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hauntedhowlett-writes · 1 year ago

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title: my tears ricochet | part i

pairing: husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

rating: chapter - t; full work - explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 7k

summary: after moving from new york to texas with your fiance, you expect to jump right into wedding planning with his help. when he claims to be too busy, he suggests asking his best friend, joel miller, to help you instead.

you weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

author's note: this story is a three part fic inspired by the song "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift. this first part is reader's POV, part two will be joel's POV, and the third part will be dual POV. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

chapter tags: modern au, infidelity, emotional abuse, the fiance is shitty, no use of y/n, single POV (reader), wedding dress shopping and other wedding planning activities, angst, arguing, alcohol consumption/mention, kissing, no smut. please let me know if i've missed any!

major work tags: modern au, infidelity, explicit sexual content, character death

You stare out at the manicured yard, watching as guests move about the grounds and waiters in black uniforms carry trays of food and drinks through the crowd. Your boyfriend -- wait, no, fiancé -- Alex laughs boisterously with your father, a hand on his back in easy familiarity. You know you should be down there with him given that this is your engagement party, but you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the constant smiling and greeting strangers and showing off your shiny new engagement ring that you needed a break.

The door opens and a man you don't recognize steps into the room, pale blue dress shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and a pair of wrinkled dress pants. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here," he says. As he looks you over, his brown eyes go wide with surprise. "Shit, you're the bride!"

You smile at him. "That's me," you reply. You hold a hand out towards him as you give him your name, his rough palm sliding against yours as he grips it firmly.

"I'm Joel Miller," he tells you. You know the name well, being that he's your fiancé's best friend. "Didn't mean to make our first time meetin' so awkward."

"No, no, it's not your fault. I've just been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the," you wave your hand towards the window, "festivities. It's great to finally meet you."

"I don't blame ya. They can get pretty stuffy down there. Congrats, by the way."

"Thank you." He lets go of your hand. "So, why are you hiding?"

He laughs, deep and full bellied. "Alex's mom doesn't like me much. I'm sure she was hopin' that we would stop bein' friends when he went to school on the other side of the country, but I’m like a stubborn tick."

"How could she not like you, Alex told me that the two of you have been best friends since kindergarten!"

"There may have been a few mishaps in high school," he says. "You ever tried eggin' your principal's house?"

"Can't say that I have," you reply.

"Well, it doesn't end well if you get caught." He looks out the window with a smile on his face. "We got arrested. Alex's dad had to bail us out. Probably had to throw some hush money around so that it wouldn't show up on his record when he applied to school."

"He's never told me that!" You say, laughing hard enough around the words that your stomach hurts.

The door opens and this time, Alex himself steps into the room. His serious expression morphs into a smile when he sees you and Joel.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to kiss your cheek. He greets Joel with a hug, patting his back roughly. "What are you two doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute alone," you tell him.

"And I crashed her minute alone. Told her about the time we got arrested in high school," Joel adds. Alex's jaw tenses, his smile tight as his eyes flick to you, like he's worried about your reaction. "She laughed. It's all good."

"Right. Well, I came to find you because its time for the toast and dinner," Alex says. "Let's get back down to our guests."

A hand at the small of your back urges you towards the door before you can reply.

"Alex, are you listening to me?" You ask. Your fiancé looks up from his phone.

"I'm sorry, baby, I was finishing an e-mail," he says. He sets his phone down on the table, dark screen facing up, and gives you his full attention. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to schedule the cake tasting. Do you have any free time this week?"

He grimaces. "I don't think I do, sweetheart. Your dad's got my schedule pretty packed."

"I can just ask him to--"

"No," he says sternly. "You know I have to make a good impression with the rest of the firm."

"But--"

"Babe, no. I can't do this week. Why don't you ask my mom? Or Joel?"

While your future mother-in-law is kind enough, you don't have much patience for the way she tries to take control of your wedding planning. Joel, however, might be a good idea. He knows Alex well enough to be a stand in for a decision like cake and icing flavors.

"Could you give me Joel's number?"

Alex smiles, seemingly pleased that he's off the hook as he takes his phone in hand and sends you his best friend's phone number.

You meet Joel at the bakery that week. To your surprise he's there before you, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt and he smiles brightly at you as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to eat some cake?"

"I think this will be my favorite part of planning this whole wedding," you reply. He laughs as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, following in behind you.

"Welcome to Buttercup Bakery! Can I help y'all with anything?" A young woman with a name tag reading BEVERLY asks from behind the counter, pink and white apron tied around her waist.

"I have a cake tasting appointment," you reply, giving her your name for the reservation.

"Excellent! If you want to go ahead and take a seat anywhere you'd like, I'll bring out the tasting options and we'll get you squared away in no time!"

She disappears through swinging doors as you and Joel take a seat at a pink acrylic table with matching chairs. He looks around the shop with interest.

"What made you pick this place?" He asks.

"Had the best reviews," you say with a shrug. His brow furrows.

"Alex didn't suggest it? He helpin' you at all with this weddin'?"

He says it with a laugh, but the question makes you dig your fingernails into your palm. "He's just really busy with work. I've been doing a lot of the planning."

“What about your uh, what are they called? Bridesmaids?”

“They’re all back in New York. It’s just me.”

“I thought your parents were here, too? Isn’t Alex workin’ with your dad now?”

“It’s just my dad, he’s back in New York. His partner opened a firm in Austin and Alex is working with that office. He’s hoping to make partner soon, too.”

Joel nods, eyes scanning your face but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. The swinging doors open and Beverly returns with a marble tray, bites of cake artfully arranged on the surface. She sets it on the table between you and Joel.

“Okay! These are our six most popular flavor combinations for you to start with and if there’s something more custom you have in mind, we can totally make that happen,” she says. “Starting at the top, we have classic vanilla with vanilla buttercream, chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and chocolate buttercream, our signature champagne cake with strawberry buttercream, lemon cake with lavender buttercream, caramel cake with caramel mocha buttercream, and white chocolate cake with raspberry jam and white chocolate raspberry buttercream.”

Joel grins at you. “This might be the best thing anyone has ever asked me to help with.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Beverly says with a wink, walking back to the counter.

“I don’t know which to start with,” you say, eyes scanning the selections.

“That chocolate one is callin’ my name,” Joel replies, spearing one of the chocolate cake bites with a fork and taking a bite. He hums appreciatively. “Oh yeah, that one is a winner.”

You choose the vanilla to start, taking a bite of the moist cake with buttercream that tastes strongly of vanilla bean with a hint of cinnamon. The simplicity makes it good, but overall the flavor doesn't stand out to you. Joel continues to take bites seemingly at random while you opt to go around the tray in the order that Beverly introduced the flavors.

"Any of them stickin' out to you?" Joel asks when you've reached the half-way point.

"They're all delicious," you reply. "I think Alex would probably like the vanilla best, though."

"I didn't ask what Alex would like, I asked if there were any that you liked." He spears the remaining piece of white chocolate raspberry with his fork and holds it up to you. "Here, try this one next."

You eye the fork dubiously. "I don't think--"

Joel slips the bite of cake into your mouth despite your interrupted disagreement, smiling at you triumphantly. You chew the bite begrudgingly.

"I think that one and the chocolate one are my favorite," Joel says as you swallow.

Beverly returns at that moment, a notepad in hand as she pulls up a third chair to the tiny bistro table.

“So? What are your thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to get the vanilla,” you tell her. Joel’s jaw ticks, almost like he’s upset you’ve chosen the flavor that you said Alex would like. “But, could I get alternating tiers of the white chocolate raspberry, too?”

Joel’s lips quirk up in a small smile and you try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

Joel: Have you picked flowers yet?

Not yet.

Joel: I know a place. You busy today?

You stare the at the message in surprise. You weren’t expecting to hear from Joel again, but his name on your screen has you fighting back a smile.

I’m not busy. When did you want to go?

Joel: They open at noon. Here’s the address.

“Baby, have you seen my blue tie?” Alex calls from upstairs. You drop your phone to the counter like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Which one?” You reply, pressing a hand to your chest.

“The plaid one!”

“Should be in your tie drawer!”

“It’s not here!”

You pinch your nose, making your way to the stairs to join him in your shared bedroom. He’s standing in front of his tie drawer, hands on his hips as he stares at the contents. You peek over his shoulder and reach into the back, pulling out the neatly folded blue and green patterned tie.

He takes it from your hand. “That one should be towards the front. Can you remember that next time you put away dry cleaning?”

“Sure.” You bite your lip to hold back the sigh that threatens to spill. “You want me to tie it for you?”

“No, thanks, I need it to be perfect. Big meeting,” he says, his lips tilted in a smile that feels condescending. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmur, watching his back as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Joel is waiting outside of a dark green storefront when you arrive at the address he’d sent you. He smiles when he sees you, a true one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and it gives you this strange feeling of emptiness because you can’t remember the last time Alex smiled at you like that.

When you’re close enough, he pulls you into a hug that envelops you in strong arms and the scent of woods at nightfall with a hint of citrus. Your eyes flutter shut as you hug him back and breathe him in.

He releases you and immediately you feel a chill in losing his warmth despite the oppressive Texas heat. You look at the shop as he steps back, taking in the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window and cursive script painted on the glass that says PETAL TO THE METAL.

Joel opens the door to the shop, a brass bell ringing to announce your entrance. A man at the counter in the center of the store looks up and grins at you both.

“Joel! Nice to see you,” the man says. You watch as they shake hands with familiarity, the man behind the counter smiling kindly. “You must be the bride. I’m Frank.”

You give Joel a look of surprise before introducing yourself and shaking Frank’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you two know each other?”

“Joel’s an old friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

A back door bangs open, someone emerging with their arms so full of potted plants you can’t see their face. A deep voice let’s out a series of curses.

“This is my partner, Bill,” Frank says. “He’s not much of a people person. Great with plants, though.”

“A little help would be nice,” Bill grunts. Frank rolls his eyes but leaves the counter to take a couple pots from Bill’s hands, revealing a man with long brown hair and a grizzled expression hidden amongst a thick beard. Frank leans in and kisses his cheek.

“You need only ask,” Frank says. Bill’s cheeks turn pink beneath his thick facial hair. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, his eyes are soft as he watches Frank. “Let me grab you the event portfolio and we can talk about your wedding. Have a look around.”

As Frank leaves and Bill busies himself arranging the new plants, you and Joel wander the shop and take in aisles and shelves of different flowers with little gold name cards in their pots or on their buckets.

“So,” Joel says, “How are you liking Austin?”

“It’s…hot,” you reply. “Really, really hot.”

“That’s the south for ya, sweetheart.”

Your face grows hot at the endearment and how it seemed to just roll off his tongue. “Have you lived in Austin your whole life?”

“Texas born n’ bred,” he says proudly, puffing his chest out.

“You never wanted to live anywhere else?”

“I’ve always thought Wyoming sounded nice. A farm that I built, some sheep, no neighbors for miles,” he says wistfully. “Maybe someday.”

“Building a farm, huh? You good with your hands, Joel?”

He blinks at you. “Y-yeah. I mean, I’m a contractor. I gotta be.”

“That’s impressive,” you tell him, biting your lip to hold back your laughter at his flustered response.

Frank approaches, lifting a heavy book in his hands. “You ready to pick some flowers?”

Joel holds the door open for you as the two of you leave the flower shop an hour later. He waves goodbye to Bill and Frank with a promise to visit them for dinner soon before following you down the sidewalk.

“You wanna get lunch?” Joel offers. “My treat.”

You pull your phone from your pocket to check your messages and finding none from Alex, you think to yourself, why not?

“Sure,” you agree.

That's how you find yourself sitting on a bench in the park with Joel Miller, your husband's best friend, talking to him about everything and nothing as you eat street tacos from a food truck nearby. He makes you laugh so hard you choke on birria, the sauce dripping down your chin. He reaches out, wiping the mess with a brown napkin while he smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame.

Later that night, while you're in bed, you can't help but think today was the best day you've had in a long time.

And you're not sure what that means.

You begin texting Joel regularly. You ask him for his opinion on things that Alex can’t be bothered with — the suit colors for the groomsmen (navy blue), the invitation stationary (the linen finish), and favors (miniature bottles of hot sauce - Joel assures you this will be a hit with the Texas crowd). In between those conversations, he sends you pictures from his construction sites or asks you how your day has been and whether you had gotten the chance to check out that show he recommended.

When you tell Alex about the wedding decisions you've made, leaving out the extent of Joel's help, he hums and nods at the appropriate intervals, feigning attentiveness while his thumb moves rapidly across his phone screen. It should bother you, you think, that your future husband is so uninvolved with planning his own wedding, but then your own phone lights up with Joel’s name and a goofy photo he sent from a construction site, his hard hat askew on his head and his eyes crossed, and your annoyance with Alex fades into background noise.

There’s one last item on your checklist that you’re more nervous to ask Joel for help with than the others — dress shopping. You could probably fly back to New York and be with your friends for the momentous occasion but you’re certain that Alex wouldn’t appreciate your absence for something he considers so frivolous.

Not that you say anything when he’s gone for his golfing trips.

You’re staring at Joel’s contact screen, working up the nerve to call him and ask him if he’d be willing to come dress shopping with you, when it lights up with an incoming call, his name at the top of the screen like just your thoughts summoned him. You answer on the third ring.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” you tell him.

“So that’s why my ears were itchin’,” he laughs. “You need somethin’?”

You take a steadying breath. “I just have one more thing I need help with and then you won’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind helpin’ you, sweetheart.” You stomach flutters at the nickname and he clears his throat to fill the loaded silence that follows his words. “Now, tell me what you need.”

“Could you come dress shopping with me?”

“That all? Just tell me where and when,” he says. You breathe a sigh of relief, giving him the details of the appointment you made at a local boutique. He promises to meet you there this weekend before hanging up.

The word sweetheart in Joel’s deep voice echoes through your mind for the rest of the day.

Joel looks hilariously out of place on the pristine white couch located in the middle of the dress boutique, a dainty glass of champagne held in his large hand. You sit beside him, your legs touching as you watch the sales associate flit around the store, pulling hangers of dresses from the racks.

“That’s a lot of dresses,” Joel comments, taking a sip of champagne.

“You not up for the challenge?” You tease. He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Trust me, I’m up for the challenge. We’re goin’ to find you the best damn weddin’ dress Texas has ever seen,” he promises.

“Alright, I’ve got some gorgeous choices here for you,” the associate announces, holding up a handful of ivory hangers draped in all types of fabric from satin to chiffon. “You wanna follow me and we’ll get started?”

You follow her to the fitting room and she sets the hangers on a rack, fanning out the dresses so that you can get a better look. There’s five of them in a variety of styles, including an impressive ball gown boasting layers of tulle that trails to the floor.

“I’ll try that one first,” you tell her, pointing to ball gown.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” She asks as you undress, taking the gown from the hanger and arranging it on the floor for you to step into it.

“Alex,” you reply. She drags the bodice up and instructs you to hold it to your chest while she laces up the corset back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve brought him with you.”

“Oh, no. That’s Joel, he’s my husband’s best friend.”

“Really?” She asks, the strings tightening around your waist. “The way you two look at each other, I would have bet money he was the one marrying you." You're about to ask what she means when she finishes tying off the bodice and says, "Wow, this dress is stunning on you."

Her comment retreats to the back of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror. The strapless white gown hugs your chest and waist, flaring out into a layered skirt with lace appliques. There's beading on the sweetheart neckline that trails down the bodice in intricate patterns that catch the light of the fitting room. The dress is stunning.

Marnie leads you back out to the showroom, helping you step up onto a raised platform in front of a trifold mirror that shows you your reflection from multiple angles. You twist and turn, taking in all the details of it before finally facing Joel.

"Damn," Joel says. "That sure is one hell of a dress."

"It's...a lot." You twist your hips from side to side, the heavy skirt swishing across the floor. "I feel like a cupcake and I don't know if I'll be able to dance in it."

"You wanna test it out?"

He's standing before you can respond, reaching a hand into yours to guide you down from the pedestal. When you're on the floor, he wraps an arm around your low back, pulling you close while swaying side to side.

The world around you goes a little blurry and the only thing in perfect clarity is Joel. The feel of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm at the small of your back, the clean smell of soap and citrus, everything is just....Joel.

"How's it feel?" He asks, voice low. You tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Huh?"

"The dress...dancin'...how's it feel?"

The question drags you back to reality, where you're currently dancing around a bridal salon with a man who isn't your fiance. You pull away from him, returning to the pedestal as the bridal associate joins the two of you again.

"Uh...I don't think this is the dress for me. Can we try the next one?"

You try on two other dresses in quick succession, neither of them leaving a lasting impression. It's the fourth dress that really gives you pause as you look at yourself in the fitting room mirror.

"Honey," the associate says, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the dress, "This dress was made for you."

The scooped neckline highlights the lines and curves of your neck and shoulders, the corset bodice hugging your curves in satin folds. The skirt fans out from the waist, similar to the silhouette of the ball gown without all the additional weight and fabric and a thigh high slit allows for some extra movement.

She leads you back out into the showroom and helps you once more onto the pedestal. You grin at your reflection as she fixes the skirt into place.

"Well?" You ask, catching Joel's eye in the mirror. His mouth is set in a serious line, brows pinched together and his arms crossed over his chest. You own smile falters. "You don't like it? What's with the look?"

He shakes his head, his serious expression morphing into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You look..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat. "Alex is a lucky son of a bitch."

You laugh, lifting the skirt so that you can step off the pedestal. Joel's eyes drop, his gaze fixing on the skirt as you walk towards him.

"You think so?" You ask quietly, stepping in close.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs. A single finger runs down your arm, goosebumps erupting over your skin in its wake. "I know so."

With the wedding plans finalized, your attention returns to your work as a web design consultant. Your client portfolio starts to build once more, keeping you busy in the months leading up to your big day. Alex remains focused on his work at the firm, working long days and longer nights that have him arriving home well after you've gone to bed, the two of you just ships passing in the dark. You would feel lonely, you think, if not for Joel.

The two of you still message each other frequently, though you don't see him again until a month before the wedding, when Alex invites him over for dinner one Saturday night.

The doorbell rings just as you put the chicken in the oven and you wipe your hands before going to answer it, your heart racing. Joel's sweet smile greets you when you open the door and seeing him across the threshold has the tension in your shoulders easing the slightest bit.

He steps across the threshold, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight hug. Footsteps on the stairs have him releasing you far sooner than you would have liked.

"Joel, my man! Glad you could make it," Alex says as he reaches the first floor. "Honey, is the table set?"

"No, not yet," you reply.

"You need any help?" Joel asks. You open your mouth to respond, but Alex jumps in to say, "No, she's got this. Let me give you the tour."

You watch as Alex leads Joel upstairs, commanding his friend's attention. You swallow down the anger that rises in your throat at your fiancé's dismissal and return to the kitchen, gathering the place settings and arranging the table to his liking.

"It's a nice place," Joel says as the two men enter the living room, which opens to the kitchen and dining areas.

"All that work finally paying off," Alex comments. You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to mention that you were the one who fronted the down payment for Alex's choice of home in Texas. The oven beeps and you pull out the chicken parmesan that had been baking.

"Smells good," Joel comments. You look up, catching his eye. A wordless understanding passes between you, a quiet appreciation that makes your blood run hot.

You plate the food while your fiancé uncorks a bottle of wine and pours it into the wine glasses at each place setting. Alex settles in at head of the table and Joel takes the seat to the left, leaving you with the seat to Alex's right, across from Joel.

The three of you make small talk between bites of dinner and sips of wine. Alex asks Joel about the contracting work he's been doing, Joel asks him about his work at the new office and how he's settling in, being back in his home state. It's halfway through dinner that Joel looks to you and asks, "Are you excited for the wedding next month?"

"Of course," you reply, fingers tangling in the cloth napkin resting across your lap. "Planning it was a labor of love."

"Right, thanks for helping her with the cake, man," Alex chimes in.

Joel chuckles. "Helped with a lot more than just the cake."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Well, I helped get the flowers, the cake, pickin' out the stationary. Dress shoppin'," Joel clarifies. Your stomach drops as Alex's jaw grows tense, his brow pinched as he nods and pastes on a forced smile.

"Wow, I didn't realize you'd been so involved," Alex says. He removes the napkin from his lap, setting it on the table. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Alex stands, looking down at you expectantly. You smile at him and Joel in turn, but the expression feels hollow and you taste bile in the back of your throat. As soon as you're on your feet, Alex has a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, urging you along behind him as he makes his way towards the stairs.

Once he's reached your shared bedroom, he turns to you, eyes filled with rage. “What the fuck is that about?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor.

“He helped you pick out your dress?” Alex paces the length of the bedroom like a caged animal and for the first time in your relationship with him, a frisson of fear courses through your veins. “You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid?”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “You told me to ask him for his help!”

“With the cake!” Alex shouts. “Not the entire goddamn wedding! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t exactly offering much help, Alex!”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you would be perfectly capable of planning shit on your own, but I guess that was giving you too much credit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole right now?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, not Joel’s!” He steps in close, towering above you as he hisses, “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” You shout.

His eyes search yours and whatever he finds seems to extinguish his anger, his coiled muscles loosening. He grips your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you head back downstairs and I’ll stay up here for a minute to cool off, okay?”

The sudden switch leaves your head spinning but you manage to nod. Alex kisses your forehead and you take that as your cue to leave, escaping the confines of your room. In the hall, you grip the banister of the loft that overlooks the living room and take the first real breath in what feels like ages, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to calm your racing heart.

You return to the kitchen and Joel’s head snaps up when you enter. He rises from his seat at the table, rushing to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, low voice filled with concern, his brows pinched with worry. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” you murmur, pushing past him.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh.

“An asshole. Yellin’ and threatenin’ you.” His fists are clenched at his sides. “He ever hit you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You take a deep breath, beating back the wave of tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. “He’s just got a lot going on with the move and work and the wedding.”

Joel is quiet, watching you with keen brown eyes that you, for once, wish weren’t focused on you. He steps close, voice low as he says, “Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you tell him. The lie claws at your throat and sends your stomach into a tailspin. “I promise.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs and you step away from Joel, busying yourself with loading the dishwasher, clearing the counters, anything to keep your hands occupied and stop their shaking. Alex enters the kitchen with a sharp smile.

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “I think we’re ready to call it a night. Ain’t that right, honey?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Alex as you smile and say, “Yeah, baby.”

“Let me walk you out, Joel,” Alex says. “Honey, say bye.”

“Goodbye, Joel.”

Joel: Hey

Joel: You having a good week?

Joel: Been a while. You doing okay?

Joel: You’ve been quiet

Joel: I need to know you’re okay.

Joel: Just let me know

Joel: Please

“Just two more days until you’re my wife,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smiles at you and you mirror the expression as best you can.

“I can't wait,” you reply.

"I gotta get going," Alex says. He presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes where you're sitting at the bar. "Love you."

"Love you," you repeat, out of reflex more than affection.

The front door slams shut and quiet settles over the house. All you want to do is crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head in the hopes that it protects you from the way time continues to creep forward despite your uncertainties. Maybe, if you lay there long enough, time will move on without your involvement.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a heavy knock at the door. You’re not sure who it could be — your dad is scheduled to fly into town in the late afternoon and your friends arrive early tomorrow morning and you’re fairly certain you don’t have any deliveries scheduled. Sliding from the bar stool, you leave the kitchen to answer the door.

Joel stands on the other side of the threshold, haloed by the morning sun. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Can I come in?” He replies, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I need to talk to you.”

You step aside and allow him to enter the hallway, shutting the door behind him. You avoid his gaze as you return to the living room with him following behind you. The silence that settles between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Why haven't you been talkin' to me?" Joel asks. He takes a step closer, brown eyes searching yours for an answer you try to keep hidden.

"I've been busy," you say.

"Cut the bullshit," he snaps, surprising you. "Is it because of what happened at dinner?"

"No," you reply. Joel must sense the brief hesitation, hear the weakness in your voice. His eyes go soft, full of pity, and you can't fucking stand it. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look, I've known Alex a long time, and all those years weren't exactly peachy," he says cryptically. "I love him like a brother but even family ain't without faults.” He steps in close, his hands cradling your face in a delicate grip. “Tell me this is what you want," he demands. "Tell me that you're happy with Alex. Tell me that there's nothin' here between us."

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue, but nothing can bring them to life. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm against your ribcage, the rush of blood in your ears the only thing you can hear. He leans closer, eyes dropping to your lips and you know what's about to happen next but you can't bear the thought of stopping him as he closes the scant distance between your mouths.

For the briefest moment, you allow yourself the chance to just feel. No thoughts, no panic, no worry. Just Joel's warm lips moving against yours, the trace of his palm from you cheek to behind your head, pulling you closer even though you're already tightly pressed to him. It's slow and deep, like he's trying to convince you down to your marrow that this is where you're supposed to be.

But it's not.

You push him away and he doesn't fight you, but the look he gives you damn near shatters your resolve. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, hands flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back, damn the consequences. Your eyes and throat burn with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

"You need to leave," you whisper. "You can't do this, we can't do this. I'm getting married in two days, Joel!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lay awake at night thinkin' what a fuckin' asshole I am for fallin' in love with my best friend's fiancé?!" He shouts.

"This isn't love, Joel--"

"Don't," he snaps. "Don't you lie to me. I know it, you know it, hell, the fuckin' lady at the dress shop knew it!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm showin' you my whole hand here and you won't even lay down a goddamn card!"

"There is no card!" You shout.

"You kissed me back!" He counters.

You stare at each other for a long moment, like two scared, wounded animals. Eventually, one of you has to back down, retreat, lick their wounds until they've healed in a messy pattern of scar tissue that will serve as a painful reminder of what could have been.

Joel sighs, another pass of his hand through his hair as he says, "You know what? Fine." He turns to leave, the line of his shoulder lower, his head low.

A glutton for punishment, you call out, "Joel?"

"Yeah?" He asks, weary. Bone tired. You feel it, too.

"Will you still be there tomorrow?" You ask, unsure of which answer would be worse.

Another sigh. "Yeah. I'll be there."

The door slams shut behind him.

Your rehearsal dinner is torture.

This should be one of the happiest events of your life but all your energy is being directed at avoiding Joel like the plague. He moves through the crowd comfortably, having known many people in attendance for most of his life, and you feel like an unmoored boat, hoping a wave doesn't crash over you.

Alex sits beside you, drinking from a glass of whiskey as he talks to one of his uncles that has been praising him for landing the opportunity to work with such a prestigious law firm right after college. A dizzying rotation of people approach you through the night - friends who chatter excitedly about the big day tomorrow, aunts who ask when you think you'll have children, uncles who tell you that they're proud of you for landing such a successful, promising young man. It's those last comments that have you hiding a frown in your champagne glass.

It drags on forever, this constant stream of polite conversation and forced smiles. When you finally return to the hotel that you're staying at for the night, you start to feel like you can breathe again. You have a suite separate from Alex's for getting ready early in the morning and he walks you to your room, hand on your low back, a smile on his face.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "My almost wife."

The sentiment has bile rising in your throat and as he turns to leave you're blurting the words, "I can't do this."

"Sweetheart, you're just nervous," he says, voice surprisingly calm. He squeezes your shoulders. "You just need to sleep it off and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "No, it won't be fine."

His smile drops, like a mask has just been removed. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine at the rehearsal."

"Everything was not fine at the rehearsal!"

Alex takes the room key from your hands, unlocked the door and ushering you inside. He flicks on the light to the sitting area and takes a seat on the couch.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, exasperation dripping from his words. "What do you mean the rehearsal wasn't fine? Did you not like the food or something?"

You stare at him incredulously. "The problem wasn't the food, Alex! The problem is us!"

"There's no problem with us," he says. "Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He stands, coming close. "Is this about Joel?"

"No!" You snap, perhaps too quickly. "This isn't about Joel."

"Then what is it? Because as far as I know, we're a perfectly happy couple."

"Perfectly happy? Alex, you didn't even help me plan this wedding. Not a single minute of it."

"Not this again," he groans. "Sweetheart, let it go. I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you need to hear?"

Your jaw aches with how hard your teeth grind together as he dismisses you so easily. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth steadies you enough to say, "I'm not marrying you."

"Baby, please," Alex says. For the first time, he sounds panicked. "Don't make any rash decisions, alright? Whatever this is, we can work through it. If I lose you, I lose everything."

Maybe he's right. Maybe the stress of the last few months has just caught up to you.

"Okay," you whisper. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses another kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says. "Everything will be okay after tomorrow. You'll see."

You don't say anything back, and he doesn't wait around for a response. He leaves your suite, the click of the door shutting loud in the late night silence. You stand there for who knows how long, wondering if he's right. Would everything be alright after tomorrow? Could you sweep those lingering feelings for Joel to the side in favor of the life you'd been building for the last few years?

You know what the safe choice is, but is it the right choice?

It's the morning of your wedding day and you've been poked and prodded with makeup brushes and your hair has been perfectly styled for the occasion. Flashbulbs have been going off on the cameras that are documenting your special day, capturing moments like your bridesmaids helping you into your dress and your dad's first look, a handkerchief clutched in his hand as he smiled at you.

For the first time in hours, you're alone in your suite. The makeup artist and hair stylists have packed up and taken their leave and your friends are downstairs, waiting for the limousine. You told them you would be just a minute longer.

A soft knock at your door has you realizing that you may have taken too long and you shout an apology as you rush to answer it. But it's not one of your friends on the other side like you had expected.

It's Joel.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His hair is styled, curls smoothed and slicked back into submission. His white shirt is a stark contrast to his navy blue tuxedo, matching bow tie tight around his neck. His boutonnière is slightly crooked where it sits pinned to his jacket lapel. He looks you up and down with a small smile.

"You look beautiful," he says. He reaches for your hand, fingers tangling with yours. Never quite folding together, but never quite letting go, either.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Are you ready?" He asks. You wonder if he knows, if Alex told him or if he can just see it on your face.

"Yes."

It's a lie, one you've been repeating since your alarm went off this morning after a night of tossing and turning. His smile falters, but doesn't drop.

"Good, that's....good," he says. His hand leaves yours, and you feel like you've had an entire unspoken conversation that's left you both defeated. "Lets go get you married."

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

divider graphic by @saradika-graphics.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic

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grlsbstshot · 4 months ago

Text

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: A year has passed since Imani and Jameson's painful breakup. Once again, fate draws the two together again...but it's not as joyful reunion as either thought they'd have.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, mentions of therapy, out of control drinking, and emotional breakdowns, sex (p in v, creampie, dirty talk) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes:

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Anaïs Lucas sat at her writing desk, the faint scent of her signature jasmine lingering in the air. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. She flipped through the pile of papers in front of her, gaze landing on the embossed invitations for Jameson’s album release party.

Pride made her smile. Her son had an advantage when he got into the industry, yes. He had her name and his good looks but nobody could ever pretend her baby couldn’t sing or that he didn’t work his ass to keep what he got. After he announced he was pushing back his album last winter, Anaïs watched people doubt him. Come January 2026 – a few short weeks from then – they would know that he was worth the wait.

She picked one up, running her fingers over the gold lettering.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of Midnight & Dawn A celebration of James Lucas’ third album

It was elegant, timeless—everything she’d expect from her son’s team. Yet, as perfect as it seemed, something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

The party was in a matter of days and she knew for a fact that Imani wasn’t on the guest list. It made sense. The two had broken up and hadn’t so much as whispered each other’s name in public. Imani had moved on. Jameson had moved on. The cute little girl she’d seen him out with – but had yet to meet – seemed to be distracting him just enough.

But she knew her son. She knew what he wanted. She tried not to be that kind of mother but she couldn't help herself. He was her only child and she wanted him to be happy. She just wouldn't be mentioning any of this to Toni, Imani's aunt and her closest friend.

Anaïs reached for her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart. “Anderson? It’s Anaïs.” Her voice was warm but commanding, the kind that left little room for argument.

Anderson Allen was the head of public relations at Jameson’s label. He had insisted on signing a deal with a label that didn’t feature his mother but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have connections. “Ms. Lucas! What a surprise. How can I help you?”

“I was getting ready for Jamie’s party,” she began, her tone casual but deliberate. "But I heard that the guest list wasn’t complete. You all work so hard over there. I would hate for an omission to ruin the party."

Anderson hesitated. “Omission?”

“Yes. Imani St. Cirie,” Anaïs said smoothly.

The pause on the other end of the line was longer this time. “I—I wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate, given their history. Jameson hasn’t mentioned—”

Anaïs cut him off with a light laugh. “Oh, Andy, let’s not overthink this. Imani is an important part of Jameson’s life, personally and professionally. Inviting her would be…a gesture of goodwill. Besides, I’m sure she’d appreciate the opportunity to celebrate his success.”

Anderson’s voice was cautious. “I suppose we could add her to the list…”

“Wonderful,” Anaïs said, her smile bright. “I’d like to personally handle delivering her invitation. Consider it my little project.”

“Of course, Ms. Lucas. I’ll have one prepared and sent to your house immediately.”

“You’re a gem, Anderson. Thank you.”

Anaïs ended the call and leaned back in her chair, a satisfied expression on her face. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what she believed was right for her baby.

When the invitation arrived later that afternoon, Anaïs carefully wrote Imani’s name on the envelope in her graceful script. She slipped it into a sleek courier envelope and sealed it with a flourish.

“Deliver this directly to Ms. St. Cirie,” she instructed the courier who arrived at her door less than an hour later. “Make sure it’s in her hands before the day is over.”

As the courier left, Anaïs poured herself a celebratory glass of champagne. She wasn’t blind to the complications of Jameson and Imani’s past, but sometimes, fate needed a little help—and Anaïs Lucas was more than happy to provide it.

The studio was alive with energy, even though it was just the two of them. EJ asked for them to run through the albums again. They'd been previewed for the label, accepted, turned in, and there was release party planned for the next night...but still. He wanted to hear the album one more time. Jameson didn't hesitate to go. As the final song climaxed, EJ poured whiskey into two glasses. He slid one across the console to Jameson, who sat slouched in his chair.

“To the masterpiece,” EJ said, raising his glass. “A double-disk album. That’s some legendary-level ambition from my boy.”

Jameson laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the glass. "Very glad I could surprise you all."

EJ snorted. "Hey! I believed in you always. It was touch and go there for a while for everybody else. When you pushed the album back, them niggas started getting nervous. But I knew...my boy was gone get into his bag. I just ain't expect two damn albums at once."

Jameson smirked, tapping his glass against EJ’s before taking a sip. “Here’s hoping they don't flop.”

“Flop?” EJ scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re about to shut the whole industry down. Tomorrow night’s party is gonna be the start of something huge. We need to celebrate. Let’s go grab a drink. Celebrate properly.”

Jameson shook his head, setting the glass down as he finished off the amber liquid. “Un-uh. I’m good, man. I’m tired as fuck. You kept me chained to the recording booth most of the year. I'm going home. Getting in the bed.”

EJ smiled at his friend. “You sure? A little fun won’t kill you.” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Jameson said.

With nothing left to do, EJ finished his drink and threw his hands up. "Alright. I did my best. Aye...I'm proud of you."

Jameson wrinkled his nose, standing from his seat and grabbing his jacket. "Don't get soft on me and shit."

EJ followed his movements, a serious expression on his face. "I'm for real. I was worried about you. Not because of the album. Just because you're my friend. You came out the other side of that shit and I'm proud. I was glad when you stopped drinking every day and started getting fresh air but...therapy? Channeling your shit into music? Camille? You’re looking ahead. I'm happy for you, man."

Even without him saying her name, she lingered between them. Imani was the unspoken, untouched aspect of his life that he still couldn't face. Still, he knew EJ meant well so Jameson smiled. “Thank you. For everything. You been solid while I got myself together. I owe you, E.”

It was a rare moment when the two stopped teasing each other enough to express what they felt. If Genie was his sister, EJ was his brother. He didn’t know who he’d be without either of them. Before he could change his mind, Jameson leaned in and gave EJ a tight hug. It only lasted a second but he could feel the other man hug him back.

“Alright. Enough of that.” EJ muttered, breaking away and shoving Jameson’s shoulder playfully. “Go home. Go be boring. I’m going to kiss my girlfriend until she blushes.”

He still couldn't wrap his head around EJ and Genie. When Genie had shyly told him she was dating EJ, his first reaction had been disbelief. He never felt a vibe between them but over the next few months, EJ had proved he was crazy about Genie. So Jameson stepped back. He didn't kick up a fuss or cause a problem. When he found time to get out of his own head, he was happy for them.

It was an innocent statement but Jameson recoiled, holding his hand over his ears. “Ew. Don’t tell me nothing you and Genie got going on.” He quickly picked up his jacket, shrugging it on while EJ laughed, calling out to him.

“You better lock Camille down so you can learn from us!”

Jameson walked through his front door and immediately noticed something was off. The lights in the dining room were dimmed, candles flickering on the table, and soft jazz played from the speakers. He’d left the house silent and dark before going to meet EJ. Only three people had a key beside him. His mother, who was not going to set a scene. Genie, who never used it. And EJ, who he just left. Jameson rounded the corner of his living room, entering the kitchen. There stood a woman, at his sink, with her back to him. He recognized her immediately. The messy way she piled her dark brown hair on the top of her head gave it away.

Camille.

There was something about the way she carried herself—an effortless elegance like she owned the space around her. As one of the most famous young models in the industry, Camille was a striking woman. She held her head high no matter what, her posture perfect. She moved around his kitchen as if this was her home. It was the same way she had approached him – like he was already hers. He admired it, even if it reminded him of someone else, someone he couldn’t quite shake.

“Camille?” he called, dropping his keys on the counter.

She jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. She was wearing an apron with splashes of water on it over her sleek black dress. “You’re…You’re home early.” There were plates on his table, a romantic dinner for two was the obvious aim and he softened. They were casual. Beyond casual but she always took care of him.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, slipping back into the moment. “Am I not supposed to be here?” He asked her, shrugging out of his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen. “How’d you get in?”

“EJ came to let me in before he met you.” She said softly, her gaze following his movements – lingering on his forearms before she turned back to turn the running water off. “H-He was supposed to keep you out for another hour.”

And then it all made sense. The fact that he’d called him out at all to ‘listen’ to an album they’d been listening to for almost a year. Then to want to go out for drinks afterward? His best friend was trying his hand at matchmaking and Jameson couldn’t blame him. Camille was good to him. He’d be a liar to say she wasn’t.

“Ah,” Jameson said, nodding his head. “So, that’s why he was so insistent on hanging out tonight.” He stepped closer, tossing his jacket onto the counter before leaning against it, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry I ruined the surprise.”

Camille pouted but the second she got a good look at him, she brightened and the annoyance melted away. “I thought we could celebrate your album being finished. Just the two of us. I’m happy for you.”

Jameson smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for caring.” He reached out, tugging her closer using the apron. “What’s for dinner?”

“Caprese salad, seared scallops with risotto, and white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.” “Sounds very impressive.” “It is. I slaved over a stove for you.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be. Not all of my friends get this kind of treatment.” “No?” “Un-uh.” “Damn. I must be really good in bed.”

Camille burst out laughing, slapping her hand against his chest. “You’re aight.”

“That wasn’t a no so I don’t think I was wrong.” Jameson teased her, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly. He released the apron before wrapping his arm around her to untie it. When he brought the strap over her head, he tossed it onto the kitchen island

“Jameson! We have dinner. I already prepared the–” “Put it in the oven. We’ll eat it later.”

He didn’t have to explain any further. She watched him pluck a fork from his kitchen drawer and then she went to do exactly as he told her to do. Jameson waited patiently, taking a seat on a bar stool and pulling the cheesecake toward him. Once she was done and the food was set aside, he patted the stool next to him. “C’mon. Get off your feet.”

In her Chanel dress and high heels, Camille made herself comfortable.

They settled at the kitchen counter, side by side on barstools, sharing bites of the rich dessert. Jameson fed her from his fork, kissed her, and put aside the fact that he felt a twinge of guilt for bringing her into his house. This was good. He was moving forward as EJ said. There was nothing wrong with that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jameson told her softly, offering her another bite of cheesecake. When she took it, he followed it with a kiss. Light and sweet. She leaned into him, silently asking for more. Instead, Jameson offered her more cheesecake. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

She glared at him before his confession became clear. Cami gave him a bright smile, her tongue cleaning the whipped cream her mouth left behind on the fork before she spoke. “There is really nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Imani ran her hands over her dress as she looked over her appearance in the mirror. She did a small turn to the left and then the right to see. No flaws. She looked damn good as usual. She sported a new blonde hair color with hints of pink, a brown sheer dress that accented her curves and left little to the imagination, and her wrist and neck were dazzled in diamonds. It was perfect. Undoubtedly, a ten out of ten. Yet, she sighed and turned her body once more like something would change to make it even better.

“Girl, if you don’t get out that mirror and go to that party, I’m a drag you there myself.” Her hairstylist said. Imani chuckled. “You look good. Now go get your man.”

She waved the woman off. “It ain’t even like that!” She hadn’t seen Jameson since their break-up last year. She only knew him through TV screens, magazines, and as a voice blaring through the club speakers. He was no longer the man that held her at night, told her she was beautiful or showered her with kisses. For the first time since they met, he was James Lucas. And she hated it.

Imani said her goodbyes to her glam team as she sauntered to her door and then to the SUV. She slipped inside then the driver shut the door behind her. She pulled the ring on her ring finger on and off then on and off all over again.

It was the ring that Jameson gifted to her for Christmas last year. She pulled it out of her jewelry box when she was anxious, only wearing it at home to avoid speculation from the media and her fans. It was her stress reliever that no one knew about. But tonight, it served a different purpose.

She wanted Jameson back. Bad. And Imani believed wearing his ring to his album release party would show him that she hadn’t forgotten about him. How could she? He was all she ever thought about. She thought she did the right thing when she ended things with him. They were just going to end in heartbreak like they always did. Imani thought breaking the cycle would solve everything. Yes, she was heartbroken when it happened but she always believed she would get over it and feel better. But she didn’t. She never felt more alone.

For the first three months after their breakup, she distracted herself with work. She dove head first into Diary’s promotional rollout. Anything her label or management wanted her to do, she did it to avoid being with her deafening thoughts of regret and being alone. But her promo tour only lasted for so long. Then she tried partying. She tried drinking. She tried being with other people, but they never lasted long. All she did was compare them to Jameson.

Despite all her efforts, nothing and no one could fill the void in her heart left by Jameson. His memory lingered in every corner of her mind. She wrestled with herself over the thought of reaching out to him, hesitant and afraid of what she might find. What if he had moved on? What if he wanted nothing to do with her anymore? She knew little about his current life, only catching glimpses through a few tabloids. According to them, he now resided in the bustling city of New York and was dating a woman named Camille, but they didn’t seem serious at all. Maybe she still had a chance.

When she received a mysterious invite to his album release party, it felt like fate. A sign that she needed to make a move and get him back. She couldn’t let fear hold her back this time. So she booked a flight to New York with her trusted glam squad to help her and now her plan was underway.

She was still fidgeting with her ring once they reached the club. The blinding lights of the paparazzi never phased her. She didn’t mind the attention. But tonight, their presence only added to the growing uneasiness and heat rising in her skin. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let them distract her from her goal — winning Jameson back.

With a sigh, she stepped out of the SUV and was immediately swarmed by a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The familiar chaos only felt like an obstacle in her path.

“Imani, you look stunning! Love the new hair.” “Are you here to see James?” “How do you feel about him and Camille? Do you know that they showed up here together?”

The last question nearly stopped her in her tracks. Her heart fell back into the abyss of despair that hope once saved it from. Jameson and Camille? She thought they weren’t serious, so why the fuck was she at the party with him? Fuck! Imani should have stayed home. Too many eyes were on her to turn back now. Instead, she simply smiled at the question and entered the club.

After she was inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring all of the eyes and whispers. Imani needed to take his ring off before anyone noticed. She walked inside, thankful that no one was in there. Then she closed and locked the door so no one could see her lose it.

She felt like such a fool. There was a war raging inside of her. Of course, he moved on. It had been a year. Did she expect him to wait forever? But the other side screamed, how dare he move on? He told her they were soulmates. He said he would never give up on them. Was it all a lie? “Just twenty minutes.” She mumbled to herself. “I can do twenty then I’ll leave and go home.”

Imani exhaled deeply. She pulled the ring off of her finger and shoved it into her clutch. She unlocked the bathroom door, opening it, only to be met with Genie.

She stared at her like a prey making eye contact with its predator. Her mind had been so clouded with thoughts of Jameson that she didn’t even think about their storm of friendship. She hadn’t seen Genie since last year. She ignored her texts and phone calls like her best friend was a scorned lover. One day, Imani was going to explain, she just didn’t imagine that day to be today.

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Imani finally parted her lips to speak. “Genie, I-” She couldn’t even get her sentence out before the woman moved past her and into the bathroom. Imani sighed, deciding that tonight wasn’t the best time to discuss their broken friendship. She walked back into the club and looked for Toni, the only one she talked to during the whole year. Her energy turned into a dark cloud and she needed someone to brighten it if she was going to make it to twenty minutes.

He heard the whispers before he saw her. Imani had shown up.

And finally, he saw her.

For the first time in a fucking year, he laid eyes on her. Not a picture. Not an interview or a photoshoot. He saw her.

Relief hit him so hard that he exhaled sharply. She was okay. After Christmas last year, she had essentially disappeared from his life. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he had even chosen to unfollow her on Instagram but Jameson quickly found out that he wasn’t the only one left behind. Genie had lost Imani as well.

The two didn’t talk anymore. He had nothing to go by that she was okay. The blogs reported every lover and every move she made…but none had been able to tell him if she was genuinely doing okay. He could see for himself – in the flesh – that she was doing damn good.

She was standing alone in the quickly filling club, framed by the soft glow of lights. He could see her observing the crowd, looking for someone. Was it him? When their eyes met, she seemed frozen. Her eyes went wide and he knew immediately she wasn’t looking for him.

He felt a hand against his stomach and immediately broke eye contact with her. Camille was gazing up at him, a question in her eyes. Jameson had to steady himself before he smiled at her. “I’ll be back.” He heard himself tell her but knew that he shouldn’t leave. He did it anyway, walking across the room as every thought in the world passed through his mind.

The relief that he felt ended, replaced by anxiety. Why did she come? Was she trying to support him? Was she curious about the music? Did she want to rub it in his face that he had lost her? Did she want him to see how fucking good she looked? All of the questions he asked himself set him on edge but he didn’t stop moving in her direction.

His eyes ran from her blonde hair down to her tan dress. And a wave of lust hit him.

The fabric clung to her body. It was barely there. He could see her body, sculpted abs and thick thighs. Perfectly measured underwear that hid…Well, he knew what it hid. He was so intimately acquainted with her body that he could find her in the damn dark. He couldn’t think like this. Jameson shook his head to clear the thoughts but flashes of memories raced through his mind. Late nights with him sinking his teeth into her thighs as they trembled, the way her abdomen contracted when she was coming around his fingers. The way she called out for him, the word ‘Daddy’ fell from her lips. All of it came rushing back to him with stunning clarity. Shit! No. No!

He wasn’t doing this. Camille was watching him. He had to get right. So many fucking therapy sessions and he was backsliding into chaos already.

By the time he got to her, he had control of himself again. “Hi.” He said softly.

He watched as she slowly turned to look at him. There was no ignoring one another. Not right then. Her lips curved into a smile but he knew right then that something was wrong. It didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t light up the way she usually did when she was happy.

“Hi, Jameson.” “Thank you for coming. It’s nice to see you.” “I…It’s nice to see you too.”

A lull of silence hit them and awkwardness set in. Before, they could talk about anything and everything but now? He didn’t know what to say.

EJ found Camille standing near the edge of the room, sipping a glass of champagne with practiced ease. She looked every bit the supermodel she was, tall and poised, her sleek black gown clinging to her statuesque frame. But her eyes—dark, searching—betrayed her. She was watching Jameson, observing the way his gaze seemed to drift toward Imani no matter where she stood. Even when he excused himself from her side and greeted other partygoers, everybody in the room knew where he was going.

EJ stepped up beside her, his presence casual but deliberate. “You’re handling this well,” he said, his tone low enough to keep their conversation private from prying ears.

Camille turned her head slightly, offering him a polite smile. “Handling what?”

He gave her a knowing look, one that made her sigh and take another sip of her drink. She broke the pretense that nothing was happening. “You’re not blind, Camille. You see the way he looks at her. And the way she avoids looking at him. There’s history there—deep, messy history. You’ve got to know that.”

Camille’s expression didn’t waver, but she set her glass down on the nearby table, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “I know,” she said simply.

EJ raised an eyebrow. “And you good with that?”

She shrugged, the movement graceful but dismissive. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Jameson’s been honest with me about Imani. I know what she means to him.”

EJ leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “What she means to him and what she still means to him might not be the same thing. I’m not saying this to scare you off, but if you’re serious about Jameson, you need to be ready to fight for him. Because that connection they have? It’s not something that just disappears.”

Camille tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Do you think I’m not serious about him?”

EJ hesitated, then shook his head. “I think you care about him. I think you’re good for him, too. But I also think Jameson’s still figuring out what he wants. And if you’re not careful, you might end up hurt. She’s got this... gravitational pull on him, sure. But it’s not healthy. You’ve seen how far he’s come this past year. That’s because of you, Camille. Not her.”

Camille’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I appreciate the concern, EJ. Really, I do. But I’m not here to fight anyone for Jameson. If he wants to be with me, he knows where I am. And if he doesn’t?” She spread her hands, her tone light but firm. “Then I’ll let him go. I’m not the kind of woman who clings to someone who doesn’t want to stay.”

EJ studied her, a flicker of respect crossing his face. “You’re a lot calmer about this than I expected.”

Camille chuckled softly, her gaze drifting back toward Jameson, who had finally approached Imani. “I’ve spent my entire career competing—for jobs, for recognition, for respect. But love? That’s not something you should have to fight for. Either it’s there, or it’s not. And if Jameson’s heart is still with Imani, then there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

EJ nodded slowly, impressed by her composure. “Fair enough. Just... be careful. He’s a good guy, but if things get messy—”

“They won’t,” Camille interrupted gently. “Because I won’t let them. I care about Jameson, but I care about myself too. If he can’t give me what I deserve, I’ll walk away. Simple as that.”

EJ exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Camille smiled again, this time with a touch of warmth. “Thanks, EJ. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, no matter what happens.”

EJ glanced back toward Jameson, then back at Camille. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their conversation, and stepped away, leaving her to watch Jameson from afar, her expression unreadable.

“You look good.” He said softly, immediately regretting the words. “I mean, I like your dress.” Nope, that was fucked up too.

“Thanks,” Imani looked at his outfit. It was already difficult for her to face him, but did he have to look handsome too? This may have been the second hardest thing she’s ever done. “You look uh—you look nice too.”

He peered down at his fit. All black, Gucci. Jameson lifted his hand, pressing it to his sleeve as if he just realized he was wearing clothes worth five grand. “Thank you. It’s just…something thrown together. I’m glad you came. Really.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I did too. Congrats on the album, Jameson. I’m—“ she paused, searching for the right words to say. “really happy for you.”

“Really?” He tilted his head, peering down at her. “Then why do you look upset?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Imani answered quickly. She wasn’t fine at all. She made the wrong decision to come to this party and now, she had to face a best friend who probably hated her and an ex she was still in love with. She was mentally kicking herself. But he didn’t need to know that.

He knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t exactly call her on it. That wasn’t his place anymore. “Mhm.” He said softly, giving a nod. “I…I really do hope you’re okay, Imani. Things ended between us but I want you to be happy. Always.”

“I..I want you to be happy too,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m glad to see that you are. I really am.”

“Thank you. It…it took a while to get back to being happy.” The conversation between them was so fucking stiff and he hated it. He watched her fold her arms against her chest, knowing there was a wall between them. They talked to each other like strangers. Once upon a time, he could tell her anything. They could say everything to one another – except the shit that really mattered. And now they couldn’t say anything at all. “Finishing the album helped. Wouldn’t have been able to do that without a lot of people. You included.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help. I can’t wait to hear it.” Imani smiled. “Uh, I’m going to go look for Toni now. I’ll see you around?”

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but instead, he felt a hand against his arm. Jameson turned to look down at her, surprised by her presence. “There you are.” She said softly.

Imani looked between the couple, still with a smile that he couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Hi, I’m Imani.” She reached her hand out. Her eyes glanced down at his wrist. She looked back at Jameson with narrowed eyes. The watch on his wrist looked like the one she had sent him a year. Why the fuck was he wearing that? While he was with another woman?

His head turned so quickly that he almost sprained his damn neck. He watched as Imani introduced herself to Camille, in such a friendly way that he was almost offended. Damn. She could at least pretend to be jealous. Camille gave her a smile in return and reached out to grasp Imani’s hand and Jameson inhaled sharply. He did not see this coming and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

“Nice to meet you.” She said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Imani let go of Camille’s hand. “Nice to meet you as well. You’re very pretty.” She looked back at Jameson. Then at Camille. “Well, I’m going to leave you guys to it. Have a good night.” She said, turning around and walking away quickly before she could hear another word from either of them.

It took a minute for Genie to pull herself together. When she passed Imani, it had broken her heart not to say anything but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe any of this shit. When Jameson and Imani broke up, her heart broke for them both. She didn’t know the details but knew it was bad. Jamie was drinking heavily and Imani was out of contact. But she kept trying. She would start by sending a message every week. Then it became every single day. She wanted to be there for Imani. She begged her to reach out if she needed anything…and she never did.

It was like she lost her best friend. At first, Genie grieved. Every time something wonderful happened with EJ, she wanted to pick up the phone and call Imani…but she knew she wouldn’t answer. Then the grief turned into anger. She resented being so easy to forget.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she finally said, her voice shaky as she approached EJ. She could see his jovial attitude shift when he saw the look on her face. “I don’t know what I thought I’d feel seeing her again, but this wasn’t it.” She hadn’t even known Imani would be there but she knew that maybe there would be a good chance. Still, seeing her again had been a shock to the system.

EJ ushered her from the main floor, getting her comfortable in an isolated corner as he watched her with a steady, concerned gaze. “You wanted to see your best friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She’s not my best friend anymore,” Genie snapped, then immediately winced at her attitude. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I just…” She blinked back tears, pressed her hands against her temples. “I mean... she was. For so long. But now? I can barely look at her. She completely shut me out.”

EJ leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s probably not anything you did, baby. Maybe Imani needed space. It had to hurt ending things with Jay.”

Genie looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Of course she’s hurting. I know that. I just... I’ve tried, EJ. I’ve called, texted, even sent emails. Nothing. And now, after all this time, she shows up here, at Jameson’s party of all places, looking like she’s completely fine. Like she doesn’t even care that I miss her.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly turned away, pretending to adjust the strap of her dress. EJ sighed and crossed the room to her, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her space but offering his presence.

“She does care,” he said softly, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his tone. “You don’t just forget someone like you, Genie. Maybe she’s just... not ready to face everything yet.”

Genie let out a bitter laugh, swiping at her cheek. “It’s been a year. How much longer do I have to wait? How much longer do I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt that she’s just... gone?”

EJ placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s okay to be angry, to be sad, to miss her. Just don’t let it eat you up inside.”

Genie turned to him, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t know how to let it go. She was my person, EJ. And now, it’s like I don’t even exist to her.”

EJ’s jaw tightened as he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He couldn’t help the frustration bubbling in his chest—not just for what Imani’s absence had done to Genie but for the pain she had caused Jameson too. He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him felt like Imani had been selfish, leaving behind the people who had loved her most.

“You exist,” he murmured against her hair, pushing aside his bitterness for Genie’s sake. “And you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, Genie let herself believe him. In the quiet of EJ’s arms, she let herself grieve, not just for the friendship she had lost but for the part of herself that felt like it had been left behind with Imani.

EJ held her tighter, his mind drifting back to Imani’s face at the party. He’d keep his thoughts to himself, but if she ever wanted back into their lives, she’d have to prove she deserved it.

Imani’s patience was wearing thin, and she couldn’t last another minute in this crowded club. What the hell was she thinking, flying thousands of miles to see a man she hadn’t spoken to in a year? She shoved her way through the throngs of people, not bothering to find her aunt in the chaos. All she wanted was to escape, to retreat to her hotel room and try to make sense of everything.

As she burst through the club doors and into the cool night air, Imani finally exhaled the breath she had been holding since running into Genie. But it didn’t bring any relief. Everything felt like shit and it was all her fault. The weight of loneliness settled on her shoulders like a familiar burden, one that always found its way back to her despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. But this time it hit harder than ever before and threatened to swallow her whole.

Before she could fully immerse herself in the depths of her sadness, a familiar voice jolted Imani out of her thoughts. “Mani? Leaving so soon?” It was Jameson, accompanied by Camille, their arms entwined as they walked towards her. Imani’s heart dropped at the sight, knowing that she was once in Camille’s place. A pang of envy and longing washed over her, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Oh, I’m not feeling well, so I’m a head out,” she lied, trying to sound nonchalant. Jameson’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. But then Camille leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, distracting him. “I know y’all ain’t out here to bring me back.”

Camille’s laughter tinkled through the air, her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Jameson. “No, we decided to leave early.” she said with a grin playing on her lips. Imani squinted at Jameson, studying his facial features intently. There was something off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Why are you leaving your album release party so soon? Is everything alright?” Imani’s voice was gentle but curious, her gaze searching Jameson’s face for any clues. “I’m just tired,” he answered, but there was a slight quiver in his voice that betrayed his words. Imani could see the lie in his eyes, but she knew better than to press the issue. That was Camille’s job now.

“Jameson and I are going to go get some rest,” Camille said softly, doting on a 6’3 grown ass man like he was a baby. She wanted to hate it...but she knew she'd done the same when they were together. Imani’s eyes flicked back to Camille as she pat his chest and gazed at him. She tried to think of something to say next to the couple, but she was too focused on the way she said his name. It replayed over and over again in her mind. Her stomach was in knots at the sound of it.

She was reminded of all of the times she used to call him that. Then she looked back at Camille. She was still looking at Jameson with the same look Imani used to have. Imani hated how he could invoke that look in another woman. She was the only one who should get to experience the look of love, lust, and admiration. She hated him for it.

Where the fuck was her driver? She pulled her phone out of her clutch, opening it with her Face ID. She tapped over onto her call log, realizing that she never fucking called him. Imani was in such a rush to get away from the couple in the club that she forgot to do it. And yet, she still ended up face-to-face with them again. Fate wanted to torture her tonight.

Imani quickly tapped the contact name and asked the driver to come get her. Luckily, he was just around the corner. There was silence between the three of them. Everything she planned on saying to him before her arrival was thrown out of the window when she first arrived. It all had fallen to shit. Now, her imagination filled those spaces of broken words. All she could see was Camille and Jameson, full of lust, in his house together doing what she would have done to him after his album release party.

Thankfully for her, Imani’s driver finally pulled up and disrupted her thoughts. He got out and opened the door for her. She walked over to the SUV, stepping inside of the car. “I’ll see you guys later…” She said, looking over her shoulder. She hoped her words never came to fruition.

“Be safe and have a good night,” Jameson said lowly, watching her leave. She nodded, sitting down in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver closed the door. Once he pulled away from the curve, she pulled out the ring again. She toyed with it in her hands. Imani went into this party, hoping that the ring would spark a new meaning. She had no idea that meaning would be that it was her only connection to Jameson.

"You too quiet." Jameson muttered, pulling his hand from Camille's mouth. She gasped for breath when he did, immediately moaning out his name. "That's much better."

"Yes, baby. Right there. So good."

She was breathless as she clung to him. They were in the middle of his bed, she was on his lap -- long limbs wrapped around his neck and hips as she ground her hips against his.

Jameson groaned, feeling Camille's tightness stretch around him. Her enthusiasm was always a turn on and he let out a long, slow moan as he thrust deeper. Each powerful stroke, sending vibrations through her body that made her whimper in delight. Every time she moved on top of him, her breasts bounced enticingly against his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ooh! D-Don't stop. Jamie! Just like that..."

The scent of sweat and sex filled the air as they moved together in perfect harmony. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and tender moans. Camille's nails raked down his neck and back, leaving small trails of pleasure and pain that only fueled his desire further. He gripped her hips tightly, holding her close as they lost themselves in each other's touches.

He lifted his head to capture her mouth, tongue brushing against her own as he plunged deeper into her mouth -- imitating their movements. Their tongues danced together sensually while their bodies moved in rhythm on the bed beneath them. As he felt himself nearing climax, Jameson pulled back from the kiss to look into Camille's eyes - filled with lust and desire - before letting out a long growl.

"You like that, baby?" She asked him softly and Jameson nodded, words escaping him as his grip tightened on her hips. They'd been sleeping together long enough that she knew what it meant. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, legs unwinding from around him as he went crash back onto the bed. "Go ahead. Give it to me, Jamie." she whimpered.

Camille's nails dug into Jameson's skin as she rode him, leaving small crescents that stung but only made him harder. He groaned deeply, his hands finding purchase in the sheets as he arched his hips and thrust into her. He felt every curve of her body against him, every undulation sending shockwaves through his dick.

"That's what you want?" He asked her through gritted teeth. "Yes!" She responded, nodding her head. "I deserve it. I'm your good girl."

He couldn't take it much more. His head fell back onto the bed, eyes closed, but his hands knew where to go. He lifted them from the sheets, grasping her hip with the left and relentlessly rubbing at her clit with his right thumb. Camille's legs tightened against his outer thighs as she crumbled forward and came on top of him with a shout.

With a final thrust, Jameson cried out as he came inside her, their bodies trembling together in unison. As they came down from their high, Camille cuddled against Jameson's chest, their hearts beating in sync. She nibbled on his earlobe softly before pulling away slowly with a satisfied smile on her lips.

He sat in the dark in his living room, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city through the curtains. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Jameson fiddled with the watch on his wrist, loosening the band and twisting it around, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

Camille had gone to sleep hours ago, slipping into sleep with the ease of someone unburdened. For a couple of hours, he managed to forget…everything.

But when it was over, and Camille’s breathing had evened out beside him, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his thoughts returned with a vengeance, and they all centered on one person.

Imani.

The way she had looked at the party—poised but distant, like she was shielding herself from the room, from him—was burned into his memory. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment she left, her face unreadable as she slipped into the car. He had been overwhelmed by her presence, thrown off balance by the sight of her after so long.

When she had walked away, leaving him and Camille standing there, all he could do was grab a passing glass of champagne. Then another. He had swallowed down two before he realized what he was doing—regressing, using alcohol to dull the sharp edge of his emotions.

He had told Camille he wanted to leave. She didn’t hesitate, her concern for him evident as she agreed. But as they made their way out, they ran into Imani on the street.

The moment replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape. The brief, stilted conversation. The way she looked at him like she was holding back a storm of emotions. And then she was gone, slipping away into the night.

Her face was trapped in his mind now, every detail vivid and unrelenting. The way her lips pressed together as if holding back words. The flicker of something—pain? anger?—in her eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

All he wanted to do was fix it.

But that wasn’t his job anymore.

He brushed a hand over his head, exhaling sharply as he tried to shake off the thoughts. The urge to call her was overwhelming, a near-physical pull, but he knew it would be a mistake. One glimpse, one rushed conversation, and he was right back where he’d been months ago—thinking of her, wanting her, needing to know if she was okay.

He needed to get a damn grip.

Jameson sat up, running his hands over his face. The watch shifted on his wrist, its weight a constant reminder of the past he couldn’t quite let go of. The room felt too quiet, too still, and his thoughts too loud.

He stood, padding softly out of the living room and into the kitchen, boxers slung low on his hips. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the city lights.

He had made progress this year, clawing his way out of the darkness that had consumed him after their breakup. He had rebuilt his life piece by piece, and Camille had been a steady presence through it all. But tonight had unraveled something in him, and he hated that it was Imani who had the power to do that.

He sighed, setting the glass down. He couldn’t keep letting her haunt him like this. He wouldn’t.

#aaron pierre #megan thee stallion #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre x black!oc #megan thee stallion fanfic #megan thee stallion x black!oc #original characters #celebrity fanfic #fic: neon lights #Spotify

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alicia-18 · 1 month ago

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Second Choice — Eminem x Reader

Summary; Y/N was used to being a second choice to everyone, so it didn’t surprise her at all when Marshall broke off their situationship in order to give things a try with Kim again. But she was surprised by the emotions that came with it.

Warnings; this fic will include mentions of domestic violence (not between Em and Y/N), drug and alcohol abuse, adult content, swearing, idiots in love, and moments where you hate both Eminem and yourself :)

Notes; Would like to add that Stevie is very very briefly mentioned in this chapter but during this time would have been going by Whitney. I was torn between using Stevie or Whitney just due to the time authenticity but decided to go with Stevie in the end. I hope that makes sense.

Chapter Eight; Silver Moon

"You ain't thrown that thing out already?" Dre arched a brow at you as you entered the studio the next day. You flipped him off and slunk down into the chair beside him then curled your legs under you.

"Fuck off, it's comfy." You smoothed down the material of the green Packers jersey your ex had left with you about 5 years ago now. You didn't hold onto it for any sentimental value, of course, you had only dated him for 6 months and he cheated on you about 12 times. But you wouldn't lie and say the material wasn't absolutely divine on your bare skin. You weren't often seen in the tattered thing, Dre having only seen it a handful of times — usually when you was on an extreme come down. He scrutinised your appearance a little closer as your hand ran through your still damp hair from your morning shower, and took a pause at your scuffed UGG boots that clashed awfully with the green of your jersey. "Say a word and I'll launch something at your head." You warned, and fished a blunt from your bra.

Dre held his hands up and chuckled, shaking his head. "No one's sayin' anythin'." He paused for a beat before wincing. "But your ex's jersey—" You cut him off by grabbing the pen from his notepad and bouncing it off of his forehead, sending him into a flurry of deep chuckles. Sometimes it still shocked you that one of your idols growing up had grown to be your close friend and colleague, and moments like this when you could have friendly banter with him was one of those times.

"I had press outside my house." You confessed, then took a deep toke from your blunt. You cleared your throat and put on your snootiest voice. "How does it feel to be Eminem's mistress? Are you the reason they separated back in 01? How big is Eminem?" You scoffed and ran a hand through your hair again. No doubt the photographs they got of you in your horrendous outfit and wet hair would be circulating most tabloids by the morning, which only added to your frustrations.

"It'll die down soon, don't sweat it." He began, but paused as the door handle turned. You both twisted your chairs to the door as Marshall stepped through, adjusting his thin glasses on his nose as he did. His eyes were on his feet as he entered, not realising Dre wasn't alone.

"Yo Dre, I'm—" He stopped talking as he looked down at you, a frown forming on his face. You rose from your seat and twisted your fingers around each other as you stared across at him.

"Listen, Marshall I'm—" He didn't allow you to continue.

"You're a fucking Packers fan? The Packers?" He grimaced, forcing you to completely pause. Your brows furrowed as you stared down the disgusted man. His first words to you being aimed at your outfit choice stunned you momentarily.

"No it's my ex's, but that's—" He interrupted you again.

"Take that shit off man." He ordered, crossing his arms over his chest. You let out a shocked laugh, not believing his sincerity until his serious expression failed to falter.

"No, it's comfortable. It's just a jersey."

"Just a jersey? Give a fuck if it's comfortable, I'll get you a Lions jersey. Walking around here in that shit." He kissed his teeth at you as if you were being awfully offensive, and it left you feeling befuddled.

"Can you just ignore the fuckin' jersey? It's not important." You huffed and smoked some more as he glanced you up and down with an odd look.

"Not fuckin' important, my ass." He grumbled, and you almost found yourself genuinely laughing before you remembered what you wanted to say to him and sobered immediately.

"Whatever. I wanna say sorry. I've got reporters outside my fuckin' house constantly now asking stupid questions about me being a homewrecker or just hoping to get a photo of you tryna sneak in or some shit." You watched as he pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand over his short hair as he averted his eyes to the floor again. Something about the oddly nervous action made you take a step closer to him, having never seen any vulnerability from him before.

"Really Marshall, I'm sorry." You lowered your voice to a softer level, the change in distance and tone made him look back to you. "The last thing I want is to cause any issues. You're my friend, and although it's a pain in the ass being put all over magazines being called a slut, I don't have a husband seeing all the rumors plastered everywhere." He nodded to your words and waved you off.

"I actually was just coming to tell Dre I'm headed back to Detroit for a while. Kim thinks we can work on us better without all the distance." Without being near you, is what you heard, and what was the underlaying message. Something about what he said sent a flood of disappointment through your body. Ignoring that, you did what you did best and pushed it deep down and smiled up at him without any wobbles.

"That's gonna be great! I bet you've really been missing Hailie, Alaina and Stevie too so it'll be nice for you to have some family time." He nodded to your words with a twitch of a smile, agreeing with what you said. "Oh wait!" An idea popped into your head as you rushed to your bag and ruffled through it. Finding what you thought of, you retrieved it and held it out to him.

"I bought this with the first ever royalty check I got, and I wore it the whole time I wrote and toured my first album. Hailie said she liked my music and even though she could have just been saying that to be nice, I know I'd freak out if I got something from a musician I liked as a kid." You put a little silver bracelet into his hands after you spoke, and regretted it immediately. "Or is that weird? With everything going on I probably shouldn't do that." You went to take the dainty bracelet back from him but he pulled his hand back. For once, he didn't hid the little smile that pulled on his lips as he examined the jewellery. It wasn't anything particularly special to look at, but having grown up as poor as you did, you had never owned any jewellery before. It was a dainty silver chain with a crescent moon dangling off it.

"Hailie really does like your music. She'd love this, really." He spoke genuinely, and something twinkled in his blue eyes that you had never seen before. The intensity of his stare made you tuck your hair behind your ear and wave him off.

"It's nothin'." You cleared your throat, and returned to your seat as Dre looked between you both. "What?" You arched your brow at him, and was met with a shake of the head.

"Nothin', nothin' at all." He shrugged with a little smile, and busied himself with the pages of his notepad. "So how long will you be gone?" He questioned casually. You turned back to Marshall as he gently put the bracelet in his pocket and zipped it up.

"I ain't sure man. Things really ain't goin' good. I wanna be able to smooth things over as well as I can before I come back." He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided looking back at you. An awkwardness settled over the room as a silence took over. No one really knew what to say. Well, who would when talking about marital issues with his ex booty call. Ones that you had potentially caused. Guilt shot through you quicker then you could contain.

"Good luck, and I am really sorry. I'd be happy to talk to her if--" He cut you off as soon as you tried to voice the idea.

"That's not a good idea. But thanks anyway. I'll get in touch soon." He left promptly after that, seemingly unable to handle the atmosphere any longer. Once the door clicked close, Dre turned to you with a look he had perfected over the couple years you had known him.

"I'm fine, Dre. Y'all be deeping this shit too much." You waved him off and coiled your feet back under you then propped your own notepad on your lap.

"It's okay if you ain't." He softly added, the tone feeling foreign coming from his mouth. It made a rush of emotion fall over you and your eyes prickled, betraying you completely.

"We weren't anythin' serious." You lamely justified with a sniffle, earning a sympathetic look from Dre that you despised. It felt as if you were just a pathetic little girl, an image you tried to stay clear from. It was already hard enough just trying to be a woman in the Rap game, so you always tried to give a strong appearance and a 'not giving a fuck' attitude. But it seemed to be harder to keep up when Marshall became entangled in everything.

You cleared your throat and grabbed the pen that clattered to the table when you threw it at him earlier. "Let's just get this last song done." Dre patted your calf in a comforting gesture. One that said he'd be there if you needed to vent. It was crazy to think you grew up listening to his music, as well as N.W.A's, and now here he was trying to comfort you over boy troubles. How the fuck did you get here?

MASTERLIST

#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #marshall mathers x reader #slim shady #slim shady x reader #fan fiction

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sashimi020 · 14 days ago

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solace [mikey x gn!reader]

warning: self harm mentioned! please do not read if you're uncomfortable with such themes. this is purely self indulgent.

a/n: sorry again to those who have put in requests! i've gotten started on them, but it might take some time as i'm a bit busy 😭

mikey whines and clings onto your arm "can't we go for dessert now?" "the heck?! we just ate!" "so? you do know that there's always room for desert, right?" "that's just dumb, I'm not spending any more money on you" mikey pouts. "not even doriyaki? not even one?" he pleads. "no". his frown deepens as he glances away like a petulant child. "actually you know, I might have ice cream at home" you muse. "really?! can we go and have some?" you think about the idea for a second, it doesn't sound so bad, you won't have to spend any money and you can satisfy mikey's craving

your mood almost instantly shifts as you remember your specific discomfort you developed with the idea of being at home. "nevermind, scratch that" "what?" mikey's childish pout turns into a more concerned expression, though, it's not very obvious. you stare into the black pools of his eyes and glance away almost immediately, hoping that he wouldn't press further. of course, he did the exact opposite.

"you're acting weird" "shut up" "no" he pauses and then he stares at you some more. you avoid looking at him. his gaze turns more worried. regardless of the fact that mikey was someone who was a little more on the childish side he was very attuned to his friends' emotions. "i just don't want to go home" "why's that?" he asks softly, clearly picking up on your hesitance. "um. i.. uh.." you stuttered, unsure about how to approach this conversation, meeting his eyes you only felt more pressured, those dark pupils staring up at you with the most patient expression you'd seen on him.

"i've been really stressed recently.. with school and.. home and stuff" he doesn't respond yet and lets you continue, hand snaking down from holding your arm to intertwining your fingers together. "i got really panicked a few days ago and i.. freaked out and scratched at my hands" you don't dare look at him. you can't look at those eyes. "it wasn't that bad but i'm really scared my mom will find out, it'll be really bad if she does" your voice comes out a lot more shakier and vulnerable than you would have liked it to be. "if i see my mom again i'll just get stressed and anxious again. it'll be like that at least until this heals over. it's hard to hide" your voice cracks.

"she'll get mad at you?.." he asks softly "i understand why she would, i get it, i mean, she's my mom.. i don't blame her but it's hard to recover after relapse. i always feel this overwhelming guilt. i'm not-.. this isn't something i can just quit cold turkey" you finally gain the courage to meet his gaze. he stares at you with an unreadable expression before tackling you into a bone crushing hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly and burying his face in your neck.

"i'm sorry" "eh?.. why?" he raises his head from your neck to look at you directly "i'm glad you feel safe enough to tell me this.." he says quietly and then adds, "i'm sorry you have to go through this. i'm here to support you, okay? i won't get mad at you for this" you feel your eyes burn and vision blur from unshed tears.

"i'm scared.." you choke out "you can stay at my place today. i'll comfort you okay? we can cuddle, watch a few movies or .. sleep, or do whatever, you don't have to worry about anyone yelling at you" he responds.

you can't hold back your tears as you let them spill. "i'll protect you okay?" "that's not a promise you should make" you choke out. he frowns, but suppresses any other reaction, trying to hide his emotions to not put you into distress. "i don't care. i'm going to, okay? forever" you can't bring yourself to respond to his words.

you shut your eyes and let yourself bask in his warmth. maybe you could trust his promise even for just a little bit.

#mikey sano #manjiro sano x reader #tr x reader #x reader #reader insert #manjiro sano #tr mikey #tr fanfic #tokyo rev #sh comfort #tokyo revengers comfort #sashimi writes

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piracytheorist · 8 months ago

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Twilight Eyes Project: "The Prestigious School's Interview" (part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2

Previous episodes analyses

After the blunder at the Eden interview, the Forgers sit in their living room, disheartened and worrying for the future of the family.

Twilight, in particular, sits with his head down and pensive Twilight eyes as he chastises himself for letting his emotions get the better of him and potentially cost him the entire mission.

To him, this might be the very end of the mission right here. It was a very delicate mission to begin with, and all that's needed is a small mistake to throw it off-balance. Has that mistake already been made?

Lost in his thoughts as he is, he doesn't realize how Anya and Yor have taken that whole situation - and he only sees it when Anya, dejected, apologizes to him for not doing well at the interview.

His eyes soften, though keeping the harsh strokes of "Twilight eyes", as he looks genuinely shaken by how impacted Anya is. Not exactly the usual "sad eyes" focused panel, but it's close.

He replies to her that there's nothing for her to apologize for, and that Eden is a school she wouldn't really want to go anyway; it's only because he chose it for her. He's trying to alleviate her guilt by reminding her that she had no choice in the situation, he was the one who randomly took her from an orphanage and threw her into immediate preparation for an elite school.

Little does he know, however, that Anya chose pretty much all of that. And so, when Anya walks up to him and leans on him, his surprise shows in wide real eyes.

Anya makes it clear that she wants to go to Eden, that she has to go there. The anime adds a close-up of his face falling in sympathy for her.

Anya stresses and worries herself for her entrance at Eden, and while he may not fully understand the reason why, her dedication touches him.

I would dare say it even worries him back. His mission is to carry all of that responsibility and stress on his back so that children won't have to do that themselves. It's not ideal to see Anya try and carry some.

But, he's been vulnerable long enough. Now it's time for him to pull himself back and analyze the situation. Twilight eyes are back, as he concludes that things are not looking well.

There's an interesting difference in the manga, between the way he looks at Yor and the way he looks at Anya. The face on the left is him looking at Yor - open eyes, relaxed brow. The one in the middle is how he looks at Anya - narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, tight lips.

It's no surprise. Even though he sees Yor as simply another asset of the mission, he sees her as more of an equal, who has faith in her words and is smart enough to make her own conclusions. So when she says they can still hope, he seems to think himself that wait, they can?

But then Anya adds her thoughts, and understandably, he doesn't see her as someone who is mature and experienced enough to know of such things. So when she says Evans and Henderson liked them, he seems to think that she's hoping too high.

The anime kept a look that's closer to how he looks at Yor. In any case, their words touch him, and we get an extra look in the anime, and interestingly enough, a sad eyes shot as well.

In the end, he concludes it's out of his hands now, and all he can do is wait for the results to come out. His eyes relax and soften, and he comforts Anya and Yor, praising their hard work.

In the last big image we get of him, his eyes are big and lively.

Those last two faces may not be his real expression; right now they've done all they could, and there's no reason for anyone else to worry, so he tries alleviating the others from the stress. It may not be an ideal situation for him, far from it, but he shifts his focus into comforting them, and I find that quite interesting. There's no reason for him to do that; if Anya passes, they'll all be happy, if she fails, the mission will end, they'll part ways and he'll never see them again. Yet, he seems to recognize how hard they worked, and after Anya's short confession, how invested they also were in it, so he makes sure they know that's appreciated. So whether his last expressions were forced or not doesn't matter, because the action of recognizing their efforts speaks for itself.

(no manga spoilers please)

#Spy x Family #Loid Forger #sxf meta #sxf tep

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doppel-doodles · 2 months ago

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Thoughts and feelings on Poppy: Small analysis.

Didn't think I would make another one of these anytime soon buuuuut looks like my brain had different plans, so let's dicuss the knock-off Chucky shall we?

While by no means her biggest fan I feel like Poppy actions deserve a bit more civil discussion than hate. (That's not to say that you shouldn't hate on her. You should, it's hilarious.)

While not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, I genuinely think Poppy kinda has a point with her ambition to blow everything up.

Like- rationally that is the objectively the better choice to bury everything because be for real with me: These toys are not safe and neither is the world outside the factory.

There is a higher chance of them being locked up for research or being shot on sight than there is of anyone actually trying to integrate them into society, and even if someone did there is also a very likely scenario of any stress Inducing situation causing a toy to feel threatened and go into fight mode, which how you get a dead guy on the floor.

And even if they lived in hiding instead, exactly how different would that be from living in the factory? Now instead having to worry about murder toys they also have stuff like: weather,wild animals and of course humans-

So an ideal solution would be to bury it all, let the victims finally rest in peace, make these horrors public and never repeat this mistake again.

Of course there is the fact that these are not objects or mindless monsters, they are all still people with very real human emotions and thoughts who have shown themselves to be capable of being peaceful when feeling safe.

But even in an ideal world I doubt that there wouldn't be any incidents considering that anyone currently alive in the factory is or was at one point a murderer.

Where Poppy lost me is the part where she made it abundantly clear that SHE would get to live, not because it was a necessary step, no,no she just didn't wanna die. If YOU make the decision to sink the ship then you better be ready to go down with it captain.

She is part of this, a part of the horrors. They will live on with her just like they would with ANY other living toy she does not get a pass just because she is tall enough to be kicked around like a football, if Bobby bearhug overhere was able to maul me to death then so can she-

It's honestly just a dick move on her part and a massive "fuck you" to everyone else as it implies that she somehow is special or deserves to live more instead of them when she is no different than the others, but their sacrifice insures her survival.

That is why we side with Doey outside the game.

But-

A point people tend to brush aside is that she isn't just looking out for her own survival, the plan is that we,kissy and poppy are going to rescue the orphans sleeping in the factory but like, how do we know they are actually alive?

Even if we take Poppy at her word(which we shouldn’t as she is an unreliable narrator) that they weren't killed during the hour of joy and actually were put into a coma, that was years ago.

Once you think about the likelihood of that still being the case you start to see all the holes in that statement.

You tell me a bunch of children put into a medically induced coma for YEARS are still alive and well under the care of an insane monster in a factory that's falling apart?

If that's the case I want the prototype as my actual doctor he probably has already found a way to keep me young and healthy forever.

If 2+2=4

Stay with me here.

Then I ain't gotta be a genius to know this shit don't add up-

Like Poppy is also not dumb, I think she would’ve at least considered that possibility right?

Or maybe she didn’t.

Because she didn’t want to consider that scenario.

Poppy is a very flawed character: A coward,selfish and very headstrong in her plans. She’ll figure out how to get her way whether you like it or not and she tends to not pay the feelings of others not much mind, focusing on the bigger picture.

But she is far from the worst person here, she is a victim in all of this but that doesn’t mean she is incapable of being bad either.

Those flaws mentioned above as well as her fear to get locked up again or worse drive a lot of her actions in game and clearly she has ulterior motives.

I find her fascinating, similar to kevin she is not the perfect victim so I get the vibe that the fandom is way harsher to judge her.

People also don't simp for her like they do for the doctor and completely disregard all of his actions but I digress-

Anyway thanks for joining me fellas that's all I'm gonna say for now.

#doppel draws #doppel rambles #poppy playtime fanart #poppy fanart #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime character #poppy playtime chapter four #ppt art #poppy playtime poppy #poppy playtime theory #poppy playtime analysis #ppt 4 #ppt poppy #ppt chapter 4 #ppt fanart #ppt fandom #poppy playtime #character analysis #poppy playtime fandom

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sssilverstoned · 1 year ago

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while you can still smell them ꩜ ln4

type: full length fic

word count: 3.9k

title from: i wish you roses by kali uchis

warnings: some fluff, angst, but like it's a happy ending. cursing bc i'm me, italics are memories

lily said: you know me i can never leave well enough alone. i thought this little snapshot of the break that was never really a break would be cute! for context, i'd suggest looking at the ig au linked below! this would be taking place in between part 2 and 3.

part 1

part 2

part 3

masterlist

You've only seen Lando cry on occasions that called for it. When family members died, when racing got too much for his mental, in some awful, awful moments. Maybe that's why it hurts so bad to see him cry now.

"A break feels a lot like you should add 'up' to that statement," he had said, turning away from you, looking out at the stars. You were sat on his balcony, feeling suffocated by the apartment. But the AC was on and working fine, and windows were open. Your emotions were suffocating you, that was more fitting.

"We can't keep on like this, Lan," you say in a broken voice, the lump in your throat thick and threatening. "It's not fair to either of us."

He doesn't realize he's crying until the drop hits his nose, making it quirk up in surprise. He swipes at his face, a pawlike move to get rid of the teardrops.

"Do you not love me anymore?"

His question makes you sob. Full body, head dropping to chest, your hands writing in your lap. The sound of you breaking down turns him back to you, rushing to the chair you've melted into. He lifts your face in his hands, and you take a breath when you see his face, discolored with tears.

"I'll always love you," he makes out of your words, just barely. "I, I just, it's not the same,"

"We can fix this, us. We can work on it together," Lando's brain is whirring at hyper speed, damage controlling the last 8 months of your lives together.

The cracks began to become schisms when he committed your largest pet peeve, which was ignoring things out of ease. Blissful ignorance, if you will.

It was small things, like forgetting about date nights in lieu of longer trainings or prolonging trips. Sometimes he forgot to water the plants, or didn't move laundry over, and that was manageable. That's what every couple encounters. What every couple does not encounter, was the intense pressure of racing a car for a living.

He was frustrated, with Zak, with anything papaya colored, and with his own self-doubts. He carried that frustration in his chest, and it came out in some of the words he spoke to you, and actions he took. You eventually stopped offering to come over and cook, because dinners were becoming continuously tense, and you were uncomfortable. Felt like a nuisance.

But at the same time, you were both so codependent. Without anything being said, you two began to avoid things you assumed the other wouldn't like, and asked for permission to do the smallest of things. You first noticed it when your sister pointed had asked you to come go with her out of town for the weekend, and you hesitated. "I'll have to ask Lando," you had told her. She bit her tongue.

Lando was just as bad, he had quite literally lost the ability to sleep when you weren't around. It made Grand Prix weekends an actual nightmare when you weren't there, calling you at any times in the day or night.

"Are you alright, it's 4am,"

"Sorry, can't sleep again. The melatonin does nothing,"

"Did you try the tea my mum got you?"

"Baby I just," he scrubs a hand down his exhausted face. "I just need you here."

"I can't just get up and go to Australia."

"I'll get you a flight, or maybe we can-"

"Lando," you say in a sterner voice. "I can't."

He's quiet for a moment, and you wonder what's going through his head. You hardly raised your voice or got intense, certainly never at him. But then again, recently, you seemed to never know what was going through his head.

It was silly to think that Lando was the same man that you began dating. You were 19, you would pray that he had changed somehow over the span of 5 years. But there was something missing that once was. The relationship was becoming more of a task, and that wasn't right. Which is what brought you to this moment, brought you to telling him you needed to talk.

"Lan," you whimper, bringing a hand up where his hold your face on either side. You don't even have to say anything more, he knows you better than you know yourself. And he begins to cry harder.

"I've never loved anyone but you, baby."

"I know."

"I can't, I really don't want to live without you," he shakes his head, standing back up to his full height. His hands stay busy, though, ripping through his hair.

"I'm not going to go away," you explain, agonized that you're calmer than he at this point. You stand from the wicker chair, but don't edge closer to him. "But my career is unpredictable right now, 6 months in Marbella is a long time. And you're, well, everywhere. And you need to focus on that."

"I've multitasked for 5 years," he says bitterly, making you sigh. His eyes are back on the stars, and his back to you makes your eyes blurry again.

"I'm not happy." You finally blurt, making his body stiffen. "I'm really not."

When he looks at you again, his expression reads clearly with fatigue, with anguish. "Please, baby, don't,"

It's your turn to clutch his face, bringing his forehead to touch with yours. Through your contact, you feel the heaves of his body, the breaths he's trying to control. "It's not forever," you whisper, mustering courage. "But we need to stop acting like everything's fine."

"I don't see myself without you."

"You're not," your hold tightens, he leans further into your palm, "but we've grown up together. The flower pot's too small now," you try to joke, he barely can fake amusement.

"I'll buy a thousand new pots."

"We need to clean up the broken one, first." His jaw clenches, you soothe it with your thumb. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He says back, almost silently. "Still wear that Mclaren shirt on race days, I need the luck."

You finally crack a smile. "I'll wear the hat too if my hairstyle permits."

He kisses you, almost convincing himself this if is the last fix he can get for a while, he needed it now. Not that either of you know it, but you both have the same thought. You both notice that your cheeks have each other's tears on them now, not sure which ones came from whom. You were on the same page in that regard, at least.

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

"You should ask y/n out," your best friend says to Lando in the middle of a party. He chokes on his drink, not expecting her to come up to him like she did, and not expecting the words out her mouth.

You all were freshly 19, still congregating in someone's living room to try to have a good time. He knew your friends better than he knew you, the newest of the group in town, only having moved to the area with your family when you were 16.

"Should I, now?" He says, recovering from his fright.

"Yeah," she replies, ignoring the sarcasm. "She goes on about you, it's cute. She'd hurt me if she knew I told you, though. Not sure what she sees in you," his eyes narrow at the girl, which she ignores once again. "You'd be lucky to have a girl like her in your life."

That much, he knew. You were fiercely loyal to your friends and family, and treated him with a kindness that made him melt every time. You were funny, and genuine, and not to mention, the most beautiful person he's sure he knows.

When he bumps into you later at the party, he asks you what you're doing the following evening.

That was the story he'd tell people with a proud grin when they ask how you two got together. All you recount is how he nearly ruined your cute top with a shitty guinness.

He's struck with the memory when he sees the guinness logo in the ads on the walls of a restaurant. "Mate," Max all but snaps his fingers. Lando locks back in, humming for what he missed.

"Was just curious if you wanted to go out tonight. They've been texting in the chat about it, I saw you never responded."

Clubbing wasn't as fun as it used to be, not when you weren't dancing your heart out beside him, or waiting in bed with your nose in a book when he came home because you weren't feeling like going out. It felt like a waste of his time, and like he was sucking the fun out of other people's nights.

"'M alright," he says with a tight mouthed grin. "Gonna sit this one out."

Max looks at his friend, seeing through his response. "When's the last time you went out?"

If he had to take an educated guess, you last graced his apartment that night on the balcony, 4 weeks ago. So, 4 weeks ago. Perhaps longer, judging by the schisms. "A while. Not up to it."

"You're torturing yourself."

"I'm not interested in getting shitfaced, Max."

Max looks away for a second, quickly weighing the pros and cons of asking what he's been wanting to for the last, well, 4 weeks. "Do you think Y/n is wallowing too?"

The sound of your name makes his fingers twitch inadvertently, almost like a flinch. "That's not fair."

"I'm serious, Lando. You said she needed a break because she felt like you two were co-dependent and not actually working through problems, and look at you. You're not functioning without her. I mean, it's your fucking birthday next week, and you haven't brought it up once, you realize that, right?"

He knows he's right. Nothing he said was out of line, or wrong, and that's why Lando has nothing to say back. He wants to argue, to prove him wrong, but he can't. He's seen your ads and campaigns, the beautiful shots of you promoting luxury brands and names that your fans only dreamed of owning. Despite the distance, he was so proud of you still. You worked hard, were disciplined and humble through your success. He had texted you when the Dior campaign had launched, and the message of your thanks, with a smiley face, made him, for just a second, think that things were back to normal.

When they left the restaurant, and ran directly into fans, Lando tried to put on his best face for them, smiling for selfies and signing what was gestured toward him. When a sweet looking girl with glasses shyly spoke up, telling her favorite driver where she was visiting from, his tired eyes light up. "You're from there?" He confirms, and she smiles with an eager nod.

"Y/n is too," he almost mumbles, but every fan in earshot heard it. The typical squeals followed, the hushed whispers amonst themselves on if they'd push the questions they were itching to ask or not. And heard it they did, as the encounter made its way onto social media and gossip pages. But Max was right, his mourning period needed to be over, if anything was going to change for the better.

You call him on his birthday. It was nerve wracking, which made you bitterly laugh, because never did you think you'd be nervous to talk to Lando Norris of all people. One of the few people in the world you wholeheartedly trusted.

It had only been about a month since you requested time apart, and he had honored that. The texts were sparse, the calls nonexistent. Although, that was sort of what had brought you to this point anyway. But you were working on yourself, and your career at the same time, and things were looking better. Change never happened overnight, but the journal your therapist recommended, and the disappearance from social media besides professional posts were great starts.

You bite at your cuticle as the phone rings. You take your cell away from your ear, chest panging at the contact name "Lan <3" at the top of the screen. Was he really going to screen your call? Is that what you deserved, possibly?

"Y/n," he finally answers, and you quickly bring your phone back to your ear.

"Hi," you say awkwardly. "Happy birthday, Lando."

"Thank you," he says stiffly. "I'm happy to hear from you."

"Yeah I um, haven't really been on my phone here," you bite harder on your finger. "I think it's nice here, you'd love Marbella."

"I'm sure I would," he says with what you can hear is a smile. "I miss you, you know?"

"I miss you too," you concede, "how have you been?"

"Not great, I won't lie. Much rather would hear about you."

"'s not my birthday," and he smiles a bit at that.

"Well, racing's fine. But Max is sick of my shit, says I've been wallowing."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

You don't really know what to say, you've rarely been the perpetrator of his negative feelings. No relationship was perfect, but you all hadn't really hit a communication wall until now. It was uncharted, scary territory. "Well, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, that was all. Have a good day, really. 24 is a big one. Kobe year, that's what someone said to me. I hope this year is great for you."

"Y/n, wait," he halts your beginnings to hang up. "I'd like to come to see you soon, I've got some time before Abu Dhabi and maybe I could swing by Spain on the way."

"Lando," he absolutely hates that you're calling him by his whole name. Lan, that's what would you called him almost exclusively. Lando feels so formal from you.

He needs to hear it, you know he does. He needs to hear that you want to see him, that you need to see him just as much as he yearns to put eyes on you once more. But you were constantly afraid of accidental manipulation, holding him by some invisbile garotte. But this was his first birthday you hadn't celebrated together since you were 19, that meant something.

"Please focus on racing," you implore, and squeeze your eyes shut before adding, "but you if you'd like to come and it won't be an issue in your plans, you're more than welcome."

꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜꩜

You saw the posts, it wasn't very hard. Fans utterly disappointed that you and Lando hadn't been seen together in ages, putting pieces together quickly after you didn't post for his birthday. It didn't make you feel worse, to be truthful, and to your surprise. You were sure there'd be a barrage of insults hurled your way, maybe a cheating rumor or two. But really, all there was to see were requiems for your relationship, nostalgia for what once was. What did cause you to delete instagram from your phone, was the response to the podcast.

You were single for the time being, that's what you and Lando had agreed on when he visited you. It wasn't an invitation to go out and find the next man to lay in your bed, but you both had agreed that it wasn't healthy to hold out in anticipation of your rekindling.

"You're the only girl I've, you know," he awkwardly trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. He sits up in bed, linens pooling around his hips. Hooking up with your now ex-boyfriend, might've not been your brightest idea, sure, but you were both human, at the end of the day.

"Fucked?" you tease, remaining comfortable against your plush pillow. "I know. First few times kinda showed that."

He looks back at you pointedly. "You cried the first time."

"It hurt!"

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in fake annoyance. You grin. "I'm sure the girlies are gonna have a field day with you being single now,"

He rolls his eyes again, laying, or rathing slumping, back into the pillow next to you. His arm instinctively comes around the top of your head, you try not to lean into it. "I think I really will finally listen to you and focus on racing."

You turn on your side, admiring his profile as he stares up at the ceiling, probably tangled in his thoughts. His nose sloped perfectly, the little freckles dotting his skin like constellations. Your boy.

"I told my mum."

He snorts. "She hates me now, I'm sure."

"Mm, no, her first ask was what I did," your mom was Lando's biggest fan, through and through. Of course, you were her daughter, but she was convinced he was cosmically made perfectly for you.

He looks at you then, realizing your eyes have been on him the whole time. He copies your position, turning to you so your bodies lay parallel, nowhere to look but each other's eyes.

"Do you regret that I'm the only boyfriend you've ever had?"

You immediately shake your head in denial of the question. "No, not at all," you were lucky, if anything. "You?"

"Well, I've had other girlfriends,"

"Ouch?"

"You knew that," he chuckles, and yeah, you did. "But I don't regret that you're the only one I've been serious about. I still am."

"I know. I am too."

"An ex-boyfriend doesn't lay in bed with you, you know."

"And an ex-girlfriend doesn't still remind your team when your doctor's appointments are,"

"Fair enough, guess we're just weird."

You share a matching grin. "So weird."

So once Alex uploaded the Call Her Daddy episode you were a guest on, and it was official to the masses that you had been single for now almost 4 months, the articles came in. The timelines of you and Lando's relationship, the rumors of him leaving clubs with random girls. You'd be lying if you said you didn't zoom in on some of their faces, relaxing when you recongized most of them as friends or even family members. He wasn't yours to be worried about, you suppose, but you also knew that any girl he decided to share his time with would be a lucky one.

Your friends had tried to get you on dates, that wasn't a lie when you said that on the podcast. But you weren't ever excited to get to know someone new, small talk was painful and you didn't feel comfortable going home with them.

But then, a few weeks later into February, you get a phone call from Lando. "Hi," You answer, pleasently surprised.

"Hey there," he says, sounding slightly out of breath. "How are you?"

"I'm good, great even. Finished up everything down here, leaving Marbella next week to head back home." Home was London to you, not Monaco. You constantly visited, had a family flat there and everything, but couldn't leave officially becuause of your career.

"Congratulations, everything looked stunning," he compliments, and your stomach flutters.

"But um, how are you? I'd ask if you were relaxing, but I'm sure training's well underway."

"Meh, more or less. I'm heading to Surrey next week, actually. Got some stuff to do at HQ."

"Oh," Surrey was only about an hour and a half from where you were in London. "Would you, well, not assuming anything, but if you'd have time to spare, it would be great to catch up?"

This isn't why Lando called you, you fully know this. Who knows what he picked up the phone for, he could be calling to let you know he's eloped with someone he's met in the 6 months you've been apart.

"I'd love to," you hear his grin in his voice. "You haven't moved, have you?"

Not only had you not moved, but you haven't changed much about your flat either. Same bedding, same color schemes, same photos decorating your tables and walls of your friends, family, and Lando. He never took the photos of you down either, and that photo from your 21st birthday was still stuffed in his wallet.

You order takeout, sitting across the kitchen island from each other acting like it didn't feel like your first date again. He acts like he doesn't want to reach out for your hands as you animatedly use them to share stories of Spain, and you act like you don't want to push the curls back that threathen to land over his eyebrows.

The food gets cold as you two catch up, a few glasses of wine becoming a whole bottle gone. You actually can't remember the last time the two of you had done this, and perhaps, absence had truly made your hearts grow fonder.

"Bahrain is on leap day," Lando says, making you gasp.

"That's got to be good luck, no?"

"It's just the first practice,"

"But still, you're starting your first weekend of the year on a special day like that," you muse, "so exciting. I'm excited for you,"

His chest warms at endearment in your voice. You truly and honestly rooted for him through everything, that was one of the things he was most grateful for about you. He knows you don't truly care about all of this, if he won or lost, but that you care about him and his development, how he sees himself and his profession. He fell in love with that about you.

"Would you come?"

You hesitate, daring to look at him from where you had begun to clean the countertop. "To the race? "

He nods, and turn back to the counter. "I don't know, Lan. Is that where we are?"

He hopes so. He's missed you something horrible, prays you missed him just as bad.

Lando takes the cloth from your hand, replacing it with his own. "I know it's only been about 6 months, and that's not enough time to say everything's well and dandy," you fight a smile. "But I want to work through things, with you. I've had nothing but time to consider what was off with us, and I want to be better. For you, more than anything. Yeah, I learned how to be just Lando. But I know I prefer being Lando and Y/n."

You bite your lip, finally meeting his eyes. "I want to take it slow."

"We can do that,"

"So, I don't know if I'm ready for the race. But, my birthday's coming up,"

"It is,"

"And we'll be in Dubai. My sister did it up, got this crazy plan going since it'll be my 25th."

"Quite the old woman you're becoming,"

"Oh get off that," you scoff, pushing his chest. He chuckles and pulls you back into him, where you go willingly. "But, if you can, I'd love for you to come to the dinner."

He raises an eyebrow with a smirk. "You want me to fly to Dubai just for your birthday dinner?"

"You'll be in Saudi Arabia then anyway,"

The smirk gets bigger. "You know my schedule already, love?"

"You're so fucking cheeky, can't stand it," you feign annoyance, but never move from his arms.

He holds you, as your arms delicately find themselves behind his neck, not daring to kiss just yet. To really be honest, you're not sure if you're ready to take that whole plunge.

"I'm happy to be back, even if things are slow. They can be molasses for all I care."

"Thank you for being patient with me," you lean your forehead against his. However, this time, neither of you are crying. Nice, for a change.

"I'd wait decades for you, my love."

After a beat of sweet silence. You speak up once more. "One thing though," he hums to prompt your continuance. "I'm pretty sure, when it's said, it's Y/n and Lando, just so you know."

#is this me projecting? yeah #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader

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eternal-love-song · 5 months ago

Text

Traveling Masks AU - Enter Siffrin

Read Odile's introduction here.

The first days of Odile's journey go less smoothly than she might have hoped, but the addition of a mysterious traveler might just be a sign of good things to come.

[Odile POV, Odile centric, Housemaiden Odile, Character study, Introspection, Role Swap, Change Siffrin]

Traveling was not exactly new for Odile. She had been moving from one corner of Vaugarde to another for years now. She knew how to busy her mind on a long trip, what things to pay attention to and what she could safely ignore, how to recognize when the weather seemed likely to turn and how many provisions she would need for how many days of travel. Most of that travel had been via caravan, though, or on horseback. It had been in the company of her father, other housemaidens, or hitching a ride with a traveling merchant.

So while the act of traveling itself was not new to her, traveling like this very much was. Alone, on foot, without any clear direction or idea of what she should do next. She was also sorely under supplied. She had barely more than the clothes on her back and the coins in her pocket when she'd fled, none of which was ideal for a long, country saving journey.

The first night after leaving Dormont, which had served as her home for the last two years, had been reserved for screaming at the top of her lungs, cursing the gods, and bloodying her knuckles against the nearest punchable surface. It was annoying and unfair, having all of this thrust onto her shoulders. It was burdensome, it was irksome, it shouldn't be her problem. She didn't even like Dormont that much! She didn't feel any loyalty to the people of Vaugarde! Why should she? When they had made her feel so othered for all of her time there?

She spent the night venting all of her rage and complaints, all of her sorrow and hopelessness, all of the emotions that felt far too heavy to carry on her shoulders. Then in the morning, she folded them all back up neatly in a box and carried on.

The second night, after setting up her campfire, she took out her notebook and she made a plan. She wrote out a list of everything she would need to do, everything she should do, everything it would take to save this Change forsaken country from whatever monster it had created to cannibalize itself. It took a lot of scribbling out bad ideas and writing in the margins of pages to add onto what she'd already written. Hours of messy scrawling across multiple pages.

Honestly, it felt like a waste. But it was better to make a mess now, when the only thing at stake was a few pages in her book, than later when it would be blood and lives on the line.

She needed to retrieve the orbs to open the House's front gate. She needed allies, she couldn't very well fight to save this country all on her own, no matter how independent she was. She would need coin, camping supplies, rations, and more knowledge than she currently had available to her. It was daunting, really, but it needed to be done. So she wrote her list, made her plan as well as could be expected, and she pushed herself forward.

To her great convenience and annoyance, word had gotten out about her being immune to The King's powers. Some chattering from Dormont, she assumed, had spread about her being the only one able to make it out of the House. They claimed she was blessed by the Change God, of all things!

Odile couldn't imagine how such a rumor had started, other than wishful thinking, she supposed. It must be comforting to think that one's god would protect you from something so horrifying. Being frozen in time had to be against everything that the Change God stood for, after all. If there was ever a time for them to step in, it would surely be now.

Odile knew better than that though. The Change God was a lazy deity at best. Even had she not known the truth of her blessing, nothing divine to it, she thinks she would be skeptical of such an ascertain. She wouldn't stand for one of her own accomplishments, her own determination and choice to go on this journey, to carry the hopes of the people, to risk her own well being and fight the King, to be attributed to the Change God. She corrected people of this assumption immediately and at every turn.

And yet… no one would believe her.

Whenever she claimed the truth, she was brushed off, or accused of being too modest, or worse yet, chided for trying to deny the work of a god! Of all things, that was the one that tempted her patience the most. It burned her more than she could express. She wondered if the Change God was laughing at her and glared at each new statue of it that she came across.

She crafted new charms for herself. Hands pressed together palm to palm for The Expression of Patience, A closed fist for the Expression of Rage, a sword for The Expression of Battle and Victory. She would need them, she was sure. Even if the clatter around her hips made her jingle a bit as she walked, she took comfort from the sounds. She pretended that it was the chatter of a nearby companion, that she wasn't walking alone. She kept a small coil of string in her pocket to tie them all together if she needed to move silently, and otherwise let them do as they may.

Traveling became easier for a while after that. It was still lonely. Her only constant companion was the sound of the charms on her hips, as if The Expressions were lending her their soft support. But she had a tent now, supplies, all the bare necessities. It would have to do.

Fighting Sadnesses was a struggle. While she did have at least one skill of every type, she was just one person. Every battle was longer and more drawn out than it needed to be, but there was little that she could do about it. Most people were willing enough to give her supplies, offer hollow words of encouragement, but very few were willing to actually help and none of them were willing to risk their lives against the King. The best she'd been offered was an escort to the next town and while it was never really enough, she took the offer anyway. Very little help was still better than nothing at all.

It was just a matter of time until something went wrong. She couldn't run from every scissor type Sadness that she came across, even if she tried.

And she did try. Odile was smart enough to recognize when she was in over her head. Unfortunately, the forest wasn't the best place for running and she was never the most graceful person even if she was aware of her surroundings. So even though she tried to run, she found herself getting caught up on the roots of a nearly overturned tree. She closed her eyes, bracing for impact.

But the impact never came.

Odile opened her eyes, only to see a stranger standing over her. "Knife to meet you!" they said, flipping their blade in their hand one time before making an X with their arms and charging forward. They took out the sadness with one hit. "Thought I'd lend you a blade."

The shock made her slower to react than she normally would. It wasn't every day one was saved by a mysterious cloaked stranger. By the time they'd backtracked to lend her a hand up, she had shaken herself out of it.

The stranger was… odd, to say the least. They were covered nearly head to toe. A darkless cloak hide most of their body but she caught sight of lightless clothes underneath, a large matching triangular hat sat on their head, lightless gloves covered their hands, and there was an odd mask covering most of their face. The mask was a darker shade, vaguely resembling an animal and leaving only enough of his face exposed for her to be able to tell that he was smiling as he extended a hand to her.

Odile decided not to look at this gift too closely… for now. She accepted the hand and let the stranger pull her up. "Thank you, stranger."

"No problem. I'd hate to see someone down on their luck."

She squinted at him, unsure if that was meant to be another pun or not. She shook her head regardless. "Yes, it would have been very bad for me if you hadn't shown up."

They released her quickly, looking around as if to make sure that there weren't any other enemies nearby. They looked like they were ready to retreat at any moment, but with the way they handled themselves in battle, Odile was reluctant to let them go so easily.

"Where are you headed, stranger?" She tried to put a bit of friendliness into her voice as she asked.

They paused, but with so much of their face covered, Odile couldn't really guess at why that might be. After a few moments though, the stranger shrugged. "Nowhere in particular, I guess. I've just been traveling the cost."

"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind accompanying me for a bit?" she asked. "At least until the next town."

The smile had yet to drop from the strangers face and now it ticked up even further. "I don't have a problem with that. I'd hate to blade you goodbye so soon."

She groaned, rolling her eyes at the bad pun, which only made the stranger laugh at her more. "Please tell me you don't plan to keep that up the whole time."

They laughed, flipping their blade again before sheathing it at their hip. "Alright, alright. I'll give you a break. For now."

Odile looked the stranger over once more. She wasn't sure exactly how large that cloak was, but she couldn't see any bags on him. "You seem to be traveling rather… light?"

The smile wavered at that and the stranger turned away from her so that she could no longer see it. "I have what I need."

Odile wasn't certain she believed that. Vaugarde was rather giving, so traveling with almost nothing wasn't impossible, but she would hardly say that it was recommended. "Hmm. Well, I suppose that I have to take your word for it." She took a step closer to him, but didn't try to peer around to see his face again. There was no point, really, when she could only see half of it. "I'm Odile, by the way."

The traveler nodded, turning to face her once more with a more subdued smile. "You can call me Siffrin."

"Siffrin," she repeated. "Nice to officially meet you."

__________________________

Travelling with Siffrin was an… interesting experience.

He didn't have a tent. Prior to meeting her, he seemed to have been content to climb up into trees and sleep there. How he found that at all comfortable or even how he managed to keep his balance, was a mystery to her. She offered to let him share her tent, which wasn't that much of a problem when they decided to sleep in shifts anyway to keep a lookout for more Sadnesses.

The first time Siffrin slept in her tent, he emerged wearing a different mask. This one was darkless and looked more like a rabbit, ears included. He also seemed to be using a different blade, similar in shape to the one she remembered, but the blade was a different shade and the handle seemed more elaborate.

Siffrin also had a talent for traps, using them to catch small game which did a lot to save her dwindling rations. He knew how to skin and tend to them well enough, though he admitted to her that he wasn't the best cook. He knew how to make his food edible, and even knew enough to identify and gather a few wild berries, plants, and mushrooms to add to the meal. It was more than Odile could pull off on the fly, but she wouldn't call it extraordinary. Far from it.

Odile resolved not to question her new companion at first, but as the days dragged on and they drew closer to the next town, her curiosity proved greater than she anticipated. Eventually, she bit the bullet and asked him over dinner one day, "Why do you wear those masks?"

Siffrin smiled at her, tapping his cheek just below the mask. "Oh this? I wear it as tribute!"

"Tribute to what?" she asked, a wry smile lingering on her lips. The traveler had an interesting way of speaking. It wasn't Vaugardian, it was too leading, left too many closed doors to remind her of Vaugardian openness. Not that she couldn't have made the assumption from his strange accent, but her accent was entirely Vaugardian despite very little else about her seeming so.

"The Change God!"

Odile felt the smile on her face strain. "You… I wouldn't have expected a traveler to take up a foreign god," she said, trying to be as diplomatic in her response as possible. She didn't want to let her bitterness at the god bleed into her interactions with her companion, but she would be lying if she said she didn't feel a bit negative about the reveal.

Siffrin's turned his gaze to the bowl in his lap, stirring the stew that he had just finished serving himself rather than eating it. "It's probably a weird question to ask someone about their own country, but… do you know much about the Change god? I know not everyone…"

"Enlighten me," she said, which wasn't an answer but would serve just as well.

"There's a concept that change is both celebratory and destructive, both good and bad. You might change in a way that benefits you or hurts someone else, or maybe you become someone that you love and have to leave behind the person that was important to someone else. There's no past to the Change God, just the present. Whoever you were doesn't matter, just who you are at any given moment." He looked up at her, but of course the mask kept her from knowing anything meaningful about his expression. "I think the idea is kind of… comforting, I guess?"

Odile couldn't agree less. Change wasn't something welcoming to her. It was pushy, expected, almost required at times. If you were stagnant, people tended to frown at you, though rarely would anyone say so outright. There was no right or wrong way that you were required to change, but there was a certain type of censure you received when you didn't. And even if Odile wanted to change, she wanted it to be on her terms, for herself, and not for some god. She didn't want everything and anything she was to be boiled down to the work or tribute of a god that she didn't even like.

She didn't say anything about that though. She remained silent and waited for him to continue. He hadn't actually answered her question yet after all.

After only a few moments more, he did. "To pay tribute to the Change God, I've decided to change in small ways. These masks are one way, like how the Change God statues all have different faces. And I switch between which weapon I use every so often, too. It's not a lot, no one would probably even find it all that impressive when the rest of me is the same, but…" Siffrin shrugged, turning his face back toward his bowl. "I like doing it. That's… what worshipping a god is supposed to be about, right?"

There was a genuine question at the end there, as if he really wasn't sure if he'd given the right answer. She suddenly wondered how young this traveler was. He was shorter than her, but height did not equate to age. The way that he kept so much of his body hidden, she'd hardly be able to guess. His voice was the most substantial thing that she could judge and while it did sound younger than her, there was really a lot of room between younger than her and clearly not a child.

She went too long without giving a response, it seemed, and whatever uncertainty Siffrin had shown was her promptly swept away as he smiled again. "Well, that's what I like to think anyway. So that's what I do! There's nothing more to it."

It seemed there was a lot more to it, but she had missed her chance to learn more. If such a chance had even really been on the table to begin with. It was difficult to imagine he would have metaphorically removed his mask anymore than that when he had still yet to remove his physical one for even a moment. Odile hadn't seen him without a mask, cloak, or hat since they'd met. Whenever she went to wake him for his watch shift or at the beginning of the day, he was somehow always already awake and masked. She didn't know if he slept with the thing on or if he was simply an early riser. Maybe he just didn't like to let down his guard or was a light sleeper. She didn't know and the way things were going, she wasn't sure that she would find out.

Odile turned her attention to her own bowl, taking a spoonful of the stew and humming at the pleasant warmth as it went down her throat. "At any rate, I thank you for sharing."

They nodded. Silence fell between for a while as they both ate, before they turned their head to face her again. "What about you? Do you have anything important to you in that way?"

What a vague way to ask that question. Though… she supposed it would be a bit forward to simply ask someone what god they worshipped.

"I do indeed," she admitted. She brushed a hand over her hip where several of her charms hung. "These are representative."

Siffrin tilted his head and leaned closer, curious but unwilling to breach her personal space by reaching out. She unhooked a few of the charms and held them out for him to see.

"They are known as Expressions. I made these chams to represent them."

Siffrin reached out to take them carefully, as if they might break in his hands if they weren't careful. "Tell me more?"

Odile nodded as she thought of how to explain. "There are hundreds of Expressions, but one only needs to pray to those that they want to. These represent the Expression of Patience, Expression of Battle and Victory, and the Expression of Search." She watched as Siffrin turned them over and over in his hands, seemingly studying the detail on each of the individual charms. "Each Expression has its own… domain, you can say. The charms are not a necessary part of it, I simply…"

"Wanted a physical connection to the idea?" he offered, head shifting enough that she could tell he was looking at her now instead of the charms.

"Precisely."

He smiled as he handed them back. "I understand the concept," he said with a cheeky grin.

Odile gave her own wry smile in return as she accepted the charms and returned them to their place on her hip. "Yes, I suppose that you would."

_________________________________________

They'd been on the road for just under a week before they finally made it to the city. It had been a longer stretch of travel than she'd previously made on foot, but with the addition of her new companion, it had gone surprisingly smoothly. The hunting that Siffrin had done saved her quite a bit in rations, sleeping in shifts made it easier for her to rest without worry that a sadness would sneak up on her, and having an extra hand for battle made fighting a bit less daunting. In every way that she could think of, having Siffrin in her party had resulted in a net positive.

The question then became, how could she convince him to stay and should she try?

"I have enough coin to get us rooms at the inn," Odile said shortly after they'd reached the town.

It was only because of the way Siffrin's mouth hung open for a moment that she could tell he was surprised. "You don't have to do that."

"It's no trouble," she told him. As much as she might want to save the coin, she was much more invested in saving Siffrin's goodwill. An extra day or two to make her decision and contemplate his company would be welcome. Even if she couldn't convince him to save Vaugarde with her, she might not need to lose him as a travelling companion just yet. "I can get us two rooms for two days, if that's acceptable?""

Again that look of surprise. She couldn't imagine why. Vaugarde was a country of kindness and, though she wouldn't call her own actions kind when they were tinged with ulterior motives, she didn't think it was that outside of what could be expected. Regardless, his mouth curved into a smile. "I'd appreciate that. And I'll pay you back!"

She sighed, but it was tinged with immediate fondness. "Siffrin…"

He held up a hand. "No, really! Before we leave the city, I'll find a way to pay you back."

"If you insist."

It took about ten minutes of walking around to locate an inn. She bought two rooms right beside each other, which she only stepped inside long enough to drop off her bag. A few more minutes of walking brought them to a cafe where they stepped into for lunch.

The meal was mostly silent, Odile's mind busy trying to move pieces around as she considered her plans. She knew that one of the orbs she needed to retrieve was nearby, but she'd need to meditate in order to get a better sense of it. Whatever this new sixth sense was that she had for the orbs, she wasn't used to it and it would take a bit of fine tuning for her to figure it out. Then of course she needed to restock and make another petition for help against the king.

She really wasn't looking forward to another round of people pointing at her and calling her the Change God's chosen. Yes, she was chosen, but no, it was not by a god. She was chosen by the Head Housemaiden of Dormont for completely practical reasons! She knew battle craft, had an attack of every type, was old enough to have experience but was still young enough to make the journey. It didn't have anything to do with her belief or lack thereof, it didn't have anything to do with divine intervention, and the fact that Vaugarde would rather believe in their lazy god than the will of it's people only became more frustrating the more she had to look in the eyes of people who denied her her agency.

"Um, Odile?"

Odile blinked out of her thoughts to look at Siffrin. There was a wavering smile on their face that let her know that whatever she had been feeling, she had not done a good job of hiding it. "Yes?"

"Would… you like to see how I make money in cities like this?"

The offer was… a distraction at best. She was under no illusion that they had formed such a deep bond that Siffrin wanted to share personal details of himself with her. If that had been the case, they would have done so while on the road and thus far all she had learned about them was that they had some sort of admiration to the change god. Even so, she wouldn't brush this opportunity aside. She wouldn't convince Siffrin to remain with her by keeping a careful distance between them.

"I'll admit that the idea sparks some curiosity."

The smile Siffrin offered her was more steady, more real, in her opinion. "Then I'll show you after this."

"Alright."

They made a quick stop back at the inn. Siffrin disappeared into their room and returned wearing a different mask, mid shade and shaped like a fox, their cloak was pinned back in such a way that it was more of a cape, and there were a handful of bracelets and bangles on both arms. She studied their changed appearance and they ducked their head a bit, as if shy.

Odile offered them a smile that she hoped would ease whatever worry or tension had sprouted up in them.

Siffrin smiled back, small but sincere. "Come on, we need to find a good spot."

She didn't question what they would need a good spot for. She was content to wait and find out.

They spent around half an hour wandering around the city. It was rather large, so finding a spot that would net them the attention they wanted without being in the way of anything took time. The spot they eventually chose was adjacent to a fountain, a small ring of nature cordoned off from the rest of the city. There were a few people sitting on nearby benches or in the small patches of grass by the fountain. Odile took a seat on the fountain's edge as she waited to see what Siffrin would do.

It started very subtly. Siffrin didn't do much to get anyone's attention, but the way his bangles clattered against each other was enough to attract minor attention all of their own. He held up his hand, flicking his wrist in a way that caused the bangles to jangle and clapped his hands, slowly creating a beat. Then he stomped his foot, adding to whatever song he was trying to create. That got a few eyes to look up at him.

Siffrin threw their arms out, all flourish and exaggerated movements, keeping their limbs moving enough that the bangles still clacked together. They stuck one leg out, slowly bringing their arms back toward their body, before launching themselves into a spin.

From there, everything moved quickly. Their movements were practiced, smooth, and graceful. The constant sound of their bracelets and the stomping of their feet continued to keep a beat that they could dance to, the mask added an air of mystic to the performance. They took off their hat, did a few flourishes with it, before tossing on the ground just a few steps away. Out of their dancing radius but still close enough to keep an eye on. That seemed to be the signal that all the watches needed to get up and get closer, some throwing coins into the hat and others just wanting a better look at the dance.

Odile found herself rather impressed. She knew from the way that Siffrin fought that he was quick, light on his feet, graceful, but seeing it in this context was entirely different. He seemed very aware of how his movements looked to the crowd, how long he could go without needing to refresh the beat in the minds of his audience, which movements were slow and steady enough to be quiet and which ones would jangle the bracelets together.

The routine lasted for quite a while, long enough for some of the spectators to leave and come back with friends. Long enough for passerbyers to see the commotion and be drawn in. Long enough that she could see him breathing heavily and, just barely, spot the sweat rolling down the side of his face. Siffrin was good at managing his own stamina. He'd started slow, picked up the pace, and then moved between slower movements and faster ones. He ended the routine with a spin that allowed him to unpin his cloak, letting it close around him as he posed on the ground. Between his hat and his cloak falling closed around him, he looked like a little tent on the ground, clearly closing off his body from the crowd as if drawing a curtain to signal the end of the play.

There was an explosion of cheers and applause. Odile found herself standing to join in with the excitement of the crowd, even if she was more reserved than nearly everyone around her. Several people went up to congratulate him on his performance even as most of the crowd dispersed. Siffrin exchanged a few words with them, but seemed to shrink into his cloak more than anything else.

Once they were all gone, he went to retrieve his hat, bringing it with him as he came to sit beside her. He only looked through the coins briefly, barely counting more than what was needed to repay her before holding his hand out to her. He smiled, brighter than he had during the entire performance. "See! I told you I would be able to pay you back."

Odile shook her head as she accepted the coins. "I didn't doubt you, but you needn't have repaid me so quickly. We have those rooms for two days."

"I… I know." He ducked his head again, brushing his hand through the coins still pooled in his hat. "I didn't want to forget though."

Odile hardly thought that two days was enough time to forget such a thing, but she didn't argue.

"And anyway, now if you decide to leave early or something, you won't have to wait for me before you can go."

There was… something a bit sad about that. Maybe it was the expectation that she would leave him. No, that she would be so impatient to leave that she wouldn't even stop long enough to give him a goodbye.

He… really wasn't Vaugadian, was he? Was he new to traveling through Vaugarde or was it simply that, like her, he couldn't wrap his head around the kindness of these people? Had he run into more people like the ones she remembered from her childhood, the ones that tried to be kind but pushed their fingers into open wounds anyway?

She… had intended to wait a bit longer before making the offer but… maybe Siffrin was as hungry for companionship as she was.

"Siffrin?"

He turned his head toward her, but remained silent.

"What are your plans after this?" she questioned. "After you leave the city?"

There was a pause, one heavy enough that she knew the answer before he came up with one. "Oh, I, um, hadn't decided yet?"

Again, he ended it like a question, as if he wasn't convinced that he was giving the right answer. Odile pursed her lips, wondering what it was that seemed to make him doubt his own answers so often. "Well, if you haven't decided upon a next destination, then perhaps you'd be amenable to continuing to travel together?""

He straightened, head snapping toward her. She couldn't see his expression, so she was forced to pay more attention to his body language in order to read him. Not that she needed to be particularly attuned to Siffrin in order to anticipate the surprise that might come from making this offer. "Uh, would you really want to?"

If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought that he sounded… happy?

"I would appreciate the company," she told him. "Though before you agree, I should tell you what exactly you'll be agreeing to."

He leaned toward her, quiet and attentive.

Odile took a deep breath. "I don't know if you would have heard about it yet. There was some fiend calling himself a king, going around and freezing parts of Vaugarde in time. I'm planning on trying to stop him."

"Freezing… in time?" he repeated. There was more confusion than disbelief in his voice, but she felt the need to clarify as much as she could anyway.

"It's some type of craft that no one has heard of before. No one seems to be quite sure how he is doing it. The fact that stands that someone needs to stop him and for the time being, that someone is me."

"Why?"

It was… an oddly innocent question. Why was she trying to stop a crazed tyrant? Why her instead of someone else?

A small chuckle snuck out of her. "It has to get somehow," she answered. "And for the time being, I'm the only one that seems to have taken up the responsibility." She didn't mention that she had the ability to resist his time freeze. She didn't want to suffer through another round of ineffectually trying to ward off incorrect assumptions.

"That doesn't seem like something you'd be able to do all on your own," he said softly.

"No, it isn't," she agreed with a small smile. "I don't mean to force your hand in this. I'd appreciate your company even if you don't want to join me in stopping a tyrant."

Siffrin jumped, perhaps shocked that she'd want his company even if he wasn't helping her?

"I wouldn't leave you to do something like that all alone!"

Odile shook her head. "It's quite alright. I realize that we hardly know one another, it would be too much to expect…"

Siffrin shook his head adamantly. "I want to come with you!" Then, seeming surprised by his own volume, he shrunk back into his own cloak. "I-I mean… I enjoyed traveling with you… and we fought pretty well together, right? So, if you want my help, um…"

Whatever courage he had managed to scrounge up seemed to have run dry here. She didn't need him to say more than he had though. Nor would she hold him to his commitment this early on. If he was willing to stay with her for a while longer, perhaps until after she was able to retrieve the first orb, then she would see how he felt about staying with her for the full journey. And how she felt about his company, as well.

Not that she thought she'd have the luxury to turn away allies, but… Well, she would see how things went. No need to get ahead of herself.

"Alright then, Siffrin." She offered him a sincere smile. "As long as you're willing, I would very much welcome having you on this trip with me."

#ELS Writing #Odile #Siffrin #In Stars And Time #ISAT #Fanfiction #Role swap au #Traveling Masks AU

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pokenoire · 5 months ago

Note

i mean this so sincerely when i say that you are the realest pokeani shipper i have ever seen. satosere IS so aroace /gen

THANKS !!!! I'm actually aroace too so it might be partially projection lol anyway, it's just my way of making SereSato-SatoSere more accurate

Ash has always seemed unconventionally attracted to Serena, the fact that he is so polite, kind, friendly and always complimenting everything she does is an indication, even in the beginning when he thanked her. I think people should share more insight into how Ash's love language for her is words of affirmation. He is falling so subtly even though people deny it (his affection for her doesn't necessarily have to be romantic allo)

The fact that Serena waited so long for him without any other crushes on her list gives me a vibe of emotional connection necessary for romance to happen, you see other characters like Tierno, Trevor and Saywer compliment her and even blush for her and try to make advances or compliments, but she is completely invested in the one who made her feel safe, protected, helped, and from the perspective of a neglected child it felt like the first time someone had actually listened to his concerns without brushing her fear a side, that didn't force her to do anything but helped her in her own time and maybe it didn't seem to have much of an impact because it was mentioned once or vaguely in a few episodes later, but to me it's about no one emotionally investing in her like Ash did. that feeling that she wouldn't fall in love with anyone else if that person didn't show that they were totally willing and available to show more than just "oh how beautiful she is" for an indication

Ash barely comments on beauty but seems to be okay with pleasing her and saying sincerely about how happy he is for her in such a genuine way that it works for her as well.

They are each other's light 🩷🥰

Many people say "SatoSere" but SatoSere would be > Ash loves Serena and is investing in feelings

"SereSato" has a more Serena-is-after-Satoshi-love approach as the show establishes this second dynamic more

Amourshipping does not have this separation because the Pokémon fandom culture is different from the others. There is no separation of dynamics so you end up saying everything at once.

You can also add "Amourdreamshipping" (It's on the Wiki as almost Amourshipping which I don't really like using) which is my own version to replace "SereSato" job can be Yuri or Yaoi whatever you want

Usually SereSato is male Satoshi crossdressing x Serena and does not involve Yuri SatoSere SereSato (Most of the Japanese SereSato fans I've met are at least fans of BL ships with Ash so I associate myself more with them than SatoSere fandom they usually draw more straight stuff) but this is my personal experience with the terms (just yesterday one of the people on my tl japanese on X talking about SereSato was a fujoshi as an example lol)

Of course there are factual differences between these two fandons on Anipoke with the 2nd involving more queer content than the 1st but the first option is more about Ash's reciprocal love for Serena if that makes sense

#pokemon #ash ketchum #serena #amourshipping #satosere #seresato #anipoke #aroaspec #aroace headcanons #demisexual headcanon #amourdreamshipping #almostAmourshipping

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pragerswoman · 2 months ago

Text

Anniversary

Pairing: Lyle X y/n

Warnings: smut, MDNI, NSFW

A/n: hey my lovelies I hope you enjoy.

"Lyle, you forgot the milk again," y/n said, setting the empty carton on the kitchen counter with a sigh.

"What?" Lyle looked up from his phone, his eyes widening. "Oh no, I'm sorry, I'll go grab it right now."

"It's okay," she said with a forced smile. "I'll just add it to the list."

Y/n turned to the fridge and took out the ingredients for dinner. She was tired from work and hoped tonight would be special. It was their fifth anniversary, and she had been expecting something from him, anything, really. But it was like any other evening. She had hoped for a surprise, but so far, it seemed like just another ordinary day.

While she chopped the vegetables, the sound of Lyle's car pulling into the driveway echoed through the house. She glanced at the clock. He was earlier than usual. As he walked in, he had a peculiar look in his eye, something she hadn't seen in a while. "You're home early," she said, trying to hide her curiosity.

"Yeah, had to finish up some things for tomorrow," he replied, setting down his work bag. His voice was unusually calm.

Y/n felt a knot form in her stomach. Did he remember? She had mentioned it a few times, but with his hectic work schedule, she wouldn't blame him if he had forgotten. She tried to push the thought aside as she continued cooking. But the silence between them was palpable, filled with unspoken expectations and the echo of her own slicing and dicing.

"Hey, can you come into the living room for a second?" Lyle called out, his tone shifting to something softer, more inviting.

With a puzzled expression, y/n dried her hands on the kitchen towel and walked in. The room had been transformed. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, casting a warm glow over a table set for two. The scent of her favorite flowers, roses, filled the air. In the center of the table, a small box sat wrapped in shimmering paper.

Her heart skipped a beat. "What's this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lyle took a deep breath and handed her the box. "Happy anniversary, y/n."

But how? When?" she managed to ask, her voice shaking.

"Everything is taken care of," he said, smiling widely.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "Lyle, I don't know what to say."

He took her hand. "Say you'll have dinner with me tonight. I made a reservation at that fancy restaurant you've been talking about."

Y/n looked at the note again, feeling a wave of love wash over her. "But what about dinner here?" she asked, glancing back at the kitchen.

"Don't worry about it," he said, squeezing her hand. "Tonight's a night for us. Let's go get ready."

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of excitement and emotion. As they sat across from each other at the candlelit dinner, Lyle couldn't take his eyes off her. He had been planning this for months, hoping to make up for the mundane days that had crept into their lives. The way she glowed in the soft light made him realize just how much he had missed these moments.

The conversation flowed easily, a gentle dance of shared memories and future dreams. They laughed and talked, the tension of the day melting away like the chocolate on their dessert plates. After dinner, they returned home, hand in hand, ready to end the perfect evening in a way that neither of them had anticipated.

Lyle led y/n into the bedroom, which had also been transformed. The bed was covered in rose petals, and the scent of their favorite perfume wafted through the air. He looked at her with a hunger in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a long time. Without a word, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, his hands roaming over her body, setting her skin alight with passion.

Her dress fell to the floor, revealing the matching lingerie she had picked out with him in mind. He took his time, kissing down her neck and across her collarbone before moving lower. His tongue traced the line of her bra, and with a gentle tug, he released her breasts. They bounced slightly, and he took one in his mouth, teasing the nipple with his teeth before moving to the other. Y/n moaned softly, arching her back as he unhooked her panties, sliding them down her legs.

He spread her thighs, and she felt his warm breath against her most sensitive parts. His eyes met hers, full of desire and love. He kissed her inner thighs, his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When his tongue finally touched her, she gasped, her legs trembling. He tasted her, exploring every inch of her folds with a hunger that had been building since they walked through the door. She had never felt so desired, so cherished.

As he licked and kissed, she felt herself getting wetter, her body responding to his tender ministrations. He took his time, savoring her, until she was squirming and begging for more. Then, without warning, his tongue slid inside her, and she moaned his name. He knew exactly what she liked, what made her toes curl and her eyes roll back in her head. He sucked on her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her body tighten with pleasure.

The anticipation grew as he slid his cock out of his pants. It was larger than she remembered, a testament to his Navi physiology. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she knew she wanted him. He had always been gentle with her, and she trusted him completely. He kissed her inner thighs again before positioning himself at her entrance. He was thick and long, and she felt a thrill of excitement and trepidation as she watched him prepare to enter her.

Slowly, he pushed himself in, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving hers. She took a sharp breath as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. He was careful, tender, making sure she was comfortable with every movement. His eyes searched hers for any sign of pain, and she nodded reassuringly, eager for more.

When he was fully seated within her, he paused, savoring the feeling of their connection. Then, with a slow, deliberate rhythm, he began to move. She clung to him, her nails digging into his broad back as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that she hadn't felt in years.

They moved together, their bodies synchronized in a dance of love and passion. Lyle watched her face as she grew closer to climax, the way her eyes fluttered closed and her cheeks flushed. He knew her body better than he knew his own, and he used that knowledge to bring her to the edge. He kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin, whispering sweet nothings that sent shivers down her spine.

With a final, deep thrust, she came apart in his arms, her body shaking with pleasure. He followed her over the edge, his own release powerful and intense. They both gasped for air, their hearts racing in unison. He held her tightly as they rode the waves of their orgasms, feeling her pulse against him.

As their breathing slowed, Lyle gently kissed her forehead, his cock still buried deep inside her. They remained joined, neither of them wanting to break the intimate connection. The room was still, save for the faint sound of their hearts beating together. The scent of sex mingled with the sweet aroma of the roses, creating a heady atmosphere that was uniquely theirs.

#avatar twow #recom smut #avatar smut #lyle wainfleet x reader #lyle wainfleet

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denial-permanente · 1 year ago

Note

This is more of a question for Tom. Do you feel more confident when you are wearing the larger strapon? I know most men (myself included) have a deep seated feer that our cock is not "big enough" to properly satisfy our partners even if they are perfectly satisfied with our size. Our strapon is just a bit larger than I am, but when I am wearing it I just feel more confident. My wife notices my new found confidence and finds it quite attractive. I just wanted to know both of your thoughts/opinions on it.

As always, I love your blog and it has been quite the inspiration for both me and my wife. Keep it up.

🔏 This is a fantastic question. First, let me give you some background.

While I was not worried about my (very average) size, I have to admit that years ago when we got into "foxing" (ie, me wearing the strapon), I was afraid that if we bought a dildo much larger than I was, I'd either be locked longer than I really could stand, or that Mrs Edge would no longer be satisfied with "just me" again. That's how we ended up with the Vixskin Tex - a very average model that was just about my own size and shape. We stuck with the Tex for many years.

In 2018, after a little break, we got back into keeping me locked for a long term, and the Tex was back into the game. However, unlock previous long term lockups, this one went on... and on... and at some point, Mrs Edge found herself realizing that this could become permanent. By the fourth year, we both realized that this was going to go on forever. The knowledge that I wouldn't have to worry about measuring up after being unlocked made me think that a large one could be even more pleasurable for my wife.

I didn't surprise her with it; instead, I suggested the idea, gave her time to think about it, and we went shopping on the Vixskin site to look for a replacement. We ended up with the Ranger X - essentially a scaled up Tex. The Vixskin X line adds a thrid layer for even more realism, and we justified the expense because it was going to be the only one we would end up using.

On paper, the Ranger was only an inch longer and a half inch thicker, but in person it seemed much bigger (In fact, my wife later told me that she wasn't sure if she would be comfortable with it). And indeed, I had to learn - relearn - how to use it, because unlike the Tex, this did not feel like "me" to either of us.

Two weeks later, in the throes of passion, my wife told me that I could "throw those other ones away." It's been two years since that happened, and there's no longer any question about this being permanent.

That was the back story. The Ranger X is "me" now, both to my wife and to my own thinking. I don't even fantasize about making love to her any other way. And neither does Mrs Edge.

I'm not sure if "confident" is the word that I would use. I was never really worried that I couldn't please her when we had sex. That said, I do feel intensely satisfied after I give her several good orgasms and she has to tap out. Who doesn't enjoy giving pleasure to their partner?

But I still have a lot of mixed emotions over all of this. On one hand, I know that I will be locked and denied for the rest of my life. Yet, when @mrs--edge reminds me of this, I still get butterflies in my stomach at the idea of being "replaced" by the Ranger. On the other hand, I don't feel denied - that is, I do not feel like I am missing out on anything, and I still initiate sex even though my caged equipment won't be a part of the action. I look forward to it, even without the physical sensation or the orgasm. And I think that my wife, like yours, notices this and responds positively to it. She certainly seems to enjoy our time together. 😉

#chastity question #foxing

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kpop---scenarios · 1 year ago

Text

Obsession (2)

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Warning: Stalking, Threatening, Launguage

Word Count: 3.8k

Part One

It had been a little over a week since you and Chanyeol fucked, and it had been radio silence. You had hoped he would have texted you by now, but you didn't want to come across as that needy girl. So you kept it cool, until you couldn't keep that cool any longer.

“Oh my god!” Jennie yells. “Did you hear the latest news?” She asks, rolling her eyes. You had been invited for a night out at Baekhyun's apartment with everyone in your new friends group. You had partially expected Chanyeol to have been there and when he wasn't you were disappointed. You liked him and wanted you get to know him more, you also wouldn't have minded fucking around with him again.

“What!?” Lisa asks. Everyone was intently staring at Jennie, impatiently waiting to hear what she had to say.

“A little birdy told me that Chanyeol and Maya got back together.” She says, trying to stifle a giggle. Every single person that sat around Baekhyun's living room table groaned so loudly. Sehun, Baekhyun and Jisoo started fake sobbing, Jongin threw his head back in frustration, Lisa started to pretend to gag, while Kyungsoo began muttering about how he had to go back to avoiding Chanyeol.

You, on the other hand, sat there in complete shock. He had a girlfriend? How long has this been going on?

“What's wrong with her?” You ask, glancing at the dramatic group around the table.

“Let's just say, Maya is..” Baekhyun pauses.

“Insufferable.” Kyungsoo sighs.

“Stuck up.” Jisoo adds.

“Fucking annoying.” Lisa says.

“She's like the worst possible human in the world.” Jongin says. “I don't know how he puts up with her.”

You nod your head, you didn't have anything else to say. You felt hurt and confused. Your hands played with the full shot glass that sat in front of you. Just as Sehun was about to say something, the front door opens and in walks Chanyeol with a big smile on his face.

“Hey guys, what are we talking about?” He asks, plopping down on the floor, across the table from where you and Jongin sat. You felt the anger bubble up inside of you, and even though you had planned on saying nothing, words came out of your mouth.

“Oh, just talking about how you have a girlfriend.” You say, looking up at Chanyeol, staring him in the eyes. They go wide, as if he's a deer in headlights.

“Oh, uh.” He chuckles. “Yeah, surprise, Maya and I got back together.” He says, looking away from you to avoid eye contact. You continued to stare at him, you hoped he could feel your stare burning into him.

“But why?” Baekhyun asks. “Why would you do that?”

“What's wrong with her?” Chanyeol laughs.

You were uncomfortable. You were sad, mad, annoyed. Every emotion was felt right at this moment, and it was like Jongin could sense it. He moved closer to you, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into him. He turns his head to whisper in your ear. “You okay?” He asks. You continued to look at Chanyeol who was now eyeing up you and Jongin, trying to process why his arm was around you.

“Uh huh.” You whisper back, breaking off the eye contact with Chanyeol. You gave Jongin a small half smile, hoping he would stop questioning you but that didn’t work. For the next 45 minutes, every few minutes you would catch Jongin looking at you, you could tell that he was questioning how quiet you were, wondering why and why you wouldn't tell him. You’d finally had enough social interaction for the night and decided to go.

“I’m going to head out right away.” you announce. “Just using the bathroom first.” you finish, walking towards the bathroom. You stepped outside to see Chanyeol standing outside the bathroom door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

“You’re ignoring me.” he says, looking over at you.

“You have a girlfriend.” you say back. “Were you together..when..” you pause.

“No!” he exclaims. “No.. I, uh, met up with her afterwards. That's who had texted me..and we got back together that night.” he finishes. You can feel the tears threatening to fall. You didn’t want to cry over him, it totally wasn't worth it.

“Great, I'm happy for you.” you say, walking away from him. You grab your jacket, and again, Chanyeol stands in front of you.

“Let me walk you home.” he says, grabbing his jacket.

“Nah man, you stay. I already told her I would take her. Don’t worry, I'll make sure she’s safe.” Jongin says, coming up behind you. He slides his arm around your waist, pulling you towards the door. You were grateful for Jongin, but you really hoped he wasn’t getting the wrong idea. The two of you chatted about anything and everything on your walk, he made you laugh - hard. You continued to laugh all the way to your front door. Unlocking your door, you look at Jongin.

“Thank you.” you smile. “Really.”

“Anytime, Y/N. and look..” he pauses. “I don’t know what's going on between you and Chanyeol, but just know you deserve more.” he finishes, flashing a dazzling smile before starting to walk away.

“Wait!” You call out. He turns around. “You know?” you ask him.

“I had a feeling,” he says. “Good night.” he finishes, walking away. You walk into your apartment, feeling exhausted. You didn't realize how much of a toll this night had taken on you until you laid in your bed. You hadn't even taken your clothes off, but you didn’t have the energy any longer, swiftly falling asleep.

You woke up the next morning, feeling refreshed. As you crawled out of your bed you heard a loud banging at your door. Looking out the peephole, you didn't see anyone there, so you opened up your door, only to see a dozen purple tulips sitting outside your door. A smile spreads across your face as you look for a note.

Miss me yet?

Your smile faded just as fast as it had appeared. You stared at the note, a very uneasy feeling pulsing through your body. You brought the flowers inside, took a deep breath before deciding what you were going to do. You walked into your kitchen, dumping the flowers and the note into the garbage can before heading back to your bed. You'd already had enough for today. All day, you lounged around, your phone was off, you ate and watched shitty movies. You cried, you laughed, you slept. It was the perfect day before classes on Monday, you were dreading them already. You were not taking anything easy, and your entire body was a ball of stress.

Monday you had minimal interaction with anyone, you went to classes, had lunch with the group, went home to study and work on papers and it was the exact same on Tuesday. When Wednesday rolled around, you were so excited. The week was almost done, not to mention the group had decided to do a Friday Friend Dinner every other Friday, and this week it was on. Drinks and good food, you couldn't wait. Kyungsoo was an amazing cook, you often craved his food.

You were walking to your class, when out of nowhere you're yanked to the side. You looked over only to see Mark standing there with a smile on his face.

“Hi baby.” He says, leaning in closely. You try to back up, but you back straight into a pillar. “Did you like the flowers I sent you?” He smiles, moving closer. “I've been waiting all week for you to thank me for them. It hurts me that you haven't done that yet, Y/N.” He finishes, his smile dropping.

“Oh!” You say, forcing a smile. You were trying so hard to not show him any fear even though it was radiating through your entire body. “I didn't realize it was you. There was no name on it. They're so beautiful, Mark, thank you.” You smile. You needed him to calm down and let you go without an issue. You watch his facial expressions, he was getting angrier.

“Who else would they have been from?” He snaps. “Are you seeing someone else?”

You didn't know what to say. He stares at you as the panic sets in. Your body is trembling as he gets closer. You let your instincts take over, pushing him away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You scream. He rushes back towards you, slapping his hand over your mouth, stopping you from screaming anymore. Before you can react, Mark is pulled off of you, thrown down to pavement. You look over to see Chanyeol standing there, huffing as he stares down at Mark.

“Didn't I tell you to keep your fucking hands to yourself?” Chanyeol yells. He goes to you, grabbing your hand to pull you away. He takes you out into the open, and you see a blonde girl standing there with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“Chanyeol.” You breathe. “Thank you.”

He looks at you concerned. “Has he been bothering you alot?” He asks.

“No, no. He sent me flowers on Sunday, with a note but no name attached. I guess he was mad that I didn't thank him.” You explain. “I'm sure he's gotten the message now.” You half smile. You were trying to be okay but you weren't. Your body shook, you felt like you were still in shock. You looked over at the girl who looked even more unimpressed with you.

“Hi.” You smile, holding out your hand. “I'm Y/N.” You say.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. You retracted your hand feeling uncomfortable now. She looks at Chanyeol with a pout. “You let go of my hand to help her, Channie.” She says. “I'm so sad now.”

Chanyeol sighs. “I'm sorry Maya, do you want me to buy you something?” He asks. She perks up, grabbing his hand to pull him away, spewing on about some purse she wanted.

You already hated her.

Thursday, you didn't go to your classes. You stayed curled up in bed, answering the calls from Lisa, Jennie, Jisoo, Baekhyun, Jongin and even Kyungsoo, asking you if you were okay and what they could do for you. You were eternally grateful for all of them and how much they cared for you. They had asked you if you wanted to postpone your friend's dinner, but you didn't want to. It was something that you desperately needed to try and take your mind off your Mark situation.

Friday comes, and starts off better. You went to your classes that day. It wasn't until you looked at your phone, did your heart sink, and your anxiety flared up.

[From Unknown - 8:45am] I like your outfit today. You look so cute.

[From Unknown - 8:49am] I hope your first class goes well. I miss you.

You slipped your phone in your pocket, trying to focus on your lecture. Your phone doesn't stop vibrating the entire time you were in your hour and a half class. After it ends, you pull out your phone to read some of them.

[From Unknown - 9:07am] Please text me back.

[From Unknown - 9:10am] it's really not nice to ignore someone.

[From Unknown - 9:17am] Please, baby.

You deleted all the messages, only reading a few of them. You didn't want to deal with this. Maybe eventually he would get the hint. And he did, only until the afternoon.

[From Unknown - 2:47pm] I miss your smile. You looked so happy taking in the warm sun as you were walking.

[From Unknown - 2:52pm] Did you take a picture of the sky for your IG? I can't wait for you to post it.

You ignored them again, putting your phone into your pocket as you headed to your last class of the day. The hour went by quickly, with no excessive buzzing coming from your pocket. You were relieved but that didn't last long. As you made your way to Kyungsoo's apartment, the texts continued, and got progressively worse.

[From Unknown - 4:59pm] I don't fucking appreciate this.

[From Unknown - 5:04pm] You are being a goddamn cunt right now, Y/N.

[From Unknown - 5:07pm] ANSWER ME!!

[From Unknown - 5:11pm] I'm sorry, baby. I just miss you so much. Please answer me.

You sigh as you knock on the door of Kyungsoo's apartment, finishing reading the last message.

“Hey.” Kyungsoo smiles, opening the door. You walk into the most delightful smells, immediately causing you to forget about the texts. “You can join the others in the living room.” He says, heading back to the kitchen. You take your coat off, following the sound of laughter into the living room.

“Y/N.” Everyone yells, all happy to see you. You say hi to everyone, looking at Jongin, who mouths “sorry.” To you before you see Chanyeol with his arm around Maya on the couch. You wanted to roll your eyes so fucking badly. But your phone began to vibrate.

[From Unknown - 5:27pm] I can't wait to pin you down, kissing your body all over.

[From Unknown - 5:33pm] I'm going to make you cum so many times from my fingers when I finally get you in my bed. Do you want that baby?

You can feel the tears starting. Why won't he stop?

You press the phone button to call and scream at him but it won't connect. “This number is no longer in service.”

Maybe he deactivated it.

[From Unknown - 5:46pm] I hope you're not fucking Chanyeol or Jongin baby. I'll have to punish you for that.

[From Unknown - 5:54pm] Would you like that baby? I'm going to tie you up and punish you. I don't like being ignored.

[From Unknown - 5:56pm] Y/N. ANSWER ME.

[From Unknown - 5:59pm] I will fucking kill you if you don't answer me.”

You couldn't take it anymore. The tears fell as Kyungsoo walked into the living room.

“Y/N?” He asks, glancing around at everyone else. You completely break down, sobbing into your knees.

“Hey, what's going on doll?” Lisa asks, moving towards you. You slide your unlocked phone towards her, allowing her to read the messages as you sniffle.

“What the fuck.” She gasps.

“What? What do they say?” Everyone asks.

“Can I read them out?” Jongin asks you. You hide your face but nod your head. You didn't want to deal with this shit alone.

“Holy shit. He talks about what she's wearing today and gets mad at her for not responding.” He pauses. “I can't wait to pin you down, kissing all over your body.” He reads out. You look up, every single person there was pissed beyond measure. Except for Maya, who rolled her eyes at every text.

“Y/N answer me.. I will fucking kill you if you don't answer me.” He finishes in a whisper.

No one says a thing. Lisa, Jennie and Jisoo hug you tightly until Baekhyun pipes up. “Who wants to go hunt this mother fucker down and make him wish he never met our precious Y/N?” He says.

Everyone jumps up agreeing, including Chanyeol. Maya scoffs loudly at him

“What the fuck, Chanyeol?” She yells.

“Here we go.” Baekhyun laughs.

“You're going to protect her again? What about me? I actually matter.” She says, pouting again.

“Y/N matters too.” Chanyeol tells her. “She's important to me. As are all my friends.” He says.

“So I'm not as important as this fucking thing whose scared of a few little texts? Like grow up.” She yells at you.

“Who are you calling a thing, bitch?” Lisa snaps, standing up.

“Miss fucking cry baby over there.” Maya yells.

“Maya!” Chanyeol yells, his voice booming through the house. “Shut the fuck up.” He snaps. He glares at her, she tries to stand tall but she cowers under him. “Get your stuff. We're leaving.” He yells. “NOW.” He booms. She rushes out of the room without a word. Chanyeol mutters a “sorry” towards the group before slamming the door behind him.

The group sits in silence.

“Has anyone EVER heard Chanyeol yell that loud!?” Baekhyun asks, jumping up onto the couch. “I mean sure he's loud during game nights but holy shit.”

“literally never.” Jisoo says, her eyes still wide.

Kyungsoo looks at you. “Have you gone to the cops?” He asks.

“Yeah, you really should.” Lisa and Jennie urge.

“I have.” You sniffle. “They can't do anything for me until he physically hurts me.” You cry. “Apparently covering my mouth to stop me from screaming isn't enough.”

“That's messed up.” Kyungsoo sighs. “You shouldn't be alone. You need to stay with someone.”

“She can stay with me.” Chanyeol announces, walking into the living room.

“What happened?” Baekhyun asks.

“I ended things. For good.” Chanyeol says to everyone, before turning to look at you. “Y/N I am so sorry for the way she spoke to you. That was uncalled for and not fair.” He whispers with his head down. “You didn't deserve that.”

“Thank you.” You sniffle. “You didn't have to break up with her though.”

Baekhyun laughs out loudly, making everyone else laugh along.

“Yeah I did. It was time. I can't be with someone like that, I wasn't really into it anyways.”

Your phone buzzes again on the table.

[From Unknown - 7:08pm] I'm so sorry baby, please forgive me. Just talk to me.

Chanyeol picks up your phone, reading the message. He holds out his hand for you to pull you up. “We're going to go to Y/N's apartment and grab her things. I'll let you all know when we've made it safely back to my place.” He says. You go around the group giving everyone a hug while saying thank you to them. You didn't know what you would do without such great friends. you and Chanyeol didn't say much on the drive to your apartment. You were exhausted and just wanted to rest but you knew it wasn't going to come easily tonight. You and chanyeol head up to your front door, you unlock the door, letting him in first before you lock it back up behind you. You felt too paranoid to leave anything to chance. Chanyeol chuckles as he walks towards the table, patting it with the palm of his hand.

“This is a solid table.” He smirks. You roll your eyes at him, heading into your bedroom. quickly you find a bag, shoving your clothes into it, grabbing everything you can think of right now that you would need. You grabbed your charger and your laptop, and just as you thought you had everything, you heard a loud, rapid banging on your front door. You freeze. Chanyeol puts his finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. He waves you back into the room, mouthing for you to hide. Quietly, he creeps up to the door as the banging continues. He looks out the peephole, all he can see is black hair.

“Yes?” He says, his voice loud and deep.

“Where's Y/N?” He asks. You can hear Mark's voice.

“She's not here. You need to leave.” Chanyeol announces. “She's not interested in you. You need to move on.”

“Hah. I need to move on? She and I are meant to be together. You tell her I'll see her soon.” Mark yells, leaving Chanyeol's view. He opens the door slightly, making sure that Mark is actually gone. Chanyeol calls you out of the room, tears streaming down your face. He wraps his arm around you, taking you out of your apartment, heading for his car. You were terrified that Mark was going to be out there waiting for you. But he wasn't. Chanyeol opened the car door for you, you got in, placing your bag on the floor.

The drive is silent. It was late, you were drained. Walking up to Chanyeol's apartment, he unlocks the door, letting you go in first. It's bigger than you thought it would be. It was decorated very minimally, he had furniture around but not much else.

“It's very nice.” You smile.

“I'm still working on getting more things for it.” He laughs. He takes you to his bedroom. “You can sleep here. I'm going to take the couch.” He says.

“Chanyeol.” You sigh. “It's enough that you're letting me stay here, I can't take your bed too.”

He laughs. “You can. And you will. Get some rest okay? I'm right out there if you need.” He gives you a hub before grabbing his pj's and going into the bathroom. He comes out in a shirt and pj pants, heading for the living room. You dig through your bag, finding your shorts and a tank top to sleep in. You change and crawl into his bed. It smells so good. It smells like him. Sleep came to you easier than you thought, but it didn't last long.

You woke up breathing heavily, sweating and a little confused. You had dreamt that Mark had taken you captive and you were really shaken up over it. You crawled out of bed, heading to the living room.

Chanyeol laid on the couch, scrolling on his phone until he noticed you. He sits up quickly. “What's wrong?” he asks, standing up. He was no longer wearing a shirt.

Holy shit, you'd forgotten how ripped he was.

“it was.. a dream.” you start. “Mark.. he had..uh, kidnapped me.”

Chanyeol wraps you in his arms, in a tight and comforting hug. You hold onto him as tightly as you can, you feel so safe with him.

“Can you please sleep in the bed with me? I don't want to be alone.” You whisper.

He lets go of you, grabbing your hand and leading you to the bedroom. You both crawl into the bed, getting comfy. Chanyeol rubs your arm and shoulder as your back faces him. You quickly fall asleep, feeling more comfortable than you've been in a while. You wished the feeling of peace would last, unfortunately you knew it wouldn't.

You woke up in the morning with Chanyeol wrapped around your body. You were sweating so bad, you had no choice but to get up. You managed to wiggle your way out of his embrace, making your way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen. You snooped around his cupboards, trying to find something to make for breakfast. You settled on making eggs and toast, it was easy enough. As you continue scrambling your eggs, Chanyeol walks out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes with a smile on his face.

“What's this?” He asks.

“Breakfast. Duh.” You laugh. You were feeling good today, you felt like it was going to be a great day. Until your phone on the table started to ring.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Chanyeol grabbed your phone, declining the call and blocking the number.

“There. That should work.” He smiles. He sets your phone down, before it starts ringing again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

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