George cooed.

“ I get the bees for Seb, everyone does that, but why are you a ladybug?” Charles piped up.

“ Haven’t you guys ever heard Jenson call her “ his little ladybug”?” Max asked, making air quotes around the phrase and mimicking the retiree’s voice.

There was a chorus of laughter at that.

“ You boys up for a story?”

****

“ Why do you always wear dresses to media days?” Jenson asked, looking her up and down in confusion. She was in a short dress, tight at the top and flowy at the skirt, and a simple pair of black heels. Her hair was back, the ends curled and adorned with a large blue bow that matched the dress. She had on pink lipstick. Every media day she showed up looking like this put together little lady, it kind of drove him insane.

“ I just like them. I like feeling pretty.” She replied simply, shrugging her shoulders.

“ You like making me look bad is what it is,” Jenson laughed, gesturing to his jeans and team kit.

The next morning when she walked in for quali day in a red dress with black polka dots Jenson rolled his eyes. Tossing an arm over her shoulder he cheerily announced, “ Good morning my little ladybug. Let’s get a 1-2 today, yeah?”

Y/N giggled a little too much for Sebastian’s liking, leaning into the touch, the bridge of her nose turning pink as she mumbled something like “ That’s always the goal, isn’t it?”

Sebastian hated the little schoolgirl, hero worship crush Y/N didn’t seem to realize she was harboring for her teammate and mentor.

Looking up to him he’d understand. He’s older and more experienced, he looks up to him too. But Jenson is also Jenson Button. Tall, charming, conventionally attractive, but a known playboy and flirt. Sebastian thinks Y/N deserves better than to fall for all that.

***

“ Oh shut up, I did not,” Y/N says, blushing.

“ You definitely did, love.” Seb’s grin has the boys giggly too, “ Does it help knowing I was very jealous?”

“ A little bit,” she concedes, still blushing, leaning into Seb’s side earning Aws and coos from several of the boys.

“ The crush only lasted about half a season, but the name stuck.”

“ And spread like wildfire through the paddock,” Y/N agreed.

****

In Brazil when they did Secret Santa she smiled as she read the little note.

To our little ladybug, since you’re always cold.

“ Oh I love it!” She said, running her fingers over the ladybug adorned blanket. “Seb look, it’s so cute and so fuzzy!”

“ It is.” He said.

She giggled again, then on impulse “ like your hair,” she said, messing it up to make him turn that adorable shade of pink.

They missed the fond smiles they were getting from Micheal and Mark.

****

“ Then half the grid picked it up.”

“ You boys have probably heard more than Jenson use it, just without the possessive marker so you didn’t notice. It used to irk me that he said my with it.” The word sounds icy in Seb’s mouth even now.

“ It was just his name for me originally. Was someone a little possessive, hm?” Y/N teased.

“ Absolutely,” Seb replied, with no shame, “ I did not like anyone else trying to claim my girl.” This gets more giggles and a wolf whistle out of the boys.

“ We weren’t together yet honey,” Y/N said, confused smile on her face.

“ Liebe, I was pining long before you knew.”

Mick, George, Charles, and Lando all awed some more.

“ Like a bee for pollen?” Max joked to a chorus of groans.

“ Actually I do think I’ve heard Nando say it,” Lance said, remembering how Alonso had pecked her on the cheek last time she’d been in the paddock with a “hola mariquita.”

“ Rosberg too,” agreed Charles.

“ And Webber,” Lando added.

“ Lewis too,” George and Mick said at the same time, recalling multiple “ hey there Ladybug! Missed you”s whenever she entered the Mercedes garage.

“ It was cute till Jense devolved it,” Y/N said with a fond eye-roll.

“ Devolved?” Mick asked, peering up at them like a confused puppy.

Seb just laughed.

“ Oh please, you still adored it. He just wanted to have his own special nickname for you.”

“ But I swear it was like he forgot my actual name for a whole season!”

“ That’s true, everything was Bug.” Seb conceded.

“ Easy on the breaks in turn 4, Bug.” She said in a dramatic but better than Max’s impression of the former world champion. “ Where are you going, Bug? Stop staring, Bug. Focus, Bug. Bit understeery today, Bug.”

“ Oi! You’re bleeding, Bug.” Seb added with a chuckle.

“ Oh I about killed him for that! Could you yell it a bit louder Jense? I don’t think the Ferrari garage in Albert Park heard you!”

“ Oo,” George winced, he and Max the only two who seemed to understand. Y/N just laughed.

“ Really though, every sentence. Why’s your hair down, Bug? Ask him out already, Bug! We’re gonna get a 1-2 today, Bug!”

“ Then I made one comment about Bees dying off.”

“ And I called you Honey, exactly one time, and Micheal ran with it.”

“ Honey Bee and Ladybug.” Seb squeezed her shoulders, “ and the rest is history.”

[revelboo]

I've never been so sucked into a Megatron fic as I have been by your Broken Arrow series. I'm really interested to see if y/n will break and how Megatron would handle it if they did! It's very exciting!

I do love playing with tension. 18+ mass displaced mech 🌶️

Broken Arrow Pt 12

TFP Megatron x Reader

• “Don’t,” you growl the word at him, shoving at his arm as he drags you back into him so he can curl around your much smaller form. Hating that you don’t hate this contact. Especially as he slowly wraps the length of your leash around his palm and vents against the back of your neck. Knowing you’re not getting away from him until he lets you and trying not to think about what you’d done with him or that you’d enjoyed it. Because nothing about this should be okay to you, but there’s still that part of you that had actually been scared for him when he’d been injured. That had warmed at his teasing and taunts despite yourself. That knew he could have hurt you so many times, but no matter what he says, those sharp claws are always so gentle like he’s afraid of breaking you. Despite biting you.

• Finally, you relax against him, your back to his front. Giving up after realizing he’s not letting go. Maybe biding your time hoping he’ll slip into recharge and turn you loose. Still not realizing that he’s never letting you go now. “We don’t need to be enemies,” he murmurs, servos sliding down over your hip and you grab his wrist when he slides lower to cup you. “As lovely as your anger is, I like the way you look out of control, too.” Stroking you, he feels your fingers tighten on him, but not even trying to pull his hand away. Enjoying his touch no matter how you balk at it, as you rock yourself against his palm. Wanting to hate him, but you can’t, can you?

• Those sharp denta brush the shell of your ear, nip at the lobe and those awful servos keep playing with you, lazily exploring. And when you shift against him more on your hip and lift your thigh, he immediately tunnels a servo inside you, mindful of those claws. Out of control? He has no idea. You’re still clinging to his wrist as he slowly fucks you with that servo, pressing your head back against him as you go taut. Hating when you begin rocking your hips against his hand, needing more friction and he chuckles against your hair. He’s still got your leash and you can feel that breathless pull that he’s bound you with when he’d forced your fingers into contact with his spark. But if he has your leash, you have his, too. He’s growling against you, servos petting as you slicken for him. You can feel his spike against your butt, pulsing and hot as a brand. As affected as you are. “More,” you whimper, straining against his hand and swearing when he pulls it away in response. Denying you. Teasing.

• Laughing at your frustration, he shifts your thigh up enough that he can find you and bury himself inside you, groaning against your neck at how tight you are like this, listening to your breathy little noise of pleasure. Feeling you grip his spike. “Patience,” he growls, lips brushing your cheek. “Isn’t this better than fighting me every step of the way?” Moving deliberately to rock himself slowly against you and stroking deep. Palm sliding up to rest against your chest, against the frantic beat of your heart.

• This is a new form of torture, thrusting almost lazily against you in no real hurry when you just want to reach that peak again. But his words twist through you, because you could submit and enjoy this. Enjoy him. Because even if he grumbles about it, he listens to you, seems to care about your opinion. Would it be so bad to surrender and sit by his side? Spend your nights in his berth and your days pulling at his leash, trying to curb his worst impulses? “Make me,” you whisper and his servos tighten on you as he snarls.

• Stubborn brat. Rolling you partially under him, he begins to move faster against you, driving deep again and again. Because that rebelliousness unravels his control. Make you? Those little noises of need you make spurring him on as he ruts against you. “You’re mine.” If it takes all night, he’s going to get that through your head. You come undone against him, crying out his name as you fist his spike in wet, silken heat. And he keeps moving against you until he’s sheathing himself deep to release inside you. Hips rocking to drag it out for both of you. “Say it.”

Previous

Next

[widowmaxff]

bad day

pairings: wanda maximoff × fem!reader

warnings: angst (with happy ending), arguing, reader crying, depressed reader — I think that's all!

When you heard your front door slam shut, you knew Wanda had a bad day on work today. This was actually normal for the two of you, you talk to her and she tells you about the time at the place, having your help so she calms down and everything is okay. And that always worked, you usually ended those days eating pizza in bed while watching your favorite series on TV.

The redhead mumbles loudly as she walks with strong steps, throwing the keys on the living room table where you were, without even saying hello. You get up from the couch quickly, soon following your fiancée up the white staircase to finally reach your shared bedroom. Your gaze reaches Wanda, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands on her face and her elbows resting on her knees. You calmly approach the redhead, thinking of words of comfort for her.

"Wands, are you okay?" You ask, making her laugh ironically before raising her face towards you, which was red, but you didn't know if it was from anger or from running tears.

"What do you think?" You swallow hard at the stiffness in her voice that would normally be sweet and calm. "Don't be an idiot, Y/n. Obviously I'm not okay." You contort your face at those words that came out of your bride's pink mouth. She rolls her eyes when she sees the expression on your face, getting up and going to the closet in your suite.

"Wanda, I was just trying to help you. You don't need to take out your anger on me because you have nothing nice to say to me." You follow behind the girl, who mumbles when she hears your words, but receives only silence in return. "Baby, you can talk and vent to me, you know that. We always do this when you have a bad day."

"For God, Y/n. Just leave me alone, okay?" She shouts in your direction, making you startle and take a step back. "Stop wanting to be an annoying, poor attention-seeking person all the time! Why don't you do something useful instead of getting in the way, hum?" The redhead shoots.

"What the hell! Can't I have a day where I can have a little space?" You feel your throat close as you hear all those hateful words directed at you. Your breathing became unregulated and you felt a great burning sensation in your eyes. Wanda had her fists clenched as she waited for something to come out of her mouth.

"Cat got your tongue now?" She takes a step forward, but you step back, afraid of her. Your fiancée's eyes get darker when she sees that you weren't feeling safe being around her, this wasn't normal.

Wanda knew that you were very insecure about yourself, having thoughts about always disturbing other people's lives and when she talked about you doing this and being annoying, her heart seemed to break into a thousand pieces that would take a long time to put back together. Her speech repeated in your head as you thought about what to say to your fiancée.

"I..." Your lips tremble, almost letting out a sob in the middle of his speech. "Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you." A solitary tear falls from your eyes, making Wanda feel guilty, but her jaw is still clenched. "I'll be in the guest room if you want to talk... or anything else. I will leave you alone. Sorry, Wanda." You turn on your heel as you poke your fingers to ease the nervousness.

Walking out of the room towards the other, trying to hold back the crying sobs that were coming out of your throat. You normally didn't cry in front of your fiancee, you hated doing that, but when she shot those words at you it felt like mean people had put pepper in your eyes and you were trying not to care about it.

When the door to the guest room was locked, the air you were holding in your lungs was finally released, along with the tears trapped in the corners of your eyes. You disturbed people. You were annoying. It was what was repeated in your mind by several voices, but the worst of them was Wanda's, the person who made you want to live every day, but at that moment you just wanted to die and maybe never get in anyone's way again. She never yelled at you or made you feel what you felt now, so the pain felt more unbearable than it already was.

You felt your legs go soft and fall onto the double bed. Your body came together, almost as if you were giving yourself a hug. Placing your left hand over your mouth so that the noises of your crying wouldn't be heard and wouldn't bother Wanda's bad day even more. Your eyes were so tired and red, it felt like the water hadn't stopped falling for so long that you allowed yourself to sleep without your bride's cozy arms.

When morning arrived, you thought about not leaving your room, not even getting out of bed. But despite everything that had happened, you longed to talk to the redhead again, to apologize again. So, when you heard the click of the lock, you took a deep breath and stood in the large hallway of your house. You walked down the stairs towards the kitchen, smelling your favorite breakfast. The red hair was the first thing you saw when you entered the room. Her back was turned as she prepared something on the stove.

Wanda seemed to sense you in the kitchen, quickly turning to look at your swollen face from last night's crying. She sighed deeply before walking up to you and looking into your eyes, which she adored so much. "Can I hug you?" She asks, you clearly agree.

The basis of your relationship was consent, due to some past traumas and insecurities. When she puts her arms around you you feel your body relax into her touch. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't want to say those words... I had a bad day and I know that doesn't justify anything, but I swear I regret every word I said to you."

You don't say anything, because if you said something, you would probably burst into tears again and your eyes were so sore that it was tiring to leave them open. "I know you won't forgive me right away, but know that I love you so much and I regret it so much. You're nothing like I said..." Wanda rambles. "on the contrary, you are the most amazing person to be around. The sweetest person who certainly shines with kindness wherever you go. You would never, ever get in my way, darling." She continues whispering beautiful words to you, making your heart soften at her words. "I love you, never forget that."

"I love you lots too." You finally say, with a hoarse and low voice. "I forgive you, Wanda. But promise me one thing?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

"Promise never to yell at me again? Please." Your voice falters a few times in the short sentence, making Wanda want to beat herself for making you suffer.

"Oh Love. I promise, of course I promise." She looks you in the eyes, caressing your rosy cheeks. "I swear on everything I will never do that to you again." Wanda tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a small kiss on your forehead. You nod at her, faithfully believing her words.

"How about we eat your favorite breakfast now, hum? I don't want to see you with that sad face, I want to try to reward you by making your hunger go away." You laugh before firmly cupping Wanda's face and placing a smacking kiss on her pink mouth. Your day certainly got better when you felt your bride's lips and it will be much better when you enjoy every moment with the love of your life.

[pullupinarari]

Lean your weight on me [LH]

7. We’re already defeated

Summary: a 9 chapter series where you are a famous singer, living the career of your dreams. But your chaotic schedule makes your body give in, making you lose your memory and forget (almost) everything.

Author’s note: this one hits home and it’s the most personal chapter for me. It made me cry, and I genuinely hope yall enjoy this. 🩷

wc: 3941 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

all chapters here

Ever since your last emotional breakdown, things have changed between you and Lewis. You decided that it was better if you just started sleeping in separate rooms, and you can’t express how much better that makes you feel. You feel more independent in a way, you are learning how to deal with your nightmares by yourself, and you don’t feel the weight of constantly bothering Lewis while he is trying to rest.

And during the day, you barely speak to him anymore. You are obsessed with your phone. You spend hours reading the texts you shared with other people - even if you don’t remember who they are, you over analyze every little detail in every photo that is saved to your camera roll, and you start to trail your path back into social media.

However, Lewis feels empty. It’s hard for him to deal with your absence, even if you’re just in the room next door. You don’t want to spend time with him anymore and there’s nothing he can do - you are a grown up, he can’t take your phone from you, there’s no point in trying to do it, since you’ll search the whole house for it again, like a maniac.

With everything accumulating now, two weeks of being distant is enough to make his light disappear already, while you feel like yours is slightly coming back.

You feel a bit more confident in yourself now, and you decide to go spend a few days at your parents house, in the hopes that you will find people that you are able to recognize. And maybe the town where you grew up, might bring your childhood memories back.

Lewis knows that you are safe, of course your parents know how to take care of you. But he still feels the weight on his shoulders from not being there for you. You’re being held now, but it’s not by him. It’s not his arms, his words comforting you - and it hurts him to feel that you don’t want him by your side through all of this anymore.

He knows he needs to vent, he needs to cry, he needs to let go of all the emotions that he has been suppressing for the past three months now. So he drives to his mom’s house, feeling like a small kid again, in need of his mom’s lap and comfort.

As soon as she opens the door, she knows that he needs to be held - just by the sad, tired and empty look on his face. So Lewis feels his body being immediately engulfed in his mom’s embrace. He hugs her back, with some tears already threatening to spill from his eyes.

He tries to play it cool, like he is just there to spend some time with his mom, like it’s nothing. Lewis sits on the sofa, getting comfortable, as he notices the attentive look on his mother’s face.

“Y/N has left already?” - she asks him quietly, as a way to introduce the subject. Her mom instincts are kicking in, and she wants Lewis to open up, to feel comfortable and supported, to be vulnerable around her.

He sits in silence for a second, nodding his head. “Yeah, she left a while ago. Her dad came to pick her up” - he informs, his voice now croaking a bit while his brain is drowning in his immersive thoughts.

“What’s going through that mind of yours, son?” - he can’t fool his own mother, he would be stupid to actually believe that he could. So he just gives in, getting up from his seat on the sofa to meet his mother, lying his head on her lap, like he used to do when he was little.

“All my life, I’ve been surrounded by challenges. But I never thought that I would go through something like this, mom” - he starts saying, while his mother stays silent, listening to her baby vent, as her hands caress his scalp - a gesture that immediately makes him think of you. He loved when you would play with his hair, when you would ask him if you could braid it and give him a new updo, he loved the feeling of your nails gently running through his scalp as a way to calm him down. And now, you don’t even go near him, you don’t touch him anymore.

“These last few months have been so, so tough. Seeing Y/N so fragile and lost, she was feeling helpless while I tried my fucking hardest to hold her, to help her. I did everything I could, I swear I did. I did the best I knew. But it seems like it wasn’t enough” - some tears fall from his eyes now, and he doesn’t even bother stopping them.

“What are you talking about, Lewis?” - his mother asks, quite not understanding how badly things have changed between you two.

“I lost her, mom. I completely lost her. I have this screaming feeling in my chest, I can’t even explain what it is, but it hurts so fucking much” - his cries grow a little louder now, as his body contorts as he tries to explain his emotions, like he is physically hurting.

“She’s the love of my life. We got married, we dreamed of having babies together, and raising a family. Grow our own little family. But now, she doesn’t even wear her wedding ring anymore, she’s not the same girl I fell in love with. She definitely doesn’t love me back anymore, no matter how hard I try” - he takes a second to breathe. “I lost the most important person of my life, and as much as she is still alive, it’s like she’s not here anymore. She’s not the same person” - Lewis tries his best to put his feelings into words, but the words he is using are hurting him too.

He doesn’t mean to make it seem like it’s your fault. No one can be considered guilty here. What happened to you is definitely not your fault, but it also isn’t Lewis’. He could be selfish and talk about all the sleepless nights, either because of your nightmares or due to the crazy amount of times that he had to drive you to the hospital in the middle of the night because you weren’t feeling good. All the times that your words, your actions have ripped his heart out of his chest. All the terrible words that he had to hear you say, either about yourself or about him. The way you would act in the most unfair manner that he has ever seen, making it seem like Lewis was just a puppet in your hands.

Well, maybe he is. Because here he is now, completely destroyed, crying his eyes out on his mother’s lap, as he remembers every single day that he struggled for the past three months. And still, no matter how badly you are hurting him, how you are taking his heart into your hands and crushing it without any mercy, pretending like he’s nothing - he still doesn’t have the power in himself to turn his back to you. He has been cursing himself for the past couple of weeks, for giving in every time that you would ask him for something.

“You know, mom, I’m actually so dumb. I’m really stupid. I do everything for her, in hope that she would love me back again, waiting for her to come back to our room, you know? But she doesn’t. And still, I act like a fool, doing everything for her. You know what I did last week? I helped her come up with a piano melody for this song she wrote about the end of our marriage” - he says, actually feeling annoyed right now at his own form. He chuckles ironically while remembering the episode - feeling like the dumbest man on the planet.

His mother sighs at the state of his little boy, feeling powerless to help him solve this situation.

“Love makes us do questionable things, son” - she tries to say, before Lewis interrupts her.

“Love, yeah, what a stupid thing. Making me do everything for someone who doesn’t even care about me anymore” - he says, feeling all the accumulated anger boiling in his veins now.

It’s like all the feelings that he has been keeping inside for the last three months, are deciding now to come out, all at the same time. “I was so scared when I saw her on that hospital bed, mom. You have no idea how the thought of her being hurt, with no memory at all, destroyed me. I was shaking, I couldn’t focus on anything else that wasn’t her. And when I spent those nights in the hospital, next to her, I couldn’t even sleep. I kept waking up every five minutes, to look at her, to check on her, to see if everything was okay. And I was so scared, mom. The anxiety building on my chest was never ending, it just kept getting worse. Every time she would cry, every question she would ask. I had to pretend like everything was fine, like I was fine, but I was terrified” - the man is fully sobbing now, holding on to his mother’s embrace, the only source of comfort that he has felt in a long time.

“I had to put all my feelings to the side, like I meant nothing. I was feeling like a robot - I couldn’t feel anything, I was depriving myself from having my own emotions, and I was working at the same time that I was looking after her, and trying to compose myself so I could make it seem like it was okay, like I was doing fine too, I didn’t wanted her to worry about me.

And for the past month or so, she has been hinting how we shouldn’t be together, but I never thought much about it. I thought she was just feeling insecure so I did my best to make her feel loved, desired, and to show her how much she meant to me. I guess this is all going to end like she expected, huh” - he says, the last part sounding more to himself actually, as his hands try to dry the tears that don’t seem to stop themselves from falling.

Lewis thought there was more to your marriage, he really did. And he was hoping that all of this would come out as a proof of his love and devotion to you. But in the end, it’s like you can’t see past your own thoughts, you don’t see him anymore - and it hurts him to see how easily you forget about everything that he has done for you.

He would do it all again in a heartbeat, though. You’re his wife, for fucks sake. His heart is directed to you, as if he has no chance of being happy with someone else, once you leave him behind. You said you want to feel real, but the love you both shared was real, intense, magical. And you treated it like it was nothing.

“When we started dating, she kept talking about us getting a house near the ocean. Next to a calm, nice beach, with a view from our room, so we could see the sunset from our bed. I think it was the thing she dreamed about the most. And when we got married, the dream persisted. And she wanted us to raise our babies in that house, so she could see me surfing while her and our kids would build castles on the sand” - his own memory is killing him now, it’s all too real and too devastating at the same time for Lewis.

He hiccups as his mom shushes him lightly, her hand caressing his cheek, stained with tears. “And it’s so ironic how I went and bought the damn house, the house of our dreams next to the beach, as a surprise for our wedding birthday, just a month before her accident” - Lewis sighs, each thought in his head being worse than the other.

“She just went there once, when I showed her the keys. She was thrilled when we walked inside” - he grins softly to himself as he thinks about your bright smile, the one he loved seeing so much, the one thing that was enough to light up his entire day.

It’s been a while since he has seen your smile aiming at him, making his legs feel weak. Now, you smile at your phone, even to the mirror - growing more familiar with yourself, to everyone but him.

“Her face falls whenever she sees me, mom. It’s heartbreaking, devastating” - he tries to find the right words to describe how he feels. “I even try to hide from her when we are home. I try not to be in the kitchen when I know that she’s there, I try to stay far from the place where she is, because she makes me feel like my presence isn’t welcome near her. She makes me feel unwanted” - these last months have been a roller coaster of emotions for Lewis.

But he can’t forget the way his stomach would erupt full of butterflies when you two kissed for the first time after your accident, how his heart felt warm when you asked him to cuddle you. He can’t forget all the hope and light that he found when you clung to him, seeing him as your safe haven.

And now, you treat him like a stranger, like he means nothing to you. You ignore him, give him the cold shoulder. Everytime that you are forced to talk to him, you make it seem like you’re doing him a favour. It’s like day and night: in the beginning, Lewis was your light, you treated him like the most precious thing that you had in your life, since he was the only person you remembered. And now, you stole all the light from him, lighting yourself up and kicking him to the corner, as if he has nothing more to give you.

And he’s tired of feeling like this. He’s tired of feeling torn. He just wanted you, he wanted you to want him back just as much as he wants you. But you don’t care about him nor about his love, and after everything that he has done for you, you are still capable of stepping on his heart like this.

“I find myself silently praying at night, begging God for all this to be just a nightmare that I will, at some point, wake up from” - he confesses, his words breaking his mother’s heart more and more.

“I beg that she won’t leave me behind, that she will come back and spend the night with me again. So I could hold her the way I used to, I would feel safe in her presence again. I don’t know what I will do if she leaves my little life” - he knows it’s inevitable at this point, but the thought of losing you still wrecks him.

He needs you, he doesn’t know how to do it without you anymore. He is not the same man that he was before meeting you, and he doesn’t want to be. Lewis needs you to come closer to him again, he needs to see the fire in your eyes so he doesn’t draw in the void, so he doesn’t feel cold anymore.

He hugs his mom tighter, trying to find that source of comfort somewhere. Maybe, if he shuts his eyes close, he can pretend that he is in your arms again. But he can’t. It’s not the same.

“You chose her for a reason, Lewis” - his mom reminds him. “It’s killing me to see you like this, and I know this hurts so much right now. But we can’t even begin to imagine what’s been on her mind lately” - she tries to reason with her son.

“I have tried so hard for the last months to understand her, mom! I have heard the most heart wrenching words coming from my wife’s mouth, I have seen her do things that would never cross my mind. I guess it’s time to accept that she’s not the same person that we used to know anymore” - he sniffles quietly, letting his words sink in, feeling them lingering heavily in the air.

His mother just nods her head, totally understanding her son’s side. But her gut is still telling her to keep you in her thoughts.

“Don’t give up on her, son. Not until she recovers from all this, at least” - she appeals to his soft heart.

Lewis’ mind is a mess. A mixture of sadness with anger, pain with regret, love and disappointment. He doesn’t know what to do, and he can barely focus on the road as he drives back to his house on that night.

He feels lighter after letting it all out to his mother, but he still can’t come up with a solution to all this. So he turns on autopilot in his brain. And when he gets home, he wanders around the house, like he doesn’t know what to do, where to go.

His house is big, fancy, with everything he needs inside of it. But it feels cold and lifeless. Lewis had to learn the hard way that home is, in fact, a person, not just a set of four walls. His heart is with you wherever you go, you’re his home. You used to keep him safe and warm. You would paint his life, his days in such bright colors. And nothing grows when a house isn’t a home.

He stops at the door of the guests room where you’ve been sleeping now. He still knocks on the door, even if he knows that you’re not there. He found out how much it hurts to not have anyone, to be trapped in an uncertain and uncomforting silence, drawing in consuming feelings that he can’t escape.

He keeps walking through the corridors, remembering all the moments from the past months. He looks at his bed and immediately remembers all the cuddles, the kisses that you shared. The way you would blush when he would declare his love for you, how your eyes would shine every time he would tell you something about your marriage and your life together.

He keeps all the good memories safe in his heart, like the way you two would dance in a silly way in the kitchen, the radio playing in the background while Lewis would cook for you. Or the way you two would enjoy the sunny afternoons, playing with Roscoe in the backyard.

But when he looks at the bathroom door, he remembers all the times that he had to cry in the shower, so you wouldn’t see how much he had bottled up his emotions. He couldn’t show you how desperate he was, how tired and exhausting all of this was. Instead, he would let it all out while you were asleep or entertained with something, so he could always have a smile ready to show you.

And when he sees the piano - fuck, the damn piano. The memory of him hearing you sing so angelically about the end of your relationship still echoes in his mind. And the tears swell again in his eyes, while he asks to himself: what happened to his life? What was the turning point, when did everything become so chaotic and dark?

He can’t help but feel sorry for himself. He slips onto the bed as he lets out a loud sigh - it’s like his emotions make him feel physically sore. The entire world around him hurts, all the fears that used to live inside of his mind are now coming to life, almost as if they already have a name and a personality of their own. And they are the only thing keeping him company at night, while he tosses and turns on the bed nonstop, his new friends keeping him awake.

He grabs his phone, trying his luck as he dials your number - you didn’t said anything to him, you could have, at least, let him know when you got home.

He hears the beeping, until it reaches your voicemail. At first, he hangs up, but then he decides to try again, thinking about leaving you a voice message.

Once more, you don’t pick up his call, so he leaves a message after the beep. “Hey, Y/N, it’s Lewis. I’m sorry for calling, I don’t mean to disturb you, but I just wanted to know if you are at your parents’ house already and if everything is okay. So, please give me a call or text me when you can, or if you want to” - he hangs up, embarrassed by the way he messed up some of the words while talking, feeling like he is in primary school again, afraid to talk to the pretty girl in his class.

An hour has passed already, and you didn’t reach out to him. Not a call, not even a text. And when Lewis is absently scrolling through social media, until his eyes are burning - a mix of the light coming from his phone, tiredness and all the tears that he has cried for the past hours, he sees that you have been posting stuff on Instagram.

He rubs his eyes with his hand, trying to focus on the pictures on his phone. You posted a selfie with your parents, a picture of a pizza that you ate. “Pizza is my favorite dish!!” - you wrote in the description. “No, it’s not” - Lewis immediately thinks to himself. You used to despise pineapple on pizza and now you’re enjoying it, in the exact same way that you made a scene because you hated the cake that Grace brought you, the one that used to be your favorite.

So maybe this isn’t just a memory thing, maybe your whole self has changed. You don’t like the same things, you don’t have the same habits. And Lewis just has to realize that he doesn’t know you anymore. And the way you keep posting while ignoring his calls and messages, lets him know that you don’t want to get to know him either.

He throws his phone to the bedside table, feeling frustrated now. Why does he keep insisting on something that is clearly done? He is just trying to survive at this point, in search of something that will make him feel his heartbeat beat again.

But maybe he’s just going through the wrong path. Everytime he tries to reach you, it’s like he’s staring at the abyss - looking at himself through it. He knows that if he keeps pushing his feelings this way, there will be nothing after this. He knows this relationship will be the end of him. You abandoned him when he needed your comfort the most now, so maybe it’s time for him to try and save himself and his heart a little, hoping that it’s not too late for him, trying not to lose his faith.

With some tears escaping his eyes, he cuddles Roscoe - his mate, the one that never left his side. Lewis won’t think anymore about what he can do to make you love him again, he will just try and focus on himself, his family and friends - the people who care about him. And he tries to fall asleep, not even knowing a thing about how this trip with your family is already making your memory come back more than ever.

———

taglist: @illalwayswaitforyourlove @literallegendicon @goldenroutledge @scenesofobx @irishmanwhore @forza-charles @felicityforyou

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{The past you have lost.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence

Chapter 20: The Story Erased

Dimensions are funny. They don’t have distinct shapes. Not spheres or ellipses. Their edges are not so easily defined, and as they float in a vacuous void they sometimes align. Intersect. They mingle. Tickling at each other with the edges of the undefined borders.

On the edge of creation itself, dimensions get funnier. More absurd. The timelines written and fates unfold in ways that don’t make sense. Absurd in every way– the words unreadable even to the author. 

It’s in this peripheral timeline that your past lies. Nestled in an indefinable polygonal universe where myths and stories overlap like the plaited upper crust of an apple pie.

The planet of your birthplace is a scorched, war-torn place. The surface is covered in vast towering forests filled with deep, ancient magic and monstrous creatures. Oceans with gluttonous waves that only the very bravest dare to sail lest they be swallowed up by its wrathful gods. Expanding deserts of scorching sand are broken up by wide rivers, giving birth to lush fertile valleys. 

Kingdoms rise and fall. Settlements and villages claim to be under the protection of kings are flattened and raided by insurgent clans. All vying for control of the planet. Powerful people willing to destroy the land beneath their feet, and then lose the people who would serve them if it means they get to sit on the throne. 

Zayne has been fleeing this war his whole life. Running from the call of the deity he is blood-bound to serve. Only through magic and arcane arts has he found some semblance of sanctuary. Through years of hard work and isolation, he’s carved out a place, safe from the plundering, the fighting, the brutality. 

A large hollow on the inside of a mountain. A cavernous space with only two entrances– one that is shadowed and hidden by an illusion deep within a darkened forest. And the other, only escapable through miles and miles of tunnels that leads out on the other side to a desert.

There are little vents, barely the size of a goat that leads up to the surface, letting beams of light in. Well-placed crystals reflect that light to bounce around and illuminate the vast cavern. 

There are pools along the southern side of the cavern for water, and enough exposed soil to have a garden. Zayne intends to spend the rest of his life hiding here. He uses magic to build himself a house. A single room cottage is just enough for him. That’s all he needs. He has to remind himself at least once a day. This is all he needs. 

But there’s some thread woven in the fabric of his soul that seeks to help others. He’s strong. He’s capable. The power he wields could save lives, and this haven he’s found could keep them safe for generations. 

So, he begins to plan. He carves runes into walls of the cavern, plies them with magic to make this place undetectable. To make it firm. Unmoveable. Unfindable. He uses the gift of foresight that he had thought lost to him to find his first group to save. 

Master of Fate. Foreseer. They call him names of fables and legends. A man who comes at the perfect time and brings them to his sanctuary. His little house is paired with others. His cavern becomes a settlement, and the plain folk work to make this place safe from the world outside. 

You stumble into his sanctuary one cold winter day, wrapped in a thin cloak and shoeless. You are with a small group of refugees, uprooted by a recent series of razes by a group of barbarians. Your village has been destroyed, and any family that you may have had is long gone. 

Zayne greets your group as he does all of them. Informs you of how things work in this place, and how to best put their skills to use. You don’t even look at him, shivering beneath the ochre colored threadbare cloak. He sees your shivering shoulders, your bare nearly frostbitten toes and something twists in his chest. 

He reaches out to you, offers to help you. He wraps your feet in bandages and speaks gently to you. He tells you that he can find you some shoes, and come spring, there will be enough hides to make some new ones. 

When you finally meet his eyes, Zayne feels his fate settle into place. Sealed with hot wax and pressed with the imprint of your fingerprint.

He doesn’t indulge in the desire to be close to you, no matter how much it may nag at home. However, you are not one to deny yourself, and you follow him. You follow him around like a kitten, padding behind him on your misfitting shoes one of the other women gave to you. 

You help him with his chores. You mimic the movements of his hands when he reinforces the magic that protects this place. You ask him what the symbols in the books mean, and he realizes you’re illiterate. 

Zayne resigns himself to his fate. His fate that results with the two of you sitting up late into the night, his little cottage illuminated with a single tallow candle and a small fire in the heart. He shows you the symbols you were so curious about, and gives you passages to practice until you’re reading with ease. 

Next comes the magic. The runes that he writes are an unnameable language, and they’re impossible to understand for someone without the gift of magic. You don’t understand it, but the runes still light up for you. It’s like watching someone pick up an instrument they’ve never touched before and play. It’s sloppy, but it works. The music you play when you write the runes doesn’t have to make sense to you, but the intention remains. And it’s strong. 

Unwittingly, you become secondary to Zayne. When you walk along the paths of the settlement, people associate you with him. They respect you, they adore you. They thank you for helping and offer you things like a deity receiving offerings.You deny them all, happy to help. 

It’s a sign of peace, when children get into mischief. Stories and rumors that spread through little lips to little ears mean they feel safe enough to make up nonsense. 

The story of one of the pools being haunted reaches your ears, and you tell Zayne the outlandish tale some of the children bestowed to you. That a shadow lives in the heart shaped pool at the very edge of the cavern. It pulled one of the teenagers into the depths when they’d started throwing rocks at it, and they have a bite mark on their leg from it!

Zayne gives you a disbelieving look before he turns his attention back to the mortar and pestle. Grinding beetle thoraxes into a mush to add to a poultice he’s been working on. He makes a comment that children can be creative and returns to his work. 

A few weeks later and more stories of the heart shaped pool, and your curiosity finally gets the better of you. You go to the pool, expecting a large fish or even a trapped seal– so you bring some dried fish with you. 

There is indeed a shadow in the pool. Swirling around in its inky depths, barely illuminated by a refracted beam from a crystal nearby. This is one of those that goes unfathomably deep, and you see the long, serpentine shadow spin around the limited space. 

You keep a few feet away from the edge and toss a dried fish onto the water’s surface. The desiccated carcass of the mackerel floats and sends tiny ripples across the crystal surface. You sit down onto your knees and wait, watching it float lazily until thwip! Faster than lightning the fish is snatched and the surface of the water is barely disturbed. 

With glee in your heart, you toss another. And watch as that one is snatched too. When you throw the third, it’s snatched but then tossed back at you. Hitting you squarely in the face with a wet, fishy slap.

Aghast, you stand and go to the edge of the water, and that is where you meet Rafayel. 

He’s an agitated thing. Hissing at you that you and the rest of your lot should be bowing to him. That he is the god of the tides and the swells!

You note that he’s in a little pool, and so he’s not the god of much right now. He splashes you with a wave that nearly knocks you off your feet and disappears beneath the water. 

You return to Zayne soaking wet, and you see the dark haired man laughing at you with his eyes. 

It takes you another month to convince the god of the tides to speak to you again. More mackerel is offered as well as some berries you’d found while out in the forest recently. The summer had made them fat and sweet, and Rafayel devoured them ravenously. 

You go to the pool once a day, in the evenings before bed. And eventually, Rafayel is there to meet you. Resting on the edge of the pool with his head on his crossed arms. He pesters you constantly, teasing you for dressing too plainly and for the lack of berries when you don’t bring any. 

He talks of his kingdom. A wondrous, luminous civilization at the bottom of the ocean untouched by the wars and desolation above for centuries. Only recently as the pollution begun to reach their waters, and Rafayel had set out to find its source. To recon and return. However, he got stuck. A leviathan chased him to these pools and in the battle that hollowed out this cavern decades ago, it sealed him inside. 

You don’t know if you believe his tale, because it would mean Rafayel has been here far longer than Zayne. That this sanctuary was carved by happenstance in a battle of deities. What an outlandish fable!

Late in the summer, when the heat has reached its peak, a band of armed soldiers comes rushing into your sanctuary. Some of the plain folk panic, because they recognize the colors of their cloaks and the sigils on their golden armor. 

Zayne intervenes, and the soldiers fall at his feet to beg for sanctuary. They have defected from their king and seek only peace. Peace, and aid for the one they carry on a rudimentary stretcher.

The man lies unconscious, heavily bleeding and his wounds poorly tended to. The sight of his ashen pallor makes your stomach twist, and you’re promising aid before Zayne can stop you. 

The Prince of Philos. That’s what the people whisper as you lead the knights and their unconscious ward to a tent. The others who usually tend to the wounded refuse to help you. They refuse to help him. The young man who’s the heir to the throne of a kingdom so hell bent on owning this planet that they’d sooner see it destroyed than in someone else’s hands. 

But a man shouldn’t suffer for the sins of his father, that’s what you tell yourself at least. You’re not a healer by any means, but Zayne has books and you’ve seen enough of war to know how to clean a wound. How to sew up separated flesh. How to wrap it tight, but not too tight. You know what infection smells like and how hot a body can get before it dies. 

Xavier is tough, and you learn his name when he wakes up on the third day. It’s a brief moment of clarity and he thinks he’s dead for the majority of it. In whisper-soft tones, he asks if you’re an angel, and you laugh and tell him no. 

It’s five days of tending to Xavier before Rafayel can’t take it anymore, and shows up at your door with a furrowed brow and human legs and demands to know where you’ve been. 

Overcoming the shock of his altered form is one thing, but he’s also very very naked. He scoffs at you when you try to cover him with a blanket, but eventually you're able to get to cover himself with one of your old cloaks. He wraps it around his waist and ties it, like it’s a favor he’s doing for you and not basic modesty. 

Rafayel is not pleased that you’ve been neglecting your daily visits to play sick nurse. He’s very nonchalant about the sorry state of the prince, nudging him with his foot and scoffing at him. He tells you it’s a waste of time, and that you’d have a much better time if you spent it with him. 

You make your disdain for such talk plain. Telling this so-called god that if he has no care in his heart for the wounded then he should return to his pools and stay there. You have no interest in spending time with such callous people. 

Rafayel huffs and leaves your tent, but he’s back in less than an hour. He plops himself down next to you, giving you the silent treatment for the remainder of the afternoon but sighing heavily. 

Eventually he starts to help you, bringing in washbasins of water to clean Xavier’s wounds, and even helping you apply some poultices and bandages. Even though he complains about it, Rafayel’s work is perfect and gentle. He whines about helping clean Xavier’s hair, but still holds the prince’s head with a cradling touch. 

Zayne visits often, and has to, on multiple occasions bring you to bed to prevent you from sleeping on the floor of the healing tent. He carries you some nights, and other nights Rafayel does. 

It’s not clear when Zayne’s house because your house too, and foggier still when it became Rafayels. The sea god returns to his pool often, but many nights he can be found next to you– claiming a necessity for body heat even in the midst of summer. 

It’s a full month before Xavier is lucid, and you’re not sure how to interact with him when he’s awake. He’s a quiet man. Soft-spoken but not docile in the slightest. He takes what you’ve done for him very seriously, and when he’s able to get out of bed, the first thing he does is kneel before you. 

There’s sweat on his brow from the pain of such movement, but determination set in his cerulean eyes. Then and there he swears his life to yours. Your sword. Your shield. His life is your, for you have spared him and brought him back from the brink of oblivion. 

It’s a lot to absorb. Being at the central point of such dedication makes you a little dizzy, and you try to deny him at first, but what’s done is done. The oath has been made. The exchange signed in blood. He is yours– now, and forever. 

The armored soldiers that had brought Xavier into the sanctuary have incorporated into the settlement well. They have joined in hunts for meat and game, and take turns in shifts guarding the entrance.When they hear Xavier has risen, they rush to his side. 

Xavier promptly informs them that their fealty now lies with you. You are their master, and it is up to you to decide what to do with them. Xavier is no longer a prince. No longer their liege. He is just a man– and he smiles softly like a man with sudden airy freedom when he says those words. 

After talking with Zayne, he appoints them to the rotation of guard and hunters. Letting them decide where they are most comfortable. This is a sanctuary– people should be free to do as they wish. Though, when Zayne tries to suggest Xavier join the watch or the patrols, the fair haired man informs the Foreseer that he will remain at your side. The others can protect the sanctuary, and he will protect you. 

Zayne consents to your new sworn shield, a part of his heart soothed by the idea that you have protection when he’s not there. For so long, it had just been the two of you. From dawn til dusk you were by his side, but it is as he feared. You are radiant. And all who come into contact cannot help but be drawn to your light. He was bound to have to share eventually. 

But you always return to him. At the end of the day it is his house you come back to. New rooms have been added on, and there is more space than there once was, but you always find him. Share meals with him. Share stories of the friends you’ve made and the antics the sea god and prince get into. 

Xavier and Rafayel pose issues for the sanctuary, in Zayne’s mind. They are powerful, and their loyalty is to you. There is nothing to guarantee that they would come to the sanctuary’s aid if it came under attack. This unsettles him slightly, wondering if– should the sanctuary somehow pose a risk to your life, what actions would your new companions take? 

It takes almost a year before Zayne opens up to the others. Before he offers to break bread with them and offers them more than a few words of conversation. Xavier is strikingly intelligent, and they share an affinity for the written word. Xavier’s knowledge of politics aids in Zayne’s management of the sanctuary, and, eventually, Zayne calls Xavier his friend– and not just your guard. 

Rafayel takes offense at the rudimentary way the sanctuary has been set up. No thought at all to the aesthetic or design of it all. When Zayne informs him of its utilitarian nature, the sea deity scoffs and says that it is fine. He is here now and can make this place as lovely as it deserves to be. 

Time and care is put into this place by all of them. Altered in ways like a signature, molded around their overlapping desire to keep this place hidden, safe, and self-sufficient. 

Men of great power seem incapable of leaving no trace. Something indelible in the way they walk. Footsteps branded into the earth leaving behind folklore and fable. Tales of heroism and danger to both teach and delight the young and the old. 

It is another story. A rumor. That brings the fourth of your lovers to your side. Like the whispers of Rafayel’s pool that drew you to him in the first place, another round of hushed stories told by the youth is spread. 

This time, the children whisper of the tunnel– the gully, as the plain folk name it. Carved once by a long winding river that cut through this place but has long since dried. It runs for miles and miles beneath this mountain and beyond, leading to the desert.

They say that there is a beast in there. Lying in wait in the darkness, waiting for the unfortunate day that the sanctuary is breached and the people try to escape. Maw opened and waiting for the people to run inside and swallow them whole. 

When you hear one of the older teenagers spooking the young ones with this far off tale, you interrupt them. Telling them no such beast exists, and that there is nothing in the gully. Nothing but darkness. They should be ashamed of scaring the children like that, and you promptly send them to the shallow pools to do laundry as punishment. 

Though, you hear it again. The group who tends to the gardens speak of rumblings. Vibrations beneath their very feet when they grow close to the gulley’s entrance. Could it be? The hydra come back once more? Waiting until it is strong enough to devour the lot of them?

You ask Rafayel, and he laughs at you. That hydra is long dead. Each and every head severed and rotted beneath the soil, giving nutrition to the very food you eat now.

Curiosity gets the better of you once again, and you venture to the mouth of the gully. It’s hard to find a time when you’re not being followed by Xavier or Rafayel– or both, but the very wee hours of the morning you have some time. 

Standing at the mouth of the gulley, you feel the vibrations beneath your feet. Not large, barely discernible, but there. The softest of rumblings and it’s rhythmic– like breathing. 

You come back the next morning, and it’s still there. Though sometimes, it gets stronger. Like something taking in a large inhale and exhaling. Snoring, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s large. Large enough to make the very earth around you tremble with its sleepy breath. 

You voice your concerns to Zayne. Something is in the gully, you tell him. Something big. Zayne gives you a look and laughs softly, telling you not to believe the excited tales of children. 

It’s nearly autumn, and there are herds of animals that traverse the forest. Grand hunts are planned with every capable hand being forced to attend. The sanctuary cannot waste this opportunity for a feast of game. The meat alone is undeniably precious, but the pelts. The bones. Every part of the animal is needed to get through another winter comfortably. 

So, you wait until the men have gone. They’ve brandished their bows and their arrows and set out. Xavier leaves you with his blade, and Rafayel with a scale. Telling you not to be foolish and that they will be gone for only a week. Zayne goes too, relying on you to keep the magic in place in his stead. A large honor and a show of his respect and trust in your abilities. 

The gulley is pitch black. There is no light reflected past the first ten feet, and so you wield an orb of starlight in your palm. A simple spell that Zayne taught you and Xavier helped you perfect. But it’s like the gulley swallows it, the light only emanating barely past your body. 

You call out softly, Hello? You whisper to the darkness and the darkness replies. A low, rumbling growl of warning. It rattles the walls around you, pebbles from disrupted earth falling from the ceiling. 

You press on, because you must. And you come up on a fiend. A beast of ebony and crimson. Resting curled like a cat, with its tail around its armored back. Thick as a soldier’s shield and sharper than any steel. A dragon lifts its head and bares its teeth at you, and the heat of its breath hits you like a flame. 

In your utter terror, the light in your palm vanishes, sending you both into the darkness.

By the time you scramble to conjure another, there is a man in place of the best. No longer sitting curled as wide as the gulley can hold, but mountainous tall. His claws reach out and grab your face and dig into your face, he demands to know why you intrude on his domain.

Foolishly, you reply that you didn’t. That this place is part of the sanctuary where you live. The dragon is amused by your terror and lets you go, telling you to turn away and to not come back. He disappears into the darkness, and you run for your life back the way you came. 

There’s a week until Zayne and the others return, a dragon could decimate this place. Rain fire and destruction like rain from above and leave nothing but rubble for them to return to. You have to do something. Appease the dragon and beg for him to spare your sanctuary. 

So, you steal the remaining dried meat from Zayne’s stores and pack it into a bag. You recall stories of dragons liking shiny things, and you pack another bag of crystals from the collection you’ve created over the years. The prettiest and most colorful born from the cracks of the cavern. 

When you return to the dragon, his laugh is dark and deadly. He asks you whether you long for death or simply too stupid to know when it stands before you. 

You throw the bags at his feet and fall to your knees, begging him to spare your sanctuary. You didn’t mean to disturb his sleep, and you’ll do anything for him to leave the sanctuary alone. 

The dragon seems neither impressed nor moved by your display of groveling. He calls you pathetic, but takes your offerings anyway. He tells you that a fiend is not satisfied by one meager sacrifice. To satiate a beast, you must feed it often and plenty. 

You ask what he wants, beg him to name a price. He laughs at you, and tells you to try again tomorrow. He wants to see what you come up with. 

The rest of that week, you go everyday to the dragon’s lair. Bringing him trinkets and things you can scrounge up that he might like. You bring him more food– fresh berries and baked tarts. You bring him a blanket you stitched, embroidered using thread Zayne had given to you. You bring him more crystals that you fashion into a bracelet for him, the way Rafayel taught you to keep the gems from falling.

The day before the others are set to return, you’re shaking with anxiety. Zayne could possibly reason with the dragon, but Rafayel will certainly try to fight him. Xavier too, if need be. 

Only blood and death awaits if you do nothing. So you do something you haven’t done since coming to the sanctuary, you arm yourself. You tae Xavier’s lightblade and some dusty armor and haphazardly tie it your chest. 

When the dragon sees you again, you look like a doll put together by child’s hands. The blade in your hands is too heavy, and the armor hanging off your body. But the fire in your eyes burns him the same as it would from any warrior. This display– gazing upon a woman with the determination to protect what she loves– is the best offering you’ve brought him yet. 

Amused, he asks what you intend to do with that sword, and you reply you will do what you must. The protectors of the sanctuary are to return within a day, and you will protect them. If the dragon desires destruction, he will have to kill you first. 

The dragon informs you that it is you that assumed he desired to destroy anything. You who begged on hands and knees for him to be merciful when he had done nothing but sleep too close to your home. Though he admires your effort, the sanctuary was never in danger from him.

He laughs at the shocked look on your face, and tells you that he has finally decided on his price. He shall have you. For the remainder of your mortal years, he shall have you at his beck and his call. Whenever he wishes to see you, you will come. For that is what he desires. 

You ask him if he plans to leave, and he says not far. This sanctuary is home to his pet now, and so it should be protected. He shall find a place higher up on the mountain, and the mere sight of him will ward off even the most bold of raiders. 

He leaves you feeling foolish, and you sit and wait for the others to return. 

When Zayne, Rafayel, and Xavier return, they’re in a hurry. Shedding filthy clothes from their hunt and searching for armor. For weapons. A dragon is circling over their mountain, and they must prepare. 

Sheepishly, you tell them what happened. That you met the dragon and he is here to stay. He won’t bother the sanctuary so long as you visit when he calls. There is quite the uproar– each one having their denials. It’s a night of yelling, from all of you. You argue that it’s the least you can do. If the dragon had wanted to kill you, he would have. You think he might just be lonely. 

The dragon doesn’t call for you until a month later, and it comes in the form of a raven. Flying into the sanctuary and finding you helping tan some of the many hides the hunters had brought. 

You follow the red eyed raven out of the sanctuary and into the forest, up a winding path and to a high up ledge. The wind is strong and the cave the dragon lives in is shallow. It’s cold and hardly a home, but you don’t comment. Not this time at least. 

This visit, you bring him a bag full of more crystals and some fresh meat this time. And in return, he gives you his name. It’s not pronounceable in your tongue and so you call him the closest name you can. Sylus. 

He preens when you name him, and you’re starting to think your assumption was right. He’s lonely. This fearsome beast did not make this wager for want of cruelty or sadism, but because he likes to be around you. 

Autumn brings with it harvests. Wild gourds to find, and nuts to gather. The leaves begin to change and the wind gets a little sharper. There are days when you venture out without Xavier, and you’re not sure how Sylus knows but he always seems to because he will find you. Sitting high up in the trees and watching you pick at fallen acorns.

Weeks go by and eventually you comment of Sylus’ living conditions. His bed is nothing but a couple furs, and he has nothing to protect him from rain coming in. Winter is approaching, and his little cave is hardly shelter from it. 

You form a plan, and it takes a while to get everything in order. Getting a reclusive dragon down from the mountain and into your sanctuary isn’t as simple as it sounds. This isn’t a puppy you found while wandering the forests, it’s a fiend. One that the people will fear if they aren’t properly prepared. 

So you start in a similar way to how you found him, with rumors. You use Rafayel and his way with words to weave stories of the dragon that protects your mountain. The sea god finds the dragon interesting, and desires to meet this other creature from legend. So, he helps you with this plan to bring the dragon down into the cavern below. 

Xavier is reluctant, he does not trust a dragon on principle alone. It takes him longer to warm up to the idea of him living in the sanctuary with you all, and you only convince him it’s to better protect everyone. If Sylus feels welcomed by the settlement, he’ll feel more inclined to protect it. 

Zayne is, oddly, the hardest to convince. He is so cautious and worries what adding yet another large personality will do to the mix. It’s bad enough having Rafayel here, who could level this place if his whim willed it. Having another man who could end everything they’ve worked so hard to build? No. 

You decide better to ask forgiveness than permission when it comes to Zayne. So, the very last thing to do before Sylus moves in, is tell Sylus that its happening. 

You wait until he calls on you again. Its the day after a heavy rain, and you nearly slip on the damp rock and the way up to his nest. The raven that accompanies him caws at you in aggravation when you slip again, and you’re clinging to the cliffside by the time you reach the top. 

Sylus never touches you. He avoids it as much as he can, but he grabs you the moment you’re close enough, and laughs at the way your knees tremble from the dangerous climb. You spy his cave, and it’s exactly as you feared. His nest is soaked, the little fire he’d built nothing but wet kindling, and you can see the way the rain poured in, pooling at the back. 

He notices you’ve come empty handed this time, and you tell him its because you have an offer for him. 

When you tell him to come back with you. That you have made room for him in the sanctuary he laughs at you the loudest yet. A fiend? Walking into your idyllic little cavern? The people will riot. They’ll flee, thinking it better to risk raiders than the maw of a dragon. 

It takes some convincing, and you have to hold his hand when you come down the mountain together. You can feel his hesitation, even if it doesn’t show on his face. He fears how the people will react when they see him. He cannot hide his horns, his tail, his claws, but you assure him he doesn’t need to. 

With you leading him, the people recognize the dragon. The stories you’ve spread have integrated themselves among the settlement that they people are overjoyed. They’re nervous, as Sylus is a tall and imposing figure, but they welcome him.

Zayne is not pleased when Sylus comes into his house, knocking his horns on the entryway. But you stand fast, saying that if he sends Sylus away, you will go with him. This only makes Zayne frown harder, and for a few days, he doesn’t speak to you. 

Things feel precarious, and winter sets in. Zayne feels distant, and Sylus is tense. Xavier is steadfast is his guard and his counsel. He offers you some advice that maybe, maybe they feel like you might be choosing one over the other. Declaring your intent to follow Sylus would have wounded Zayne, who values you highly.

You realize you’ve hurt Xavier too, when he tells you this. So you make efforts to make amends. You assure Xavier that you have no intention to leave the sanctuary, or him. Not for anything. 

Rafayel and Sylus form a tenuous friendship, The sea god is intrigued by the dragon, but Sylus, you learn, was not raised among his kin. He doesn’t know much about dragons beyond which he’s discovered himself. This intrigues Rafayel more and so they spend time comparing their…less human qualities. 

Making amends with Zayne is….tedious. It takes time for him to forgive you for threatening to leave, and for going against his command of ‘no dragons’. You dedicate more time to studying with him, learning the runes and getting up earlier than him to go through the rounds of reimplementing magic so he doesn’t have to. Even then, it’s a month before he speaks to you again with any length.

You keenly feel the loss of his companionship, and it frays you. So, one night you do something you haven’t in years. You silently enter his bedroom, and crawl into bed beside him. It’s cold, you mumble. And you and Zayne both know he’s a poor source of warmth. He doesn’t push you away, and holds you like he’s missed you. 

Winter is a time of huddling together. Forging bonds over fires and finding the way the pieces fit together. Sylus and Xavier have a competitive spirit with one another. They find themselves at odds. The five of you grow closer. And Zayne’s one room cottage becomes a proper house. With two floors, multiple rooms, and even little study filled with books. 

Their combined magic makes the sanctuary nearly impenetrable. No one, not even the strongest of sorcerers could detect the magic hiding the entrance in the forest. No one, not even the fiercest warrior, would dare tread upon a mountain circled by a dragon. And no one, not even the boldest of gods, would interfere upon the sea god’s new claim. 

The love between you is fragile. As fragile as the seedling sprouting in the spring. The winter passes by in a fever of feather-light affection and tentative kisses. You aren’t sure how to navigate this, and neither are they. It goes unspoken and unnamed, but there is a loyalty forged between the five of you that burns as hot as a dying star. Steadfast as steel, and hard as adamantium.

It’s summer again when the dream breaks. Nearly five years after Sylus had joined, he came rushing into the sanctuary after having patrolled the expanse of his domain. It startles the people he sprints by in his rush to reach your home. 

An army. He cries. An army approaches from the west with banners of white and silver. At least a thousand strong. They did not stop in their march when Sylus approached, and did not cow when he roared at them in warning. His draconic form was not frightening because they’d expected it. 

They’d been found. The sanctuary was in danger. Plans had been made for this occasion, but to actually have to use them? Your stomach turns with nausea as Zayne jumps into action. He and Xavier are the leaders in this, and they set to work immediately. 

They send scouts down through the gully, the people must be evacuated, and it’s the only way. A pair of their fastest runners are sent, but they return too soon. Barely a mile down, the gully hase caved in. There is no way out. 

When Rafayel goes to scout himself, he detects the remnants of magic. Stinking of destruction and sulfur. Someone caved it in on purpose, and made sure to do so with the rest of the tunnel too– there would be no digging out. 

The five of you try to avoid a panic in the people. They look to you and your group. With wide, fearful eyes they seek to find answers– for which you have few. 

Do you fight? Even with the strongest of warrior you have too few. Too many would be lost, and the sanctuary would be rubble. Fleeing is the only choice, but how? How to exapce with hundreds of people into the woods? They would be not only at the mercy of the elements, but the creatures that roam as well. 

An envoy arrives ahead of the army. A man clad in black armor with a silvery banner. His presence broaches the protective wards outside. There is much debate on who will meet him, and it’s eventually decided that Zayne and Xavier will. 

You, Rafayel, and Sylus stand at the very edge of the entrance out of sight. You hear the envoy hand Zayne a rolled parchment with demands. This settlement has not declared allegiance to any kingdom or god, and must do so to remain. 

Bend the knee to Astra, god of stars and stories. The envoy declares, Declare your allegiance to his service and his worship, and declare Astra the rightful ruler of Philos and the cosmos. Only then, will your settlement be spared. 

Zayne does not reply. The sound of parchment being unfolded could be heard and the terrible silence of it being read makes your heart pound. 

The scroll is crumpled and tossed to the grassy forest floor, Your message demands sacrifice. Payment for time unserved. Zayne’s voice is a deadly blade, and it’s a wonder it doesn’t kill the messenger. 

Astra demands your priestess. The one your people worship instead of him. The envoy informs, like he was going to go through this whole meeting without mentioning that tidbit of information. 

Zayne informs the messenger that no deal will be struck today, and to return to his master with a request for better terms. 

The three of you are caught eavesdropping when Zayne and Xavier return back to the shadows of the cavern, but no one speaks. 

Astra. One of the gods in this endless war. God of stories, he calls himself. Formless but with a handful of powerful priests as his agents to command his army. He seeks to control Philos and its kingdoms. To erect temples to his worship throughout the land– at least, that’s the story. 

He could just be a man. A man claiming godhood and enough people believed it to make it true. Rafayel is offended by the claim and says as much as you return home. 

You’re barely in the door before you say what they’re all fearing. That you’ll go. If it’s you that Astra’s demanding, then it’s what you have to do. 

Zayne’s sanity is on a knife’s edge, and he– along with the others– vehemently denies this. You won’t sacrifice yourself. They won’t allow it. 

What other choice is there? You say. The sanctuary. Everything you’ve built here. All the lives– the families that have been made here. The children born and raised in this safe haven. They are worth protecting. If your sacrifice keeps this place safe then it’s an easy bargain to make. 

Arguments ensue. Debates of morality and the worth of a single life. The option between giving allegiance to an evil god or attempting to flee is heavy. There isn’t a right answer, and there are too many wrong ones. A horrible game of rolling the dice and there’s no winners. Everyone is going to walk away from this table bloody and penniless if they don’t come up with something. 

Of course, it’s Zayne that comes up with an answer. After you’ve gone to bed, Zayne stays up through the night tearing through the tomes and texts he’s collected through the years. The book he stole from his birthplace– a city in service to Astra– that he’s refused to open all these years. 

He’ll use the god’s power against him. The god of stories will find his story rewritten. It’s a spell written only in theory, because in practice it cannot be done. Shouldn’t be done. It uses the user’s own life force to unravel the timeline they are in, to become nothing but an author to rewrite the word to their desire. A powerful, heinous spell. 

Sylus finds Zayne pouring over the texts and brings it to the attention of the others. While Zayne intended to do it alone, the others won’t let him. To truly unravel a thing like Astra, he will need more than his own mortality can provide. 

Sylus offers his own. Use his unnatural life. Use his soul. Undo this fate of almost love. Keep you safe. Keep the others safe. The sanctuary could burn for all he cares, but you….you have to live. 

Rafayel inserts himself saying that it would take the life of a god to kill another. That only Rafayel’s life force will be enough. Use him, and rewrite a world without this war entirely. Write a story where the world is peaceful and lovely. Where no one has to die. 

There is no agreement when it comes to these things. Whose life is worth losing? Who’s soul is worth sacrificing? It is an unanswerable question, and it is clever Xavier that finds an answer they can agree to.

Zayne must be the one to enact the spell. Only he, as a former agent of Astra can work the runes and weave the magic needed to do this dastardly thing. He puts you, Sylus, Rafayel, and Xavier into an unnatural sleep before he sets to work. He doesn’t say goodbye, none of you do– because if it works, then you’ll meet again. 

It is no simple trick, unweaving the tapestry of a universe. And more than a simple life is cost by the caster. The very threads of the universe they exist in are untied. They are stripped down to the barest of silk with the power of Zayne’s magic. 

Rewrite this story. Zayne sets the intention, and the runes he writes burn away the molecules of his flesh. Reality around him shifts, matter comes undone, Time stopped and rewound.

A new story is written. One without war. Without Philos and its greedy king. A timeline cleaned up of the filth this one was filled with. No Astra. No raiders. Not even a sanctuary, because it never had to be. The people that filled it are free to live lives full of choice and sunlight. No caverns and scrounging for food. 

A better life. A better story. 

Zayne signed his name and sealed his fate. Relinquishing the last of his memory to the demands of the spell. He was able to preserve the minds of those he loves, but he won’t remember any of it. In this new universe, he will be just as unaware as the rest of them. 

However, just before the supernova. Before the final page. Another line is written. Another hand writing in lines unintended by Zayne and the others. Another name was signed, and the story….changed. 

<- Previous Next ->

[illiterateaffairs]

don't thank me | stiles x reader

masterlist

pairing: stiles stilinski x f!reader (best friend/witch) + allison friendship :)

word count: 836

warnings: none!

summary: set in season 1, stiles decides to thank allison for getting lydia to go to the winter formal with him

author's note: the first of hopefully many shorter drabbles that follow stiles x bestie/witch!reader throughout the series that live in my newly minted 'every little thing' universe. i startd a masterlist linked above and will order them how i envision them taking place, and anything that veers off in a different direction will be labled "alternate endings". lmk if any of this makes any sense anyway enjoy and pls tell me what you think!!

“Allison, hey,” Stiles pants, walking up beside her with a pile of dresses in his arms.

She chuckles, watching him struggle to hold the clothes, “Having fun?”

“Yeah, the time of my life,” he jokes back, setting the stack down on a table beside them.

The two of them were shopping for the winter formal, along with you and Lydia. It had been less than an hour since he had learned that Allison had gotten Lydia to agree to go with him, and yeah it may have been because she owed her for making out with Scott behind her back, but that still meant he had a date with the girl he’s been crushing on since the third grade. 

He thought he'd be more excited, but he’s chalking it up to the nerves and disbelief. Definitely not because he’d started questioning his supposedly platonic feelings for his best friend. 

As he watches Allison browse the dresses on the rack in front of her, he can’t help but be interested in how she’d gotten Lydia to go along with this. 

He clears his throat, “Um, so I guess I should be thanking you for setting this all up. I mean, I know it was because Lydia owed you, but you didn’t have to do this for me...”

Allison gives Stiles a small smile as she interrupts him, “I appreciate your appreciation, but I can’t take all the credit.”

He furrows his brows, “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t really my idea as much as it was Y/N’s.”

Stiles is taken aback by this information, “What- Y/N’s?”

Allison nods, attempting to go back to nonchalantly looking at dresses, “Mmhmm. I was venting to her about the whole Scott-Lydia thing, and she mentioned how much it bothered you too, so…she suggested a way for Lydia to pay me back by also giving you a shot.”

After a few moments of silence, Allison turns her head and see’s Stiles staring blankly into space and has to hold back a laugh. “So, you should really be thanking her, not me.”

Stiles stutters and looks down at his hands, trying to figure out why this piece of information is bothering him, “What, uh, made her suggest that?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact you’ve been obsessed with Lydia since you guys were kids? So she tells me,” Allison murmurs, “I mean that's true right? You like her?”

“Lydia? Yeah of course, I mean what's not to like?” He stumbles, still not making direct eye contact with the brunette.

“Because if you’d rather go with someone else, you don’t have to…”

“Who else would I go with?” Stiles asks, finally looking up with his eyebrows pinched.

Allison shakes her head with a casual shrug, “I don’t know. You should go to formal with someone you really like.”

Stiles makes a face, “Do you really like Jackson?”

Allison rolls her eyes, “As a friend, yes.”

Stiles rolls his own eyes and looks away again.

“And you really like Lydia? Just Lydia?” Allison continues.

Stiles gives her a glance, wondering why she’s asking. “Yes…Lydia’s the only one I’ve ever liked.”

Allison hums. “Good. Then we’ll all have a lot of fun at the dance together.”

Stiles nods and gets lost in thought again. On the one hand, it makes sense why you, his best friend, would come up with a way for him to get a dream date with his crush. On the other hand, the idea of you so easily setting him up with someone else hurt his stomach. 

He doesn’t get the chance to unpack that further as Lydia stomps up behind him, asking him to bring the dresses he’d collected for her to the dressing room. He internally groans, picking the stack back up and following her to said dressing rooms.

As Allison watches them walk off in amusement, you appear on her other side. 

“Black or silver?” You ask, holding up two sets of heels. You watch her stare pointedly at you instead of answering, “What’s that face?”

“You’re still really going to stand there and act like you’re fine with Stiles going to the formal with Lydia?” 

Your shoulders slump, “I told you to let it go - and you already went through with it, too!”

“Doesn’t mean I agree with it,” Allison sighs, “I don’t see how watching Stiles on a date with someone else is meant to help you move on if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

You shrug, “It makes him happy, that’s what matters to me.”

Allison inwardly rolls her eyes and goes back to the racks, “You’re both idiots.”

“What was that?” you ask after hearing her mumble.

“I said you’re a lovable idiot,” Allison grins at her.

You snort, and shove her lightly, “Silver or black?”

“Black,” Allison finally answers and you nod in thanks, turning to go buy your shoes.

Allison shakes her head watching you retreat. 

Loveable idiots, the both of you. And one day you’ll both stop denying it.

author's note: in my head allison and stiles were best friends and deserved more scenes, so she is also besties with the reader because thats my best girl <3

[samoankpoper21]

Drunken Confession - Suna Rintarou

Summary: Suna's best friend is going on a date. How will he react?

Content warnings: cursing, suggestive smut, alcohol use...can't think of anything else

A/N: Y'all I have been stuck on Suna for quite some time now, it amplified more after reading this one fic where he's a tattoo artist who pines over his plus size friend and the way the author wrote him is exactly how I picture him and it was just truly a work of art aslkdfalkdsj I've posted the link so please check out their work!! So good! Anyway I decided to do a slight twist to my drunken confession series^^ this time it's you receiving the confession^^ As always reader is chubby!/poc! and switches between using the Kansai accent. Enjoy~!!

"I always thought you and Rintarou were gonna be a thing." You nearly spit out your water at your mom's declaration.

"What the hell mom."

"Whaaat I'm being serious. He's a nice boy. It drove your dad and I crazy watching you two dance around each other. To this day it's still driving us crazy! When are y'all gonna get together?" Chuckling you remind your mom, "Have you seen his exes? They're all skinnier than me and besides back in high school I mean I knew I looked good but I don't think he would've wanted to date someone who's way darker than him and heavier than him."

"Now you're just playin' stupid."

"Oh geez thanks mom."

"Your dad and I see the way he looked at you back then and now. He got a thing for you honey so why not pursue it?" You began to chew on your bottom lip. The thought of being with Suna has crossed your mind numerous of times. From the moment you two met in high school ungraciously - he approached you asking how much you weighed because you were now his motivation for his weight lifting pr - til now you found him attractive, even more so with the addition of his tattoos and piercings.

"I don't know ma, I literally came over here to vent to you about how boring my date was."

"You know how you could get over another man?" your dad quipped from his place on the couch in the living room.

"How dad?"

"Find another one."

"Really dad!"

"That's what he told your brother all the time." your mom say shaking her head. Rising from his seat from the couch your dad finally joined the both of you in the kitchen, one arm snaking around your mother's plump waist, the other grabbing a fresh blueberry muffin your mom just put out. "Babe those are hot!" your mom scolded him.

"Not as hot as you."

"Ew save the bedroom talk."

"Look dear," your mom continued trying to hide her blush. Years later you still found it endearing how enamored the two of them were with one another. "It doesn't hurt to try. Text him and say you're going on a date, see what his response is."

--

Throwing your keys in the cup you began gnawing at your lip. You hated lying to Suna and you knew he would throw a fit considering that Fridays are reserved for the both of you but you were dying to confirm you parent's - and possibly your - suspicions.

Y/N: Sunaroooooooouuuuuuu

Sunarouuu <3: what

Y/N: ugh a little less sass would be nice???!!!

Sunarouuu <3: wHAT

Y/N: -_- Y/N: whatevs Y/N: anyway I gotta date today asdfkjl

Sunarouuu <3: And you're telling me because...???

Y/N: You know I'd appreciate it if you were a bit more happy for me 😥 Y/N: anyway he's taking me out tonight at around 7ish

Sunarouuu <3: breh u know fridays r our days da fuck

Y/N: I know I know I'll make it up 2 u next week I swear 🙏🏾😭

Sunarouuu <3: yer lucky the boys wanted to hang out 2nite

Y/N: 🫶🏾

Suna groaned his fists covering his eyes. "Fucking shit."

"Uh oh," Aran asked. "What happened?"

"Looks like I'm drinkin' with ya tonight."

"Whaaat? Y/N finally dumped ya?"

"Shut the fuck up Miya." Kita rounded the corner smacking Atsumu behind the head, Osamu giving Kita a thumbs up. "Stop teasing Suna. What happened? What'd she say?"

"She got a date or some shit like that." Sighing Kita advised, "Why don't you tell her how you feel? How you've always felt."

"Because fuuuck it'll just mess up our whole dynamic."

"Doesn't hurt to try. You can't get mad at the situation if you haven't even tried to change it."

"I hate it when yer right." he grumbled.

"Anyway I'm about to head home."

"Aw come on Kita ya should drink with us. We're drinkin' to celebrate Suna's rejection." Just as quickly as those words left Atsumu's mouth he dodged his head from the object that flew towards him. Kita shook his head chuckling. "Unlike you guys I have someone to go home to."

"Yer not talkin' bout your stupid dog are ya?"

"Keep it up Tsumu and I'll let Suna kill you for real this time." Holding his hands up in mock surrender he laughed bidding Kita a good evening.

--

Suna slammed down the shot glass, his cheeks red his head spinning. "Maybe ya should slow down" Aran fretted. "You've been knocking back shot after shot."

"Ya don't understand."

"Here he goes again." Atsumu mumbled under his breath. Ignoring him Suna continued. "I really really like her."

"So why haven't ya told her?" Osamu asked.

"Dunno. Scared I guess."

"Of what? From what I see she's been holdin' back too ya know."

"Really?"

"Oi yer hopeless."

--

Groaning you awoke to a flurry of knocks and bangs at your apartment door. Picking up your phone you saw that it was nearing 3AM with a bunch of missed call and text notifications from Osamu, Aran and Suna. Frowning you trudged your way to the door swinging it open to see Osamu and a very drunk Suna with his head down, arm slung over Osamu. "Samu? Hi what-"

"Yer apartment was the closest to the bar and he wouldn't stop tellin' me to drop him here." Ushering Osamu to hand him over you chuckle, "I don't mind. Why'd he drink so much anyway?" Osamu stiffened at your question before replying, "I'll let him explain. Anyway thanks for takin' care of him. See ya later."

"Bye Samu and thanks!" Flicking the lights on you turned to admire how beautiful Suna looked in his drunken state: his cheeks painted a dark shade of red contrasting against his skin tone, his chapped lips, and yellow grayish eyes that abruptly shot open. "Y/N?"

"Samu dropped you off here, told him that you didn't want to go home." Groaning he quipped, "Didn't mean to ruin yer date."

"You didn't."

"I think ima head home." Frowning you scold, "Suna Rintarou, how the hell are you gonna go home in that state?"

"What if yer date sees-"

"There is no date sheesh just stay here."

"I don't wanna ruin-"

"Rin, I'm telling you to stay." Staring at you intently he reluctantly agreed. Helping him remove his shoes you drape his left arm over your much shorter shoulder, your right arm hooking itself around his waist. "Come on ya big lug let's get you to bed. Lord knows yer gonna have a massive hangover." Leading him to your bedroom you gently sit him on your bed, one hand hanging onto him, the other reaching for the water bottle on your nightstand. You giggled as you watched him sway to and fro with his eyes closed. Grabbing 4 ibuprofen you smashed them into small pieces dropping it into the water bottle praying that he doesn't choke or spit it out. "Rin," you gently shake him. "Rin."

"Hm?" his eyes slowly peeled open, he gulped taking in your black spaghetti strap that hugged your full breasts and tummy and the short pink shorts that stopped atop your thick melanated thighs. Stooping in front of him he blushed at the dirty thoughts running through his mind as you got on your knees. "I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me?" Exhaling slowly he looked at the bottle in your hand and grimaced. "Water?"

"If you don't hydrate yer gonna wake up with a really bad hangover. Come on Rin do it for me. Please?" Gulping again he could feel his face heating up at the position you were in: you peering up at him through your lashes, pleading, had his cock straining in his pants. If only you knew how much power you had over him. The word please, the way you uttered it would make him burn the world if it made you happy. "Fine." you smiled unscrewing the cap to the bottle bringing it to his lips. Maintaining eye contact with you he opened his mouth letting the cool stream of water slide down his throat, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. Once the water was finished you lay him down gently draping the covers over his much too tall frame. As you were about to head out he grabbed your wrist. "Where ya goin'?"

"I was gonna sleep on the couch."

"The fuck just sleep here."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Surprised by his strength despite his inebriated state you squeaked when he pulled you to him, your head crashing into his chest. Letting out a sigh of relief Suna pulled you tighter into his embrace, his leg wrapping itself around you as he began petting your head. Blushing you wished you could act on your desire but knew otherwise. Clearing your throat you tentatively ask, "Rin?"

"Hm?"

"What happened? Why'd you drink so much today?"

"Cuz of yer stupid date."

"Wha-"

"I like you so much Y/N. Hell," he chuckles. "I think I'm in love with ya. Yer so smart and beyond beautiful but it's not just physical attraction with ya, I like yer whole being. I can't see you with anyone else so when ya told me ya had a date fuck I don't know my heart just really hurt ya know."

"You like me Rin?"

"Since I first saw you in high school." With tears in your eyes you peered up to see that he had fallen asleep.

--

Groaning awake Suna's eyes slowly peeled open taking in his surroundings. Oh it's Y/N's room. What a weird dream. Closing his eyes again he snuggled into your warmth inhaling your scent releasing a sigh of relief. This is probably one of the best dreams I've ever had with Y/N in it. I hope I can sleep a bit longer. It feels so real. Stiffening his eyes shot open when he felt you wriggle closer to his hard on. "Fuck," he hissed out trying to recollect last night's events; attempting to pry his arms from around you you whined scooting back closer to him, pulling his arms around you again. "Y/N," his morning voice caused you to internally shiver. "Hm?"

"Ya awake?" Slowly sitting up you lifted your arms above your head stretching letting out a yawn, Suna gulping at your erect nipples as you slowly began rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Fuck I'm sorry I don't know what or how-"

"Rin-"

"Look I understand if ya hate me-"

"Rin-"

"Or don't wanna talk to me-"

"Rin.ta.rou."

"But if I made ya feel uncomfortable-"

"You've never made me feel uncomfortable. Not once, not ever." Silence cascaded around you both, both of you scared to break the moment. Inhaling deeply you gently ask, "What do you remember about last night?"

"Fuck I just remember we went to the bar, I drank way more than I shoulda and...now that I think about it I don't feel hung over." Chuckling you respond with, "I crushed 4 ibuprofen and put it in your water." Dramatically gasping, Suna clutching a hand over his heart he says, "You've drugged me? How bold of you Y/N."

"Thank you for making sure I don't wake up with a really bad hangover would've sufficed the fuck." A comfortable silence settled when you tentatively ask, hands fidgeting avoiding his gaze, "D-do you remember what you said? What we talked about?" Gawd Suna wanted to smack his head against the wall, hell he was even willing to let Atsumu do it too for the sake of remembering. Awkwardly chuckling you mutter, "Doesn't matter if ya don't remember. I mean you drank a lot anyway." His chest hurt at seeing you hurt trying to hide the pain by cracking jokes. He cuffed your wrist gently. "Y/N." Biting your lip willing yourself not to cry he gently cupped your chin angling your head to look at him. "Please tell me what we talked about."

"Nah I'll let you suffer. Real fucked up how I'm the only one that remembers."

"That's unfair, one of us wasn't in a clear state of mind."

"Touche." Taking a shaky deep breath you whisper, "Y-you told me you drank because of me b-but the truth is I didn't have a date last night. I only said that to confirm my parents' suspicions."

"Which is?"

"That you l-liked me. But it's okay! I understand if you don't!"

"Gawd yer stupid." Pulling you against him his head bent down slotting his lips against yours, the fit perfect. You whimpered when you felt his big hand slide underneath your tank top sliding up your back. Pulling back both of you gasping for air he leaned forward so that your foreheads were touching. "I've liked you since high school. I didn't wanna ruin what we had, what we built so I kept dating all these girls in hopes of trying to forget you but it didn't fucking work. I kept comparing them to you how their smiles never lit up likes yours, how they didn't like to read, how they weren't you and it wasn't until the boys called me out on it where I finally realized that I have fallen helplessly in love with you."

"Damn," you smirk. "You were down bad for me huh?"

"Shut up." he groaned before yanking your hair back exposing your neck pressing and sucking wet heated kisses along your neck. "I-I like you too." Pausing his ministrations he pulled back to look at you with warmth in his eyes. Mustering up more courage you continue with, "Hell I think I love you." Smiling you lean forward to capture his lips in a passionate kiss when you gently push against his chest, straddling him, his hands instinctively finding purchase on your plump hips, his fingers squeezing the chubby flesh. Quirking an eyebrow up he watched as you slowly lifted the tank top over your head, his eyes darkening. "Rin, let me make it up to you, for all our lost time."

©ALL WORKS BELONG TO SAMOANKPOPER21; ANY INFRINGEMENT OR PLAGIARISM WILL BE REPORTED!! DO NOT STEAL MY WORK!!

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-One

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: More angst, but of the wolfy-variety!

Notes: I know I said two chapters before Jasper, but I had to fit this one in which is why I’m posting out of my normal window. Trust the process when it comes to why I did what I did this chapter lol and if you don’t spot it, everything will be fine (famous last words). Honestly I think I’m just healing inner me with how I wish conversations should’ve happened in the movie lol

Word Count: 2401

Series Masterlist

• March 8th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

Time starts to pass by a little easier with Quil, the quiet isn’t as deafening even when there’s a comfortable silence. I think the same could be said for Quil, since all of his Rez friends have gone AWOL.

Our days are usually spent under blankets on my couch, watching movies and just being present for each other. Plus, there’s not much to do in this tiny ass town anyways.

“Heard anything?” I ask him tentatively, hopefully.

He shakes his head solemnly in response, eyes never leaving the tv. The fact that he doesn’t even want to talk about Jake or Embry twists a new little knife in my gut.

“I’m okay, Y/n/n.” The grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes and I hate it.

“It’s okay to miss them, I know it’s hard to be stuck with just me now-”

“Don’t.” He reaches over to grab my ankle since I’m facing him on the couch and drags it to his lap, “You’re here and they’re not. I was friends with them longer and they ditched me for other dudes. I’m where I want to be.”

“You don’t have to hold it all in, I’m familiar with that feeling.” I nudge his hand with my socked foot to get him to look at me. “What good am I if I don’t therapize you too?”

“That would insinuate I do anything for you, you won’t talk about him.” His gaze levels on me and I’m caught red handed.

“There’s not much to it, I-I loved him and he’s gone. End of story.” I pick at the loose strings on my blanket, the topic hard for me to meet his eyes.

“There’s everything to it.” He squeezes my foot, “Not end of story, you deserve to vent just as much as I do. You don’t need to feel guilty for grieving him, heartache is a real bitch.”

“Heartache is a bitch, huh?” I huff a laugh as I try to breathe through the tears that want to spring up.

“Y/n, I’m the loneliest guy on the planet. In the male friends department and the girlfriend department, don’t make fun of me.” His lighthearted tone trying and failing to make light of his situation.

“We’re just fucked, aren’t we?” His brown eyes meet mine as we commiserate in our collective sadness.

His head drops back against the back of the couch, “Beyond comprehension, my dear Y/n/n.”

• March 11th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

My finger hovers over a text to Quil, asking him to come over, when I get a call from my other best friend.

“Bells, hey-”

“I need backup.” Her request draws me up short. “I’m going to the Rez-I need to see Jacob.”

“Bella, he’s with Sam now-”

“I don’t care anymore, you in?” She presses.

“I was in the second you called, I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Good, because I’m almost there.” Hanging up the phone, I grab a jacket and my shoes.

So much for the first day of Spring Break, might as well start it off with a bang.

•March 11th, 2006 • Quileute Indian Reservation•

Reader

Bella slid to a stop in Jacob’s driveway and both of us hopped out, memories of bike-building settling like a weight in my stomach. It wasn’t even that long ago and I miss it, I miss Jacob.

Bella knocks on the glass pane of his front door and Billy Black answers, “Bella?”

“I need to see him.”

“He-,” glancing between us briefly, “he’s not in.” The lie blatantly obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Bella pushes past his wheelchair and inside the house, “I really need to see him.”

I remain awkwardly on the front porch, torn between not wanting to intrude or following my friend.

“Bella!” Billy’s warning is ineffective as she storms to Jacob’s room.

Just when the situation couldn’t possibly get worse, I spot four shirtless figures emerging from the forest by the house, Sam’s group.

I hear the back door open and shut and I just know it’s Bella.

I sprint around the house to catch up to her, “Bella!” But my warning falls on deaf ears, she’s on a warpath for the boys. “Shit.” I mutter under my breath.

Stomping up to the tallest - Sam, “What did you do?” She pushes his chest, hard. “What did you do, huh? What did you do to him?!”

“Hey - watch it!” The other two guys plus Embry shout as they step up around their leader.

“Easy.” The word is more of a growl than anything and it causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise.

If this comes to a fight, we’re fucked.

“He didn’t want this!” Her desperation pulls at my heart.

“What did we do? What did he do? What did he tell you?” The questions from the guy to Sam’s right are rapid-fire, his anger clearly volatile.

“He tells me nothing, because he’s scared of you!”

The same guy barks out a laugh, clearly he finds her concern for Jacob silly.

“Bella, let’s go home-” but my plead immediately goes unheard because she throws a fucking right hook for the guys face, son of a bitch.

“Too late now.” Another guy jokes, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Bella, get back!” Sam orders, trying to diffuse the situation as this guy begins to shake.

I grab her arm and we slowly start to retreat for her truck, too scared to turn and take our eyes off of the angry male.

“Bella…” I whisper, unsure of what to do.

“Paul! Calm down now.” The authority in Sam’s voice rings through the backyard, but it’s too late somehow.

The shaking and heavy breathing from Paul leads to a transformation that snatches my breath from my body - a wolf. And not just any wolf, a wolf from the fucking meadow. A wolf that saved us from Laraunt, now standing before us where Paul was.

Where Paul was.

Paul is a wolf. A really big one at that - a really big angry one.

Anger directed at Bella and by association, me. The death grip I have on her fucking arm has to be painful, but the menacing look in his eyes shocks me to my bones.

Bella moves before I do, using my tight grip on her to yank me into action with her as she makes for Jacob’s house.

“Bella! Y/n!” Jake yells, clearing the back porch railing in one leap, sprinting for us.

“Run! Jake, run!” Bella screams back at him, but he charges towards us anyways.

He jumps last minute before he reaches us and I trip trying to follow his path with my eyes before-

Before he turns into a fucking wolf too.

Jacob Black, our best friend, is a wolf? I mean, vampires are definitely a thing, but wolves?

Squaring off with Paul, both the russet-colored wolf and the silver-grey wolf launch for each other. Snapping and snarling as they roll into the woods, my heart painfully thumps in my chest, Jacob.

“Hey, take the girls back to Emily’s place.” Sam orders Embry and the last remaining male, both of them jogging over to us.

“I guess the wolf’s out of the bag.” They joke, ushering us up and towards Bella’s truck.

They’re wolves, Sam’s gaggle of Rez boys are fucking wolves. Jacob is one of them and so is Embry, what about Quil? Is this why they’ve ditched him, ditched us? Wolves can’t be friends with humans? What do I even tell him, or should I tell him anything?

My mind is racing a million miles an hour in the span of seconds with questions I desperately need answers to.

Embry holds open the passenger side door to Bella’s truck with a smile and I walk right past his invitation to climb in the bed with the newly acquainted Jared.

“Y/n, that’s not safe-”

“I’ll be fine.” I don’t even spare a glance at him with my monotone answer, I’m mad at him for how he’s treating Quil.

Jared raises his eyebrows and quirks a grin. “Feisty, I like it.”

Embry huffs as he shuts the door behind Bella and rounds the truck for the driver’s side, “Don’t encourage her, man.”

• March 11th, 2006 • Uley Residence •

Reader

“Hey I think we should go back and see if Jacob’s okay.” Bella rolls down her window as the rest of us hop out of her truck.

“I hope Paul sinks some teeth in him, serves him right.” Jared quips to Embry.

“No way! Jacob’s a natural, you see him phase on the fly? I got five that says Paul doesn’t even touch him.” Embry argues, “C’mon in Bella! We won’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jared jokes and I shove him as we turn to walk inside.

“Oh hey, about Emily - Sam’s fiancé? Don’t stare, it bugs Sam.” Embry warns both of us before following Jared.

“Why would we stare?” Bella asks and I shrug, just as confused.

“You guys hungry? Like I have to ask.” The female in the kitchen asks the boys, laughing at what must be an inside joke. “Who’s this?” She asks after turning around, glancing between us.

“Bella Swan and Y/n Y/l/n.” Jared answers her.

“Hmm… So, you’re the vampire girl-well, girls.” I instantly admire her easy-going vibe, diving straight in to acknowledge the elephant in the room to get it over with.

“So you’re the wolf girl?” Bella asks in return, accepting her olive branch.

“Guess so,” smiling to herself, she picks up the largest platter I’ve ever seen of muffins, “Well, I’m engaged to one.” Snatching both Embry and Jared’s hands as they reach- “Save some for your brothers! And ladies first, muffin?” It’s comical, the way she mothers them.

“Thank you, Emily.” I smile at her and sit across from Jared, the muffin still warm from the oven.

“Leave it to Jacob to find a way around Sam’s gag order.” Emily scoffs, not surprised.

“Umm, he didn’t… Say anything to us.” Glancing at me, Bella explains.

“That’s a wolf thing, alpha’s orders get obeyed whether we want ‘em to or not. Oh and check it out - we can hear each other’s thoughts.” Embry brags and I gape, this is all fucking wild.

“Would you shut up! These are trade secrets - damnit, these chicks run with vampires!” Jared’s frustration is lighthearted as he admonishes Embry for giving away some of their abilities.

“Can’t really run with vampires,” Emily and I chuckle at the boys not quite catching on, “Because they’re fast.”

“Yeah? Well we’re faster. Freaked out yet?”

“You’re not the first monsters we’ve met.”

“Jake’s right, you’re good with weird.” Sam nods at us, beelining for Emily as soon as he steps in the door. He presses kisses to her lips and then all over her face, causing her to giggle. The obvious display of affection carving out my heart just a little bit more - looking away I set my muffin down, no longer hungry.

Pushing and shoving each other, Paul and Jacob finally show - unhurt and brotherly even. They just beat the shit out of each other and they’re tighter than ever? Boys.

“Sorry.” Paul apologizes and flashes what has to be his signature smile at both of us.

I catch Jacob jerking his head towards the door and Bella follows, probably off to explain this whole entire shit show. I turn my gaze to Embry and level a glare on my former friend, waiting for him to say something.

“You going to let me explain? Or are you going to look at me like you’d like to castrate me until Bella gets back?” Embry stares right back, munching on another muffin.

“Jared?” I look at him sweetly and he grins, “take me home?”

Embry stands so quick and his chair teeters dangerously on two legs for a moment. “Y/n.” His tone is hard, done with this game.

“Embry.” I match him back.

He walks out the front door and it drags me from my own chair, this blowout long overdue.

“You know now and you’re still fucking mad at me?” He turns, leaning against Bella’s truck and folding his arms.

“I don’t even know where to start, Embry!” I yell at him exasperated. “You ditched us, you ditched your longest running best friend-”

“I had no choice!”

“He’s struggling-”

“I’m struggling!” His eyes are wild and his hands have a slight shake, “Cutting everyone out has been the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done! I can’t tell anyone, can’t see anyone, can’t do what I want to do anymore! I belong to this Reservation, to this pack, to Sam now. He says jump, I ask how high. He says keep your mouth shut, I cut everyone out. It’s how it has to be.”

“Embry, that’s no way to live.” My heart breaks for his situation.

“It’s in my blood and not something I can opt out of, Y/n/n. Besides, they’re my brothers now and they need me as much as I need them.”

I surge forward to hug him, “I’m still mad at you for Quil.”

“I missed you too.” I hear his grin as I hug him tight. “You can’t tell him though.”

Immediately I retreat, “What?”

“It’s a tribe secret, the pack is sacred and must be protected.”

“He wouldn’t done anything to endanger-”

“It doesn’t matter, anyone on the outside has to stay on the outside. It’s not like I don’t want to, he’s my best fucking friend. But he doesn’t have a need-to-know.”

“Embry-”

“I can’t argue with you about this, please drop it.” His wide eyes plead with me and I surrender.

“Okay, okay. Consider it dropped.” I mime like I’m locking my lips closed and I toss the invisible key over my shoulder.

“Good,” throwing an arm over my shoulder, he leads me back inside, “Now you can hang with the big dogs.”

“Okay I’m going to need you to not make stupid jokes about this situation.” But I laugh anyways, I miss this - him.

I smile to myself, happy to finally have people back in my life that I thought were gone for good. I still feel the massive hole in my chest, but the pain is on the back burner for now.

At least until I’m alone again.

Next

Taglist Part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

[crazychaoticizzy]

TRACK 3: Tennessee

Y/n L/n—an indie artist that became the leading female vocalist of the famous band Heart Attack. How did someone with such a soft sound come to join the rock band anyway?

EREN X READER X JEAN

CONTENT: multipart fic, rock band au, slow burn, love triangle, angst, substance abuse, toxic relationship, if I missed anything let me know!

WORD COUNT: 10.6k

series masterlist

AOT masterlist

<< previous part

Y/N: I should probably start at the beginning, right? Well, I truly fell in love with music when I was little. My mother, Alice Kraney, gave me that love. Crazy as she was. She would always come back from sets humming the tune to whatever song had been playing. She’d let me make up lyrics, even if they were wrong.

That was before she . . . got carried away with everything. Before the heroine and ecstasy got to her. She fought a lot with my dad because of it. They eventually got divorced, and my dad won custody of me in court. The jury said Mom was too unstable to raise me. My dad was gracious, though. More than he should have been. He got me in New York during the school year, and when summer came around he let me go to my mom’s if I wanted.

It shouldn’t have shocked you that Alice Kraney’s house reeked of marijuana and various other substances. Some part of you always had a sliver of hope that she’d decided to change herself during the school year. She never did.

You nearly threw up walking through the front door. It was a mess. You didn’t like being at her small townhouse in the middle of Fuck-Shit-Nowhere, Tennessee, but you still liked your mom. The delusional side of you always assumed she’d stop for you.

She never did. She never did anything.

You stepped over a pile of mail and held your suitcase and bags just above the floor. It was meant to be wooden, but it was covered in so much grime you couldn’t really tell.

Jesus, did it really get that bad in ten months?

Alice wasn’t home. You knew that because the door was unlocked. She never locked the door when she went out, even while she was with your father.

You carefully maneuvered your way across the living room and down the hall. You spotted a couple needles and orange caps on the floor, and reminded yourself to always wear shoes and never sit on cushions in Alice’s house.

The only clean room in her house was yours. Alice never touched it. She hardly even knocked on the door when you were there. Did she even know you were there?

It didn’t smell great in your room either. The fumes from the rest of the house had bled through the vents and made the space stink. You made another note to buy a shit ton of Febreeze and those wallflower things from Bath and Body Works.

You set your bag aside and sat on your bed, heaving a sigh. At least your room was drug free. That was something you took pride in.

Your phone buzzed. You looked down at the screen. You smiled at the Instagram DM from a guy you had been talking to. Damian — a guy from California that had complimented your music.

Your fingers glided across the keyboard as you orchestrated the perfect response. It wasn’t moments later that you held the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” you said. Your voice was pitched higher on purpose, and you tried your best to cover the Brooklyn accent you had.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Damian said. You swooned. How easy it was to romance you. “Haven’t talked to you in a bit.”

“It’s only been a day,” you giggled. You stood up. There were still things you had to unpack from your car.

“A day too long.” You rolled your eyes. “So what are you up to?”

“Oh, you know. I just got to my mom’s. It’s a mess, as usual.”

You heard Damian exhale — one of the ones that sounded as though he were daydreaming. “I still can’t believe I managed to catch the attention of Alice Kraney’s daughter.”

You laughed again, poised and perfect. “Well it isn’t hard.”

“Not for me, anyway.” A moment of silence passed as you pulled your guitar out of your trunk and began your second trip through the house. “Say, pretty girl” — God, your heart fluttered when he called you that — “d’you pack that special gift?”

You scoffed playfully. “Damian.”

“I’m only asking. Maybe we could have some fun.”

You smiled. Damian couldn’t see it, but he knew he had enticed you. “My dad wouldn’t approve,” you said, but it would take nothing more than a flick for you to crumble and give in.

“Daddy’s not around, is he, pretty girl?” You rolled your eyes, but already you were digging around in your suitcase to comply. “C’mon, babe. Hop on FaceTime and we can have fun.”

“Okay, okay. I’m looking.”

“Atta girl.”

Damian’s photo appeared on your phone before you knew it, and it wasn’t long until you were complying with his every wish.

—

Y/N: When I tell people about Damian, they tell me I was weak and naïve. Someone even called me stupid when I was on a press tour with Heart Attack. They say I should have known better. But I was not weak or naïve or stupid. I was a baby. I wanted someone to care about me the way he said he did.

I regret everything having to do with Damian with my whole heart. Even the songs that got me where I am. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to take all of that back.

“I wrote you a song.”

You were on the phone with Damian again. Your phone was propped up against one of your pillows and you listened to his voice with headphones.

“A song? Isn’t it a bit early for that, pretty girl?”

You shrugged, standing from your end to retrieve your guitar. When you settled back on your bed, you strummed the strings lightly. “Maybe. But I wanted to write one for you. Can you hear the guitar?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can hear it.” You could hear the reluctance in Damian’s tone, but you ignored it. “Alright then, show me what you made.”

You smiled, looking down at the neck of your guitar to make sure you had the right fingerings with each note change.

That smile didn’t leave your lips as you sang. The guitar rhythm was soft, your voice even softer. Candied and light, your voice carried through the house.

As you strummed the final chord, you looked at Damian expectantly, eagerly awaiting his feedback. When he didn’t say anything, you cleared your throat.

“Did you like it?”

Damian didn’t respond for a moment again. But he eventually clicked his tongue and furrowed his brows.

“It was . . . Something.”

You felt your heart crack. Your vibrant smile faded ever so slightly, but you tried to keep it.

“I thought you liked my music.” That’s why he had contacted you in the first place. He had come across a clip of you singing a snippet from a song you’d written. He told you he loved your voice and the way you played.

Damian shrugged. “No, I do. I do. It just- It was just okay. I know you wanna be the next Historia Reiss influencer or whatever, but don’t you think that’s a bit silly?”

Your smile faced completely. You let your posture sag. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that, you know, not everyone makes it. Not unless they’re pretty and talented, and you just don’t quite hit that mark.”

You blinked at him in silence, the gears in your head working overtime to fully dissect Damian’s words. You were trying to piece together the contradictions of what he just said and the things he told you before.

“Plus, like, we’re just casual. This is just a casual thing, you and I. You don’t need to write a whole song.”

You nodded. “Right.”

But your gaze flitted over to the notebook on your desk — the one filled to the brim with pretty words describing the way Damian made you feel. You had planned to flesh them out into full songs for him, but now you weren’t sure.

An uncomfortable silence had enveloped the room. The air was so thick it was suffocating you, pushing down in your chest and weighing heavily on your shoulders.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said, clearing your throat. You could feel your eyes burning with tears. “Uhm, I have to go.”

Damian groaned as you grabbed your phone. “Pretty girl, I didn’t mean it like that-”

You hung up before he finished and tossed your phone as far away from you on your bed as you could. You held your legs to your chest like a damn toddler and took a deep breath, pressing your forehead against your knees.

You heard a knock on your door. You lifted your head and sniffed, wiping your cheeks to clean any stray tears. “Come in,” you called out, your voice cracking.

Your door creaked open. On the other side stood your mother. She looked like she was about to go out and throw herself onto the first man that looked at her. Her fried hair was straightened and she wore shorts that could hardly be classified as such.

“Hey,” is all she said. Her voice was hoarse. “Was that music you?”

You softly nodded. You couldn’t tell if Alice was high. You hoped she was, at least a little. That way she wouldn’t pay your dried tears any mind.

Alice hummed. “It was nice. Pretty.”

“Thanks,” you dryly said.

Alice bit the inside of her cheek. She stood awkwardly in your doorway for a moment before clicking her tongue. Her lips curled up, revealing the circular gap in her front two teeth. “Smile, babe,” she said, pointing at the apples of her cheeks.

You hummed, unamused, as Alice closed your bedroom door.

You didn’t know whether to take her compliment or not. She was a druggie, but before that she was just a street away from Broadway and was a riding actor nearly everyone knew the name of. If she said you sounded good, did she really mean it?

You pushed her words to the back of your mind and put your guitar away. You laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before you heard the front door open and your mom stumbled into the house. She was giggling, and you heard another voice with her.

You reached for the headphones on your nightstand and put them over your ears. You put them at the highest volume before pushing play on a playlist your friend had made for you.

Why you were always so sure you wanted to spend every summer with Alice, you didn’t know. But every year without fail, you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come.

—

The start of the school year was always stressful. You hated driving, and the trip back to your dad’s Brooklyn apartment was going to beat your ass.

Not to mention that you always managed to arrive home later than anticipated. You weren’t sure what it was, but last year you arrived a whole day late and missed the first day of school. And you still had to go get school supplies. And repack your bags.

Instead of doing any of that, you were tucked under the blankets of your bed, watching one of your mom’s old movies. One from her early twenties.

She really was a good actress. Her expressions were spot on no matter what and she was always able to adapt to her co-stars choices easily. The movie you were watching was an indie film called Esperanza’s Dog. It won an award once, though you don’t know what for.

It was probably one of your favorite films. Not just because seeing your mom play the main character, Esperanza, but because the movie was so beautifully shot and written. It always made you cry. Your dad had also worked on the film. That’s where he met Alice.

You were so engrossed in the movie that you didn’t even notice Alice push your door open and come in. You only knew she was there when she sat down on the edge of your bed with you. She looked more out together than usual (though there were still dark rings around her eyes and her hair was a mess), and her clothing was more modest that what you had seen her wear.

“Whatcha watching?” she asked, even though her eyes were already glued to your computer screen. You knew she could recognize the movie. You knew she recognized the work your dad did.

“Esperanza's Dog,” you quietly replied. You pulled the blankets tighter against you, watching as Alice’s lips curled up the smallest bit.

“You know, that was my favorite to film.” She wasn’t high. Or drunk, or intoxicated in any way. You wondered what the occasion was.

“Is it because of dad?”

Alice laughed and leaned back on her arms. “Part of it. But no, it was just fun. It’s a nice movie and Kasey Mulls is a really good director. She’s working with Hollywood now, you know.”

“What studio?”

“Oh, who knows. But her new movie went up for tons of awards this year.” You hummed, and that was the end of the conversation. An uncomfortable silence wrapped itself around you, and you kept your eyes glued to the screen in an attempt to not start another talk.

Your mother, however, did the opposite. Her gaze flitted around your room, analyzing every aspect of it from your open windows to the paper wisteria that was hanging in all corners of the room. She eventually landed on your guitar case, which was open.

“Will you play something for me?” she asked. Her voice was hopeful, and you saw a glint of the same thing in her eyes when you met her gaze.

You stared at her. For a moment, you could see the twenty-something year old that was currently on your screen, sharing a romantic moment with one of the love interests.

It almost pained you to see. You knew the woman on the screen was your mom, but it was such a far cry from who she was today that it was almost impossible to see the connection. You had seen many articles and Redditor’s and Tumblr users and Instagram reels that tracked the timeline of Alice Kraney’s downfall, and in every one there was no clear path that landed her as a blacklisted druggie.

“I don’t really have anything,” you said, turning back to the movie.

“Sure you do. What was that song you sang earlier? About here?”

Your heart clenched. So much it hurt. You remembered her asking about it when you first sang it in full, but you didn’t think she would. You had hoped that she was too involved with herself that day so she wouldn’t remember it.

But of course she did. Because if she heard you singing the song, then she heard you talking to a boy — to Damian. If she heard the song, then she heard the exact moment your heart cracked and reality dawned on you. If she heard the song, then she also heard who it was about.

“It’s not very good,” you said.

“Yeah it is! It’s a great song. I think it would do wonders on radio. Maybe even a movie? Hey, I could probably call someone and see if-”

“Mom.” Alice quieted, looking at you curiously as you sat up. “It’s fine. It’s not- I don’t really want to get into show business.”

“Really?” You nodded. “Since when?”

You shrugged. “I’ve just been thinking about it. It’s really hard to break through and stay relevant. Anyone can be a one-hit wonder, but if I want to be able to do this for a living then I have to be able to be… seen.”

What Damian said to you had sent you down a spiral. Okay, maybe you weren’t as pretty as other celebrities or a nepobaby like Historia Reiss. That was fine, but if you weren’t pretty then why would people pay attention to you?

“I just think it’s more realistic to get a real job.” You shrugged again. It felt like you were lying through your teeth. You really did want that. You wanted the life celebrities lived even if it was nasty and drama-filled. You wanted to be seen and to write songs that other people could relate to.

Alice was silent for a moment. You could see your words turning in her mind.

“Even if you don’t make it, you can still do it,” she stated. “It can be a side hustle.”

“Mom—”

“You are talented. You have a beautiful voice and know how to play a guitar—”

“I really don’t think—”

“Listen to me.” Alice grabbed your hand. “You are nearly seventeen. If this is what you want to do, then start now. The industry gets so much more competitive when you’re an adult than when you’re a teenager. You have the talent and sound to make it big, you just have to try. No one’s going to know who you are if you don’t put yourself out there.”

You exhaled, your back curving into a slump. Even if your mom wasn’t a very strong fighter, she got stubborn when she thought something would work out with her whole heart.

“Now, play me a song. Please? I want to hear it.”

You folded. Mostly because your mom rarely paid attention to you and now she wanted you to do something for her. That, and she wasn’t high out of her mind like she usually was. This was something she would remember.

You paused your movie and closed your laptop, reluctantly sliding out of bed and crossing the room to your guitar case. You pick it up, lifting the strap over your head and strumming the strings to make sure they were in tune. You pulled your rolley chair out from its spot at your desk and turned it with your foot, sitting down.

You met Alice’s gaze. She was sitting straight — attentively. She gave you a soft smile and thumbs up. When you strummed your guitar and started singing, you were reminded why you loved it.

—

EREN: Marco’s death put a damper on everyone’s mood. You have to go really far back on the Heart Attack socials, but if you look at the dates you see almost a year where nothing new was posted.

CONNIE: Erwin threatened to cut our deal with Scout Records if we didn’t quit moping. We needed to provide something for the studio to produce if we wanted to stay. We used one of Marco’s old keyboard tracks and made “Holiday”.

JEAN: “Holiday” found itself on TikTok pretty fast. People liked the sound. They liked rock music. I was grateful, I guess. But… Marco wasn’t there. And if he wasn’t, then why was I?

“Eren, you fucking idiot.”

Jean crumpled the paper in his hand, a noise that was louder than it should have been due to the silence in the room as everyone looked over their music.

“What the fuck is this?” Jean strode across the studio to Eren and shoved the crumpled paper into his chest. Eren let go out the microphone and grabbed the paper before it fell to the floor and unfolded it.

“It’s your music.”

“Well no shit. I mean why is it changed?”

“Then maybe you should have said that instead of what the fuck is this.” Eren mocked. He looked back down at the sheet of music. “What song is this?”

“Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” Jean snapped. Maybe he was irrationally angry, but that was his song. He wrote it. Every part of it. Why was Eren changing it?

“Oh.” Eren hands him the paper back. “Your backtrack with the bass sounded off. It didn’t line up with everything else.”

“That was the point! It’s supposed to be discordant to disconnect the listener. It gives the song meaning, Eren.”

“We aren’t trying to disconnect the listener, Jean! If the listener feels disconnected then why would they listen to more of our music?”

“This is my song, idiot. You can’t—”

“Stop arguing.” The voice was loud over the intercom. It was something the band still wasn’t used to.

Everyone’s head snapped to the pane of glass that separated the studio to the control room. They could vaguely see their reflections in the glass, but beyond those they were met with Erwin’s stern stare and Levi’s disapproving glance.

“Nothing will get done if the two of you keep picking on each other. Jean, I told Eren to change the song. Now sit down and start figuring it out.”

Jean huffed, sparing a glance at Eren before he snatched the crumpled paper out of Eren’s hand and retreated to his stool.

He knew Levi was lying, but no one talked back to Levi Ackerman and stayed where they were.

Eren was humming the tune of the song. He was humming it wrong, which meant he would sing it wrong. If they were in their apartment, then Jean would have stood up and corrected him. He would have stood up and fought back until he got his way, but since they were in a professional studio, he refrained.

When everyone felt they had a feel for their parts, they gathered together and Erwin played Marco’s backtrack through the speakers around them. The first run through was messy — everyone was figuring out where their parts fit into the rest of the music — but they figured it out eventually.

And when they finally got everything together after nearly a week of workshopping the song, “Holiday” became Heart Attack’s first song to reach the top of the charts.

—

Y/N: Junior year was . . . An experience. It was definitely a lot. I also had a bunch of situationships and . . . problems . Probably the worst year of my school career. The last, too, but I like to pretend I completed high school.

It wasn’t really a good year for me, but it was a good year for my music. I started focusing on that, maybe a bit more than I should have, and I got my name on the map. Sure, I might not have been recruited by any talent scouts or however that works, but I had built my own little following.

Your dad didn’t know you were out.

As far as he knew, you had locked yourself in your room, listening to a playlist that included Ritchie Valens, Leslie Gore, and Paul Anka through your speaker as you worked on an English project with your partner.

He wouldn’t suspect that you were gone, because on top of the soft music was talking. Your friend Jazelle (who you affectionately called Jazzy) had snuck into your room earlier. She would replace you in your room for the night, and she would be on the phone with her boyfriend to make it seem like she was working with someone else.

It was perfect, really. You had called in a favor that another friend of yours, Ella, owed you and managed to find yourself performing a gig in her uncle’s small blue’s bar. You had dressed yourself in a lilac dress that reached just above your knees and cowboy boots. Your hair was pinned out of your face and soon enough you would be on a stage, singing and playing a guitar for a small audience and your dad would be none the wiser.

Jazzy’s boyfriend, Dallas, was with you. He had decided to tag along since Jazzy wanted to watch you perform, but had been given the job of filling in for you at home. The two of them would be on FaceTime so she could watch you.

“How are you feeling?” Jazzy asked, dragging out the last word with an excited tone. There was an infectious smile on her face, and the sight of it made you feel calmer.

“I’m kind of scared.” Dallas’s phone was big, so you had set it against a ledge backstage so you didn’t have to hold it. “I think Dallas said he was getting me water to calm me down, but I don’t understand how that’s going to help?”

“It has something to do with your nervous system, I think. I don’t know, he’s explained it to me before but I don’t remember.” Jazzy readjusted her phone. You assumed it was resting against her laptop screen since she had started typing. “But you’re gonna do great! Your songs are good and I think you’ll find the right audience in the kind of bar you’re in.”

“Hopefully.” You turned your head at the sound of footsteps, holding your hand out when you saw Dallas walking toward you with a plastic water bottle. You immediately opened it and took a long drink.

“Oh, my God, I’m so nervous,” you said once you had lowered the bottle from your lips. “What if I pass out on the stage? Or a light falls on me and I die? Or I just like . . . die, or something.”

“Y/n, you’re so dramatic,” Jazzy said. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Besides, the lights for the stage are so far out there is no way they would fall on you,” Dallas added.

“Well maybe they’ll walk over to me before they decide to fall on my face.”

“They’re inanimate. How would they—”

“Miss Kraney?” You turned your head. Standing at the end of the hall, just a few strides from you, was one of the guys that had led you backstage. It was one of Ella’s cousins, though you didn’t remember his name. “Are you ready to go on?”

You nodded in response quicker than you intended. Were you really ready?

The answer was no. This was the first crowd (no matter how small it was) that you had ever played for. You didn’t think anything would ever be able to prepare you for something like this.

You grabbed your guitar and followed Ella’s cousin just outside the door that led to the small stage. You waited until the previous singer stepped off to follow him and sit at the stool left behind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Y/n Kraney.”

You smiled, adjusting your patterned guitar strap around your shoulder. You had taken the name Kraney because it was recognizable. So many people knew Alice Kraney — the promising young actress that had fallen off the deep end who knows how long ago. People would recognize the name and, hopefully, connect you as her daughter.

You hoped they thought you would have that same potential Alice did.

You waited until Ella’s cousin adjusted the mic to your height before smiling. You quietly thanked him before leaning into the microphone.

“Hi, everyone.” You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. Your heart was pounding in your throat and your blood was rushing in your ears. You started to mindlessly pluck different notes on your guitar, hoping to alleviate the thick atmosphere. “Has anyone ever heard my music?”

That was a dumb question. Who would have? Was anyone even paying attention to you? You thought it over later that night and realized you were just supposed to be background noise for the people trying to relieve any stress from their days.

You got one singular whoop! in response to your question. Even though the one person was embarrassing, it provided the evidence you needed that you were making your breakthrough, even if it was only to one person.

“We’ll, for those of you that have never heard me before, I hope you enjoy.”

—

HANGE ZOË, producer for Heart Attack: The first time I heard Y/n sing was in New York. I was visiting a friend to discuss a film he wanted me to make music for, and I found myself in the same bar as her. The only thing I could think when I heard her voice was wow. I mean, I couldn’t believe she had the kind of talent she did and she wasn’t even eighteen yet.

ERWIN SMITH, owner of Scout Records: I remember Hange video calling me at five in the morning. Though, I suppose with the time difference it would have been late at night for them. I had just woken up and was still processing that fact when they told me, “Erwin, I’ve found our next star.”

Hange flipped their phone camera, ignoring Erwin’s rant about how early it was in Germany, to show a clear view of you on the stage.

Your voice rang out like a bell, soft and melodic as you strummed your guitar. You sang a song that Hange later learned was called “Fragile,” one that you had written about one of your exes. They found themselves wondering what the song would sound like in a different setting—not on your acoustic guitar.

“What’s her name?” Erwin asked as you wrapped up the song.

“Y/n Kraney,” Hange replied.

Erwin’s brows furrowed. “Kraney as in Alice Kraney?”

“They certainly have a strong resemblance.”

“Wow.” Erwin blew out a breath and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. We worked on a movie together once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Alice was nice to work with.” Erwin went silent as the sound of your voice filled the air, this time a cover of “Donna” by Ritchie Valens gracing his ear. “I want you to recruit her. Offer whatever it takes.”

“Actually?” Erwin nodded, making Hange click their tongue. “That’ll be hard, Erwin. I’m pretty sure she lives here.”

“You’re the one that told me you found a star.”

Hange scoffed and rolled their eyes. “Yeah, but it was more like a what if we consider this sort of sound instead, you know?”

Erwin deadpanned. He knew that obviously wasn’t true, but it was clear he was still exhausted. The faint circles beneath his eyes became more prominent with each night that passed. “Sure. Do whatever it takes to get her to sign with us.”

“Like I said, I can try. But I make no promises. We’re stationed in Germany.”

“Then tell her we’ll buy her a place here. An apartment, a penthouse — whatever she wants. I want her with my company.”

Hange saluted. “Yes, sir. Whatever you want, big boss man.”

Erwin exhaled. He hated when Hange called him that. “Have a good night.”

And then he hung up. Hange scoffed once more before cursing at him under their breath. They tucked their phone back into their pocket and returned their attention to you.

Hange’s leg bounced. They were waiting until you finished and walked backstage to go there themselves and talk to you.

The moment your fingers strummed the last chord and you smiled, sugared words thanking everyone for listening falling from your lips, Hange was out of their chair and beelining toward the back.

They made it before you did. They waited for you to arrive down the hall impatiently, their foot still tapping against the floor.

You walked down the hall with your guitar case in tow. You shot Hange a brief smile before walking past them, but the sound of their voice interrupted you.

“Y/n Kraney, correct?”

You paused, turning to them and nodding. “Yes. Can I help you?”

Hange took note of your thick accent (one that you didn’t have when speaking on stage or while singing), but they smiled widely and held out their hand. “Hange Zoë. I’m a producer for Scout Records.”

Now they had your interest. You turned your entire body to face them and grabbed their hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Hange dropped their hand, tucking both of them into the pockets of their blazer. “You have talent.”

“Thank you.” You lowered your head briefly to show your appreciation.

“Have you thought about where you’re wanting to go with this? If you wanna make it a career or keep it as a hobby?”

You nodded. “I’ve been striving to make this my job. Though, I haven’t been very successful.” You force a laugh, though it’s obviously strained.

“Well of course. It’s hard to break through in an industry with so many people.” You nodded. “Have you thought about signing with a label?”

Your eyes slightly widen. You figured that’s where this was going, but you hadn't wanted to get your hopes up.

“Yes.”

Hange smiled. They pulled out a card from their blazer and handed it to you. You took it from their hand, absolutely gobsmacked that this opportunity was, quite literally, just being handed to you. It had to be too good to be true.

You were about to accept then and there. You had opened your mouth to say that yes, of course you’d sign with their company. But when you looked down at the card in your hand and scanned over both the address and phone numbers listed, you faltered.

“In . . . Germany?”

“Yes, dear. In Germany.”

“Oh . . .”

You didn’t know what to say. You had jinxed yourself because it really was too good to be true. Of course when the perfect opportunity arises, there has to be a weird, exigent circumstance that prevents you from reaching your dreams.

You had been so close.

“I don’t think I can do that,” you said. You met Hange’s gaze again.

“Why not? Is it living arrangements? I can assure you that the label will—”

“No. No, it’s- It’s not that.”

Hange’s brow raised in curiosity. “What is it then?”

“Just . . . Germany is so far. My parents are here in America and- God, not to mention school.”

Hange was taken aback. They blinked, speechless. School?

“How old are you?”

“I just turned seventeen,” you replied, rather bashfully.

Hange hummed, running their hand over the bottom half of their face in thought. Your youth definitely caused a problem.

“And you’re in eleventh grade? Or twelfth?”

“Eleventh.”

Hange exhaled a silent curse.

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the new tension building as Hange thought.

“Alright.” Hange exhaled again, holding out one of their hands to motion to you. “The offer still stands and will so long as you take this seriously. If you want to move to Germany and join Scout Records, then we will take care of everything you need.”

You nodded, even knowing that you’d never accept the offer. You needed to stay in America. It’s where everything you’d ever known was.

Hange’s gaze softened. They reached forward and gently grabbed your shoulder. “You are very talented, Y/n. Even if you don’t join our company, I hope you find yourself doing great things.”

“Thank you.” 

“If you change your mind, just call one of these numbers. We’ll get you situated.” Hange tapped the card in your hand before letting you go. You stood in the same spot as they stepped around you and left, the door closing loudly behind them.

You couldn’t believe you had to miss out on the chance of a lifetime just because of where you would have to go.

—

“We need to find a keyboardist.”

Armin’s voice cut through the silence of the apartment. It was early in the morning, and Jean was the only one in the shared living and dining space that would pay attention, since Mikasa was on her phone and listening to music through big headphones.

“Why? What’s wrong with playing the tracks?” Jean asked. He had been outlining something in his notebook, but he promptly set his pen on the pages when Armin spoke.

“It just- It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound natural when we play with it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It sounds like a backtrack.” Explaining it almost made Armin feel stupid, because it was a backtrack so of course it would sound like one. “It just doesn’t blend well when we do live music. It needs to sound like live music when we do gigs. Plus, when we get bigger and start doing tours—”

“You think we’re going to get bigger?” Jean tone was condescending, and Armin flinched back like he had been burned.

Jean hated that he did that. He always showed the worst of him when he was upset or sad or . . . not happy. He had tried working on it before, but to no avail.

“Jean, our song is number five on the charts right now. People are starting to notice us.”

“We’re probably going to be a one hit wonder. Holiday got the attention, but what about The Bends? Or Boulevard of Broken Dreams? Or any of the samples we’ve put out on Instagram? No one pays attention to those.”

“Well we won’t know that if we don’t take this seriously,” Mikasa added. She had paused her music when Armin started talking. When Jean turned her way, her gaze was piercing. “Armin has a point, Jean. Playing the keyboard tracks when we do live music isn’t gonna work for long because it’s at a different volume than what you are playing. It doesn’t match the energy either.”

He let out an exasperated exhale, but reluctantly listened as Mikasa continued to ramble about coherence and continuity in their music.

“And where do you propose we find a keyboardist? We can’t just go out and magically find one.”

Jean found himself eating his words later that day as he marveled at the brunette tapping the keys of her well loved keyboard in a park. Mikasa had dragged him outside and had driven around aimlessly for what had seemed like hours in hopes of finding a street performer that could play the piano.

And dammit did she find a good one. The brunette pressed the keys like she was playing in a bar and sang with a similar twang to American country stars, but she was good. Her fingers slid across the keys like she was on a mission. Every note seemed to have meaning when she played it, and Jean was in awe.

“So today we learned that we can just go out and find a keyboardist,” Mikasa said cheekily. She turned to Jean, a smug grin painted across her face.

Jean scoffed. “You got lucky.”

“The point is, if you look, you’ll find something.” Mikasa turned her attention back to the brunette, watching as she smiled widely and thanked a child who offered her a half-empty bag of jerky and two euros.

“She doesn’t play what we do.” There he went again. Criticizing whatever he could. The girl probably could play some sort of rock sounding medley, but Jean was too stuck up on Marco to even want to find out if she could.

“Well, that’s why we ask if she can.” Mikasa spared Jean a sidelong glance as the girl began another song. “We won’t find out if we don’t try.”

That was basically the same thing she had said earlier. Mikasa was all about taking chances, Jean had noticed. She was always on the lookout for the next big thing and had become bolder since becoming Heart Attack’s publicist and social media manager.

Jean mumbled some sort of offhanded reply before going silent. He listened to the girl’s music, but it seemed like she had reached the end of her performance because less than ten minutes later, she was thanking everyone around her and disconnecting her keyboard from the two speakers.

Mikasa took the opportunity. Jean watched as she approached the woman when everyone else dispersed. He reluctantly stepped closer, not wanting to seem like a creep to others.

“Good afternoon, I’m Mikasa Ackerman.” Mikasa really had gotten bolder since becoming a publicist. The pre-Berlin Mikasa never would have walked up to a total stranger of her own volition and confidently introduced herself like she was somebody to know.

The brunette glanced up from where she worked to wind up a cord, smiling at the sight of Mikasa. “Sasha. Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to meet Mikasa’s.

“The pleasure is mine.” Mikasa dropped her hand from Sasha's, holding her hands behind her back and twirling her fingers. She nodded to the keyboard. “You’re a very good player.”

“Thanks. My dad taught me forever ago.” When Sasha had finished winding up the cord in her hands, she grabbed a clip from her pocket and secured it before moving on to the second cord.

“How nice. Say, have you heard of Heart Attack?”

Straight to the point. The old Mikasa would have beat around the bush and engaged in small talk longer.

“The band?” Mikasa nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard some of their music. Uh, Holiday, right?”

“That’s the one!” She was also . . . cheerier than normal, Jean noticed. “Well, I’m a publicist for their band. Basically I look around for places they could book gigs and events they could play at . . . All that fun stuff.” Sasha nodded, though it was clear that she wasn’t sure of the direction Mikasa was heading.

“And they’ve recently found themselves without a keyboard player.” Jean watched Sasha’s intrigue heighten. She had slightly tilted her head, her brows raising just the tiniest bit.

“Are they?”

“They certainly are. And, wouldn’t you know it, you fit the bill.”

Mikasa smiled. Sasha nodded, her gaze moving to where Jean stood behind the black-haired woman. He could tell she didn’t recognize him, which was proof that while people recognized their band name, they had no clue who the band actually was.

Sasha’s gaze flitted back to Mikasa, and she sat back on the battered stool at the keyboard. “So, what, are you holding auditions or something?”

“Nope. I’ve gone around to a few parks in search of street performers. The next big thing, you know?” Jean knew Mikasa was probably bullshitting this entire speil. He wasn’t even sure Mikasa knew talent when she saw it—she probably approached Sasha based on Jean’s reaction.

“So you’re a scout?”

“In a way, yes. But what I do is besides the point. The reason I’ve approached you is because I want to offer you the position.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. If she were standing, Jean thought she might have fallen over. “You want me to play with the band?”

Mikasa nodded. “I think you have what it takes to help them become the best artists in the world.”

Jean watched Sasha think. He watched the gears turning in her head as she considered the offer. After a moment, Mikasa reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen.

“Here, I’ll give you my number. If you decide you want to join, go ahead and text me, okay?” Mikasa jotted down her phone before tearing the paper from the notepad and handing it to Sasha. Sasha gently grabbed it, bringing it closer to her as if it were a priceless artifact.

“Thank you. I’ll think about it and let you know.”

The two of them shook hands again before Mikasa turned. She motioned with her head toward the way her car was parked to Jean before the two of them fell into step together.

“You’re so stupid,” he said, though he didn’t mean it. He just wanted something to express his annoyance at Mikasa’s constant success with the band.

“No, I’m determined. This is your guys’ dream. Hell will freeze over before I let it fail.”

Jean hummed, but didn’t say anything in response.

The rest of the walk to Mikasa’s gray car was silent. It wasn’t until they had settled in, clicking their seatbelts into place and soft indie music playing through the car speakers, that Jean spoke.

“Do you think she’ll accept?”

Mikasa shrugged. She turned to look in the rear view mirrors before she started reversing. “Hopefully. I’ll be—”

Mikasa’s sentence was cut off when her phone started ringing. She had to double take at the number displayed on the console, but when she saw the unknown number, she smiled.

She pressed the green button, clearing her throat before saying, “This is Mikasa.”

“Hi. Sasha again. Uhm . . . When did you want me to meet everyone?”

Mikasa smiled, glancing at Jean. He rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

Heart Attack had a new keyboardist.

—

SASHA: Of course I accepted. I was living in my car when I met Mikasa and Jean in that park. It was not a good look. Honestly, I think Mikasa probably saved my life when she asked if I wanted to join their band.

I was excited, as one typically is when they join a band. Mikasa gave me a time and address to meet everyone that Saturday. It was the studio, and I met Mikasa in the lobby. She led me up to the room they were practicing in and introduced me. But when I walked in there was this . . . tension.

This was not what Sasha had imagined.

Well, maybe it was. There were three people in the control room talking amongst themselves, their voices unheard on the other side of the glass. The other four focused on their own instruments. Sasha didn’t know anyone’s name, but she would learn them as they spoke to each other.

Their actions were what Sasha would expect in a studio. She didn’t expect the silence. Or the looming feeling of doom lingering in the room.

“Sorry if they’re a little weird,” Mikasa whispered to her as she led Sasha to the keyboard. “Jean just announced he’s leaving the band.”

Sasha’s eyes widened, but she didn’t comment. She didn’t know which one Jean was, and even if she did it definitely wasn’t her place to offer her opinion.

She did, however, offer a soft hum. She felt like it would have come off as cold if she didn’t say something.

Mikasa handed her a green folder as Sasha sat herself in the stool. Mikasa briefly explained what songs they were running through today before she left the room altogether and joined the other people on the opposite side of the glass.

Sasha opened the folder, thumbing through the music until she found what she needed. She places the loose pages against the stand, something her personal keyboard didn’t have, before looking down at the keys.

It was a sleek instrument. Glossy black and probably brand new. Sasha adjusted the knobs to the setting she knew she liked before connecting a cord to the speaker.

“Alright, is everyone ready for the first run through?”

The voice over the intercom was loud. When Sasha looked up, she saw a blond man hovering over a microphone in the control room.

It was silent for a moment. When no one had any objections, the brunet with longer hair spoke up.

“We’re good. Ready when you are.”

“Sasha? You okay to continue?”

Sasha faltered for a moment as all eyes turned to her. She felt obligated to nod and say yes, especially with everyone’s gaze rested on her.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Thank god she could sight read.

“Alright. When I hold my hand up get ready. I’ll count down from five. Once my hand goes down, Connie starts the beat.”

Connie held up two thumbs, drumsticks clenched in his hands, before lowering his hands and getting ready to hit his drums.

The blond in the booth held his hand up. Sasha watched as he lowered his fingers one at a time before pointing out.

Connie’s response was immediate. Sasha counted the beats in her head and internalized it, waiting for her cue.

The five of them spent the rest of the afternoon in the studio. When Erwin — the blond man that had been directing them from the sound booth — called for them to start shutting down the session, Sasha put her music back in the green folder and turned off the electronic keyboard.

She had learned everyone’s names and the loose dynamic they had with each other. On her way out, she waved to them all before closing the door behind her.

Once she got settled in her car, she exhaled a breath. A wide smile stretched across her face as the heater began working.

She drove to the parking lot of a gas station, triple checking to ensure her car was locked before pulling the lever that laid her seat back.

She stared at the roof of her car, wondering what this new opportunity would bring.

It had been a rough session, yes. No one had their parts perfect and some of the notes were discordant and there was only one run through where everyone came in when they were supposed to. But despite that, Sasha fell asleep with a smile.

That had been the most fun she’d ever had.

—

You were in a police station. You were in a police station and you were high.

Granted, your mind was clearer than it had been, but you were still high.

It was a first. One last hoorah! for the end of your junior year of sorts. Of course, it hadn’t really ended yet, but spring finals were less than two weeks away. You counted that as the end.

You, Jazzy and Ella had gone out. You’d planned to meet Dallas and a friend of his at the Chili’s just a few blocks from your apartment. After dinner, the five of you carpooled in Dallas’s car.

You really didn’t know how you ended up at the police station. You just remember Dallas’s friend, Rylan, pulling out a bag of weed.

Next thing you knew you were sitting in the back of a police car, the seats hard beneath you, and on the way to the station.

You were waiting for your dad. That’s what the officer had told you, anyway. You waited with both Ella and Jazzy, Ella absolutely knocked out and snoring against Jazzy’s shoulder. You leaned against her other shoulder. Dallas and Rylan had been taken someplace else.

“My dad’s gonna kill me,” you exhaled.

“We’ll go out together,” Jazzy responded.

“Who thought this would be a good idea?”

Jazzy shrugged, her shoulders lifting both yours and Ella’s head up. Ella snorts, but quickly falls into steady breathing.

Silence enveloped the two of you. There was no sound except for the slowly ticking clock, and even then each tick was quieter than you thought was normal.

You grabbed onto Jazzy’s hand and squeezed. She returned the squeeze, and it was just a few more moments before you heard voices and the door opened.

You lifted your head, meeting your father’s gaze. He was tired, his hair disheveled like he had woken up mere minutes earlier. Despite that, he was fully dressed in jeans and an old Blink-182 concert shirt.

He let out a breath at the sight of you and your two friends. You could tell it was from disappointment. That thought was enough to make you squeeze Jazzy’s hand harder and wish you could fall through the wall behind you.

Your dad beckoned you forward with his hand. You stood up and strode over to him. His arm wrapped around you once you were in his reach and he turned to walk out, but paused and turned back.

“Do you girls need a ride?” he asked Jazzy. 

She shook her head. “No, we’re okay, John. My grandma’s coming to get us.”

Your dad nodded. You have a weak wave to Jazzy before leaving.

You were told to wait in the car while your dad signed paperwork. You did as he said, not wanting to argue when he was so obviously done with you for the night.

You got into the front seat of his truck, turning on the heater and listening to the songs playing on the radio.

It was an oldies station. “Put Your Head On My Shoulder” by Paul Anka was playing, and you found yourself softly humming along to the song.

You quieted when your dad got in the car. He turned off the radio and started driving, which really only made the whole situation more serious since you were basically being forced to think about your actions.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s fine.” Your dad stopped at the red light, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel impatiently.

“No it’s not.”

“It’s not, but what can you do?”

Another moment of silence passed. The air was thick— so thick you felt like you were suffocating on it. The light turned green

John sighed, running a hand through his messy hair as he started driving again. “What is going on with you, Y/n?”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed.

“You’re not acting the way you’ve been before. Your grades have gone down and now I have to pick you up from the police station? What the hell happened at Alice’s this summer?”

You just shrug. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. You’d ghosted Damian, yes. Maybe you’d even grieved over it for a bit, but nothing had happened to make you . . . this.

John sighed again, glancing into the side mirrors as he switched lanes.

“You’re just like your mom.”

He’d mumbled it, so obviously you weren’t supposed to hear it. You weren’t even sure he meant to say it out loud, but the words felt like a knife to your heart.

To be like Alice was the last thing you’d ever wanted. You’d deliberately made so many choices so you didn’t turn out like her just to end up being compared to her anyway.

Maybe you were still a little sensitive from the weed, but tears sprung to your eyes at the statement. You sniffed before turning your head to look out the window. You wiped your eyes before the tears could fall.

“You have to get better, Y/n. I’m not going to support you if you can’t even support yourself.”

You take a moment to respond. Of course you want to agree. You want to say that you will get better, even if it was just so you didn’t disappoint him again.

But was that realistic? You knew that once a hole was dug it was hard to get out of. It was more difficult to build yourself up than it was to knock yourself down, and you had kicked yourself to the curb.

Your response left your mouth without much thought.

“Okay.”

—

It was almost more miserable in Tennessee than it was in New York. The only difference was the scenery.

You dad refused to let you go to Alice’s house the summer that followed your junior year. Naturally, you didn’t listen and bought a plane ticket anyway. Ella had driven you to the airport and dropped you off.

You hadn’t planned on going back. You didn’t even want to bother trying to get yourself out of the hole you’d dug, so what was the point of going back to school? You’d stay with your mom until you could buy your own place.

You’d picked up a job at a local diner, working every shift you could and shoving your tips into an emptied baby puffs container that sat on your desk, right below your bulletin board. The board was empty, save for one thing, and that was the card Hange had given you almost a year ago.

You considered the offer every day. You were too ashamed to ever show your face at your dad’s apartment again, and Alice was constantly jumping the line between being suicidal and a semi-productive member of society. Did you really have as much in America as you did last year? Would it be more worth it to go to Germany?

Every day you reconsidered the offer, and every day you gave yourself no answer and instead went to bed. You found yourself longing for that even more day after day.

It took copious amounts of courage for you to finally call one of the numbers listed on the battered card. It took you a moment to figure out how to do it, but a Google search later had you holding your phone up to your ear and waiting for someone to pick up.

“This is Hange Zoë.”

They’d said it in German. It took you just a moment to translate what they said in your head, and when you did you exhaled in relief. It was still Hange’s number.

You internally thanked your late grandmother for teaching you German when you were little. You had no real reason to use it, but it was coming in handy now.

“Hi. Uhm, I’m not sure if you remember me, but this is Y/n.”

Hange was silent for a moment. They switched to English when they said, “Remind me where I’d know you from.”

You took a deep breath. This was more nerve-wracking than you’d anticipated.

“You came to Brooklyn around this time last year. I was performing at a blue’s bar and you came up to me after.”

You hoped to god they remembered who you were. If they didn’t, then any hope you had of going somewhere would be blown out.

“Oh! Yes, Y/n Kraney.”

“It’s actually L/n now,” you softly corrected. You’d stopped going by Kraney after your dad compared you to Alice.

“Y/n L/n. Sounds like the next star.” You smiled. You couldn’t tell if they were being genuine or just saying that to butter you up, but it made you feel good nonetheless. “Now, I assume you’re calling because you’ve reconsidered my offer, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Wonderful!” You heard shuffling coming from their line. Your brows furrowed in confusion from the sound, but you didn’t comment on it. “Is it right to assume you’re going to be moving here?”

“Yes.”

“What sorts of arrangements will you need? We can get you almost anything.”

You stuttered, wiping your sweaty palm against your pants. “A ticket there. And a place to stay. It doesn’t have to be extravagant, just . . . something.”

Hange went silent for a moment. You assumed they were writing something down. “Alright. We can get that done for you. Say, I’ve been wanting to show my coworkers your talent since I watched you in New York. Ya think that if I gave you a date and location you’d be able to come to an open house?”

“Like, where I’d sing?”

“Yeah. Lots of execs and producers go things like this to scout out the next big thing. I want to show Erwin we have that.”

“Okay . . . Yeah. Sure. Just let me know where and when.”

Hange agreed. They told you about an open night that they would be present at a bar called Quasimodo. You agreed to meet them there, and continued to make more plans about how you would get there.

Another thing you requested was a translator. Or someone that could teach you more German. Hange immediately gave you the number of a friend before promptly hanging up.

You exhaled when they did, wondering if you’d regret this decision later down the line.

—

Y/N: I think going to Germany at that time was probably the best decision I could have made. Who can say if I would even be here if I hadn’t decided to call Hange that day.

I boarded a plane nearly a week later. I met with Hange and they showed me to the apartment that had been rented for me, and I took a few German classes. I met up with Hange and Erwin at Quasimodo a few days later, and Erwin agreed to keep me signed with them.

CONNIE: I think someone told me once that Y/n was the one to go on after us at Quasimodo. I think it might have been Hange, actually. But I remember thinking how crazy it was that our paths were so close to crossing before we officially came together.

EREN: After the Quasimodo gig it was maybe . . . two years before Y/n came in for “The River.” I think. Without her, Heart Attack would have been a one hit wonder.

Y/N: Yeah, it was about two years before Hange proposed a collaboration. Those two years weren’t very eventful for me. Hange and I produced more professional sounding versions of all the songs I had made, and I was steadily growing.

JEAN: Erwin came into the studio with us one day. He told us that the label wanted to cut ties with the band.

ARMIN: We weren’t making very good music. Everything we made was doing horribly. Our songs actually flopped so bad that Erwin pulled a couple strings to have those songs taken off the public record, actually.

SASHA: That was really scary for me. Even if we weren’t doing well, being with Heart Attack was already giving me a better life. I had managed to move out of my car into a small studio apartment, and I was terrified I would lose that.

EREN: Erwin said he was this close to giving us up. I was convinced that session would be our last in studio, but then he brought up Y/n.

Y/N: I remember going out for coffee with my friend, Annie, when Hange called me. They proposed the idea of a collab with a band I had never heard of.

MIKASA: Adding Y/n into the mix was . . . an interesting choice. Not to say it was a bad one, but . . .

ARMIN: The girl Erwin proposed we make a song with had a very different sound than the one we were reaching for. We’d heard one of her songs on the radio before, and yeah, it was good, but it’s wasn’t really what we did.

CONNIE: After Erwin brought it up to us, we went back to the apartment and listened to some of her music. Jean was definitely not a fan.

JEAN: She was a fucking flower. All she did was write songs about her exes and how much she missed them or songs about how she wanted to find love.

CONNIE: He and Eren got into a fight about it. They were yelling to each other about whether or not to do the collab without consulting the rest of us.

ARMIN: Eren snapped and said, “Well you’re leaving the band anyway, so what does it matter?” 

EREN: He threw a fucking plate at me.

JEAN: Did he mention the knife he pointed at me?

EREN: I was cooking and made a general motion. It was not that dramatic.

MIKASA: It was a really bad argument. Jean and Eren have always had this strained relationship. The best analogy I can think of is like toxic exes. They were always fighting, but when they were able to lift each other up they succeeded together. A lot of the success we had came from them and Y/n as a trio. When they weren’t at each other’s throats, of course.

ARMIN: Jean had obviously brought up leaving the band before, but I think he had been putting it off because he didn’t want to separate himself from us. After that night, though, he was dead set on leaving as soon as possible.

What changed his mind?

ARMIN: Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I have my suspicions, but . . . I’ll let you ask and find out from him. 

JEAN: I told Eren I would do one more song, and that song would be the one with Y/n. And when it wasn’t a hit, I would laugh in his face and tell him I told him so.

Y/N: I told Hange that I would give the band a try, but if I didn’t like what they were doing then I was calling it quits.

So you liked it more than you had anticipated?

Y/N: [smiling] Yeah. I guess you could say that.

the exposition is almost over I swear they all officially meet in the next chapter

i did not mean for this chapter to take me so long either i’m so sorry 😭

TAGLIST: @arlerts-angel @conniesrockstargf @fvckingeetar @pluckyduxck @kkkingsman @beaniebaby12 @catkidsposts if you'd like to join the taglist please comment or DM to let me know!

next part >>

[emmitaaa4]

Getting exponentially tired of the “elriels want 👹” posts in the elain tags where they proceed to either A) outright invent stuff B) act holier than thou about how they care so much for Elain because they C) misconstrue the little they hear from our side in bad faith, or D) just completely miss the point they’re addressing.

it’s one thing to be bitter about a ship, but geez theyre getting mad at generalizations they made up about what we think. it has to be tiring. non?

small rant beneath, just to vent. yes i know i can (& should) block certain tags, but reading frustrating content is a hobby of sorts.

Im genuinely convinced all these “ewriel”-myths they keep talking about are a result of a bad game of telephone—they hear a random thing a gwynriel says, go “they’re all stupid/delusional/immature (insult of choice) so i don’t doubt what you’re saying”, then repeat it to others.

It’s obvious by the way they wholeheartedly believe that Elain is our puritanical-warrior-self-insert we use to vicariously F Azriel (😃✋). Doesn’t help that they usually don’t look as deeply into Elain as we do & tend to get stuck on obviously superficial statements about her: they cannot seem to fathom an Elain that isn’t just a once-bright socialite wilting away sans her sun-mate. So any hint of darkness/savviness we see in her is just us moulding her into Y/N. sigh

anyways.

I can say i’ve read their posts on here, a ton prior to being involved and some now. I’ve seen their tiktoks & video essays, their powerpoints & reddit posts. i’ve seen their comments all over insta/tiktok (kinda hard to miss, they jump on elriel content with their “um shadows and um pliable bones and mates!!” comments). I am WELL aware of what the general consensus is on that side—which is why I am generally unbothered by GA, don’t mind EL, and am just peacefully sailing aboard my ship waiting for it to reach destination.

And because I care about Elain’s journey, I try to see the story the way they do when i encounter certain elucien arguments. For if i am to even just privately engage in the sHip wArs, i know to remain ✨critical✨ and ✨open minded✨.

… there’s no point turning discussions into angry posts against imaginary adversaries.

EVERY elriel i’ve talked to would read an elucien book because it is Elain’s story we are most anticipating. It’s just very telling to me that very few would do the same; that there’s not a whiff of willingness from most of them to listen to the other side.

The funny thing is that all those anti eWrieL posts** i’ve read tend to address twisted versions of “the elriel narrative.” They take things out of context, or say we have the same 3 arguments—which is genuinely insane bc if you know our ship so well, how can you be off by like 2 orders of magnitude ??? (exaggerating if it wasn’t clear, we can’t know these days).

** Their pro GA content reads very anti-Az, used to be very anti-elain, and has a narrow scope ngl. While the bonus matters, it seems like that is ALL they’ve read. They don’t think much about Elain’s journey or powers or decisions, which is just logically not the best way to analyze the series given she IS what’s to come.

✨Just some common myths they believe✨:

they repeatedly claim that elriels want poor elain to be a kickass warrior torturer to fit Az because they A) don’t actually read our stuff B) enjoy thinking we hate elain, and C) can’t fanthom that spying isn’t 007 ninja activities.

apparently we ship elriel because we think they have this big great romance OFF PAGE 😭. how in the hell— i’ll make a post on this one istg it’s lowkey funny. quick, were nessian strangers and unfeeling towards each other at the start of SF ???? damnit i must’ve missed that.

En tout cas. End of rant the rest stays in the drafts lmao.

but istg one day i’ll cave in and unleash the essays of rebuttals and psychoanalyses of their arguments / thought processes just for shit and giggles.

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire - Chapter Twelve: Turn the Corner

*mood board by the lovely @janaispunk. divider by the equally lovely @saradika-graphics

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI. Angst, cursing, some deep conversations, forgiveness, fluff, and a lil bit of smut. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). No use of y/n, though reader is of British descent and has the nickname Brit (occasionally used). Chapter names are nautical phrases.

a/n: So, I thought there'd be a couple more chapters, but Joel said no. He wanted the tale to end here, so it does. What can I say, that man gets what he wants. There will be an epilogue, though. He's not the total boss of me. Hope you enjoy!

Series masterlist

Days after the fall, you felt a lot better. Physically, at least.

Emotionally? That was an entirely different story. You didn’t know how you felt, torn between two dueling desires – one for self-respect along with the respect you are due from Joel and the other a life with Joel. Was it too much to hope for both at the same time?

You and Joel still hadn’t talked about that morning, each of you dancing in circles around the topic but never coming right out to discuss it. There was no getting around it, you knew that, but still you hesitated. Why was it so hard?

Joel, being a man of action, showed you he was trying every minute after you were hurt. He took exceptional care of you, making sure you wanted for nothing as you recovered. His efforts bordered on too much after a few days, leaving you wanting a bit of space to think. Despite the care he took of you, you couldn’t get past the hurt in your heart once the pain in your head eased.

The anguish in his big, brown eyes when you told him you needed space haunted you, but you stood strong in your convictions. The return to your cabin was surreal after the luxury of Joel’s quarters and spacious bed, but it was necessary to decompress and sort through all the jumbled thoughts bouncing around in your muddled mind.

“Ah, the prodigal bunk mate returns!” Tess teased as you sauntered into the cabin the morning before the next charter started. “Finally gracing us mere peasants with your presence, are you?”

“Oh, shove off, ya muppet,” you snarked, plopping down on your bunk. Holy hell, Joel’s bed was a lot more comfortable that this lumpy pile of cotton and springs, you thought.

“How are you feeling?” Tess jumped down from her bed to perch herself at the end of yours.

You shrugged. “Physically, I’m fine.”

A single eyebrow arced upwards, reading between the lines as always. “And emotionally?”

Again, you shrugged, tears tickling the back of your eyes at the soft, sympathetic look on Tess’s face. The pair of you leant back against opposite bulkheads of your bunk and Tess stretched her legs, softly bumping her knee against yours.

“Let it off your chest, Brit,” Tess encouraged. “Better out than in, as they say.”

A snort escaped before you could stop it. “I think ‘they’ were referring to vomit, Tess.”

“Whatever, the sentiment is still the same. You need to vent and I’m here for it.” Tess smiled, a little mischief glinting in her eyes. “Plus, I’ve known Joel a long time. I’m well aware of what an emotionally constipated fuckwit he can be sometimes.”

That drew a laugh from you, which you realized was her goal. “He really can be, yeah?”

“You have no idea,” Tess agreed with a chuckle. “He’s gotten a lot better with age, but he’s still a man, so of course he’s as dumb as a box of rocks when it comes to emotional intelligence and expressing himself properly.”

The two of you spent the morning chatting as you recounted your view of things between you and Joel and Tess shared some insights into Joel’s mindset and how he’s tripping all over himself to make things right again. It was an enjoyable morning, especially once the conversation moved away from Joel and more onto Tess’s life and what she like to do during off season.

As you chatted, you briefly thought back to the initial days on the yacht, how you thought she and Joel were an item, and how much that bummed you out. Knowing the both of them as you now did, the idea of them as a couple was laughable. Tess would run circles around him until inevitably driving him crazy.

Around mid-day, Sarah joined you both, bearing leftover sandwiches that Tess made yesterday. She squeezed in between the two of you, her back against the bulkhead wall. It was a tight fit with three grown women and the low ceiling of the top bunk looming overhead, but you all made it work.

The addition of Sarah raised your spirits further. She was such a spitfire, caring and witty, and always ready and willing to throw her father under the bus for one thing or another.

“My dad’s an idiot,” she blurted around a mouthful of food as you lamented once again on not knowing how to proceed. “But he’s an idiot in love, anyone can see that.”

That stopped you in your tracks.

Eyes wide and unbelieving, you stared at Sarah. “You think he’s in love with me?”

Meeting your gaze head on, Sarah nodded, dark brown eyes speaking volumes. “Oh, I know he’s in love with you. He told me yesterday. It’s why he’s so distraught over everything and why he wouldn’t let you out of his sight until now.”

“Geez, kid, you don’t think he’d want to be the one to tell her something like that?” Tess chimed in with a chuckle, shaking her head at the younger woman.

Still stunned, you just sat there staring between the two of them. Joel was in love with you. He was in love with you.

“I’m in love with him, too.” You didn’t even realize you spoke the words aloud until you noticed Sarah and Tess staring at you with bright, knowing smiles on their faces.

“Duh,” Sarah teased, patting your leg. “We already knew that.”

Nodding, Tess added, “Maybe it’s time for the two of you to sit down and have a very serious conversation. Get it out of the way before this next charter starts.”

An hour and a shower later, you found yourself making your way to the bridge in search of Joel. The girls were right, this would all weigh on your mind until Joel and you sat down and had a serious chat. But what would you say? How do you even start a conversation like the one you needed to have?

You practiced some openers on your way up the decks, mumbling them to yourself with each step. Joel, you great knob head… No, no, that wouldn’t work. Joel, you bloody prat… Why was everything your brain came up with some variation of a British insult? You did not want to sling insults at the man, just let him know how very hurt you were.

Before you knew it – and well before you thought of the right words to say – you found yourself at the door to the bridge. It was now or never. You opened the door with a shaky hand, stepping through only to find Frank manning the helm. Your face dropped before you could stop it, but your lips quickly tilted upwards into a smile, oddly relieved.

“Hey doll, what are you up to?” Frank’s warm smile immediately calmed your frayed nerves. “Looking for Joel?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I thought it due time to talk.”

Frank smiled encouragingly. “Yeah, it’s definitely that. You two have a lot to figure out. He’s in his quarters.” Gesturing around the corner with a supportive nod, he added, “Good luck, not that you need it. Joel might, though.”

Flashing Frank a grateful half smile, you edged towards Joel’s room, knuckles rapping on the door twice after a deep breath. Maybe you should have asked Frank for pointers on how to start the conversation. Too late now. You’d just have to go with whatever came out of your mouth and hope for the best.

The door opened to reveal Joel, dark curls awry and thick glasses framing his red-rimmed eyes. In a word, he was a mess. You wondered if he even left his quarters since you returned to yours. Glancing around, it didn’t look like it. That made you feel better. He was as wrecked about things as you.

“Hey,” he greeted, eyes apprehensive and distressed. “Everythin’ alright? Is your headache back?”

Even a mess, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway was a sight to behold. God, he was too handsome for words. And his obvious worry over you only made him more so. Clearing your throat, you reminded yourself why you were standing in his doorway mere hours after insisting you needed space.

“Can we talk?”

His brows darted up in surprise. “Uh, sure, yeah, of course.” Joel eyed you for a few moments, clearly uncertain about what to do or say, before adding, “Do you, uh, want to talk here or go somewhere less…”

Your lips tilted up as he trailed off, knowing his brain was working a mile a minute to find his words. “Here’s fine. It will give us privacy.” Your response visibly stunned him. He obviously wasn’t expecting that response from you.

Stepping back after another long moment, Joel ushered you into his private space. The bed still unmade from when you left first thing that morning, you opted to sit in the chair at the desk along the bulkhead, leaving Joel to take a seat on a corner of the bed. You stared at each other for a while, neither knowing how to start, until you couldn’t take the silence anymore.

After a few false starts, you were finally able to find your words.

“Joel, I’m in love with you, but you hurt me. Like really hurt me. And I don’t know how to come back from that.” You watched the expression on his face vacillate from awed and hopeful to wounded and regretful.

“Sweetheart –” he started, his dark eyes round and wet and not quite meeting yours, but you cut him off.

“I know that morning was hard for you, that you were hesitant to start anything with me during season to begin with, but you made the conscious choice to take things further. You did that and still you made it out to be my fault the moment something didn’t go right. You made me the fall guy. That… that really hurt. And it wasn’t fair.”

You paused, already feeling a heavy weight lifted from your chest at having spoken your peace, giving Joel the opportunity to respond. His beautiful brown eyes were large and glassy, lips in a pout as he searched for words to justify his actions, but there were none, you both knew. He was silent so long, dejectedly staring at you that you opened your mouth to say more when he finally found his words.

“I’m an utter asshole, sweetheart. I told you the other day, I won’t do you the disrespect of giving you poor excuses. I was completely in the wrong. I know it, you know it, everyone on this damn boat knows it – believe me, I’ve heard it from nearly every one of them. And I’m glad they feel comfortable enough in this environment and with me to defend you and put me in my place.”

Your lips quirked at that, causing his own to tilt upwards slightly. “We have great people on this crew,” you admitted fondly. Joel’s smile widened ever so slightly.

“I never meant to hurt you – never intended to treat you like I did. I’m ashamed, plain and simple.” Joel cleared his throat, hands running up and down his thighs in a nervous tick. “I can only promise to do better because I love you, sweetheart, and I never want to be the cause of your pain.”

Your eyes leaked fat droplets of saltwater down your cheeks. “You love me?” Even though Sarah basically told you already, it was completely different hearing those words directly from Joel’s lips, the rough timber in his voice matching the sincerity in his gaze.

He nodded, flashing you a watery smile. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before. I don’t even know how it happened so quickly, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Even if you don’t forgive me, I’ll never regret falling in love with you.”

“Joel…” you drew out his name in a long sigh. “I love you, too, but you can’t ever treat me like that again. It’s perfectly fine to be nervous or scared, but we need to communicate rather than snap and push each other away. Okay?”

Joel stood, nodding solemnly as he moved to kneel before you. “I understand. I promise to never treat you like that again. I promise to work on my communication skills. I promise to spend every day proving that I’m worthy of your love.”

His hands clutched your waist by the time he finished speaking. You ran your fingers through his thick curls, mussing them further as you pulled him in for a kiss. The press of his lips against yours soft and sweet, it almost felt like the first time again.

Your heart still hurt, but the pain ebbed away with every soft touch and loving word from Joel. Everything in you told you to forgive him but not let your guard down fully, still wary of getting hurt further. As if he could sense your hesitation, Joel held you close, asking you to stay the night in his quarters. You couldn’t deny him, wanting to connect physically to ease the residual emotional ache.

Joel spread you out on his bed, his mouth tasting every inch of your dewy skin with reverence, as if he needed to sear the taste and feel of you into his memory. He worshiped your body from head to toe, no spot left unexplored. You longed to return each kiss, each tender touch, but Joel insisted this evening was all about you. There would be plenty of time to explore him later.

“I adore you,” he whispered into the soft skin behind your knee.

“I ache for you,” he murmured against your belly.

“I. Love. You,” he said with finality before his lips connected once more with yours.

Shooting stars flashed across your closed eyelids when Joel slipped his cock inside you. Rocking with the gentle flex of his hips, he moved inside you, cock caressing that spongey spot that set you ablaze with each thrust. His mouth alternated between fervent kisses to nibbling on your earlobes and whispering lovely, naughty things in your ears.

It was so different from the other times you had sex together. It was softer, sweeter, and somehow more intimate and meaningful than the other times combined. This… this was making love, you thought. Something you’d never experienced before, and you wondered how you ever lived without it.

You came hard at the realization, giving into every feeling Joel drew from you with his movements and words, the fluttering of your walls around him nearly choking his cock. He came shortly after, stilling as he spilled inside you with a drawn-out cry of your name.

You stayed just as you were, your body beneath Joel’s, his cock still sheathed inside you, staring into each other’s eyes and seeing right into the very essence of each other. This was love. The caring, the forgiving, the open vulnerability… the cracking wide open of your souls to admit that you were hurt or scared and finding the strength to admit flaws and love in spite of them, or because of them.

Life and love were imperfect, and there was beauty in those imperfections.

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you whispered into the night, falling asleep with your head tucked into the curve of his neck, his warm skin blanketing you better than the warmest down comforter ever could.

The echo of your name sounded far away as Joel whispered the words back to you.

This. This was love.

The final weeks of the charter season passed in a blur with long days of work and longer nights of pleasure. The two of you could not get enough of each other, not caring about the exhaustion from limited sleep. You never returned to your cabin for sleeping after that night full of confessions and new beginnings with Joel. It was no surprise to any of the crew, really. There were no secrets on the yacht, nor any talk of impropriety or special treatment. Every person on that boat could see the love practically floating in the air between the two of you as if it was a tangible thing you could hold in your hands.

To demonstrate their approval of the two of you together, the crew placed bets on how soon you’d move to Austin, how soon you’d get engaged, how soon you’d get married. Those little buggers bet on everything when it came to you and Joel. They didn’t bother to hide it either, flaunting the board in your faces with Tommy proudly taking the lead as bookmaker. You couldn’t even be mad about it. They were all just so damn happy for you both, it was infectious.

Once the final round of charter guests departed, Joel took the yacht back out to sea for one last day and the crew celebrated with a party on the sundeck. Tommy and Jake emptied the lazarette of all the water toys for the crew to enjoy. Tess cooked up some delicious tapas on the barbecue. Sammy played DJ with the massive collection of songs on his phone And Sarah, sweet Sarah, made sure the sundeck bar was fully stocked with everyone’s favorite alcohol.

After racing around on a jet ski with Joel, the pair of you settled into the hot tub, sharing a bottle of wine as you watched Tommy, Ellie, Tess, and the interior crew dance around the deck in cheap, fake grass skirts they dug up from who knows where. Frank and Bill sat on the loungers sharing their own bottle of wine, Bill scowling away at the raucous behavior of the others. You would miss every single one of these people who became friends who were more like family to you in a few short months.

You marveled at that. Everything moved faster on the yacht, but what was time, really, when you forged such connections that would last a lifetime?

[how-serene]

Next To You

Pairing - Darryl x Fem!Reader

Summary - Fed up with your parents' constantly arguing, you confide in Darryl.

Word Count - 1k

Warnings - heavy angst, comfort, reader and darryl are teens, established friendship, darryl being a sweetheart, mentions of an unhealthy marriage, reader just venting, no use of y/n, mother and daughter dynamics

April, 1986

The slam of the front door reverberated throughout the apartment building, shaking the paper thin walls. Your stomps echoed down the stairwell, following you outside. Brooklyn’s humidity stuck to your skin, the dense air almost suffocating. The spring moon hung high in the sky, illuminating down on you. A street lamp flickered, bugs hovering around its dim glow. 

You sat on the front steps, bringing your knees together. Above you, the sounds of your parents' voices spilled through the open window, a series of curses being the only thing you could make out. Embarrassment creeped up your neck, knowing you weren’t the only one who heard them. It felt as if someone had dug their fingers in your heart, splitting it open. 

Your home felt warped, like walking through a fun maze. Mirrors twisted and warped familiar faces, while doors led to inky black spaces that stretched on forever. It was dizzying, knowing every turn you made and door you opened was wrong. The bitter arguments between your parents, where spit and threats would fly, was draining. Yet your mother claimed somewhere beneath all the rubble she loved him. She always had her hands clasped together when she said it, as if it were a prayer. You wondered sometimes, if she was lying. 

But when the kitchen light would get caught on her tears, you knew it was the truth. Despite it all, it was the fucking truth. 

A pair of black loafers appeared beside you, nudging the side of your foot. 

“I heard your door slam…

His voice wormed its way into your head, pulling you back into focus. Darryl sat beside you, his knee knocking against yours. The wool fabric of his coat itched against your bare arm, amplifying the closeness between you two. 

“I just had to get out of there.” You muttered, picking at your nails. 

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. You two settled in a comfortable silence, as you stared off in the street. A stray dog made its way past, walking along the curb and weaving its way through the silver trash cans. Its shaggy fur was matted, either with dirt build-up or blood. It trotted off, in search of food and a warm corner to rest in. 

“I just…” you trailed off, trying to find the words. “I just hate them sometimes, when they get like this. All the constant screaming matches, and anger, every single day.” 

“You shouldn’t say you hate them-

“But I do!” You snapped, looking over at him. Darryl leaned back, flinching from your sudden outburst. You could feel him shifting away from you, the little sliver of distance growing. Shame creeped up your neck, anchoring you to the stone steps. The flicker of anger in you quickly died, replaced by a disgust so deep it waded in your stomach. 

“I’m so sorry, Darryl.” You whispered, a sob working its way up your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes, before overflowing. You could taste their saltiness on the corners of your lips. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Darryl reassured, reaching for your hand. The gloves he wore were warm as they cradled your wrist. You wished he took them off, so you could feel the lines in his palm pressed against yours. 

“I don’t want to be like them.” You confessed, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. “I’m so scared I am, though, that my future is going to be like theirs. Settled with a dead-beat man, no career, while finding every excuse to stay.” 

Tears dribbled down your cheek, blurring your vision. The realization that you might be like your mother was nauseating. Perhaps this was every daughter's fate, to realize their body was never their own, but their mother’s. Every-time you looked in the mirror, the smallest feature was a reminder of her. You wondered, if you peeled back your skin, would you find her underneath? 

Darryl tugged at your hand, a silent plea for you to look at him. His wide doe eyes shimmered, as he reached up and swiped at your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You clutched onto his wrist, bottom lip quivering as you bit back a cry. 

“You’re not like them.” He stated, the gravity of his words stalling your racing thoughts. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because…” He stalled, licking his lips. “You’re too good to ever be like them. You don’t hurt others just for the sake of hurting them. God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You're wonderful, I wish you believed that.” 

“I yelled at you though, just like they do all the time.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t yell at me, though. You were just upset about your parents.” 

You sighed, feeling the fight leave your body. His words echoed in your mind, but you weren’t sure if you believed them. The shattered remnants of your mother were still inside you, as with every daughter. It waded inside you, stirring the core of your stomach. 

“I wish I could just pack up and leave.” You said, leaning into his side. Darryl placed his arm over your shoulders, pressing you into the crook of his neck. You could smell the cologne on the collar of his coat, mint with rosemary. 

“You will, one day.” He promised, placing his chin on the top of your head. “I’ll be there with you, when you finally do.” 

“I don’t know how much longer I can wait for one day, Darryl.” You said, the words carrying an unknown weight in your mouth. With each passing day, you felt your soul splinter more and more. 

Darryl must have sensed it, his fingers faintly dug into your arm, keeping you beside him. The threat of you suddenly up and disappearing was too close. 

“Hold on a bit longer, for me.” He pleaded, voice shaking. 

The warm night air ruffled the back of your hair, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe you were anywhere else. 

[syddsatyrn]

Chapter 1 ⛤ Chapter 2 ⛤ Chapter 3 ⛤ Chapter 4 ⛤ Chapter 5 Masterlist

⛤Pairing: - Eddie Munson x FemReader

⛤Warnings: Swearing, drinking / smoking, fluff, friends to lovers. This is probably gonna end in smut.

⛤Words: 1.4k

⛤Song: "Photograph" By Def Leppard

⛤Summary: Moving away from Hawkins was the biggest mistake of your life. You left your best friends and forgot to stay in touch. Years later, you decide to hit up your good friend Steve. Its time to make a plan and make amends. The one thing you didn't expect was feelings to resurface when you saw your old highschool crush.

⛤Notes: This series is 18+ Minors scram. Special thanks to @hellfiremunsonn, I am a wreck without her, lol. This chapter is a little short. We are doing a slow burn, ladies , gentleman and nonbinary friends. Next Chapter will have Eddie in it I promise! Please check out Chapter one before you start this one. Thank you!

⛤Chapter 2: Pulling Strings You walk into work early and meet up with your manager. You explain that you need a week off to visit family in Hawkins. They calculate your vacation time and approve it, it's official! In two weeks you're going back to your childhood hometown. You asked a couple of coworkers to help cover your shift and got lucky, they both agreed they could use the extra hours. It was the longest two weeks that you've ever experienced. You passed the time with some shopping for your trip. You made sure to get all the essentials, and a couple of new cute outfits to bring too. You visited your mom and told her all about your plans, she's excited for you! She even sent you off with a little extra money, just in case.

Everything appears to be falling into place. The anticipation is killing you. But you start to find yourself thinking about Eddie quite often. You thought about his dark brown eyes, and how shockingly cute he was when he smiled. Back when things got difficult with your family, Eddie was always down for some late-night talks, listening to you vent for hours sometimes.

The night before you left, you spent time packing, calling Steve, and confirming some minor details. You took a shower before bed and watched some late night TV. When you finally decide to turn in, you crawl under the comforter and try your best to get some rest. Even if you still feel a huge pit in your stomach.

—--------------

You're beginning to think you should have packed lighter as you hauled your bags down to the car. You load everything into the trunk and settle into the driver's seat. You take a deep breath and start the car, the engine roars and you hit the gas. There's no next time, it's now or never. Time to take a leap of faith and do your best to be a better friend. You might not get another chance. The sun shines through your windshield as you turn the bend, the fresh Indiana air is crisp and clean. As you see the “Welcome to Hawkins” sign, your body starts to tense up. You try to recall the directions Steve gave you in the correct order. You turned onto main street and kept on until you saw the blue apartments named “Hawkin’s Heights”. You pulled into the parking lot and backed into a parking space carefully and cut the engine. 

It took you what felt like forever to get out of the car. But after a few deep breaths and some time to mentally hype yourself up, you are ready. You walk upstairs and follow the numbers until you find apartment 106. You knock on the door and it instantly opens.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you made it!” Steve looks completely thrilled to see you. He scoops you up into a hug and pulls you inside the apartment, shutting the door behind you.

“Hi Stevie” You laughed “It’s so nice to see you!” Steve finally lets go and you recognize the other familiar face in the room. It was none other than Dustin Henderson.

“Oh my god, Dustin?! You’re like…all grown up!” You can't believe how mature he looks now. You give him a massive hug, he's taller than you now. Time sure does fly, kids sure do grow up fast. The boys head downstairs to help you lug your bags inside, thank goodness you didn't have to do that alone.

Once you get inside you notice the boys are taking your stuff down the hall, and you follow them. Once you walk through the threshold you immediately know whose room this is.

“You’ll be staying in Eddie's room. He comes back from tour in two days so you’ll see him then. I’m sure he won’t mind at all.” Steve explains so casually like it's no big deal.

“Oh god, I couldn’t just take his room. I would feel so bad. What if I take the couch?” You ask with a nervous laugh.

“Can’t, Dustin is on the couch. His mom went on this singles cruise. Even now I’m still somehow babysitting.” Steve laughs and Dustin scoffs at him. Your face turns a little red at the thought of sleeping in your high school crush’s bed.

“Don't listen to him, Y/N, my mom is just paranoid.” Dustin retorts as he follows Steve to the kitchen.

They both leave you to order some pizza and give you time to settle in. The room is truthfully very clean, there are Metal posters all over the walls, along with flyers from shows he’s played. He has some Christmas lights hanging for some ambiance. You take a seat on his queen-sized bed, it feels really comfy. The back comforter and black pillow cases were so him. There are guitars hanging on the wall, a couple of guitar stands, and amps off to the side.

I guess it can't be helped. You'll have to deal with it for now, maybe you can crash at Robin’s later. You shut the door and find yourself some lounge clothes to wear, settling on a pair of shorts and a large Metallica t-shirt. After brushing out your hair and setting out some clothes for tomorrow, you decide to join the boys in the kitchen.

“We got two large pepperoni pizzas,” Dustin announces, Steve opens two beers and offers you one. You gladly take it and grin as you see the label.

“Did you buy my favorite beer on purpose?” You ask, poking fun at how much of an accommodating host Steve can be. When the pizza arrives you all settle down in the living room and watch some late-night sitcom. Steve tells you all about the lengths he's gone to get everyone to gather here.

Nancy is coming to visit with Johnathan, they are staying with her parents. Robin has no idea you were here, Steve had to come up with some ridiculous excuse for her not to show up today. Eddie called to tell him when he would be returning in a couple of days and Steve had to play it cool like nothing was going on. He told them we were throwing a get-together at the Hideout but didn't mention you in the slightest.

“Wow…Look at you pulling all the strings.” You clapped softly and Steve took a little bow. You were truly impressed with his ability to put all of this together. “Thank you, Steve. This is so cool of you.”

“It was nothin’ really. You called and I had to make it happen.” He shrugs with a half smile. You hug your friend and decide to excuse yourself. You had a long drive and it was exhausting. You walk back to Eddie’s room to turn in for the night. When you look over at the nightstand you see a pack of cigarettes, half empty. Eddie used to bum you cigs when you hung out at his trailer. You flash back to the time your Dad was drunk and acting out, arguing with your mom. You ran off to Eddie’s place and your mom almost called the cops.

You grabbed one out of the pack and used the lighter next to the ashtray. You opened up a window and placed the cigarette between your lips and lit it. The taste was like shaking hands with an old friend. It was smooth and you almost feel bad for breaking your 3 year streak but also, one won't hurt…probably. That same nostalgic feeling you felt opening those boxes came flooding back in.

We were just teenagers, there were so many signs that he was head over heels for you but you were naive, oblivious, and it hurt you a little. Neither of you had the guts to say anything to each other. A regret that made you feel shameful to say the least. You’ve wondered if he still has feelings for you or is he off having the time of his life with his groupie fangirls?

When you try to define this feeling it's next to impossible, you feel a sense of anticipation. It's like you’re eager to relive some feelings, or longing for a simpler time. You take a few drags and try to wave the smoke and your insecurities out the window. You can't wait to see Robin tomorrow. It's time to get some sleep, you have a feeling you won't be getting much for the rest of the week.

You put out your cigarette and shut the window, turn out the light, and finally crawl under the covers. You have to admit, his bed smells really good, like fresh linen and men's cologne. It made you feel especially comfortable, and it didn't take long to ease into a deep slumber. You could get used to this kind of contentment.