#song to him and yet we’ll never know. because he is too different even for the van der linde gang. he is incomprehensible to them and he doe

[javierduffy]

different.

[obsessedwhyyes]

A Sound Hypothesis

Part 1 of The Scientific Method series.

Summary: Inexperienced in the ways of love, you often find yourself labelled an overthinker. But then again, you are a scientist. When your incredibly beautiful travelling companion proposes a night you'll never forget, suddenly you're left wondering, are you really ready for this? Ever the scientist, you propose an experiment, and get more than you bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4762 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Act 1, smut with plot, inexperienced nerd reader, making out, oral sex (giving and receiving), hand job, cock worship, blowjob and handjob instruction (ie. Astarion teaches you how to pleasure him).

A/N: Can't believe this got to nearly 5k words, good lord. Actual smut comes in half way through, but it's still rather spicy before then. Also, writing handjobs is hard.

The events of the night prior felt like a dream, yet you remembered each moment vividly.

“I’m beginning to like the whole package, honestly,” he had purred, “and you clearly like me too, so I was thinking…”

You looked into his eyes as he gazed confidently, hungrily into yours. There was only him in this moment. Well, him and the quickened pulse of your heart pounding in your ears. You were certain he could hear it.

“We could take an evening to ourselves. Get to know each other a little more intimately.”

But you were struck with a hit of nerves then. You had lived a sheltered life before your abduction. A wizard and a scholar, your pursuits had been in the sciences and that of perfecting your craft, rather than in stolen moments of lust with beautiful strangers. Not to say you hadn’t experienced a few stolen kisses, however. But to give oneself entirely to another - that was a very different, much more intimidating affair. Yet there was no denying the spark that flickered between the two of you as you spent your days and evenings together, and that spark ignited a growing ache within you that lingered each night you retreated to your bedroll.

“I want to, Astarion. Gods, I really want to, but I’m…”

You hesitated and tore your eyes from him; fiddled with your fingers for a moment.

“You’ve never done this before,” he finished, causing you to look up suddenly from your busying hands.

“I had my suspicions. I’d have already bedded you twice over otherwise.”

You could only laugh, not only at the sheer audacity of his remark, but because of course he knew. Gods, he could probably smell the inexperience on you from a mile away.

“It’s your decision, of course. Should you wish to keep things light between us, we’ll end our evenings together as friends. If you decide you want a little more, however–”

He stepped closer to you - close enough to feel his cool breath on your skin and smell the freshness of his cologne.

“I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering delicately where your neck meets the line of your jaw. He was playing you like a fiddle, and you knew it. But gods, if his tune wasn’t a siren’s song in the night. You wanted nothing more than to dance to it.

And then he kissed you.

Gods, the way he kissed you.

There was need, yes; a hunger not unknown to you even in your limited experience. But it was a hunger wrapped in a velvet blanket of familiarity, as though he had known your lips as long as his own. He was certainly skilled, there was no denying that.

The chill of the night air felt like a splash of cold water to your senses once his lips left yours, and you found yourself mourning the loss of his touch.

“Think about it,” he had said that night, before retreating back to his tent.

–

And here you are, wrapped in your bedroll, thinking about it. Ceaselessly.

About his voice, laced with the sweetest honey, speaking promises of nights wanton and dripping with ecstasy. About his smile, teasing and rakish, and the feel of his lips against yours which you missed like home.

You think about the times you let him feed from you; the gentle way he held you, one hand cradling your head. The soft, pleasured noises that would rumble from his chest as he grazed over the soft flesh of your throat - and sunk his teeth into it. Then, greedy, he would begin to pull you close, your chest flush against his own. Every time he fed, it was as though the gates holding back the flood of every primal vampiric instinct within him were unleashed at the taste of you; the ambrosia that is your life essence which you willingly gift to him. And every time he fed, before you reached the point of no return, you would break him out of his trance - a simple series of taps on his shoulder - and he would release you from his predatorial embrace.

It was in those moments, you would see the look in his eyes: ravenous, pupils blown, boring down into you as you lay there beneath him, vulnerable. Your gazes would linger and gods, how you imagined what it would feel like to be entangled with him; for him to take his pleasure from you.

No, you tell yourself. This has been going so fast. Your time together has been so short in the grand scheme of things yet, with the threat of ceremorphosis looming over you, your time on this mortal plane may be fleeting. One might argue that now is surely the time to experience that which you have not… isn’t it? 

But what if this isn’t what you actually want and this aching need within you is simply a manifestation of the stress your increasingly bizarre situation has brought you? It is not unknown for one to develop bouts of hypersexuality in times of stress, or so you have read in books detailing such occurrences.

Suddenly, an idea presents itself. A scientist such as yourself requires a chance to gather all available evidence before coming to a conclusion. A little experimentation, perhaps. Then, you’ll know for certain if your attraction runs deeper than you give your body credit for. Your honed mind will not be governed by a set of primitive bodily urges - you’re better than that. You won’t allow it.

For now, sleep beckons. Tomorrow, you shall put your idea into practice.

– 

The next day passes as swiftly as you had hoped. You’re eager to welcome the night. You and your companions had seemingly settled into a predictable routine when it came to your evening endeavours: your fellow wizard and friendly rival, Gale, would slave over the cook pot with the limited items you had procured over your journey, while the Blade of Frontiers himself regaled your group with stories of his adventures, punctuated with commentary from your remaining companions, ranging from crude to complimentary. Food would be eaten and domestic duties fulfilled, after which, everyone would begin their journeys to their bedrolls. Well, everyone bar you and Astarion. As the resident elves, you require far less rest than that of your travelling companions. It was in these moments, where the camp lay dormant and the two of you sit against a fallen log by the campfire, that you had developed something resembling a rapport with Astarion. You have become rather fond of your night time talks.

Tonight, however, you have plans beyond repartee.

You feel emboldened by your plan. Where before, you were thrown into territory unknown, unprepared and anxious, now you have the comfort of scientific method on your side. You know exactly what to say - you’ve thought of every possibility after all.

Sitting side-by-side, you turn to him, determined.

“I was thinking about your little proposition last night.”

“Were you now?” Astarion replies with a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet. I always imagined that the first time I, um…”

“Did the horizontal dance with an esteemed companion? Engaged in amorous congress? Fucked?”

“Had sex,” you quickly correct, halting his attempts to fluster you further. “I always imagined the first time I had sex would be under slightly less unusual circumstances. We’ve been under nothing but stress ever since we got off that damned Nautiloid. I can’t tell if this desire I’m feeling is because I truly want to spend the night with you, or because my body just wants a distraction.”

“Is that such a bad thing? We’ve worms in our brains and danger is lurking around every corner. Our time is short, darling. If I can provide our dear leader a little respite in these tumultuous times; offer up my services in her time of need, that sounds like time well spent, does it not?”

He shuffles closer to you, resting his arm behind you on the log which you both lean against.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice low and close to your ear, “you’ve been so good to me, offering up your neck for me to savour. It’s only fitting that I offer you a little distraction in return.”

“I don’t want to just… use you as a distraction, Astarion. Gods, I offered you my blood because I wanted to help you, not because I expected a favour.”

For a fleeting moment, his expression shifts. And just as quickly, his smirk returns, embodying a practised sultriness that has surely wrapped many a soul around his fingers.

“No,” you continue, “if I have sex, it will be because it’s something I truly want to do; that I’m ready for. Not just a fanciful distraction. I hope you feel the same.”

That expression again, barely noticeable. You can’t quite decipher it.

“So, darling,” he purrs, “what do you suggest?”

“I was wondering if I could kiss you.”

“Ha! Can’t get enough, eh?”

“I just think that, with a little more evidence, I might be able to see if this is something I’m truly ready for; to discern whether this desire is real, or simply a physical response to this gods-awful situation we find ourselves in.”

He laughs, seemingly amused by your reasoning, and your heart flutters at the sound. Unexpected.

“Gods, are you always such an overthinker?”

“I just think it would help me come to a decision.”

“Is that what this is then? Your little experiment?”

“I’m nothing if not a scientist,” you tease back.

“Alright, my dear. Your terms are acceptable. A kiss, for scientific reasons, of course.”

Of course, you say to yourself. That… is what this is, isn’t it? Simple evidence gathering?

You have no time to consider this as Astarion places a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze fully to his, and suddenly, you hear your pulse pounding loudly in your ears once more. Gods, his eyes are beautiful.

An easy smile, a tilt of his head, and he presses his lips to yours, delicate and familiar. He’s gentle, at first: his lips linger on yours a moment before kissing you again, a tender sensation. As you close your eyes and immerse yourself in the feeling, the world around you quietens. No longer do you hear the crackling of the fire as it dies, the chirps of insects, or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. 

At this moment, all you know is him.

You succumb to the coolness of his touch, the smoothness of his skin, the freshness of his scent - sensations so overwhelming that your body responds of its own accord, letting free a soft moan into his mouth.

As though in response, Astarion’s hand lowers from your cheek and trails from your neck, your shoulder, to your waist, as though committing each dip of your body to memory, before pulling you closer to him. Your hands, in return, plant themselves against his chest. His body feels hard and angular against the softness of your own.

As his tongue seeks permission to dance with yours, there is a hunger; a fieriness that threatens to engulf you. The kiss deepens, and you realise with a start that your legs have entangled themselves with his.

Pull yourself together, your mind screams. You’re meant to be in control of your body, not the other way around.

Or so you think, when suddenly, Astarion’s hand moves to your arse - the cheeky sod - and he skillfully, seamlessly rolls you onto his lap, taking advantage of your entangled legs, purposefully positioning you so that you’re straddling him.

Shit.

You gasp. You had forgotten to breathe. He notices and, gods, the smug look on his face. He knows he’s taken you off guard, and worse still…

He knows the effect he’s having on you.

The wall you had carefully constructed between your mind and body begins to collapse, brick by brick. As you kiss, the final fragments fall away, and everything that was once separated threatens to come together in a powerful, unified surge of desire if not for the final threads of your self-restraint.

His body desires this as much as yours, it would seem. As you straddle him, his hands caressing you as they drag up and down your back, you notice a distinct hardness digging into you, oh so close to your core. It takes more willpower than you’ve ever known to not grind into that hardness, seeking the release which you ache for. You are a tautly drawn bow, the tension between your mental focus and physical yearning almost unbearable.

Noticing how stiff you become, Astarion retreats from your lips, tilting his head in playful curiosity.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, darling?”

“I… I…” You barely recognise your own voice as it strains to come out of you.

The bowstring snaps.

You yield.

Your mind and body merge into a mess of lust and desire, and you kiss him hard and greedily. He returns the enthusiasm in kind, releasing a groan into your mouth as he does so. You want this. You want him.

Astarion pulls himself from your lips and turns his attentions to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses where, other nights, he had sunk his fangs. As he does so, you hear his voice, husky in lust.

“You know, if you still need a little more “experimentation,” I have a couple more ideas for you…”

His voice gives you goosebumps.

“... I’m particularly skilled with my tongue, after all.”

You nod.

“Your tent or mine?”

–

As you’re pushed against the bedroll within the privacy of your tent, you’re overwhelmed by a desire to feel every inch of Astarion’s cool, hard body on yours. It was such a primal need, to be enveloped by him; an urge beyond anything you’ve experienced, causing you to wrap your arms greedily behind his neck as you kiss each other, pulling him closer, but never close enough. His hips grind against you slowly, deliberately, granting you a brief, delicious friction which sends shivers up your body and fuels the incredible ache between your legs.

Astarion sits back up on his knees, admiring the mess of you, a smile on his pretty lips. You can only imagine the state you must be in: hair wild, eyes wide and hungry, clothes dishevelled. But your appearance is a distant notion in the back of your mind as Astarion lifts the hem of your skirt and removes your undergarments, sopping wet from your arousal.

You feel vulnerable, exposed to him like this, your desire on full display in front of the very man who you spent nights dreaming about. While his lustful gaze lights a flush of red across your cheeks, it doesn’t cause you to recoil; instead, you find yourself emboldened as he lowers himself between your legs, holding your gaze with eyes hungry and hooded.

He drags his lips up your thighs, leaving kisses so teasing that brings forth the neediest of sounds from your chest. When he reaches your core, he slides a tongue up the slit of you, agonisingly slowly, painfully gently.

Head rolling back, you anticipate the feeling of his tongue within you, but then…

He diverts his attention back to your thighs.

Bastard.

“Astarion..!”

“Eager little pup, aren’t you? Don’t you worry, darling - you’ll get what you desire. Once I have my fun with you, of course.”

He shifts, propping your legs over his shoulders as he grants you an audacious glance and grazes his tongue over you once more, sending a wave of tingles radiating across your body.

You begin to pout at his teasing action, and–

His tongue enters you.

He glides it firmly from your entrance to your clit, lapping you up in one motion, releasing the most wondrous groan, as though the nectar of your arousal is sweeter than any honey.

And so, like a man starved, he devours you, gauging quickly the sensations you prefer, alternating skillfully between firm strokes of his tongue, and the most teasing of flickers across your clit.

Your back arches, and you can do nothing but grasp at the edges of your bedroll as he works at you, leaving you in a state so blissful that you don’t notice the wanton sounds being cried from your lips.

“Easy, love,” he purrs, the loss of his tongue against you causing you to whimper. “As much as I enjoy hearing those delectable sounds of yours, let’s not wake the others, hm?”

You can only cover your mouth with your hands in a feeble attempt to hush yourself as he continues his ministrations. As your eyes meet and the pleasant ache in your core begins to swell into an all-encompassing warmth across your body, you wonder if this is what it feels to be revered as a deity would, your every sensation treated with the kind of awe that only a god might know.

It is when he enters you with his fingers - first one, then two, thrusting in rhythm with his tongue - that the warmth, now an inferno, reaches its peak. It surges through you like a divine crescendo, each wave of your climax a new blessing that floods your senses with a celestial rapture, singing his name like the sweetest hymn.

He caresses your thighs as he brings you down slowly from your high, grounding you.

As you return once again to this mortal plane, the lingering euphoria elicits a fit of giggles from you.

“Well,” Astarion smiles in return, removing himself from the home he has made between your legs, “you certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“I did. I really did. Thank you.”

As you both sit yourselves upright once more, he presses another kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on him.

“I hope our little experiment was very informative for you,” he says with a wink. His words are teasing, but spoken with a gentleness that surprises you.

The truth is, you do have one more idea.

“Can I, um… Can I do the same for you?”

“What?” He says a little too quickly. Noticing this, he brushes his hair back with his hand to a more presentable condition, regains his composure, and continues. “I mean, you don’t have to. To see you squirm under my touch, that’s pleasure enough for me.”

“I want to make you feel good too.”

“You want to?”

That same indecipherable expression. A man with as many notches on his bedpost as he claims must have had some less than favourable conquests every now and then… Perhaps he’s had some bad experiences when receiving too? You suddenly find yourself cursing your lack of experience in these matters. You’re not exactly brimming with social expertise either.

“I probably won’t be the best - not as good as you - but I want to try. I always find that the best way to develop one’s skills is to practise under the guidance of a trusted expert. So… could you teach me how to make you feel good?”

Your gazes linger for a moment as he seems to assess your resolve.

Seemingly satisfied, he smirks, a well-practised aura of sultriness fitting back into place once more. All traces of that mysterious expression dissipate before your eyes.

“Well, darling, if you’re so eager to please me, who am I to stop you?”

You slide up to sit next to him as he begins to unlace his trousers, and suddenly you find yourself unsure of where to look. You’ve a scholar’s knowledge of the physical form; men’s anatomy is no stranger to you from an analytical perspective. And yes, you’ve fantasised about Astarion’s… parts before, as much as you have tried to deceive yourself into believing it was nothing more than a passing, intrusive thought. Yet, now that you’re here, about to perform the most intimate of acts to your beautiful travelling companion for the first time, you become bashful. You can’t quite believe the situation you’ve gotten yourself into tonight.

Yet, as he lowers his trousers and underwear to his thighs, revealing himself to you, all thoughts of bashfulness, of anxiety, cease to be for a moment.

“Hells, Astarion.” You look upon his hardened member with disbelief, measuring its girth against your arm. “How is that going to fit inside me, exactly?”

A slip of the tongue.

He grins, very pleased with himself. “Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?”

… And there returns that familiar flush of heat to your cheeks. Shit.

His chuckling lets you know that he has, in fact, noticed your embarrassment.

Seeking to swiftly change the subject to the much more pressing matter at hand, you ask, “can I touch you?”

In wordless agreement, Astarion guides your hand to his cock, which glistens slightly from the beads of precum elicited from the head. As you hold it, his hand remains over yours, coaxing you to move up and down the shaft.

His cock isn’t warm as you would imagine a regular man’s to be, owing to his vampiric nature, but you note its hardness; the way it pulses beneath your touch; the way his foreskin glides over the head so seamlessly. You squeeze him, fascinated.

“Gently, love. Like this.” He demonstrates by applying a light pressure to your hand and twisting ever so slightly as you both reach the tip, then loosening his grip as he slides you back down his length. You repeat the motion, tentatively. Gods, you hope you're doing this right. He made you feel incredible. You want him to feel incredible too. But oh, what if you hurt him, what if you–

“A-ah…”

The softest sigh of pleasure from your companion interrupts your thoughts. It sends wonderful shivers throughout your body. You find yourself eager to coax more of those little sounds from him.

A newfound confidence flares within you, and you gradually increase your pace, up and down and up and down the shaft, squeezing and twisting lightly as your beautiful instructor taught. In a sudden bout of curiosity, you glide your thumb over the head on your way back down and–

“Ah!”

There it is again. That most delicious sound.

“Exactly like that, darling. Exactly like that.”

He removes his hand from yours as you continue to pump him - you are a fast learner, it would seem - and moves it to reach your cheek, turning you to face him. As he leans his forehead against yours, you notice his breathing has become heavier, just ever so slightly. Instinctively, your breathing begins to match his, and you feel an intensity in the air that gives you goosebumps. Then he kisses you, and it is hungry. Ravenous. Greedy. His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, gripping your hair lightly, pressing your lips firmly against his.

As you continue to pleasure him, you find yourself becoming greedy too.

You want to taste him.

Between gasps for air, you ask him, “can I use my mouth on you? The way you did for me?”

“Mmhm,” he says into your kiss. It feels almost a shame to remove yourself from his lips, but you have greater plans yet. 

You both reposition yourselves. He turns to lie himself back on the bedroll, and you crawl down his body to position yourself between his legs. So close to his cock, you find yourself admiring it, taking in every detail: the thick vein on the underside of the shaft, the way the head throbs a colour darker than the rest, eager for release.

You're overwhelmed with a primal desire - a need - to please, to give.

To worship.

“Gods, it's beautiful,” you think aloud.

“I know,” he remarks confidently in return. You roll your eyes at his arrogance, but in this moment, in your eyes, even you can't deny that his cock is perfection. Your mouth waters at what is to come.

You hold his member delicately, like a jewel most precious, planting kisses up his length. A soft sound escapes from Astarion’s lips and suddenly you are emboldened, determined to gift him with bliss as he had gifted you. To do so, however, you would need a little instruction.

“Tell me how to please you,” you plead, and you feel him twitch at your words.

“You are eager,” he purrs, propping himself up with his hands to gaze down at you. You notice a shiver and a sigh, ever so slight, when you trail a line of wetness from base to tip with your tongue.

“In that case,” he continues, brushing a strand of hair from your face, granting him a better view of you, “lick your lips and hold it at the base. Then I want you to get to know it a little, so to speak. Use your mouth around the head and start slowly - there's no point in rushing in, eh?”

You obey, shaking off the lingering feelings of bashfulness at the directness of his words, and wrap your lips around him. Out of curiosity, you swirl a flattened tongue around the head and gods, his skin is so smooth, still slightly salty from precum. His cock twitches and you hear him gasp above you - he’s especially sensitive there, it would seem. 

Where are his other sensitive spots, you wonder.

Time to experiment. You are nothing if not a scientist.

You bob your head and relax your jaw to the best of your abilities, taking in just a little bit more of him each time your mouth glides up and down, keeping your tongue flat against him to flick against the sensitive tip each time you glide back up the length. The sounds he makes - oh, those sounds. His moans are like velvet, a soft, deep timbre that caresses your senses and makes your loins ache once more. Every murmur seeps into your being, igniting your senses and fuelling your need to explore every inch of him. You continue your journey down and down his length, savouring the taste and the texture and–

You gag as his cock touches your throat.

Astarion recomposes himself. “Easy, darling. Use your hand where your mouth can’t reach.”

“Like this?” Your hand pumps the shaft in rhythm with the motions of your mouth and tongue, and Astarion’s head rolls back for a moment.

“Like that,” he exhales heavily, “and suck gently.”

There’s a certain sense of empowerment, unravelling him like this. You relish in every moan that escapes his lips, every twitch and pulse of his cock as you attend to him. The lewd, wet sounds emitted as your hollowed cheeks suck his length. His hand finds its way to your hair, fingers weaving through the strands with a gentle authority, pushing you hard enough to guide you to an ever-quickening rhythm, but gentle enough not to force himself down your throat.

“Use your other hand,” he says between breaths, “hold the balls softly.”

You do as he says, giving them the gentlest of squeezes as you attend to him, and his breaths grow deeper, uneven. You sense the rising tension in him, a tide gathering strength beneath the surface.

He gives one final instruction.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes meet with a stormy intensity and, as you pump up and down with your lips and fingers at a dizzying pace, the intensity seems to surge through him with the force of an ocean swell, powerful and all-encompassing.

With a tremor and a groan so delicious that you find yourself moaning instinctively in response, his cum fills your mouth. Your eyes water, taken by surprise by the force of his release, but you do your best to swallow each wave, releasing him with a wet pop as his climax subsides.

Some moments pass and, in the afterglow, the tent is filled with a comfortable, profound stillness, and only the sounds of heavy breathing - yours and his - as you both return to your senses.

“Did you just..?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“I did,” you reply with a grin, showing him your tongue to reveal that not a drop went to waste.

He laughs warmly, and your heart flutters.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He kisses you deeply as he sits up, seemingly undeterred by the taste of himself.

“I think I’ve gathered enough evidence to consider your proposition,” you say teasingly.

“Tomorrow night then, darling?”

Bastard.

But yes, you think to yourself. Tomorrow night. You’re ready.

Part 2, An Empirical Study, can be found here!

Masterlist can be found here.

[malfoysanctuary]

All He’ll Ever Need

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: He’s had power, prestige, and pain, but nothing ever felt like enough until the slow rhythm of her Sunday mornings.

The first thing you feel is the warmth.

Not the sheets. Not the sunlight. Not even the downy comforter tangled somewhere at your feet. No—what you feel first is Draco. His arm around your waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin beneath your sleep shirt, the rise and fall of his chest against your back like a lullaby still humming even after dreams fade.

The flat is quiet. Peaceful.

Outside the charmed windows, the world is blanketed in snow, all soft whites and muted silvers. But inside, everything glows. The fire is nothing but embers now, but your heart is full.

Draco stirs behind you, his nose nudging into your hair. “Mornin’,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep and something slower—sweeter.

You hum, not opening your eyes just yet. “Still morning?”

“Barely.” A pause. Then softer, as if the words are sacred: “Stay with me.”

You roll over, heart aching in the best way. His hair is a mess, and there’s a crease on his cheek from the pillow, but his eyes—stormy and silver—look at you like you hung the stars.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips twitch upward, and you feel him melt just a little. That’s how it’s been with him—melting, slowly, painfully, beautifully. The boy who once built walls so high you thought you’d never reach him now wraps himself around you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this earth.

And maybe you are.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “How different things could’ve been?”

He nods, eyes fluttering closed. “All the time. And every time I do, I thank the stars for whatever twist of fate gave me you.”

You smile. It’s shy. It’s soft. It’s everything.

Draco leans in and kisses your forehead. “I used to think I needed so much to be happy. Status. Wealth. Revenge, even.”

“And now?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

His arms tighten around you. “Now I just need you. This. A Sunday morning. Your laugh in my kitchen. You, wearing my shirt and making tea like it's magic.”

You duck your head against his chest, overwhelmed. “I’m going to cry,” you mumble.

“Please don’t,” he says with a laugh, tipping your chin up to kiss your nose. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and then we’ll be two emotionally unstable puddles in bed, and the toast will burn.”

You giggle, nose scrunching. “There’s toast?”

“There will be. Eventually. If we ever get out of bed.” His gaze softens again. “But honestly? I could spend forever right here.”

And he means it.

You can feel it in the way he touches you, reverent and slow. In the way his eyes linger on yours, memorizing you like a favorite song. In the way he sighs, content and quiet, like this is the only place in the world he’s ever truly belonged.

The snow outside thickens. The fire stirs to life again with a lazy flick of Draco’s wand. But neither of you moves.

Because the morning belongs to you. To your quiet laughter and whispered I love yous. To the way Draco wraps himself around you like you’re the safest place he’s ever known.

“You saved me,” he says suddenly, voice low. “Not in some dramatic way. Not with a spell or a battle. Just... in all the ways that matter.”

Your heart aches with it. “You saved me too.”

And in the stillness, in the softness, in the sanctuary of tangled limbs and heartbeats, you both know: This is love. This is home.

[imagine-it-was-us]

where we land || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Ed Sheeran where we land

Author's note: These are getting out of hand. Started as the creative outlet and ended as sleepless nights where you can't go to bed until you let our mind bleed out on the keyboard. Ed Sheeran and his music will always have a special place in my heart. And this particular song makes me miss the relationship I never had. So enjoy, I am really proud of this one. Hopefully you will find it bearable.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: none, just angst.

Summary: do I love you? do I hate you? || I can't make up my mind || so let's free fall (and part ways for the year I guess??) and see where we land.

Word count: 6.8k+

“Lando, this isn’t working”, she sighed. It was obvious that this short sentence took every last bit of energy she had. After this, there was nothing left – no emotions, no desire to fight, just nothing. A blank expression followed.

He looked up from his computer, unphased. 

“What’s not working?” 

“Us.” 

The mood slightly shifted, yet nothing too shocking. It felt like this conversation was overdone way too many times. They have been here before. That's why he didn’t even take a second to think about what sparked this conversation. It felt like it was a casual chat between an old married couple. 

“Yeah,” Lando muttered, exhaling sharply. ���Let’s take a break. We’ll make up anyway.”

That was it. No argument, no hesitation. Like it was routine. Like she had just told him she was stepping out for a moment, and he expected her to come back.

When you think about it, it was devastating. The level of indifference was what hurt the most.

They had known each other their whole lives – friends by proximity before choice. Their families lived in the same neighborhood, close enough that their bond felt inevitable. Even as kids, they were opposites. He was the reckless daredevil, climbing trees and riding his bike at full speed down the steepest roads, while she was the quiet dreamer, lying on the grass for hours, lost in her thoughts. But somehow, they worked. They always had.

As they grew up, their lives took different directions, but they never drifted too far. When Lando got into karting, and later, into the high-stakes world of racing, she wasn’t his biggest supporter in the traditional sense. She didn’t attend every event or cheer the loudest. But she cared. She always asked how he was feeling, if he was okay. She avoided getting too involved, not because she didn’t believe in him or was not interested, but because she couldn’t shake the fear of what could happen. The crashes, the risks, the reality of what came with high-speed racing. Maybe that fear had even shaped her, pushed her toward a career where she could save the ones who weren’t as lucky. And yet, no matter how different their paths became, they had always made time for each other.

Then came that one Christmas. The night everything changed. He was on the brink of signing with McLaren, and she had just over a year of school left, set on studying medicine, becoming a paramedic. They spent the whole evening talking – about dreams, about the future, about everything. And the one constant in all their scenarios? Each other. They didn’t officially get together until months later, when the butterflies finally settled in. What started as something gentle and fragile grew into something more. Something that should have been unbreakable.

But it wasn’t.

Between her relentless studying and his deep dive into the world of Formula 1, the distance between them grew. The small sacrifices they used to make for each other became harder. At first, they convinced themselves it was just a rough patch. They had fallen in love as teenagers, blindly, without knowing what love truly required. Clashes were inevitable, but they always told themselves it was just temporary. That love would always outweigh the tension.

Until it didn’t.

The fights became more than just stress-fueled bickering. Trust started to crack. The rumors, the online hate she received for simply existing in his world, the missed races, the missed plans, the days of unanswered calls. The moments of doubt that neither of them wanted to admit were growing stronger.

They had tried. God, they had tried.

The guilt would always swing between them like a pendulum – one of them messing up, the other one forgiving too easily, hoping that this time would be different. And when it wasn’t, they’d take a step back, hoping the distance would fix what being together couldn’t. Then, like clockwork, one of them would cave. One apology, one touch, one whispered „I miss you“ would pull them back in.

The boat had been rocking for years. But at least before, there had still been waves. Now, sitting in their Monaco home, she wasn’t sure if they had finally reached the calm, or if they had simply drifted so far apart that the water didn’t even touch them anymore.

And that was worse than all the fights combined.

“That’s it?”

He lifted a shoulder in an infuriating half-shrug. “What do you want me to say? We take a break, we come back. It’s what we do.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Lando. I don’t want to pause on this empty shell we still call the relationship. I just don’t think I can.” 

Deep down, words coming out of her hurt her. Yet she was just so tired of this game, then at the end there was no happy ending.

Lando exhaled, closing his laptop and putting it away, jaw clenched. Maybe he thought she was being dramatic. Maybe he was just waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d take it back.

But she wouldn’t, not this time. She just stood up from her end of the couch and exhaled. 

“It will take me a couple of days to gather everything I own from this apartment. I will do it once you leave for Las Vegas, so I won’t disturb your calm before the GP. I will just grab my essentials for now,” she said like she was reciting a groceries list. 

Lando didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the coffee table like it held all the answers he couldn’t find in her face. Maybe he was searching for something to say – some magic combination of words that would break the cycle, that would make this easier. But there was nothing left to say.

Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

She felt her stomach twist. Part of her had wanted him to fight – really fight – for this, for them. But wasn’t that the whole point? They were tired. Exhausted. Running on empty, pretending they had more to give when they didn’t.

She swallowed, shifting on her feet. “I think we should do it properly this time.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, guarded. “What do you mean?”

“No breaks. No texts, no calls, no checking in. Not even a happy birthday or Merry Christmas.” The words came out steady, even though her heart was hammering against her ribs. “We give it at least a year. If we’re happier – truly happier – then we’ll know. We’ll let it go for good.”

Lando stood up, facing her. “And if we’re not?”

She exhaled, forcing a small, tired smile. “Then we’ll see where we land.”

He let out a breath, running a hand down his face. For a moment, he just studied her, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Like maybe, deep down, some part of him was realizing that this was the last time he’d get to see her like this. Here. His.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. “Alright,” he murmured. “One year.”

One year to figure out if this was really love, or just a bad habit neither of them knew how to break. One year to see if they could be whole without each other. Or if, after everything, they still made sense together.

She was about to turn toward the bedroom, ready to start packing, but he moved first. His arms wound around her, and she didn’t hesitate before wrapping hers around him just as tightly.

And that was what made it hurt the most. Because after six years give or take, after all the fights and make-ups and everything in between, this was still the safest place each of them had ever known. His heartbeat against her ear. Her scent wrapping around him like home. The way neither of them wanted to be the first to let go.

But they had to. So, after one long, lingering moment, she forced herself to step back.

Lando’s arms fell away slowly, reluctantly, like he was holding onto the very last seconds of whatever this was.

And just like that, they let go. Not with a bang, not with a fight. Just a quiet understanding that, for the first time in years, it was time to stop holding on.

______

Remember the “No Merry Christmas” part? Well, that was their first slip up. 

At first, no one questioned it. 

When they said their goodbyes, when she packed up the last of her things, when they let go without a fight – no one questioned it. Not their friends. Not their families. Not the people who had known them as a unit for years.

Because this was just how they were. Messy. Cyclical. A little dramatic but never final. Everyone assumed that, in a few weeks, they’d find their way back – like they always did.

Yet red flags were being waved when she showed up on your parents doorstep and asked them to let you crash at theirs for the time being. 

And when the world around you was lighting up, getting ready for the most wonderful time of the year, she was really feeling dead inside. That was when the questions started.

As she had to find a new job outside Monaco, she landed in the local hospital, in her parents' area. Her new coworkers, who knew her family, would try the small talk, asking how he was doing as the season went to the end. Sometimes even her patients would recognize her and ask her about F1 and her used-to-be boyfriend. A friend, who you haven’t talked to for weeks, would bring an article and ask for you to comment on it. It was even from her own aunt – the one she only ever saw at Christmas– who asked, completely oblivious, “What size are Lando’s feet again? I want to knit him those socks I promised last year.”

And just like that, he was everywhere. Like an echo of a life she wasn’t living anymore. Like a mistake she wasn’t sure she had actually made.

Because wasn’t that what everyone kept implying? That they had been stupid for doing this? That this break – this “proper” break, this one-year promise – was just a long, drawn-out way of making them both miserable?

And if so—was Lando feeling it, too?

Was he being ambushed with casual mentions of her in conversations that had nothing to do with her? Did he hear her name in places he wasn’t expecting it? Did it catch him off guard, did it sting, did it make him wonder if they had just ruined something they were always meant to fix?

She stopped herself from wondering. After all, she could dwell in these thoughts forever and never move forward. She knew she had to. This break was not only about figuring them out. It was also about figuring who you are outside the relationship you grew up in. 

So for now, she did the thing she knew the best – threw herself into work. That’s why when Christmas Eve rolled around, she had her life line to escape hushed voices and petty looks, asking about her life. Also, Norris' family would always eventually roll around for a quick cup of tea – it was a tradition started by their parents even before the both of them were around so she for sure believed that them being on break would not stop their parents from interacting. Never did on any other break. 

She did what she always did when the walls started closing in. She grabbed her coat, threw a scarf over her scrubs, and braced herself for the short, freezing walk to her car. A twelve-hour shift awaited her, filled with last-minute holiday accidents and bad luck, and she was oddly grateful for it. A perfect excuse to be anywhere but here.

She said her goodbyes, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and stepped outside.

And nearly crashed straight into Adam Norris. Her hand shot out to steady herself, boots skidding slightly against the icy porch. “Oh – I’m so sorry,” she blurted, barely catching her breath before –

Her stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t just Adam. It was all of them.

His entire family stood there, wrapped in warm coats and holiday cheer. And Lando – of course, Lando – was in the middle of it all, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze locked onto her like he hadn’t been expecting this either.

She barely let her eyes flick to his before looking away, heart hammering.

“You’re always in such a rush, aren’t you?” Cisca asked, her voice as warm as ever.

“Yes, I’m working tonight, unfortunately,” she added, making them hear what she wanted rather than expressing her feelings. 

“Oh, your mother told me about the shifts you’re taking and they still make you work during the day like this? That’s so sad,” she said, empathetically. His mother was always the angel and they had a great connection before this break. 

She gave a light shrug, desperate to keep the conversation surface-level. “What can I say? Gotta work if I ever want to give my parents a break.”

It was the lie she’d been telling everyone. That she was saving for a down payment. That the extra shifts were a means to an end. A practical excuse for why she spent more time at the hospital than at home, drowning herself in work instead of drowning in the what-ifs of a relationship that no longer existed.

But it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel Lando’s eyes on her. Not when it took every ounce of strength to keep her own from slipping back to his.

“Well,” Cisca sighed, stepping aside to give her space to pass. “Stay safe, darling.”

She hesitated. A half-second, barely noticeable. And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

“Merry Christmas, fam.”

The moment she said it, she regretted it. The slip. The weakness. The betrayal of her own rules.

And then there was Lando.

For the first time since she stepped outside, she met his gaze. A brief, fleeting glance. A quiet acknowledgment of everything that still lingered between them.

She barely made a sound when she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

Then, before she could give herself time to second-guess it, she turned on her heel and walked away, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew if she did – if she heard his voice, his words – her carefully built defenses would crumble.

But as she made it to her car, something soft, something broken, floated through the cold December air.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

And somehow this moment stung Lando more than anything else ever had.

______

Spring was warming up the air, shaking winter from the trees and stretching daylight just a little longer each evening. She had always hated this time of year – hated the way it pressed against her chest, thick with stress and expectations. First, it was the exams, the all-nighters, the anxious flipping of textbooks. Then, later, it became Lando’s schedule. The season kicking off, his world spinning faster while she tried to hold onto the edges.

This year, though, spring was something different. Unusually dull. Unnaturally calm. But it was for her to figure out if it was the kind of calm that comes before or after the storm.

By all accounts, she was doing well. She was thriving at work, getting used to the rhythm of long shifts and fast decisions. She had found herself a new apartment – small, but cozy, a space that was hers and hers alone. She even picked up jogging and pilates, things she used to roll her eyes at but now clung to as some kind of personal victory.

Some days were perfect. She would wake up, stretch in the morning light, sip her coffee in silence, and almost – almost – forget why her life looked the way it did now.

Emphasis on ‘almost.’

Because when you spend six years wrapped around someone else’s life, untangling yourself doesn’t happen overnight. Their friend groups overlapped too much, their histories bled into too many places, and avoiding him completely was impossible.

They had been careful, though. Calculated. She planned around GP weekends, making sure to show up to gatherings when he was halfway across the world, and skipping the ones when she knew he’d be visiting the home town. It worked. Until, inevitably, it didn’t.

That night, she hadn’t planned to see him. It was supposed to be a quiet evening. Just a handful of friends, drinks, some music humming in the background. Nothing major. Nothing painful. But then, sometime between her second glass of wine and the last lazy notes of an old song drifting through the air, she felt it.

That awareness. The way her skin prickled before she even turned her head. He was there.

Just across the room, laughing at something, his head thrown back, the sound of it familiar enough to sink straight into her bones. He looked... good. Relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. And for a second she let herself wonder if she looked that way too. If he saw her and thought, ‘She’s okay. She’s moved on. She doesn’t miss me the way I miss her’.

It was unbearable. The way it made her stomach twist, the way it pulled something raw inside of her. It wasn’t just the sight of him, it wasn't just the proof that he still existed outside of her world – it was the realization that she still felt it. That she still felt everything.

So she left. Quietly. Without goodbyes. Without looking back.

By the time she got home, she was already peeling off her jacket, kicking off her shoes, slipping beneath the covers in the dark. Sleep would fix it. Sleep would dull the sharp edges, smooth over the crack in her chest.

Morning light bled through the thin curtains, painting soft streaks across the room. She stretched, rubbing at her puffy eyes, the lingering ache of last night still pressing heavy against her ribs.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he got to be fine. That he got to laugh and exist so easily in a world without her while she sat here, caught in the ghost of something that refused to fade.

Yet there was a surprise waiting for her when she picked up the phone.

A missed call at 3:48 am. And a voice note from him on her Instagram DMs followed.

Then, for just a second, something fluttered in her chest. A spark of something she didn’t want to name. Because maybe he had seen her last night. Maybe he had felt it too.

But reality was quick to sink its claws in, dragging her back down. No. This wasn’t that. This was probably drunk Lando. This was ‘bad decisions wrapped in nostalgia and gin’ Lando.

She should ignore it. But her thumb was already moving before her brain could stop her.

Click. Play.

“Heeeeeeeyyyy pretty girl.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

He was drunk. The kind of drunk where words ran together, loose and careless.

“I’m so sorry for the call, I realized that you are probably working or worse – asleep – and just canceled it. Like I know that you would stab anyone who would dare to wake you up if it’s not important, and since I guess I no longer am, I—”

A hiccup. A pause.

Her stomach twisted. She should stop listening. But she didn’t.

“I just don’t know… Whenever I see you, you seem so fine, so moved on… And then there’s me, stuck between fake and being down. And you know what I do when I feel down? I go to the bar, the club. You name it. I scan a crowd looking for you. I never find you, because duh, why should I? You only went to these places for me.”

Her chest tightened. She had hated clubs with all her heart. The noise, the people, the way she never really fit into that world. She only went because he loved it. Because Lando loved the music, the energy, the thrill of it. And yet… after all this time, he was still looking for her in places she never truly belonged.

“So, I get the random girl and imagine it is you. I imagine you still care, laugh at my pick-up lines, take me home with you. I even moaned your name one time and the lady was pissed off, I got smacked, lol. Could you imagine…”

A sharp exhale left her lips.

God, he was an idiot. Saying things he had no business saying. Telling her things she shouldn’t know. She wanted to be mad. To roll her eyes, to call him out for being reckless, for dragging her back into the mess they were supposed to be untangling.

But she wasn’t mad. She was something else entirely. Because there, tangled between the words and the drunken confessions, was something she wasn’t ready to face. Regret. And worse – feelings that she thought was lost during all this. The kind that made the edges of her world blur for a moment, tilting just enough to make her wonder…

What if?

And then – 

“I should have fought for you, you know? When you asked for this break. I was an idiot for letting you walk out the door so easily. Screw the ‘let’s see where we land’ thing. I already know where I’m landing. Now the ball is in your corner or whatever. So yeah, good chat. See you around.”

Silence.

Her heart was pounding.

She stared at the screen, her mind racing.

This wasn’t just some drunk butt dial. This wasn’t some half-hearted message he would brush off in the morning.

This was a line drawn in the sand. This was him saying, ‘I know what I want. Do you?’

She swallowed, her hands shaking as she locked her phone and pressed it to her chest.

She needed to breathe. She needed to think.

But later that day, when she opened the chat to replay the message and dissect every word it was gone.

Not even a trace of it ever existing.

And just like that, she was left with nothing but the weight of what could have been.

__________

She didn’t want to be here.

That much had been clear from the second she stepped onto Silverstone’s pavement, a familiar hum in the air, the smell of petrol and rubber hitting her in a way that made her stomach twist.

It wasn’t just the track – it was everything it represented. The years spent here, the routines, the nerves. The way she used to pace behind the pit wall, hands shoved into the pockets of a McLaren hoodie that wasn’t even hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she watched Lando push the car to its limits.

It was muscle memory to be here, and yet, it had never felt more foreign.

She had almost backed out, too, with the kind of last-minute excuse that wouldn’t fool her mother but might have been enough to let her go on with her weekend and avoid the inevitable. But the tickets had been a Christmas gift – from the Norris family, as per usual – and her parents had been so excited.

“It’s been too long since we all did something like this together. You used to go with him all the time while we were watching from the sidelines. Now we can switch places, you will be fine” her dad had said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Fun. Right.

So she had caved. And when it was time to leave for Sunday GP, she still wanted to blend in the crowd. She knew there would be plenty of McLaren fans, so if you can’t beat them – join them. She took out a random t-shirt that was probably used way too many times. It was only after pulling it over her head that she realized which one it was.

His.

One he had left in her drawer ages ago, one she had slept in more nights than she could count.

It smelled like fabric softener instead of him now. That should have been a relief. It wasn’t. For a split second, she had almost taken it off. Almost buried it back in the drawer like it was some kind of cursed relic. But then she exhaled. It’s just a shirt. No one will even notice.

And at first she was perfectly flying over the radar. Her parents visited the paddock, while she stayed behind, blending in the crowds. She had perfected the art of blending in – cheering when appropriate, clapping at the right moments, never once letting her gaze wander too long in the direction of the papaya garage. And it was working wonders. 

But then she ran into Emma. The fellow paramedic, who she had known both from the medical, and sports field, as she was a couple years older and worked with Papaya for a few years. One second, she was keeping her head down, avoiding anything orange, and the next, she was being pulled into McLaren hospitality because “It’s dead quiet before the race, and you have a paddock pass, so why not?”

She should have said no. Instead, she sat with Emma, catching up over bad coffee, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of exactly where she was. Yet every time footsteps neared, her body tensed, anticipation coiling in her stomach like a reflex she hadn’t quite unlearned. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see him – it had happened before, and they had managed to be civil, distant in a way that felt almost rehearsed. But being here, surrounded by everything that made Lando Lando, made her feel too exposed.

Don’t get it wrong – she would always be a fan. Even if life took them further apart, even if one day they became nothing more than a distant memory, she would still admire him. The raw talent, the skill, the way he could take a car and make it his – that would never change. 

But it had been eight months, and for the first time, she was starting to find a rhythm outside of them. A clarity she hadn’t thought possible. And yet. Eight months, and still, his drunken voice note rattled in her head like an echo trapped between her ribs. Eight months, and the thought of seeing him in his element – seeing him – made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t quite decipher. Would it set her back? Or would it confirm that she was finally past it?

Five minutes into chatting, laughing like she wasn’t standing in the center of everything she had left behind, Oscar Piastri appeared, cradling his arm like it was more of an annoyance than an injury. It was impossible for her not to know or like Oscar – they would always lightly catch up and laugh whenever she visited a paddock. And she sure as hell knew that he was aware what was the reason behind her being absent recently. 

“Hey, do me a favor,” he said, surprised to see her in the paddock, but not making a big deal out of it. “Tell me I’m being dramatic.”

She raised a brow. “You’re being dramatic.”

Oscar grinned. “That’s what I needed.”

They fell into easy conversation – nothing deep, just lighthearted jabs about how McLaren clearly needed her back on call, and how she had ditched them for something far less entertaining.

And then, as she was mid-sentence, Oscar’s eyes flicked to her shirt.

Her stomach dropped. She glanced down, realizing how obvious it was now, when she dropped her jacket off. The faded Lando Norris on the back. The small details only a real fan – or someone owning a similar t-shirt – would notice, proved this shirt wasn’t just merch, but his.

“That is not just any McLaren shirt.”

Her face went hot. “Oscar –”

“You’re both so full of shit,” he cut in, laughing.

Before she could protest, before she could even think, he was pulling out his phone.

“Oscar,” she warned.

“Relax,” he said, snapping the picture. “I’ll make it tasteful.”

So when later that day, after the GP was done and gone, her phone buzzed, she wasn’t surprised to see that Oscar had tagged her in a story, meant for a close friend's circle. At least he had decency not to post it publicly, sparing her from the speculation of people online.

A casual shot – Oscar grinning, arm still wrapped in tape, her beside him, mid-laugh. The caption?

“I’m here catching up with a friend, being all nice and all, and she’s still in his corner.”

She rolled her eyes and locked her phone, pretending she saw nothing. Lando rarely if ever checked other driver’s stories, so she thought that maybe she was safe. 

What she didn’t know, that Lando was also tagged in it. 

It was late by the time the high of his first home win finally started to wear off. It should have lasted longer. It should have been everything. And for a while, it was. The roar of the British crowd, the Union Jack wrapped around his shoulders, the feeling of standing on the top step at Silverstone – his Silverstone. It was a dream he’d had since he was a kid, a moment that was meant to feel like an ending and a beginning all at once.

But the thing about dreams is that you never picture them alone. And she wasn’t there. Not where she should have been, anyway.

He’d looked for her. Not consciously, not obviously, but when he turned toward the grandstands where his family sat – where she used to sit – his eyes found nothing but an empty space. And it was stupid to expect anything different. They weren’t that anymore. They weren’t anything, really.

But for the first time since she walked out, he let himself admit it. It still felt wrong doing this without her.

Later, exhausted but unwilling to sleep, he opened his phone, torn between drowning in nostalgia or holding onto the adrenaline of the win. He chose the latter. Scrolled through the tags, looking for a story to share. When he saw the notification from Oscar, he barely thought twice. Probably some congratulatory post, maybe something teasing him for taking so long to win here.

But when he clicked it, the world narrowed to a pinpoint.

Because there she was.

Not in the stands. Not in his family's section. But she had been there. And she was wearing his shirt. An old one, something he barely even remembered giving her, but she still had it. Still wore it.

His stomach tightened. She hadn’t wanted to see him. Hadn’t let him see her. But maybe he wasn’t the only one still looking for pieces of the past.

And maybe she wasn’t quite ready to let them go either.

______

There were still three days left until their one-year mark. Not that she was counting. 

362 days had passed. 362 days of learning how to be her own person again. And, honestly? She wasn’t half bad at it. 

She had figured out how to be alone without feeling lonely. She’d chased things she never made time for before, threw herself into work, into new routines, into a version of herself that wasn’t just an extension of him. And she liked who she was becoming – someone stronger, more driven, more sure of herself.

But did she still feel a pit in her stomach every time she thought about the fact that he wasn’t there to see it? Absolutely.

And maybe that was why she had convinced herself she just had to make it to a year. A clean number. One final milestone to tell her that they had really done it – walked away, stayed away and allowed them both to breath.

But then came the invitation. Max, persistently begging her to come. It’s his birthday, he’d want you there. And also, it was hard to lie to herself that three days would make her change her mind. 

Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the chaos, clutching a drink she didn’t want, in a room that felt too damn small. The music was loud, the air thick with laughter and voices overlapping in that familiar, comfortable way. She had spent years in rooms like this, at parties just like this, orbiting the same people, the same circles. But tonight, she felt like a stranger.

And then she saw him. Across the room, back turned, laughing at something Max had said. Easy. Effortless. Like nothing had changed.

The last time she saw him, Lando was leaving Silverstone with his name echoing through the crowd. A winner. A hero. And she had watched from the screen of her phone, watching him have everything he ever wanted. 

That realization made her stop in her tracks.

Because here he was, months later, standing in the center of a world that kept spinning without her. With only three GPs left, he was still a contender for the whole damn championship. He had managed to dodge all major drama, kept his head down, thrived. And now, surrounded by friends, by people who cared for him, cherished him, celebrated him – he looked free.

Happy.

And just like that, the thought hit her like a punch to the ribs. Maybe this should be it. Maybe this night should be her closure. Because if this past year had proven anything, it was that he didn’t need her. And as much as it twisted something deep inside her, maybe she was okay with that.

Maybe she could give up the what if in exchange for the freedom she had convinced herself he deserved. Even if her heart didn’t waver. Even if she was still his in ways she wished she wasn’t.

She turned on her heel, ready to leave this place. She knew that he was aware that she was here. So the checkmark ticked for their friends – she was here, she had cheered for him. Now it was time to leave all this behind them. Just as she was about to put the empty glass on the table by the door, she heard a familiar voice:

“Leaving so soon?”

His voice cut through the noise like a blade. She could barely hear it, but somehow, it still sent a shiver down her spine.

She didn’t turn back, not right away. She let out a breath, eyes shutting for half a second, before finally facing him.

“I was just –” She cleared her throat, finding it suddenly dry. “I was just stepping out.”

Something flickered in his eyes. He didn’t call her bullshit. Didn’t need to. Instead, he simply gestured toward the door.

“Me too.”

As they stepped outside, the air outside was crisp, a quiet relief from the overwhelming heat of the party. She crossed her arms over her chest, less for warmth, more for something to do. Lando stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he exhaled, long and slow.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then–

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

She let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “I wasn’t going to.”

His lips twitched. “Max?”

“Max.”

Silence again. But this one wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t unfamiliar. It was them. The kind of quiet that only came after knowing someone for years. The kind that held more weight than words.

Lando rocked back on his heels. “You didn’t have to come.”

She let out a breath, steadying herself. “I know.”

“Then why did you?”

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering toward the door, toward the party she could easily slip back into. Away from this. But she didn’t move.

Instead, she sighed, voice softer now. “Because it’s your birthday.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, looking away for a moment. “I thought maybe you were done.”

“I thought so too,” she admitted. “I was trying to be.”

His gaze snapped back to her, something sharp behind his eyes. “Trying?”

Her stomach twisted. This was exactly what she had been afraid of – this conversation, the one she wasn’t sure she was ready to have. The one where she had to admit that all the time, all the space, all the growing hadn’t undone a damn thing.

“I didn’t want us to slip back,” she confessed. “Back into something that wasn’t healthy. Back into us, but wrong.”

Lando nodded, slow. “And do you think we would?”

She looked at him. At the way he was standing now, steadier, stronger, more him. At the way his face, older in ways that had nothing to do with time, still softened at the sight of her. At the way she still felt it. That pull. That certainty.

She swallowed hard. “No.”

He stepped forward. Not much. Just enough. And this time, he was the one to break the silence.

“You know what I realized?” His voice was quiet, careful. “That I could have the best day of my life, and it still wouldn’t be quite right.”

She stiffened.

“Because it’s not about someone seeing it,” he continued. “It’s about someone being there. It’s about looking over and knowing –” he broke off, shaking his head, then tried again. “I didn’t need you to see me win at Silverstone. Hell I didn't need you to witness any of this. I just –” his voice dropped even lower – “needed you. And then I saw you in that damn picture with my t-shirt on. It took everything in me not to drive to Bristol, looking for you.”

Her throat tightened. “Lando.”

“I know we did the right thing,” he said, brushing it off. “I know we needed time. I know we needed to fix things.” A pause. Then he looked dead into her eyes. “But tell me. Right now. That if we part ways now that you will be the happiest version of yourself.”

Now, she was standing in front of the person who had been both her greatest love and her hardest lesson. Now, she was staring at him, the weight of their history pressing in from all sides, and she still couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t look for him in every crowd. Now, she was tired of pretending.

“I don’t regret what we did,” she whispered. Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t pull back. “I think we needed it,” she admitted. “I think we needed the space. The time. I think we needed to figure out who we were without each other.”

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “And I did. I figured it out.”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. “And?”

She hesitated, because saying it out loud made it real. Made it true. But after all the turmoil she owed him that much.

“I had good days,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Really good days. Days where I laughed so hard my ribs ached. Where I felt strong. Where I was proud of who I was becoming.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. She inhaled sharply. 

“And then there were the other days. The ones where something amazingly good or amazingly bad happened, something I wanted to share, but I’d reach for my phone and realize – ” Her voice cracked. “Realize you weren’t there.”

Lando shut his eyes for a second, like he needed a moment to steady himself. “Yeah.”

Her chest tightened. “And you?”

His lips parted, but for the first time all night, words didn’t come so easily. So he exhaled, rubbed a hand over his jaw, and met her gaze with the kind of raw honesty that left no room for doubt.

“I had the best day of my life, and it still felt wrong because you weren’t there to see it.”

She blinked, chest tightening, but he wasn’t done.

“I had the worst day of my life too. And every instinct told me to go to you. And I couldn’t.”

Her throat burned.

“I used to think what we had was everything,” he murmured. “And then we broke apart, and I thought – maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were just young and caught up in something that was never meant to last.”

She held her breath.

“But then I lived without you. I learned how to be on my own. I grew. And I still came to the same conclusion.”

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he was holding himself back.

“You are the only thing in my life that I’ve ever been sure of.”

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she forced a watery laugh. “That’s funny,” she whispered. “Because I was just about to say the same thing.”

Lando’s shoulders fell, something breaking apart and putting itself back together all at once. And then he stepped forward. And so did she.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t about picking up where they left off.

It was about choosing each other again. And they landed exactly where they needed to.

[mylittlecrow]

i will never shut up about jon promising to protect sansa in 6x09 and then the parallel of lyanna begging ned to promise to protect jon IN THE NEXT EPISODE. something something “if the day should ever come when your lord father was forced to chose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other what would he do?” and we KNOW ned picked love. ned loved his sister so much he lied to his king and bff to protect jon. ned loved his daughter so much he sacrificed his honor and duty to the realm and lied to protect sansa.

the writers intentionally put sansa at the center of jon and dany’s conflict. sansa’s not in king’s landing during the battle in 8x05 or 8x06 but she still haunts the narrative, her name is brought up by FOUR different characters. jon was ready to die if dany saw him as a threat to the throne. “i'm tired of fighting it’s all i've done since i left home.” and the only way to get through to him and to get him to fight again and to kill dany is to mention sansa and how she’ll never be safe with dany around. “if we don’t take back the north we’ll never be safe i want you to help me but i'll do it myself if i have to.”

and sansa is so used to being alone. she spent months waiting for robb to rescue her from king's landing, and it never happened. robb chose the north, his duty, over her. and she's beaten for the north's independence and then sold to two different families who stole the north from her. and then she finally finds help in theon and brienne and podrick but she doesn't feel completely safe again until she's in jon's arms. but even then she's still ready for more disappointment, to be separated from her family again because “life is not a song” and “there are no heroes.” but jon isn’t robb. “jon isn’t tormund. jon isn’t davos, or the red woman, or stannis for that matter. jon is jon.”

“where will you go? where will we go. i won’t ever let him touch you again. we need to trust each other. until i return the north is yours. touch my sister and i’ll kill you myself. what you did for her is the only reason i’m not killing you. i’m her family too. what about everyone else? what about the other people who think they know what’s good? i’ll protect you, i promise. no one can protect me, no one can protect anyone.” but jon proves her wrong, he can protect her. he will keep her safe. because when his day comes and he has to chose between love and duty, he chooses her. there still are heroes in her story and their story isn't over yet.

[brachiochannie]

lip gloss (sohn youngjae x male reader)

wherein eric tastes someone's lip gloss… and gets his lips glossed sub bottom eric sohn, dom top male reader, smut, unprotected sex, facial, public sex (they do it in an alley), set in lip gloss era, fucking with a stranger  1,314 words

eric doesn't hear his members calling for him. the director of their lip gloss music video who was fuming throughout the shoot is now calling out his name with a concerned voice. where could he possibly be at almost an hour past midnight? well, he's too blissed out and overstimulated to care about his surroundings. not with how you deliciously drill his cock in this damn alley where anyone could see you both in your nakedness. how did he end up here anyway? getting fucked and bred by someone he doesn't even know? 

it started with the stares. eric catches you staring at him from the side as their group films the choreography of their latest song. he doesn't notice at first but he stares at you back a little bit too much that he makes mistakes in the choreography. a bit too early or a second late, and even missing his damn line he practiced countless of times even when they were in korea. how dare you be a beautiful distraction to his performance? eric throbs inside his briefs because how could you be so tall and tan, muscles and veins bulging in all the right areas. his sharp eyes meet your flirty, mischievous ones. damn, did you just wink at him? fuck, and that damn smile. how did he become so weak. and fuck, his eyes don't lie. that fucking bulge. shit, you were packing down there. a wet dream come true! one's this fucking shoots gets over with, he swears to approach you and get your number and offer to suck your dicㅡ

“cut!”

eric jumps up. shit. has he missed his cue again?  is this his third take already? fourth? fifth? he gulps, knees shaking in dread. he has never seen the director this fuming. 

“enough! we’ll just do this again tomorrow!” he screams in frustration, angry eyes never leaving eric. head bowed down in shame, eric stands in place while trying to ignore the whispers about his performance during the shoot. he sighs. how dare you be so illegally dashing that it distracts him? the type of face and body that he'd never stop ogling at. actually, he likes to see you again. he raises his head and sees you staring back at him. that fucking smirk. god, he wanted to slap that smirk out of your face. eric is annoyed about how satisfied you may feel after what your effortlessly dashing looks caused. he gets flustered as you gesture him to follow you before you slowly disappear into the dark alley. 

he feels his heart beat faster than usual. eric looks around and finds everyone already gone. maybe they're on their way to their hotel to spend the night. his cock throbs once again in his briefs. shit. is this what he thinks it is? he'd find it useful considering the number of times he was screamed at recently. eric conjures different positions of him taking your cock that he doesn't notice himself walking in the dark alley. there's barely any light except for the faint orange glow of the lone street lamp illuminating the area. 

he finds you leaning back against the wall. that fucking subtle smirk still doesn't leave your face it infuriates eric. you just stare at him sensually, taking in his anxious yet excited form. his nipples stand erect while his shorts barely hide the outline of his raging boner. eric stands right in front of you, your breaths meeting each other's lips. unable to stand it any longer, eric pulls you down by the neck and clashes his lips into yours. your hands immediately traveled to his waist and his butt cheeks, which you roughly squeezed. eric moans into the kiss as your fingers found its way inside his warm hole to prod his prostate. his eyes rolled back enjoying the stretch brought by your digits. his hands pull you closer to him before he grinds his clothed crotch against yours. his lips moved hungrily almost like he's been deprived of kisses. 

“fuck!” he whimpers as soon as you pull away and press his face against the wall. eric, in his poor attempt to keep quiet, clamps his lips shut. he can't make noise. not in what seems to be a neighborhood of sleeping people in this late hour. plus, he's just a foreigner allowed by the locals to film his group's music video so wouldn't being noisy, let alone being fucked in their public space be unethical? the demon in his head chuckles darkly, telling him to give in and have his ass fucked until it's full of cum. 

eric fails to keep silent as he let out a loud gasp upon the intrusion of your thick cock in his hole. “shit!” he cries out loud, before shutting his lips with his palm. although he has prepped his hole earlier in the hotel room, it wasn't enough to accommodate your girth that it hurts. but it hurts so good that he greedily moves his ass back to get all of your cock stuffed inside him. you chuckle, yanking him backwards by the hair and stuffing his mouth with your fingers before drilling him with your cock. 

eric's knees buckle from having his prostate abused at such a beastly speed. he swears he'd fall to the ground if not for you holding him up by his hair. you pummel your cock deeper, not giving him time to breathe. he manages to pull your hand away from his mouth before crying out in arousal. “shit! more!” was he loud? did anyone hear him? will anyone get out of their house and find him getting pounded into a slutty mess by a stranger? maybe. does he care enough? no, as seen by how greedy his hole tightens around you and by how desperate he moves his hips back as you thrust into him, as well as how he carnally moans whenever his stomach bulges. 

fuck. eric's back arches naturally, making the bulges more prominent in his stomach. his tears stain his face as his poor prostate gets stabbed hard again and again. his dick leaks more generously from the way your breath hits his back and how you play and twists his nipples, not to mention how he's being fucked deliciously by a stranger in this dark alley. finally, something ticked off his list of sexual fantasies. 

“fuck! yes!" eric moans like a slut as he orgasms like a faucet, squirting messily all over the place. he whimpers, his weak legs shaking as your thrusts don't stop; they get harder and deeper that he cums not long after. his mind goes hazy, getting too cockdrunk to care whether he gets caught. 

“fuck,” you moan as your thrusts lose rhythm, with your cock throbbing harder than usual. you pull out from eric before manhandling him to kneel in front of you. “shit!” you curse as you fist your cock desperately. eric, like a slut, sticks his tongue out and looks at you with lidded eyes. he looks so fucked out with his hair a mess, his makeup ruined by his sweat, tears, and drool, as he plants small kisses on your leaking tip. 

“fuck!” you grunt as you finally orgasm. your cock shoots warm cum all over eric's face. eric moans as he feels the warm fluids spraying on him. you empty the remains of your orgasm, glazing his lips with your cum before giving a few thrusts inside his mouth. you collect yourselves, with you pulling out of his lips and eric wiping the cum on his face thanks to the tissues in the pocket of his shorts. you immediately tucked yourself in your shorts before helping eric get in his briefs and shorts. 

“hey, pretty.” you cup his face before leaving a peck on his lips. 

“see you around.” you wink before walking away. 

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

the last bit of us (chapter four)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Estranged Wife OC (Harding Daughter)

Word Count: 1.3k (little shorter today)

Playlist Song: texas by jesse murph ft. marren morris

Guest appearance this chapter from a certain person :)

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight

Tyler stays in the truck while I pop inside the small town pharmacy to get my dad’s medication. Jeffry, the pharmacist, smiles sadly at me while passing over the paper bag. He slips a chocolate bar inside with a wink before passing me the receipt. I’m grateful. My stomach feels hollow and grumbling as I realize how long it’s been since I last ate something.

When I get back into the truck, Tyler is on the phone. His voice is low, rumbling and his face is turned away under the light of the street lamps. “Nothing? At all?” he asks without looking at me.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mom. Doctors want to keep him one more night, we’ll be home tomorrow. Go get some sleep xx

“Well, there must be something. How many people are really staying there? Honestly,” Tyler huffs. “…Hold on.”

I look back up at him, raising a brow. We shake a look and I pull my seatbelt on. “What?” I bite.

He licks his bottom lip and pulls his phone away from his cheek. His eyes are soft. I hate him. “Boone said that they can’t find anywhere to stay for the night.”

“There’s two Hiltons in town,” I reply, shrugging.

“They’re too expensive for three rooms,” he says. I look away, out the window at the McDonalds across the street. I’m starving.

“If you are trying to ask something, can you just spit it out?” I ask. When I turn back to him, he’s holding his breath. “What?”

“I’d like them to stay at the house.”

“What house?” I lean back, tilting my head at the question.

“Our house,” he says, his tone confused.

“Our. House.” He can’t be serious. And yet as time passes, the amusement seems to seep out of the truck. “You mean my house.”

“Eleanor, I don’t want to do this with you. Please.”

I stare at him for a long time, wondering what I truly did to be stuck in this never ending nightmare. I want to make him suffer, hurt. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, get out of my truck and leave me alone. But then I think of Boone and Dexter. Of Lily and Dani. That they don’t deserve the wrath of my good for nothing husband. Exhaustion floods my system, taking the wind out of my sails.

So I find myself wiping my face and nodding. My voice is soft as I say “Fine. Can you just drive back?” I can feel his gaze on me, even after looking away.

“Eleanor, we’re here,” I feel hands gently shake me. I hum, blinking. Tyler’s staring down at me, blue eyes vibrant under the cab lights of the truck. “You fell asleep but we’re back at the farmhouse. I…I would’ve carried you inside but I can’t get inside.”

I sit up and take in the familiarity of the barn. “That would be because I changed the locks,” I unbuckle and nudge him, sliding out of the truck as he steps back.

“Well, I gathered that,” he crosses his arms. He holds out my car keys, the dozen different shaped and sized jingle at the movement. I can see the RV in the distance, the wranglers leaning against the siding in the dark of the evening. They all start to move at the sight of me like a pack of wolves ready for the hunt. Boone catches up, in step with me as I climb the steps to the rickety porch.

“Thank you,” he whispers, kissing my cheek as I slide my key into the lock.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say.

“Seriously. I know how hard this is for you. Letting him back in,” Boone says as other footsteps join us. I ignore the comment, toeing off my boots and flicking on the light above the kitchen sink. “There’s a guest room down the hall and Lily and Dani can stay upstairs in the loft. The rest of you can use the blankets in the living room.”

Tyler says, stepping over the threshold with his duffle bag in hand. He looks around the familiar space, probably noting the empty spaces where our photos had once been. It had seemed more empty over the last year and a half. I’d spent only a few hours shuffling the wedding photos, the knick knacks, the quilt from his grandmother out into the barn along with all of his extra purchases and furniture.

I roll my eyes and head over to the fridge, pulling out a beer. I stare at the empty shelves, my stomach growling again. The choice of an old yogurt or a container of romaine stares back at me. Fuck, I knew I should’ve gotten my groceries yesterday. This whole day has gone to shit.

“Uh, El?”

I close my eyes. “Yes Boone.”

“There’s…some guy out on the porch?”

“Huh?” I turn to look at him, then to the living room. I step around him and peer out the window to see the black Carhart, the baseball cap. I swing the porch door open and cross my arms. “Rhett, hi.”

The man turns around to look at me, eyes shaded by the brim of his hat under the flickering light. He wipes his hands on his jeans, a soft expression falling on his face. “Hey El, was on my way back from a competition and saw your lights were on. I wanted to come make sure you were okay.”

“You came all the way out here?” I wrap my arms around myself, the cool Summer air giving me goosebumps.

“Course,” he nods, stepping a little closer to touch my shoulder. “Are you?”

“Not-,” I don’t get to finish my sentence, hearing the squeak of the coil on the doorframe.

“Well, Rhett Abbott, what a surprise,” Tyler’s voice is loud and boasting. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Rhett glances behind me, looking a little shocked. His recovers quickly though, looking down at me. I turn, hands on my hips. “Tyler. Didn’t realize you remembered where home was.”

“You been making house calls? Get lost on your way back from the rodeo?” Tyler puffs out his chest and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I say.

“Bold thing to say when you left your wi-,” Rhett starts, fists clenched tightly as he steps closer.

“Enough,” I call, stepping between the two. I look at Rhett, palm sliding over his chest and pushing back slightly. “Rhett, thank you for coming to check on me. I will call you in the morning, okay?”

He doesn’t move for a moment, eyes narrowing at Tyler. I press harder on his chest and he finally steps back, eyes finding me. He nods and turns, heading back down the steps. I watch until the headlights of his truck turn on and he’s backing down the dirt driveway.

“What the hell was that?” Tyler says.

“You’re overstepping before you’ve even gotten a welcome,” I tell him, poking his chest harshly. “What? Your newfound life going so well that you feel the need to come back and ruin mine again in the process?”

“I’m looking out for you, he’s not a good guy El,” he says.

“That’s good, that’s funny coming from you,” I shoving him, catching him off guard. “Coming from the man who walked out on his wife in the middle of an argument and disappeared for a year and a half. Changed his number, took his truck and his friends. Popped up with that big, pearly white grin on YouTube like some kind of hero. Do your fans know what kind of a man you are? You don’t get to come back here and start to lecture me on who I spend my time with. You don’t get to come back here at all,” I slam into his shoulder as I walk back inside.

I stomp passed his friends, past his little girlfriend and up to my bedroom. I slam the door shut, locking it before the tears can really start. Tears stain my face as I pull my hair up, wash my face and change into my comfy clothes. I crawl into bed, knowing first thing in the morning to finally pull the divorce papers from my junk drawer.

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[hallelujahmeatgod]

The Favorite - Testing the Waters with Fushiguro-san~

Word Count: 1.6k Genre: Humor, Slice of Life, Workplace Shenanigans Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader Content Notes: mild language, workplace banter, headlock tomfoolery, Toji being both intimidating and accidentally funny Summary: What started as a simple greeting turned into the company’s new inside joke. Somehow, calling Toji “Fushiguro-san” unlocked a whole chain of chaotic events, from sing-song teasing to Shiu nearly passing out in a headlock.  Previous chapters: here & here ENJOY!

A week. That’s all it took for you to slip back into the grind.

After catching up with siblings, friends, and the rest of the clan, you realized something unsettling: life without work felt… violating. You live for the thrill of it. Of being surrounded by business tycoon know-it-alls, and the sweet satisfaction of wiping the smug looks off their faces. No amount of riches could compare.

So while your family begged you to take it easy—your papa even went so far as to plead—you refused to sit around.

Now, your days are once again fueled by morning coffees to survive the relentless schedule, packed with meetings, endless socializing, and the occasional “friendly” bickering between uncles over who has the best business instincts (spoiler: they’re all convinced it’s them).

The thing is, most of the higher-ups aren’t just colleagues, they’re family. Which was one of your excuses when everyone tried to keep you from coming back too soon: We’ll see each other at work anyway. And it’s true. Anyone looking from the outside would think nepotism runs rampant here, but really, it’s loyalty. The kind that’s lasted decades.

You genuinely love the environment they’ve built. While you were away, you envied the way your siblings and cousins had each other daily, while you were often alone unless a rare business trip brought someone your way. Here, the office feels like home. And not just because of blood ties, some people’ve been with your family for years, loyal enough to be considered kin.

So unlike a soap opera, this place isn’t full of scheming vipers waiting to tear each other down. Most of them would rather take a bullet than let the family fall apart.

And everyone here is treated as an equal. You’ve never once heard your papa say people work for him or under him. It’s always with him. Even his wall of security is no different, which is kind of cute, honestly. Your father is no small man, but he practically disappears when he’s surrounded by his guardian angels, as you like to tease him.

Not that you’re complaining. Especially when one of those walls happens to be Fushiguro Toji.

Your papa’s literal shadow. His personal refrigerator of muscle. Double-door. Stainless steel. The deluxe model.

Since you’ve been back, you’ve seen it over and over again: Toji is always there. Walking half a step behind your father in the halls. Leaning against the wall during meetings. 

And you? You couldn’t be more entertained. Or thankful. Or fulfilled. 😊 

Because as much as you’re a social butterfly, meetings can get real fucking boring. Mostly because of boring-ass people with boring-ass ideas. So, having your own personal Greek god statue looming around at all times? That’s a win in your book.

God forbid you were just a girl who found a burly-ass man hawt. And yet, there you were, grimly watching the way Toji’s muscles flexed as he—okay, getting ahead of yourself now.

So, naturally, you decided it was time to test the waters.

From the moment you met him, not a single day has passed without the call of “Fushiguro-san~.”

The first time you said it, heads turned. Because really, what person in their right mind would call the Fushiguro Toji like that? Sure, you’re the CEO’s daughter, but that didn’t stop employees from quite literally dropping whatever they were doing to peer out of their cubicles like a pack of meerkats spotting a hyena. 😭

Lowkey, some of them started praying for you.

The second time you did it, very obviously teasing, Toji ignored you. By the third, the entire hallway was holding back laughter.

And from then on? Routine.

Morning, afternoon, late evening—it doesn’t matter. If Toji’s in range, his name is leaving your mouth.

You’ve perfected different versions of it: sweet and sing-song, whisper-soft, scandalously loud. Each one earns the same flat stare, the same stubborn silence.

The employees are too terrified to tease him directly, but the moment you pass by, they all echo your infamous line in whispers: “Fushiguro-san~.”

The sight of grown adults grinning like schoolkids while mocking your pet phrase is hilarious in itself.

It’s a company-wide inside joke now. A shared thrill. Because if you can get away with tormenting that man, then surely anything is possible.

You know for a fact it’s probably his least favorite part of the day since you entered the picture. The memory of his jaw clenching hard when you first called him that, in front of God knows how many employees, still makes you crack up.

Especially because on more than a few occasions (okay, a lot of occasions), you’ve caught employees imitating the way you say it. The horror in their eyes when they realized you’d overheard was straight out of a thriller.

But instead of ratting them out, you only chuckled… and gave them personal lessons on how to “properly summon Fushiguro-san~.”

Now, the new “good morning” in the company is “Fushiguro-san~.”

God, don’t even start on the day you were wandering around the building, looking for a certain department, minding your own business, when you passed one of the rooms and nearly tripped on the sight inside.

Shiu was in a literal headlock. By none other than muscle daddy Toji.

And yet… the guards weren’t panicking. They were howling with laughter. Even Shiu, though his face was turning an alarming shade of red, was slapping the nearest desk like he couldn’t get enough.

You had no idea what was happening, but since no one seemed particularly concerned (???), you stepped closer to the door. And without even meaning to, without even trying to be funny, your default slipped out:

“Fushiguro-san.” Not playful. Not sing-song. Calm. A little confused. Because, really, why the hell was he denying Shiu his God-given right to breathe air?

That caught everyone’s attention in the room, but none more than Toji’s.

For the first time, you hadn’t laced it with sugar or teasing. No coo, no dramatic drag of syllables. Just his name. Unsure. Almost hesitant.

And Toji? He froze. It was the first time he’d heard you call him like that. Like you weren’t testing him, weren’t toying with him, but maybe… pulling away.

A random thought punched through his skull: I hate it. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why, but he loathed the sound of it. The others, the obnoxious, cloying versions, those he’d grown to recognize as yours, irritating but unmistakably yours. But this? This sounded wrong.

It’s like time stopped. You and Toji fell into a staring contest, his eyes holding something you cannot decipher, not like you ever could anyway, but this time, there was just something different in it.

Thankfully, before you could melt, Shiu, still trapped in Toji’s chokehold, wheezed out a strangled: “Fushiguro-san—!”

Ahhhh. You see it now. So that’s what the headlock is for.

How Shiu managed to laugh when he couldn’t breathe was a mystery, but he laughed harder, joined by the other guards trying, and failing, to hold it in. Their shoulders shook like kids caught passing notes in class.

But for once, Toji gave you something back: “Ma’am.”

Just one word, low and gruff. But he’d never addressed you directly before. You were definitely writing this down in your diary, under the page titled: Figuring and Uncovering Fushiguro-san <3.

“I’d appreciate it if you let Mr. Kong have his privilege of breathing…” You said, fighting a smile. Poor Shiu, though.

“Oh.” Toji blinked, like he’d genuinely forgotten he had a grown man locked in his arms. He released him instantly. Dream scenario unlocked.

“Mr. Kong, are you alright?” you asked. Shiu was already chuckling, fussing with his suit.

“Oh, A-okay, ma’am! This is just how we show some loving.” He beamed like he hadn’t been on the verge of meeting God.

Toji, on the other hand, was looking away. Like, to the farthest corner of the room away. And—were the tips of his ears red?

You swallowed a laugh, cleared your throat, and nodded. “Yeah. Quite the tough love.” That only made Shiu and the others snicker more.

Then the radio on their belts crackled, calling for backup downstairs. Most of the guards filed out, leaving only Shiu and Toji behind—still stiff, still refusing to look at you.

“Fushiguro-san~” you sang, voice airy, teasing. His head snapped toward you in slow motion, like a criminal caught mid-heist.

There it is. Much better.… Wait, what? Why does it matter? Mmmhmm, Toji’s brain was absolutely malfunctioning. But it eased something in him, more than he cared to admit.

“So you’re a headlock guy, huh?” You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Kinda bold to flex in front of your boss. Wanna try that move on me instead? Fits the meme. We could even take a selfie—#HeadlockChallenge. I’ll tag you.”

The room erupted again. Shiu wheezed, doubling over. Toji… froze. His jaw flexed, shoulders locked, ears darkening until he looked ready to boil over. If you pushed one more button, the man might actually self-destruct.

Never in a million years did you imagine you could fluster a wall of a man like him. No matter the situation, he was always calm, collected—hell, the world could be in a zombie apocalypse and he’d probably stroll through like it was nothing.

So to see him undone, because of you? Ugh. Unlocked a whole new level of feral in you. Pray for him.

The radio squawked again, summoning him specifically.

“Oh, Papa needs you,” you said sweetly, already walking off. “Better not be blushing like that in front of other people, Fushiguro-san. You won’t be as intimidating then~”

Behind you, Shiu’s laughter echoed like gunfire.

Toji… just wanted to slam his head against the wall. Or better—into Shiu. Why the hell was it this warm? Summer wasn’t supposed to come this early. 

[nadezhdarein]

what if Nice is related to alien.....

Like this picture:

WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN ALIEN SPACESHIP??!!!!

WHYYY NICEEE??!!! 😭😭😭😭

I never expected Hero X to be related to aliens, but I definitely didn't expect my peacock to appear in the alien spaceship scene. Can I hope that my princess will appear in Johnnie's episode too? 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Because of this...

Let’s see the possible ways how Nice is related to Johnnie’s episode.

Why? Because Nice is condensed essence of every hero

First, Big Johnnie (maybe) is an alien himself. In the To Be Hero X universe, there’s no other monster or beast like Big Johnnie (well, Ahu is different—he was a dog and got his trust value from his owner).

Big Johnnie’s power doesn’t come from trust value (how could he attack Vortex aka Hero X at that time without anyone knowing about him, unlike how trust value normally works?).

His power—outside of the trust-fear value system—might be comparable to trust value… or maybe even higher than trust value itself.

With this, we can conclude that the alien source is important—it might even be able to nullify trust value itself, like we saw in the Loli episode.

If the alien source is that important… maybe Ah Sheng was killed because he hid Big Johnnie—especially since, in his last breath, he begged Ghostblade to spare his son, who befriended Big Johnnie.

However, the core concept of the Johnnie episode isn’t just about the alien source, but…

Mascot charms. Berserk. Bonds.

I think the mascot charm works similarly to Loli and Nice’s popularity. The charm shapes how Little Johnnie can communicate with Big Johnnie.

And most importantly, Little Johnnie can “control” Big Johnnie—or the alien itself.

If you literally want the alien source, of course you’d need Little Johnnie to study how to calm the alien.

But when I saw Big Johnnie go berserk...

I see something similiar...

Yeah..

My peacock 😭😭😭😭😭

Don't forget Li Haolin post: crush them!

When the Johnnie episode tells us about how you can control the alien through communication… Nice literally destroys the alien spaceship 👏👏👏👏

Likee… whyyyy?? 😭😭😭😭

If the alien source is so important that it led to Ah Sheng—the former Hero X—being killed, if the Glimmer Labs incident was serious enough that even the Spotlight had to steal the secret… then why is Nice destroying the alien spaceship??!! 😭😭😭

I don’t think any hero agency would just let Nice destroy the alien spaceship—especially when they’re already on high alert after the Spotlight leader stole alien research.

It would become a plothole if all hero agencies—or even just Mr. Shang himself—wanted Nice to destroy the alien spaceship just to erase all evidence about the aliens 😭😭😭😭

So I wonder.. what if Nice is related to alien like Big Johnnies.

Actually, I’ve always been skeptical about his “perfect” title. But with all this alien possibility and the Paragon songs

It's so serene, the blue and green, from outer space If we all could make it work, it could be such a happy place

He’s the only character whose lyrics mention outer space. And it’s literally during the scene where Nice kills himself. As if... outer space is connected to Nice’s suicide.

Maybe he used alien power to become a top 15 hero in the fastest way... to achieve his goals.

Maybe someone used alien power on him without his consent—until he lost himself completely.

Maybe Mr. Shang experimented with alien sources to bring his son back to life… and Nice was born like that (don’t forget how familiar Nice is with Shang Cao...)

Or maybe… he is an alien. Just like Big Johnnie.

I want to explore all these possibilities, and yet—because of this…

Who is he, Mr. Shang???

And why do you have more screentime than my peacock 🙃🙃🙃

I’ll wait for the next episode. Maybe we’ll get something interesting there. Especially since they said there’s a special cameo… I hope it’s Nice 🥲🥲🥲

However... as the condensed essence of every hero, I really want to explore Nice in the Johnnies episode.

Nice went berserk (like Big Johnnie) to destroy the alien spaceship. Big Johnnie’s berserk mode is triggered by emotion… so what if Nice’s berserk is also triggered by emotion?

But when his body is controlled by trust value, he doesn’t go berserk. And for me, that’s not normal.... unless he’s a masochist, of course 🙃🙃🙃

But in the alien spaceship? He does go berserk—like something deeply important is being touched. Something similar like Johnnie lose Ah Sheng.

When Big Johnnie goes berserk, he has Little Johnnie to calm him down… to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.

And for Nice?

Either he doesn’t have someone like Little Johnnie… or someone is using his berserk state for their own benefit.

And for that, my chips are on Mr. Shang.

All my questions can be answered by why Nice was in the alien spaceship in the first place.

I will rot in this arc waiting for him to appear...

And of course, I want him alivveeeeeee 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[spiderm444rk]

LOST IN TRANSLATION - mark lee smau

10) a little stalking never hurt anyone

You’re sitting on the bed in Mark’s dorm, while he’s nervously playing some chords as a “warm up”. You watch him closely, admiring the way his fingers play the strings. He’s good, you can tell that, and he didn’t even technically start yet. But if he keeps going like this, he won’t even make it to the audition. You take a deep breath.

“So… what are your song choices so far ?” You ask innocently, hoping Mark will get the hint and finally play an actual song instead of shyly playing whatever chords come to mind.

Mark stops, looking up from the guitar to meet your eyes. “Uh… We should do two songs. So I think I’m gonna do Highway to Heaven, that’s a really good one, and-“

“Then play it.” You nod towards the guitar again. “I wanna hear it.”

Mark stares at you for a few seconds. “Now ? Are you sure ?”

“Yeah.” You reply, tone firm. “You called me here to show me, no ? Why chicken out now ? Will you chicken out at the audition too ?”

Mark shakes his head quickly, looking down back to the guitar. “No. I just feel like my choices are bad. I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“You won’t.” You reassure him quickly. You don’t want him to lose faith in himself, after all. He needs to radiate confidence by the time he’ll play in front of The 7th Sense. “Listen, if something is not the… smartest choice, we’ll talk about it and choose something else. Yeah ? This is just me. I’m not gonna bite your head off of anything.”

Mark sighs, but nods at that, still staring at the guitar. Then he takes a deep breath, starting to play.

You sit back comfortably, watching him play the chords. You raise a brow as you listen to him, because even though you may not know a lot about music, but damn, this guy is good. You wouldn’t be able to tell a difference between him and how Johnny used to play the song from what you remember.

Once he’s done, Mark lets out a deep breath, meeting your eyes as he sets the guitar down. “So what do you think ?”

You nod at him appreciatively. “I think you’re great. Like actually.”

Mark blushes a little and drums his fingers against the guitar, thinking. “Thanks, but, is it like ‘the band guitarist’ type of great ? Because you know…”

“I think you could definitely take Johnny’s place, if that’s what you’re asking.” You grin at him. “Really, just stop doubting yourself and think of it as a real option, okay ?”

He sighs again but nods. “So Highway to Heaven is a good choice ?”

“I think you’ll do well with that one, yeah.” You watch him carefully. “Did you choose the other one yet ?”

Mark picks up the guitar again hesitantly. “I was thinking about choosing something from Frank Ocean, since I’m the most comfortable playing his songs for some reason… Like they really speak to me, you know ? I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb.” You say quickly. To be honest, you’re not sure if you know any Frank Ocean songs. Maybe Chanel ? That was Frank’s song, right ? “You should play something you’re comfortable with.”

He nods quickly at that. “Right, but I don’t know if it’s like, audition worthy. My favorite one is Solo, so… I can try ?”

You smile at him, silently asking him to start.

Mark starts playing, fully focusing on the song. You watch him closely, kind of amazed how into it he seems all of a sudden. You hate to admit it, but since you’ve never heard the song before, it’s kind of hard to tell how is it supposed to sound like.

Once he’s done, he looks at you expectantly, leaning back in the chair. You clear your throat. “I mean, you were good, and it sounded awesome, but maybe… this isn’t the most suitable for the audition ? Like… I feel people might find this a bit underwhelming.”

Mark groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to have this one as an option.”

You nod, leaning against the wall. “We can keep it on the list, but maybe you should go with something people will recognize easily.” You hum, thinking. “Anything comes to mind ?”

Mark starts playing his next option, and you actually have to straighten your back, immediately recognizing the song. That’s Frank Ocean ? The song is catchy and Mark seems like he’s played this a thousand times, the usual shyness nowhere to be found. Once he’s done you actually clap because wow, Mark really is good. It’s almost hard to believe he actually isn’t a music major, seeing how passionate can he get.

Mark snorts at you clapping but he’s visibly relieved you’re happy with this song choice. “Yeah yeah, don’t flatter me too much. So what do you think ?”

“What’s this song called ? I never knew this is Frank.”

His eyes widen. “Dude, don’t tell me you don’t know Ivy.”

You shrug, a little ashamed now. “Hey, I can’t know everything. But honestly, I really loved this one…”

Mark grins at you, resting his arm on the guitar. “Yeah, not all of us can have immaculate music taste I guess. But yeah, the Blonde album pretty much changed my life. You should give it a listen.”

“Oh, trust me, after this I will.” You chuckle, standing up and stretching a little. You were both sitting down for quite some time now, so you’re a bit stiff. “So it’s called Ivy, you say ?”

“Mhm.” Mark watches as you stretch from his chair, thinking. “So you think I should practice this and Highway to Heaven ?”

You nod. “Yeah. In a way, these two songs really go together.”

Mark smiles, also standing up, following you out of the room. “I’ll try, then. Hopefully it goes well.”

“I’ll come check up on you. Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. He’s feeling way less tense than before, now that he got your approval. “I’m pretty aware of that, don’t worry.”

You smile at that. “So, you keep practicing, I’ll try to find out who some of your so called opponents are and maybe even try to get on the band’s good side, and we’ll both see how that works out for you ?”

Mark groans. “Jesus Christ, you’re seriously too good at this. You don’t have to do all that. I don’t wanna get in because of connections or anything. Either I’m good or no…”

“Mark, calm down. I won’t do anything crazy. I’m just doing research.”

He glances at you skeptically. “Yeah, research. Sure.”

You elbow him. “Hey, be a little optimistic ! I’m doing this for you.”

He sighs. “I know, I just wanna do this fairly. No pitying or anything like that.”

“And I promise you I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly. “But a little stalking never hurt anyone.”

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─

A/N: i’m so sorry for disappearing and not updating on monday, working 12 hour shifts really got me bad ☹️☹️ like i just came home and fell asleep immediately… i’ll do better i promise 😭 this isn’t even proofread yet i just really wanna post something bcs i feel bad so bear with me please 💔💔

I ALSO HOPE SOMEONE WILL GET THE CHENLE AND STEPHEN CURRY REFERENCE BCS I WAS GIGGLING🤭🤭🤭🤭

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[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

Ok we’re finally getting to the real meat of it all! I’m super excited to be sharing the rest of this story with you guys so I hope you enjoy!

Pairings: Sam Kiszka X Danny Wagner *slash

Warnings and tags: 18+ only! Not for little minor eyes! Themes or fear and anxiety, more brotherly banter, some comfort, cuddling, sorry to anyone who lives in Nebraska, brief depiction of violence, mentions of adult content, vampire!AU, alas we get our first glimpse of Chris!

Word count: 5.6k

“I’m going with you”.

“Sam, it’s dangerous”.

“You really expect me to just sit here and wait while you and my brothers go off looking for the cure to vampirism?”

“No, but I was hoping you would”.

“You’re not changing my mind”. Sam asserted. “I’m coming”.

Danny watched as Sam pulled a suitcase out of his closet and started tossing all sorts of clothes into it. He had woken up to a text that said ‘meet me at the trailer’ and hurried straight over to find him here already frantically packing.

Last night had been rough on everyone, but he thought after some sleep Sam would be a little calmer about the whole situation. Obviously that wasn’t the case.

“A cure?” Josh questioned, trying to not get too excited. He was an optimist by heart, but a cure? Was that even possible?

“Wait, why haven’t you said anything about this before?” Jake finished his train of thought and again they were all looking at Danny for more answers.

“Because I’ve been looking for it for almost thirty years”.

There it was, the pen drop. They all knew it was too good to be true.

Danny turned to Sam, he was the one who knew the most about the situation he was in right now. “That organization I told you I was a part of, that’s what we were doing. Looking for a cure. We were a small group, but word got around about us and that’s when we started encountering a fight back. You see not all vampires want us to find a cure so they’ve been doing everything in their power to stop us. That’s why we disbanded, to let things settle for a while”.

“But do you think it’s out there?” Josh couldn’t help but latch onto this idea. After all, he was just about ready to die, for real. This was the only chance he had.

“We think it’s possible, yes” Danny answered hesitantly. The truth was, only in theory was it possible. Reversing the transition was the idea, but once that was accomplished no one knew what would happen to the person who attempted it. In all his time looking, Danny had never met anyone who had successfully been cured, but he still believed that didn’t mean it was impossible.

“You should probably come with me. I’ll have to get in touch with a friend to see where they’ve settled for now since we were always on the move”.

“Where he goes, I go” Jake cut in. He wasn’t about to leave Josh’s side again after what happened tonight. Danny nod in understanding.

“We’ll leave in a few days. That should be enough time to get things situated”.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this sooner” Sam grumbled under his breath as he moved into his bathroom.

“I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up” Danny replied, now leaning against the door frame. Sam looked surprised that Danny had heard him, though he did know better. “Thirty years and all we’ve gotten is dead ends”.

“So what’s different about this time? Why even bring it up now?”

Danny nibbled on his bottom lip. Should he even say anything? He’d learned to not get too worked up over possible leads but Sam and his brothers hadn’t experienced all of the defeat he had, yet. “My friend? Dave?” He began, pausing to make sure Sam remembered.

Sam certainly hadn’t forgotten, the strangeness involving his surprise visit had stuck with him. When Danny was sure he was following along, he continued.

“We’ve been in touch. He was never really involved in our research, but he was aware and a friend of our organization. About a week ago he told me that they had been making some interesting progress but I blew it off”.

“What kind of progress?” Sam needed more information. He wasn’t about to keep letting Danny dance around these details anymore.

“He didn’t say”.

Sam had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he gathered as many things as his arms could carry and pushed past Danny to add it all to his quickly growing pile by his suitcase. He didn’t know how long they would be gone. Indefinitely by the sounds of it. “So we really are just going out on a limb here”.

“Sam” Danny caught his arm before he could tear through his dresser drawers next. Sam tried to pull away, but Danny wrapped him up in a bear hug, squeezing him close until Sam melted into his chest. Seconds later Danny could feel his shoulders starting to quiver. He reached up and pet his head softly, waiting for the tears to start coming, and they did.

“This has to work” Sam sobbed into his shoulder, his own arms wrapping around Danny’s midsection and holding on for dear life. “I’ve never seen Josh act the way he did last night. I can’t believe he said all of that stuff-”. Another hard choke and a sniffle following cut himself off.

“I know” Danny cooed, leaving a kiss against his temple. “He was in shock, it's hard to process your emotions after transition. Everything inside you is changing, but you’re fighting to stay sane”.

Sam pulled back but didn’t let go, just enough to look up and meet Danny’s apologetic eyes. “He’ll get through this right? No matter what happens?”

The hand that cupped the back of Sam’s head slid around and came to rest on his cheek, his thumb sweeping back and forth to clear the tears away. “I’ll do everything I can. I promise Sam, I’m going to make this up to you”.

Sam dried the rest of his water line with the back of his hand. He knew the probability of this endeavor being successful, and the numbers grew smaller when considering whether or not it would even happen in his lifetime.

This was just another promise Danny knew he couldn’t keep.

Sam stayed with his brother’s again for the next two nights while everyone was making arrangements to leave. Josh was freaking out trying to figure out what to do with the bar, but thankfully he was able to convince a friend to help Terry manage things for him while he was gone. He even promoted Diane to a shift manager and a bartender, since her attitude had taken a full one-eighty recently.

Jake made up a story about going on a sabbatical, practically quitting, though he was so well liked at the hospital that they guaranteed him he would have his job back as soon as he was ready.

For Sam it was a little more difficult. He had exams coming up, ones that he was supposed to be spending his time studying for. It took a lot of convincing, and too much lying, but he was able to take them early so that he didn’t have to lose practically a whole semester. Whether or not he passed them was a different story, but honestly that was the least of his worries these days.

“Road trip time?” Josh asked after everyone had gathered in the living room. The car was packed, house tidied up so that whoever came by the check on things wouldn’t suspect anything suspicious was going on here. You know, like two vampires living in the basement.

It had been forever since they had taken a ‘road trip’ - if you could even call this one, but Josh had been disgustingly cheerful all night - likely his coping mechanism. They used to take one every year when they were kids, the lake, rivers, across state to the mountains near the New Mexico border. Their parents tried to expose them to as many outdoor activities as possible to curb the endless summer break boredom that seemed to affect every early teen, despite how deathly hot it was down here.

“Everyone used the restroom?” Sam questioned, just like their mom used to when they were kids even though she knew the second they were on the highway one of them was sure to ask them to pull over so they could find a bush.

Josh, Jake, and Danny all shared equally impassive looks before Sam remembered. “Right, just me. Well I’m going to make a run for it then I’ll be ready to go”.

“So, where are we even going?” Josh asked from the front passenger seat. Danny was driving since he was the only one who had any idea who it was they were meeting. Jake sat in the backseat with Sam who insisted it was because he didn’t want to hear Josh yap his ear off the whole way and not because he didn’t want Jake sitting next to Danny. He really had gotten over his spout of jealousy, honestly, but something about seeing them even be friends sent a pain through his chest.

“Nebraska” Danny answered, no hint of thrill in his voice at all.

“Nebraska?!” Josh practically shouted. He always did have a way of better animating things than others. In this case it was distaste for their destination. “And to think here I was telling myself ‘oh Josh you’re finally getting a vacation’ granted the circumstances aren’t really ideal. A chance to get out of this small town, see some sights, but noo we’re going to Nebraska of all places!”

“What’s up there?” Sam spoke up, ignoring his oldest brother's theatrics, though he did clock Jake fighting a giggle next to him.

“Well,” Danny’s eyes met Sam’s through the rear view mirror for a second before Sam looked away. “You’re not going to want to hear this…”

Josh turned his head, the jolly charade he had going on dropping for a moment as they waited for Danny to finish.

“It’s likely there’s nothing there. We always set up in remote places, abandoned buildings, old warehouses. We left as little trace as possible”.

“Sounds lovely”. Though it was Josh’s words, everyone was thinking it.

“The people are nice though. It will be beneficial for you guys to be around some more good vampires. You can, I don’t know, mingle. Maybe learn some things I couldn’t teach you”.

This time Jake shared a look with his twin through the mirror. “Mingle… right”.

Now Sam wouldn’t consider geography to be his strongest subject, but he knew enough to know this was pretty far out of the way. “Wait, how long will it take to drive there?”

“I looked it up before we left. About fourteen or fifteen hours. We will have to stop somewhere before sunrise. Stay in a hotel for the day”.

“Will that be safe?”

Were they even safe now? That was the question everyone kept asking themself, but never spoke aloud.

“So long as we lock the doors and pull the curtains closed. Everyone should be alright”.

Should be, that was reassuring, but Sam silenced himself and turned his head to stare out the window at the fast moving landscape. It must have rained here recently. That wasn’t surprising, this area got plenty of rain around this time of year, and by the looks of it the rain had come down long and hard.

For miles at a time they were the only ones on the road, Danny having mapped out a route of back road highways instead of the interstate. Outside the area looked mostly the same even as they put more and more distance between them and home. Sam continued to stare out the window, unamused by the little bits of conversation that occasionally bounced back and forth. Instead he chose to observe how the small accumulations of rainwater that flooded the open fields all around them glittered in the moonlight.

It was a beautiful thing to see, but it was only temporary as by the very next day while the sun was shining in the sky these small roadside ponds would be growing smaller and smaller. Evaporating under the heat of the day until eventually they would cease to exist entirely.

Sam didn’t want to think about that sentiment, but his boredom and the melancholic wave of emotion that consumed him tonight while the hours grew on made shutting out his thoughts hard. Eventually, they would all cease to exist. Well, Sam at least, he would be gone before the rest of them and he wondered exactly how his parting from this world would affect others.

Would he be mourned? Would his brothers fight to keep him here? If it ever came down to it Sam had already made up his mind. He didn’t want to be a vampire. He couldn’t be condemned to the dark for eternity. If anything, Sam wanted to be like one of these sparkling pools of water, beautiful for a moment and gone in the next. Dried up by the sun, and the warmth, and the endless day.

Sleep had come easy, so easy he hadn’t even realized that it had taken him into its comforting grasp until he opened his eyes. He was still in the backseat of the car, but his viewpoint had changed. He last remembered gazing out the window, and now he saw the fabric of the roof.

Staying as quiet as possible Sam shifted his line of sight, realizing now that his head was resting comfortably on someone’s lap. Though Jake had been his backseat companion before he fell asleep, that wasn’t the person his eyes fell on now.

Danny sat in Jake’s spot, having given the task of driving over during a stop at a gas station about eighty or so miles south of here. Sam had slept through it all, even as they all exchanged seats with Josh behind the wheel and Jake holding a map open in the passenger’s seat. One of Danny’s hands rested on Sam’s hip, right at where he was folded over in the seat - a rather unforgiving position that’d he would probably feel in his back for a day or two. The other hovered above Sam’s face holding a book that he immediately recognized as the same book he’d placed on Danny’s night stand so many nights ago.

Without noticing Sam was awake, or maybe he did but he didn’t make a move to acknowledge it, Danny turned the page and let his hand absentmindedly fall back in place. Sam studied the cover of the book again, remembering how Danny had mentioned that it was one his father had read before. Last time he saw Danny reading it he had only just started, but now he was almost half-way through.

Did that mean it was a good book? Or was there simply nothing better to do to pass his time with? Now that he didn’t have Sam there with him constantly Danny must’ve had a lot of free time, at least by the look of the progress he’d made.

That made Sam a little jealous. Besides a textbook, an email, or a receipt full of orders, he hadn’t been awarded the chance to sit down and read something new. Any and all free time he had these days was spent helping Josh at the bar, or just plain worrying. Coming along with them on this trip could possibly change that. Sam didn’t know what else he could be doing. What did he know about a cure for vampirism? At this time his only plan was to try and stay out of the way.

A good book. That sounded great actually. Maybe there would be a used bookstore somewhere nearby where they were headed, or just somewhere he could go during the day when he was the only one awake. A good distraction is what he needed, but for now he would keep watching Danny as he turned another page.

The lady at the front desk looked like she wanted to scold them, four boys asking for a room at four in the morning, but she took the cash Danny handed her and went back to watching the laptop on her desk that she hadn’t even bothered to pause during the whole fifteen minute interaction. She was watching some sort of reality show, Sam could tell by the sound of annoying voices arguing with each other, then it would cut to one single, calmer, voice recounting the event in a sort of confessional. How people enjoyed shows like that was beyond him. Working at a motel in the middle of nowhere near Tulsa Oklahoma, one would expect she saw her fair share of drama. You know outside where real life actually happened, not the pre-meditated, scripted, and perfectly packaged for views ‘reality’ the big TV channels tried to shove down everyone’s throats.

“Oh, and no recording in the rooms” She called after them, sending her warning with a glare over the top of her plastic red reading glasses. Sam looked at Jake and Josh and then they all collectively looked at Danny who was standing with the door open wearing pure shock and embarrassment on his face.

“Was she insinuating we’re here to film in one of these rooms?” Josh nearly burst out of his skin the second they all stepped back out of the office, following Danny across the parking lot towards the room the front desk lady had given them keys for. “What exactly about us gave her that impression? We don’t even have any equipment with us?”

“Danny was the only one she talked to. Maybe he gave her a vibe” Jake joked, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips.

“Even if!” Josh was growing louder, the astonishment of being mistaken for porn actors enough to thoroughly rile him up even after the long tedious drive they had. “We’re obviously related,” he gestured his arms towards his twin and Sam who was walking slowly behind them. “What kind of movie does she expect us to make?”

“The kind you only watch on your laptop when no one else is around to judge you” Jake shrugged, unbothered by her crude looks and remark.

“We better search this place for cameras… She gave me the creeps”.

“Come on. I’m sure she was harmless” Danny found the room, used the keycard to unlock the door, and held it open for everyone to file in one by one. “Let’s just get some rest so we can get back on the road tonight”. Jake and Josh stopped their banter and stepped into the room first, claiming the far bed for themselves. Sam had been silent since they arrived so when he reached Danny he leaned over and mouthed ‘are you okay?’.

“Just tired” Sam muttered, pushing past into the room so he could take his shoes off and sit on the other bed.

Danny shut and locked the door with the security latch then turned to draw the long thick curtains that had some sort of pattern that didn’t make any sense for the rest of the room completely closed, making sure that when the sun came up as little light as possible would get through. He joined Sam on the bed, sitting on the edge and undoing the laces of his shoes.

“We’ll make it there by tomorrow right?” Sam questioned when he laid down, waiting for Danny to finish getting comfortable. He could hear the twins behind him rummaging around but he kept his back turned towards them.

“It will be another long drive, but with little stops we should”. Danny laid down next to Sam. Well next to him because they were sharing a bed, but he positioned himself as close to the edge the small double size mattress would allow, trying to give Sam his own space. A stark contrast to how they had shared the backseat earlier.

Sam missed the feeling of his hand on his waist. Not moving, except for every few minutes to turn the page of his book, but it always returned exactly to where it was resting right on the bony part of his hip. There was nothing sensual about it, just comforting.

“Good night” he muttered and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly. That of course wasn’t the case this time now that he was in a bed.

A little while later, one of the twins reached over and flicked off the lights and Sam could hear them finally settle into their own bed. It was dark in the room now, but the way the glow of light that seeped out from underneath the curtains was tinted blue and purple he knew the sun would be coming up soon.

Danny wasn’t asleep, just like Sam, but neither of them knew it until he peered his eyes open and looked over to see Sam staring admiringly back at him.

Without thinking too much about what it meant or why he was doing it, Sam pulled the covers up and slid closer to Danny, who followed his lead and inched his body more towards the center of the bed. Sam lifted his head and Danny laid his arm out for him to rest against and then he snuggled into his side and closed his eyes again.

How Sam ended up in the backseat with Josh was beyond him. Actually he knew exactly how it happened, Danny said Jake was the best at reading the map so he needed him up front as they got closer to their destination. He just refused to believe that Jake was better than him at anything even if his turn in the passenger's seat navigating did end up with them taking the wrong exit in Topeka.

“If I weren’t already dead I’d fear you were taking us somewhere to ax murder us” Josh sarcastically commented gaining an eye roll from both Jake and Sam.

He had reason to be suspicious, even though they had passed a sign that read ‘Nebraska… the good life’ nearly two hours ago, they were only driving further and further into nothing but fields for miles and miles.

“We're getting close” Danny tried to assure everyone, but when his next turn put them on a dirt road that did little to ease their concerns about where they were headed.

The road was on an incline, up a small hill that concealed the other side until they’d reached the top and by then a structure looming dark in the distance finally came into view of the headlights.

“What is that?” Josh leaned between the seats to try and get a better look.

“A mill maybe?” Jake answered, putting away the map in the glove compartment now that they were sure this place ahead was where they were supposed to be. Well, no one was really sure, but it was the only thing they’d seen for a while so it had to be it.

“It’s a church” Danny corrected him, the outline of the building almost morphing its shape as they got closer until the steeple gave it away. He pulled in front of the church, any semblance of a former parking lot long overgrown with wild grasses and small shrubs.

The church had seen better days. It was clearly abandoned long ago with its windows boarded up and side paneling rotting away. The front doors looked like they’d been chained up before, but now the handles were broken off and they barely hung on by the hinges.

“You guys stay here, I’ll go check it out” Danny instructed, leaving the car on in case they needed to make a quick break for it.

He checked the doors first, the cracks in the wood from where it had been broken into looked fresh, but there was something behind the doors keeping them closed that he didn’t want to try and force past. Next he walked around to the side of the building, hoping to find another entrance. Even with his senses heightened, Danny was taken off guard as he was suddenly pushed against the wall, his arms twisted behind his back in a powerful grip.

There was a struggle for a moment, but whoever had Danny pinned was stronger than he was. The splinters from the paneling stuck into his face and he winced as his body tried to heal around the wooden shards.

“You can do better than that” the attacker leaned over him to whisper into his ear, the smile on his face clear in the tone of his voice. A voice with a slight accent Danny recognized. “I taugh ya better than tha” he let his accent slip out even further, allowing Danny to truly identify him without a doubt this time.

Loosening his grip on Danny’s hands his attacker allowed him to turn around, the both of them staring at each other with a heartwarming smile. “Callum? What are you doing here?”

Danny wiped his cheek clean, faint little lines of pink smearing on the back of his hand, and then threw his arms out for a hug. “I thought you went back to Scotland?”

“This is big Dan,” he answered while reciprocating the hug. “I had to come witness it for myself”.

“I don’t get it. Dave told me things were happening and we were all meeting again, but what changed?” Danny recalled quite a few times they thought they thought they were hot on a lead, but they all ultimately ended at a dead end. He started to think there were people out there spreading false information and making up tales just to throw them off course. Considering all the trouble they’d gone through up to now, that was the least of their worries. If he had to chase hundreds more false tips, he would so long as eventually he made good on all of his promises.

“Not what, but who” Callum grinned even wider and he pulled back from the embrace, leaving one hand on Danny’s shoulder and guiding him back towards the front of the church where the others were still waiting. “I want you to meet him. Come lets get everyone settled”.

“He’s been gone for a while” Sam was the first to express his concern when Danny’s form disappeared out of the beam of headlights pointed towards the front of the church.

“He probably just went to find another way in” Jake theorized, though his senses were on edge as well. That could mean they were in danger, or not, he wasn’t able to tell most of his feelings apart these days because more than anything, all he felt was hunger.

He thought about telling Josh, fessing up to stealing from the blood bank at work being the reason why he hadn’t wanted to go back. Because he was afraid he couldn’t control himself anymore. But after the incident at the park, and the subsequent trail at the bar, he’d reserved his worst thoughts to himself. Josh didn’t need the extra worry right now. He was already going through enough on his own.

“Look! He’s coming back!” Josh whisper-shouted, his face practically pressed right up against the glass like a toddler trying to look into the lions exhibit at the zoo. “And he’s got someone with him… a red head?”

Red head? That piqued Sam’s interest, and he leaned over Josh to get his own look. Could that be the vampire who turned him?

Danny opened the driver's door and got back behind the wheel. “We’re going around back so no one sees the car”.

That felt silly, not a single soul had come this direction and probably wouldn’t considering this was so far away from the nearest highway, but they all sat back in their seats as Danny drove them through the overgrowth, parking between two large ancient trees.

The red head joined them and Danny began introductions as they all filed out of the car. “Callum, this is Jake and Josh. They’re new, but I’ve been working with them for a little over a month”.

He nodded in their direction, his sharp cat-like eyes following their movements like he was calculating something astronomical. “Pleased to meet you both”.

“And this is Samuel. He is mine”.

Sam was thankful it was still so early in the morning that it was dark out, because his face blazed a deep shade of pink. He thought since the break up that meant he didn’t ‘belong’ to Danny anymore, but in retrospect he had no idea if there were going to be any other humans here. It was probably a good idea everyone was under the impression he was taken so that he didn’t end up as someone else’s snack. Not that he thought he was in any danger amongst Danny’s friends.

“It’s nice to meet you. Daniel told me how much you helped him. I hope you’ll show us all the same kindness”.

“Kindness will be shown to all who want it when we finally get this cure” Callum responded. Either he was really sure this time they were going to find it, or he was delusional after so many years of searching. Either way they were all eager to get inside to learn what exactly it was that had them all so enthusiastic.

Jake and Josh followed after him first when Callum waved everyone to follow. Danny waited for Sam, his fingers flexing as he walked by to brush against his arm. “Sorry” he whispered, clearly apologizing for not warning him he was going to say that again.

“It’s ok” Sam brushed him off. Now wasn’t the time to talk about it, and even if it were he didn’t know what to say. In fact, he didn’t know why Fanny even bothered with whispering now when everyone here could still hear them regardless. The twins were sure to give him a hard time about that later.

He didn’t hate it still, being somehow mystically bound to him through blood. It was like his brothers, they shared a familial blood that could never be broken. At this point he felt like even though they weren’t together he shared something with Danny that he could never let go of. Sam took Danny’s hand in his own, noticing the smudges of blood with a scrunch of his brows, and they walked together into the back entrance of the church.

Inside there were a few people keeping watch. Large men that even in their human form would have been intimidating. They stepped aside when Callum appeared, allowing him and everyone he brought along entry without question.

Sam had to cling to the wall, the hallway they walked down being nearly pitch black and his regular human eyes could not adjust fast enough. Danny tightened his grip on his hand and helped him through until a door at the end was opened and orange light spilled in.

Sam’s heart was racing as he glanced back now that he could somewhat see. The hallway wasn’t as long as it had felt when walking through the dark. The two guards at the other end were settling into their places on some old plastic chairs, one pulling out a book and the other folding his arms over his chest. The hallway was lined with doors on either side, and he wondered what state the rooms behind them were in. His arm was tugged and he turned back around, being pulled into the soft light.

“This is base camp” Callum explained as he continued to guide them through the chapel. Most of the pews from when this place was still operating as a place of worship were either broken to pieces and stacked in a pile against the front door. The remaining few were pushed aside to make room for the work lamps they had put out for light.

They started to split up now, Jake drawn towards a pile of books on one of the pews and Josh already finding someone to strike up a conversation with. Sam stayed with Danny. Partly because he was not letting his hand go, and also because he felt so out of place here amongst this group of strangers.

“Where’s Chris?” Callum quietly asked someone nearby and they got up, presumably to go fetch him.

Even with their arrival, besides the one person Josh chose to bother, no one really seemed to care that some new people were joining their little rinky-dink operation.

“Danny?” Another man with a messy bowl cut with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of a long tweed jacket stopped in his tracks, noticing he actually recognized him.

“Hey” Danny looked bashful as he made eye contact, and he stepped closer to Sam moving their arms forward so that he could see they were holding hands.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” his eyes flickered down and Sam could’ve sworn he saw a brief smirk. “It’s good to see you’re well”.

“You too. Last I heard you were following Callum to Scotland”.

“I did, I did. It was amazing. I can't even describe how beautiful the country is”. He seemed really enthusiastic now that he knew his long time friend was here too. If that’s what they were, friends. Sam knew he had to stop doing that, scowling at every person who approached Danny like a deranged chihuahua. It was an accurate comparison though, he was all bark and no bite.

“This guy,” he continued, unphased by Sam’s radiating antipathy. “He’s the real deal. I have a good feeling about what we’re on to now”.

“Who?” Danny questioned, still not clear on what exactly was going on.

“Ah! Here he his!” Callum spoke up, calling everyone's attention back to him just as another man with shoulder length blond hair, half of it pulled casually into a low ponytail, joined him on the crumbling sanctuary. “The man of the hour everyone. Christopher”.

“Please” the man smiled, his voice meek but melodic. “Call me Chris”.

Taglist:

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@sanguinebats @holdingup-fallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-choose-the-road @alantern-inthenight @scarabsinthestardust @josh-iamyour-mama

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[slytherheign]

AFTERGLOW | charles leclerc

PART 3/3 OF LOVER: THE TRILOGY.

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

SUMMARY: the dark nights may have already passed but the biggest storm is just beginning. the daylight is becoming harder to be seen, and now you see yourself questioning if love will be enough to conquer all—even the afterglow.

WARNINGS: angst, hate, doubts, cursing/swearing, and arguments. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S FINALLY HERE! this is way overdue and i apologize. i owe you guys a lot of fics for being absent for way too long. this is dedicated to ALL of you! thank you guys so much for the never-ending support.

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO TO TRILOGY MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

At first, it was just a few comments here and there, snide remarks about your differences—how Charles was way too good for you or how you didn't fit into society's expectations. You brushed them off, laughed them away, thinking that their words couldn't penetrate the walls you had built around the two of you.

But little did you know how wrong you were.

The online hate began to escalate, turning into a relentless storm that seemed to follow you wherever you went. Your private moments were invaded, dissected, and judged by people who had no right to pass such harsh judgment. Their words became a constant presence, infecting your mind, and sowing seeds of doubt and insecurity.

“So, she basically has nothing… and then she decides to date Charles, who obviously, has everything. I don’t know about y’all… but I feel like she’s just dating him because she knows he can provide for her.”

“She’s giving me golddigger vibes.”

“No cause fr what the hell did she do to get Charles to fall for her.”

Your eyes were glued to your phone while Charles was making dinner. No matter what application you seemed to open, you were all over social media. After Charles decided to launch your relationship to the public, both your names became trending ever since. 

“Chérie, do you know where the pasta is?” he asked. He was opening the cabinets in the kitchen quite loudly but all the noises were drowned out as you scrolled further down the comments.

“Imagine this… she leaves everything, including her family and friends, just to focus on herself. What makes us think she wouldn’t do the same to Charles?”

“Selfish. That’s one word I would describe her.”

Your hands began to shake and you felt the tears pooling in your eyes. 

“Nevermind. Chérie, I found it!” he cheered.

This time, you heard his voice. Yet again noticing how accomplishing little things seemed to cheer him up. God, he was such a light. His soul was so pure and innocent.

“Charles needs to leave her while it’s still early omg.”

“Give her a few months and we’ll see just how much she’d damage him.”

Now that you were thinking about it, it seemed that everyone you come across with ends up in ruins. It was always dreams before relationships for you, life before love, and self before others.

Maybe they were right. You were selfish.

“Either she leaves him or Charles leaves her first. I hope it’s the second one.”

“He needs to escape. She’ll hurt him more the longer he’s with her.”

The more you read their words, the more they were becoming true in your head.

“Charles does not deserve someone like her. I said what I said.”

You glanced at him, his back facing you as he cooked dinner. He was humming a song, a soft song he would always play on his piano for you. It was impossible to stop the tears that started falling. 

You were scared. 

Scared that what they said was true and that the longer you were in his life, the more you’d damage him.

You were scared for him.

And scared of you.

“Pls even her best friend, Charlotte, is better than her.”

“If I was him, I’d leave right this instant.”

You didn’t want to damage him. You didn’t want to taint someone so pure.

What you wanted to do was protect him. Protect him from harm, protect him from any damages, protect him from getting hurt…

“We need to protect Charles from her.”

But what if they were right? 

They were his fans for a reason. They care for him.

Surely, they know what’s best for him…

“When is girlie going to realize that she’s the problem.”

They were right.

You were the problem. 

You were the harm, the person who does the damage, the person who would hurt him.

“I hope they break up. It’s what’s best for Charles.”

Charles took the phone in your hand and threw it on the wall. You stared at him in shock. How long was he behind you? You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Did he see the comments you were reading?

“What the hell are you reading, mon amour?” he asked angrily. But when he noticed you crying, he softened his voice. “I was calling your name, asking you to taste the sauce. You weren’t answering so I decided to come here.”

You stared at your broken phone on the floor. He followed your line of sight.

“I can replace it. Don’t worry about it.”

He put his hand on your cheek, moving your face so you were facing him. 

“I-I don’t know what the other comments said, I only read about the last few ones,” he wiped your tears. “And I can assure you, I won’t break up with you. I’ll never do that.”

“Maybe you should,” you replied.

“Mon amour, I understand what you’re feeling right now. You’re not used to online hate and strangers on the internet criticizing you, but I am. And the best thing we can do is ignore them. They have no idea what happens behind closed doors and cameras. They know nothing.”

“Charles, they’re your fans. They were there for you even before I came into your life.”

“That doesn’t mean they know everything about me.”

“I don’t know, Charles…” you turned your face away from him, his hands dropping from your face in the process. You slightly distanced yourself from him.

Their words were poison and they went straight to your head. It was painful to admit, but you started questioning the strength of your relationship. How could you build a future amidst the chaos and resentment? You tried not to pay them attention, to convince yourself that love could conquer all, but the weight of the hate grew heavier with each passing day.

“Do I really mean that little to you?” Charles asked suddenly.

You blew things out of proportion, and now he was blue.

You looked back at him but you kept your distance.

“Why would you think that?” 

“Because you’re just throwing everything away like the last two years didn’t exist.” 

“Charles, no–that’s not—” you walked closer to him but he was the one who distanced himself this time.

“I’ve fought for this relationship, for you—time and time again. And you can’t do the same?”

You were speechless.

You put him in jail for something he didn't do.

“I told you countless times, I can protect you—I will protect you. Don’t you trust me enough?” he continued.

You pinned his hands behind his back.

“Charles, it’s not about you protecting me… because I know you will. It’s about—”

“It’s about what?” he stared at you, his eyes glistening with tears he was trying hard to keep from falling.

Thought you had reason to attack, but no.

You looked at him with tears, lips quivering as you prepared to say the words.

“It’s about what, Y/N?” Charles held your face with his hands, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “It’s about what?” his voice was shaking. “Tell me, chérie… please?”

Fighting with a true love was like boxing with no gloves. 

“It’s about me protecting you, Charles,” you whimpered. “Maybe the things that they’re saying are true—maybe you need to run away from me before I leave you. Maybe I-I’m not truly what you need…”

You covered his hands with yours. “Charles… maybe we should just—”

Chemistry 'til it blew up, 'til there's no you and him anymore.

“No,” he answered.

“Charles, I think—”

“I know what you’re thinking. And no—that’s my final answer.”

He let go of you and started to pace the room.

“Charles—”

“We’ve made it this far… and you’re just going to give up now?” he stared at you, looking at your eyes for some sort of indication that everything was just a joke. All of his defenses broke and he didn’t even care if his tears started to fall.

Why'd you have to break what you loved so much?

“I hurt everyone I get close to. Charles, I’m just trying to protect you. Please–” 

“I don’t need your fucking protection! You! I need you!” he screamed in frustration.

And then he did something you didn’t expect.

He kneeled in front of you, holding your hands as he begged you not to leave him.

“Mon amour, just fight for us. Please, that’s only what I ask.”

“Oh, Charles… I really don’t deserve you.”

“Please, just stay with me… I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t leave me, mon amour, just s-stay, please.”

“Charles, p-please don’t cry, I-I can’t see you cry—stand up, please,” you cried.

It was on his face, the clear image of pain, and you were the one to blame. At that moment, you thought of every possible way this argument would end. You were already hurting him right now, what more would you do if you stayed? How much pain would you cause?

Charles stood up and cupped your cheeks with his hands. “Do you think it doesn’t hurt me?” he paused, turning your face so that your eyes were looking at his. “When they say all that shit about you? When they drag your name through the mud? When they feast over you on the internet? Do you think it doesn’t hurt me?” 

You didn’t know what to say.

“It hurts me too,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “But I can’t control what they say. If I could, I would’ve done it way too long ago.”

“Charles…”

“This is the way the world works, Y/N. You have to realize that people say what they want to say and people do what they want to do. Everything is done with a choice.” 

He finally opened his eyes, pulling away from you and wiping his tears. He stayed standing in front of you, but he now maintained a distance.

“Y/N…”

You couldn’t deny the pang of pain you felt when he called you by your name instead of the pet names he loved to call you.

“I can’t fight for a relationship when the other one’s already giving up,” he said. 

“You deserve someone way better than me,” you cried. “Look what I’m doing, I’m already hurting you right now. I would just hurt you even more in the future.”

Instead of him getting sad, his face showed a different emotion. It was blank, it was as if the emotions that blew up moments ago exhausted him.

“If you decide to stay or not, just know that I love you.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

You fucking hated yourself.

What the fuck did you just do?

Why didn’t you stay that night and why did you have to break what you loved so much?

You tried living without his presence for a week and it was horrible. You convinced yourself that you would eventually get used to a life without the warmth of his body next to yours or the sweet messages he would send every day. It was getting hard to reassure yourself that this was the way it was meant to be—you, away from him—when the only name your heart was calling was his.

You were miserable. You were breathing but you felt like you were already dead because your life had been taken away from you.

And you only have yourself to blame.

The truth was, you were weak. Each time you experience a block in the road, you immediately turn away. And you were ashamed of yourself for that. You were scared of losing Charles so you pushed him away. You left him before he could realize he needed to leave you.

You were regretting every single thing you did.

You regretted how you lived like an island, how you punished him with silence, how you went off like sirens, but above all, you regretted how you walked away.

Now you found yourself in front of his home, shaking as you slowly raised your hand to knock on the door. You hoped he was inside.

You knocked on the door hoping it was not too late. The door opened slowly after a few minutes, and after a week of no interaction, you finally saw him.

He was in the same state as you, maybe even worse. It was evident on his face that he spent most of his time crying. His eyes which were full of life before became lifeless, and he gave you the most lethargic look.

You wanted to hurt yourself because you knew you did that to him.

“Can I come inside, please?” you pleaded.

He stepped aside from the door and walked straight to the couch, not even sparing you a single glance. You followed him, sitting beside him as silence consumed the two of you.

“Hey,” you couldn’t help but cry as you looked at him. He had his head in his hands and you knew he was stopping himself from crying. “I’m sorry,” you said. “You don’t have to talk, I just want you to listen.”

When he didn’t move, you took that as a sign to continue. Honestly, you didn’t know where to start but you just let your heart guide you on what words you needed him to hear. 

“It’s all me, Charles. I’m sorry,” you stated. “It’s all me, in my head—I burned us down. I know I said a lot of stupid things but it’s not what I meant. And I—” you wiped a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.” 

He stayed still, hands still covering his face. You wanted him to look at you, but you knew you were in no position to tell him what to do when you were the reason he was this way. And so, you just continued to speak, hoping that deep inside his heart, he would find it in himself to forgive you.

“At that moment, I felt like the walls were closing in on me and the world was spinning out of control. I let my emotions take over and lashed out in ways that were unreasonable and unfair. I see now that I projected my own fears onto you, and I regret it. I regret everything I said that day. I let my assumptions take control and I assumed the worst without giving you the benefit of the doubt. I realize now that I sabotaged something beautiful, something we had worked so hard to build together.

“I didn’t want to do this to you. I want you to know that I take full responsibility for my overreaction. I'm aware of the impact it had on you, and I understand that you are hurt and feeling distant. But please, Charles, give me a chance to make it right. Give me a chance to show you that I’m capable of growth and that I’m learning from my mistakes.

“I can't promise that I won't make mistakes in the future, but I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to communicate openly and honestly and I will seek to understand your perspective before jumping to conclusions.

“I don’t want to lose you, Charles. I know trust takes time to rebuild, and I’m willing to put in the effort. You’re right, you’re always right— our love is worth fighting for. Please forgive me for being too weak, for walking away instead of staying. I misplaced my hurt and anger and I hurt you. I love you, Charles, please, at least look at me?” you pleaded.

And he did. He finally looked up. His eyes were red from crying as he held your hands in his. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear from you. For you to say that you’re willing to fight for us. I needed you to realize that for us to work, we have to meet each other halfway.”

“I know, and again, I’m sorry,” you apologized.

“Thank you,” he cried, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“For what?” you asked him.

“For coming back.”

You smiled at each other, leaning in for a kiss when you both got distracted by the light that suddenly shined through his large window.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the sky, you both stood side by side at the window. The afterglow of the sun painted the room in warm tones, filling the space with a sense of something you haven’t felt for a long time… peace.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand intertwined with his. You watched in awe as the last rays of sunlight danced across the clouds, creating breathtaking shades of colors. For a moment, you swore the sky was pink.

"It's like nature's painting," you whispered, voice filled with wonder.

Charles nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on the ever-changing canvas before the two of you. "Yeah, it's beautiful," he replied softly.

The two of you simply stood there, lost in the beauty of the moment. Time seemed to stand still as you basked in the quiet serenity of the evening. As the sky darkened and the stars began to twinkle overhead, you both reluctantly tore your gazes away from the window. But the memory of the afterglow of the sun lingered in your hearts, a reminder of the beauty that surrounded you each day.

For the longest time, you let hate consume you. It was like this dark cloud hanging over your head. You were so focused on what they all had to say that you forgot to appreciate what was right in front of you.

But then, something shifted. Maybe it was a moment of clarity or a whisper of wisdom from somewhere deep within. Or maybe it was him, Charles, that made you realize that conforming to hate wasn't getting you anywhere. It wasn’t making you happy, it wasn't bringing you peace. All it was doing was tearing you apart, piece by piece.

And in that moment of realization, everything changed. You finally made a choice—a choice to let go of the hate and embrace love instead. You knew it wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn’t something that happens overnight, but you were determined to commit.

You were beginning to see the beauty in the world around you. The fact that it could be the laughter of real friends, the warmth of the sun on your skin, or the gentle touch of a loved one's hand—you realized that true love was everywhere, if only you were willing to open your eyes and see it.

So now, you were choosing love by choosing him. You chose to appreciate the little moments of joy, the simple pleasures of life. You chose to let go of anger and resentment, and instead, filled your heart with kindness and compassion.

You would soon forgive your family.

Because in the end, love is all that really mattered. It was what connected us, what bound us together as human beings. And when we embrace it, when we let it guide us, we would find out that life is so much sweeter, and so much more meaningful.

So here's to love—in all its forms, in all its beauty.

And here’s to Charles, your lover.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx @c-losur3

FORMULA ONE TAGLIST: @dreamingofautopia @lpab @matildrry @fangirl125reader @tall-tanned-tattoo @aundercover @stevesworld96 @princessria127

[dootznbootz]

As someone who is also really uncomfortable with the Zeus/Odysseus art trend, I completely understand where your coming from!

People’s treatment of Odysseus’s assaults in general makes me really upset. Just the other day I saw a comment on a post saying that “Odysseus wasn’t loyal to his wife yet expects her to be loyal to him” and not once in the replies did I see someone mention that he was literally assaulted. It’s absolutely gross and makes me hesitant to go deeper into the fandom.

I remember being so frustrated when the snippets of “There are Other Ways” came out because so many people were making Hamilton jokes and talking about how he always talks about his wife yet cheated. When in the song it was so clear he was being coerced which is yknow, not a form of consent. I couldn’t even listen to it because it made me so uncomfortable, and even now with the full version out the fandoms reaction to it overall have soured me to it. Which sucks, because I do think it’s a great song.

Also I don’t even think Epic completely erases Calypso’s assault? At least, I think it’s left ambiguous enough during the time jump that people can come to their own conclusions. Specifically when Calypso says “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time” just really gives me the impression that something else happened.

I suppose in the snippets we’ve seen of “I’m Not Sorry For Loving You” it seems like Odysseus and Calypso are on slightly friendlier terms, but I don’t think that negates the fact she could’ve assaulted him. And I’ve always took that song as pretty manipulative on Calypso’s side, with Odysseus more so trying to placate her. But that’s going into theory territory.

And even if he isn’t SA’d in Epic it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to be there!! Same with Homer’s Odyssey. It’s so infuriating to see the cheating narrative be so widely spread when that is just not what happened.

Anyway’s sorry for the long rant, but I wanted to say that it’s nice to see you take Odysseus’s SA seriously. It’s not something the fandom does enough.

It's okay for the long rant. Sorry I took a bit to get to it but I wanted some "soft chatters" for a bit before I tackled this one :)

"Just the other day I saw a comment on a post saying that “Odysseus wasn’t loyal to his wife yet expects her to be loyal to him” and not once in the replies did I see someone mention that he was literally assaulted. It’s absolutely gross and makes me hesitant to go deeper into the fandom."

I completely understand you with this stuff. ;~; I used to go through Odyssey tags often as I LOVE possibly finding new people to follow and fun things but too many times I would see shit that pissed me off. ;~; I've honestly kind of just stuck to my mutuals that I trust tbh. And honestly, there's soooo much shit of people just straight up not understanding the context/culture/meaning/etc. of the Epics and just taking it at face value and not understanding the meanings. :/ I'm no expert, but I also have analyzed and researched quite a bit on my own to try and get the full picture. I think in order to truly enjoy the Odyssey, you need to just... really soak shit in, you know?

When Calypso, that lovely goddess,  tried                           to keep me with her in her hollow cave, longing for me to become her husband,                                  or when, in the same way, the cunning witch Aeaean Circe held me in her home filled with a keen desire I’d marry her, they never won the heart here in my chest.

(Book 9, Johnston)

Odysseus tells this to the Phaecians. They are strangers that he will likely never see again and who are isolationists. Therefore his story that he told probably won't be "spread" to others so he can probably say whatever. So he doesn't have to worry about "Penelope hearing a different story than the one he told to her" if people wanna argue about how "Oh well, he didn't tell Penelope about the 'affairs'"(He tells her everything as well btw.)

He could literally say "Oh yeah, I had the time of my life!" but he doesn't because that's not true. Odysseus has no listed concubines, I just literally don't see him as the type of guy who's really into that.

And while yes, he would be devastated if she didn't "stay loyal", he does sound like he'd be understanding. He asks his mother in the Underworld if Penelope had gotten remarried to "the finest of Achaeans". And we all know of Odysseus' words of "when Telemachus has a beard, feel free to remarry". Even when first "rejected" by Penelope in that she didn't hug him when he sat across from her, he was incredibly hurt but asked for a separate bed. He literally could have had it where Penelope takes a different bed and he takes their luxurious/fancy one because he has the rest of the household on his side.

But he DOESN'T!

Because he adores her for fuck's sake!

Funny enough? I have the weird reaction of like, weirdly searching out "Good" animatics as it was a weird reassurance of "yes, people see that it's wrong." as while holy fuck. so many stupid, awful jokes about "Say No to This" in the comments (I have learned to just stay the fuck away from youtube comments on Odysseus shit. :') ) but like, seeing and HEARING how yes, this was fucked, was weirdly really nice for me. yeah, it took a lot of digging but there's a few "There Are Other Ways" that I love. Literally, both are unfinished wips and they're still my favorites. If you can, please give these two a watch and some love for the creator.

This was back before we heard the full song and it's still very good. How he's on guard until she "magics" him and the colors change. After that he kind of moves like a "puppet" but he's still resisting as best he can.

This one is literally still sketches but it's my absolute favorite. Oh my word. The body language, PENELOPE FLASHBACKS!!! Showing cute bits of Penelope's character and how awful this is for him. (Penelope is so cute. She puffs up her cheeks to make him laugh!) How he really is scared that he'll have to go through with this in order to save his friends until all his past trauma floods back and he just can't. It's lovely.

And yeah Idk how to feel about "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You" :/ I don't know how it'll be yet, maybe there's something in another song that shows Odysseus' real feelings or whatever.

And with just the whole cheating thing, yeah, it's really upsetting to call what is blatant assault "cheating". As wild as it sounds, Odysseus' story has been more relatable for me than any other stories like this, even modern ones. I've spoken a bit about it before but yeh, victim blaming at its finest. I find him and his story and his love for Penelope slkdfj very relatable. It's honestly really nice to write about in a sense..

(I'm pasting this from an old post of mine but yeh)

I have never had a story that felt like how it actually FEELS. The "aftermath" and "regaining life". It's hopeful and feels really good. It's been years since "everything" but it just felt nice to see "Everybody has the chance to get better." Even Nestor, Helen, and Menelaus, while still dealing with their traumas, are doing a lot better now. And after literal hell, Odysseus got to be with his family and loved ones again. He can start living again. It's why I'm just...idk passionate about this? I'm not a murderer or a war veteran but I see myself in him. Hopefully, y'all see me as nicer though!😂(plus, let's be honest, the Odyssey is romantic af and OdyPen is right up my alley as well >:D )

I really hate the whole "he's a guy so therefore ____" whether it's used as a "Boys will be boys. they can't help themselves" usually aimed at female victims or a "Men always want sex. they cannot be victims.". It's fucked up and used against ALL of us. :( Doesn't matter if it was history. People, no matter the era, should never be put through "Are you Victim™ enough?". He is one.

Idk the Odyssey means a lot to me. I hope it's okay I take some liberties with my fanfics as it's nice healing through him :D I AM kind of using my own experiences and ideas and it feels nice. I don't think Homer necessarily meant for this but eh, anything that helps is good :D He's a war criminal that I relate to.

[ronanlynchian]

wip whenever! ty @kidspawn for always tagging me!!! (i live to see the little mentions tab in my notifs light up) gonna throw in a couple of them on here :p (different chunks of different fics im working on lol) putting this under a read-more bc its HUGE

tagging @indecisive-specimen @virtuousnarcissist @allies-or-enemies

songs for a former love

(ive already posted this on another wip post but it's e/R exes-to-lovers based on a playlist i made so here are some other random chunks

“When we’re apart,” Grantaire began, wriggling loose from Enjolras’s relaxing hold. “All we do is argue. We say good morning, goodnight, we say I love you, and that’s it. Because if we say anything else, we’ll fight. Before this, it was easier, Enj.”

“Before what?” Enjolras asked, wide blue eyes staring at a stain on the rug. The rug had been a gift from his aunt, when he first moved into an apartment in Cambridge. It hadn’t been cheap, most likely, but the wine that Enjolras and Grantaire shared on it the first night there had been. He hadn’t gotten his couch yet, he only had a bedroom set, a dining set, and the rug from his aunt. The apartment had that shitty kind of shag carpet, the kind that for some reason, unknown to all— even landlords— comes in white. The rug was not white, and the pair thought it was a better idea to drink on it than anywhere else— Enjolras’s bedspread was a light terracotta, and he would have been irate if they got wine on it, so they sat flat on the rug, sharing sips straight from the bottle. Of course, one of them laughed a little bit too hard at something the other said, and a splash of red wine made its way into the tightly woven fibers of the rug. He didn’t have anything to clean it up with, yet, so it would be dealt with later. Despite the mess it made, he felt almost sentimental toward the stain; maybe he saw it as the beginning of his new life, maybe he saw it as a sign that Grantaire would always be there. As Grantaire broke up with him, he kept his eyes locked on to the red wine stain from a night that felt like lifetimes ago. 

“Before all of this,” Grantaire sighed, finally pulling himself completely free of Enjolras’s arms. “Before we both finished school and decided to stay all the way across the country from each other.”

“You could’ve moved here,” Enjolras argued, and just like that, they fell back into old habits. “You have nothing going on in Oregon, R. I’m here. You could have come to me.”

“It was never going to work out,” Grantaire confessed, regretting it immediately. “I’m too much of a fuck-up, you’re too much of a perfectionist. I’m a writer, I write shitty poetry and genre fic, and you— well. You’re perfect. I’m not. It wasn’t going to work out, and I think we both knew that.” He dropped his head in his hands, resisting the urge to cry again. He could feel Enjolras shifting around on the couch, almost as if he were going to try and comfort him, and something about it made him start to feel a little bit sick. “I’ve fucked up too many times to count. If we— if we keep going, if we keep trying, it’s just going to hurt more.”

“You think that walking away will make it magically stop hurting?” Enjolras huffed, a scowl taking over his face. Grantaire knew what the expression looked like; he could feel Enjolras’s angry eyes  on the back of his head, and he was suddenly very grateful to be hiding his face in his hands. “You think that we should just quit? You don’t believe that we can fix it?” His voice was going higher in pitch, laced with desperation and fear and love. Grantaire felt like he was going to throw up. 

“Sometimes, I think that I would rather hurt on my own than hurt you,” he admitted, “I can't anymore, Enj. I— I don’t want to distract you. I don’t want my inability to be a well-adjusted human being infringe on your future—”

“You don’t even want to know how I feel about this?” Enjolras asked, deflating back into the couch. Grantaire said nothing, only shook his head. “Fine.” Still, nothing. “I guess… I guess it’s over.” 

They sat in the silence for a moment, thinking about everything, but saying nothing. After a few minutes passed, Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, trying to keep his voice level. It was Saturday night, and Grantaire would be flying back to Portland the next afternoon. If he only had him for one more night, he would make the best of it— it wasn’t that he was trying to convince Grantaire to keep trying, but rather, trying to convince Grantaire that he needed him. They had been together for four years, and dancing around it for a year before that; he didn’t know how to live without Grantaire— he didn’t know how to live without loving him. 

“If this is it,” Enjolras started, “I want you to know that I don’t want this to end. I want one more night, R.” He paused for a moment, silent again, measuring the weight of his words. “I want to pretend that nothing’s changed. The second I drop you off at the airport tomorrow, the second you get out of the car, I can accept it, or at least try to. But tonight, R— please. I want to hold you, I want to kiss you, I want to act like I’ll see you again. I can’t say goodbye to you tonight.”

Grantaire had finally lifted his head from his hands— the emotion in Enjolras’s voice was too much. “Enj, I—”

“I can deal with the change of pace later, I promise. I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.” Enjolras was lying to the both of them, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. “I can’t take it tonight. It’s too much. I’m not trying to—”

“You aren’t manipulating me,” Grantaire snapped— well, tried to snap; in reality, he wanted the same thing, and he knew that Enjolras was a creature of habit.

here's another sillier chunk from it

A year later, a box appeared in the lobby of Enjolras’s apartment, addressed to him. He brought it inside, ignored who it was from, and threw it in the stack of boxes that already littered his living room. He was done with Boston— done with the east coast as a whole. Everyone else had moved on, had found bigger and better things to throw themselves into, and he had been clinging onto a long-gone love, a long-gone life; there was nothing left for him there. He had confided in Courfeyrac about it, and Courf’s only response was a text that said lol, move back. heres a song for u, and a link to I Hate Boston by Renee Rapp. Enjolras hated him a little bit for it, but obviously, Courfeyrac had a point— for all of his energy, all of his glow, not to mention all of his dramatics, he was often right. An hours-long phone call with Courf and Cosette had convinced him of the begrudging truth that it was time to move on. He was miserable in law school, he was miserable in Boston, and he was miserable on his own. 

laundromat meet-cute

It was the Friday night before spring break, or as Courfeyrac called it, Spreak, began, and Enjolras found himself at the laundromat. He should have been happy— it was a step away from grading papers, a step away from the nauseating hustle and bustle of grad school, but, as luck would have it, he had run out of socks, because of course. Combeferre had scolded him for always waiting until he was finally out of clean clothes to do his laundry, but as Enjolras had learned, insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. Waiting would have been fine, had his fucking washing machine not broken. It was ten o’clock on a Friday night, he was out of socks, his washing machine was broken, and there was a twenty-four hour laundromat around the corner. Which was a blessing. Or it would have been, had some annoying asshole not set up shop right next to him at the table in the corner. 

“So,” the annoying asshole said, turning toward him, “Is that your laundry day outfit?”

Enjolras could only scowl in response. Although he wasn’t particularly great at social rules and had never done his washing at a laundromat, he felt like there was one in existence that deemed that strangers at laundromats didn’t speak to each other. The annoying asshole smelled like cigarettes and something that Enjolras couldn’t quite decipher. He also, unfortunately for Enjolras, had the most striking face that he had ever seen. Enjolras’s scowl turned into a blank stare as he blinked slowly in response. 

“I take it you’re not much of a talker?” Enjolras continued to stare. “I’m R. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

A pleasure to make your acquaintance? Enjolras thought to himself. Who the fuck speaks like that?  

“Enjolras,” he said, dryly. “Pleasure to, um, make your acquaintance.” 

“Do you come here often?” R asked. Enjolras threw up a little bit in his mouth— was he hitting on him? “I mean, do you do a lot of laundry here.” 

“No,” Enjolras replied, “My washer is broken, ergo, my laundry is being done here.”

“I can tell,” R grinned, “Because you literally didn’t start it.” 

“Shut up,” he groaned back, “You’re lying.”

“Scout’s honor,” R laughed, “I mean, are you gonna start it? Or are you just going to sit here, miserable, waiting?” 

Enjolras rose to his feet and stumbled back over to the washer, fumbling the buttons to press start. Curse him and his inability to complete tasks before they get out of hand, and curse his washing machine, and curse the fact that you have to hit start even after you pay. R watched him as he stomped back toward the table, crossing his arms as he sat down once more. 

“Dude,” R smirked, “If you keep making that face, it’s gonna get stuck like that.”

Enjolras contemplated violence, but decided that clean socks were not, in fact, a cause worthy of breaking his pacifist streak. Instead, he chose a more targeted stare. 

“Alright, Apollo. Chill out, I’m just trying to lighten up the mood.”

“There’s no mood,” Enjolras grumbled, “I told you my name, and it is not Apollo.”

“Mhm,” R laughed. The sound shocked Enjolras to the core of his soul— it was a deep laugh that radiated straight from R’s chest and into his own bones, one that prompted him to want to hear it again. “Come on, lighten up. Smile a bit.”

“I just wanna do my laundry,” Enjolras complained, “I’m not here for conversation.”

“Alright,” R replied, “That, my friend, is all you had to say. I will leave you be.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras grunted, reaching for his backpack. Although it was break, he still had an absolutely obscene amount of reading to do, because some of these professors wouldn’t care if Jesus Christ himself were walking the earth if there was work to be done. He tried to focus on his work, but he found it very hard to care about anything relating to Hegel while R stared him down a little— it should have been creepy, but for some mysterious reason, it was almost endearing. He could hear the light scratching of a pencil against paper, even through the rumble of the machines, and couldn’t help but wonder what exactly R was doing— he really couldn’t let himself get distracted, but it was nice to entertain the idea of indulging in something other than The Philosophy of Right. He wouldn’t, though, and not only because he couldn’t. 

There was something about R that wasn’t settling right with him, although he couldn’t quite determine what it was. It definitely wasn’t the fact that R calling him Apollo made him pink from his scalp to his toes, it definitely wasn’t the fact that R had illegally gorgeous green eyes and a ridiculously fucked-up and beautiful nose, and it definitely wasn’t the fact that Enjolras hadn’t looked at another person like that in a very, very long time. It couldn’t be any of that, not while emancipation can only be achieved through knowledge, not while abandoning human nature means becoming destructive. Enjolras blinked. Fuck Hegel, he thought, dropping the book and turning once more to look at R, who looked absolutely shocked and caught out when Enjolras turned to face him.

“I give up,” he sighed, “R, please talk to me about anything that isn’t Hegel, Feuererbach, or Marx.” He slammed his laptop shut and tucked it into his bag. He needed to take a break anyway— his eyes were aching, and that was probably why he hadn’t started the washing machine.

R smiled at that, shooting him a wide, toothy grin that overtook his perfect, perfect face. Enjolras wanted to see it again, and then perhaps once more after that, and then, perhaps, forever. What the hell am I doing? 

“Alright then,” R began, setting down whatever he had been doing, “What do you know about Jane Eyre?” He moved to sit on top of the table and all of a sudden, Enjolras was eye-level, give or take, to the most beautiful pair of legs he had ever seen. They were muscular and tattooed and hot. R stared back at him with an amused look on his face, watching Enjolras’s eyes widen. 

“Nothing,” Enjolras finally replied, his face flushed and his mouth very, very dry. R smirked in reply.

“Well, pretty boy— if I can call you that—, how tired are your eyes?” He had a mischievous look on his face, and something started swirling in Enjolras’s stomach. R was still looking back at him, his eyes looking more like laser beams of annoyance and sensuality than eyes. He had an air about him that Enjolras couldn’t help but blush at— like everything he did and every word that fell out of his pink lips was laden with something a little bit obscene. Enjolras wondered briefly if Grantaire could be made illegal because his smile gave him the same effect as an illicit substance would. A moment too late, he realized what R had called him, and his face broke out into a scowl again.

“Don’t call me pretty boy,” he sighed. He had spent eighty percent of his life being mistaken for a girl— not even a woman, but a girl. It was still happening at twenty-two. “And my eyes are so tired that it feels like they may fall out of my head. I love theory— it’s important, it’s the backbone of politics and life, but I just can’t anymore.”

“Ah, I see,” R replied, crossing his ankles and swinging them slowly. “I was going to offer you this book to read— you look quite peaceful with your nose stuffed into one—, but if your eyes are too tired, I’ll rescind that offer.” He paused for a moment and the smile on his face grew wider, more suspicious. “I could, however, read it to you.” 

Enjolras blinked, unable to determine if it was a joke or not. 

“What,” he said, a statement and not a question. “Read to me? Like it’s elementary storytime?” He stared at R with a most suspicious look on his face.

“Look, Apollo. We’re the only ones in here,” R began, a blush beginning to spread across his own face. “Nobody’s gonna hear me reading to you in my sexy, dulcet tones. If anyone comes in, I’ll stop, okay? If that’s what makes you comfortable.”

“Fine,” Enjolras huffed, setting his head down on the table, right next to R’s thigh�� and oh, it looked even better up close. The length of the shorts he was wearing walked the fine line between briefs and actual running shorts, and Enjolras’s head was right there. He could see every toned line of muscle, he could see every hair, every tattoo. “Read to me,” he said, muffled by his arms. R, to his disappointment, swung himself off the tabletop and went to the other side again, grabbing his own bag; Enjolras’s heart swelled when R came back to sit right next to him. 

“How do you feel about extraordinarily ugly men falling in love with stern, beautiful people?” R asked, and Enjolras made a note that he didn’t say women. 

“Beauty is subjective,” he argued instinctively. He sat up and uncrossed his arms, and turned to look at R. “What most people consider beautiful relies on a eurocentric idea—”

“Yes, yes,” R interrupted. “Eurocentric blah blah blah, one’s worth shouldn’t rely on whether or not others find you attractive blah blah blah. Are you done?” He looked at Enjolras expectantly, an all-knowing sort of smile on his face that was almost transforming into a smirk of some kind. “All of that is beside the point right now, Apollo. It’s the story. It’s what it’s about. It’s about a type of blind, all-consuming love. Is that up your alley? I mean, certainly, it’s no Berger, but, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s quite up my alley,” Enjolras admitted, feeling strangely shy about it all. “I think it could be enjoyable, though. How long is it?”

“Well, I can’t say that it’s too small — that’s what she said—,” R’s smile stretched into a smirk once more, “I know the audiobook is like, nineteen hours. But I can always start it and you can give it back to me later, y’know? Read it on your own after all of this?”

“I don’t know if I’ll have time to,” Enjolras sighed— academia was a beast of its own. “But you can start it, and I’ll listen.”

“I can always read to you outside of the confines of a laundromat,” R reminded him. “It’s not like this has to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair, ruffling the curls, before rubbing the bridge of his nose with a tense fist. Enjolras was enraptured by the way the bones and joints and tendons moved, unable to take his eyes away.

“I’d like that,” Enjolras replied, face flushing neon. R smiled again—it stunned him just as much as it had every other time— and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him to rest his head on his own broad, muscular shoulder. 

“I’d like that too,” R said. “In that case, allow me to, y’know, properly introduce myself?” Enjolras sat up and turned his head to face him. “I’m Grantaire, I am a history graduate student, I paint, I drink, and I seem to enjoy chatting gorgeous men up at laundromats. I can be abrasive and brash, but it’s part of my charm.” Enjolras felt his own smile creeping up.

“I’m Enjolras, a political science grad student. I read, I write— mostly what conservatives would probably consider manifestos, but that’s neither here nor there—,” he laughed, his face growing hotter. “I don’t really drink, but that’s just— a personal thing? And I guess I get chatted up by beautiful men with really short shorts in laundromats. I can also be abrasive, and kind of blunt, but it’s part of my… something.”

AND ALSO HERE ARE SOME ANCIENT TRC WIPS THAT I HAVEN'T TOUCHED SINCE 2018 AT THE LATEST

this one is just titled ROOMBA FIC

Ronan Lynch had grown up climbing the shelves of his father’s bookstore, hopping on ladders from the children’s section to the fantasy section, and then back again. He had grown up dancing through mystical forests in his head and swimming through magical rivers in the canyons of books. He was used to every fantastical thing in the universe, but nothing had prepared him for a wild roomba. 

It was Gansey’s idea, of course. Everything was always Gansey’s idea. It started with Ronan complaining about the cat that would come into the store, and then him complaining about the cat not coming in anymore, and was immediately followed by Gansey buying Ronan a roomba. He said it was because the shop floors got dusty, but really, it was just because he thought Ronan got lonely.

The vacuum provided a nice, dull drone to the monotony of Ronan’s every day life, but the only issue was that he didn’t really know how it worked. But, one could say it all began with the roomba.

Technically, though, it all began with Adam Parrish, and a bag of rocks. 

shall i sleep (within your bed)

There was a hand lingering on Ronan’s calf, hanging onto the leg of his black skinny jeans. It was near dark and he was lying in the hayloft of the barn as Gansey and Blue poked around on the floor, searching for dream things that maybe had slipped past them the first few searches. Adam was next to him, asleep for the first time in probably forever.  

It had been seven weeks since Gansey died the second time. It was seven weeks of ice cold showers in the dead of night as he tried to replace the chills in his spine with needle sharp chills on his underslept and gaunt face. It was seven weeks of Ronan waking up in the middle of the night and knocking on Gansey’s bedroom doorframe like he was younger and had a nightmare. It was seven weeks of Blue’s (brand new) cell phone ringing off the hook in the darkness of her bedroom because Gansey was calling after another nightmare. It was seven weeks of Adam feeling for Ronan on the side of his bed at St. Agnes and feeling an empty space. It was seven weeks of Noah’s emptiness shooting through everyone like a bullet ripping straight through skin. It was seven weeks of the coldest winter, though the sun shone down on them.  So Adam sleeping soundly in the hayloft of the barn seemed like a miracle to Ronan. 

It had been a long time since any of them had slept soundly, but it had been longer for Adam. With the combined stress of his magician identity and his emancipation, he had not slept for more than two hours consecutively in one night in bordering on a year, but he had traded sleep for saving the world. 

Ronan watched Adam’s hand where it sat on the leg of his jeans, eyes focused hard on the bronzed skin against the black denim. He flexed his ankle. 

From where he sat, he could hear Blue’s sharp laugh, loud and bright from the floor. He heard Gansey moments later follow with a laugh. He hadn’t heard either of them laugh in seven weeks, not since Gansey had-

Adam snored. 

Adam snored in his sleep.  Ronan smiled at that, a secret smile that nobody except for himself would know existed. He watched as Adam’s eyelashes fluttered and his eyes twitched. He was awake. 

anyway yeah LOL this is my biggest wip post ever i think ENJOY!

[loudmouthnobody]

don’t feel you have to answer them all (or any) but 1, 4, 12, 22, 27, 30 for the fic writer asks ✨👏

hello hello!! thank you for the ask 💗💗 i will be answering all of these cause this ask game actually sounded really interesting to me, and you gave me a really interesting few of them!

the last sentence you wrote

“Happy birthday, Appa,” she smiled, voice full of joy, “Hye-jin helped me. It was my idea.”

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

a story idea that I REALLY want to write (but just haven’t because I have absolutely no idea how to start it) is basically a fic recalling the whole time period from the end of season 1 to the beginning of season 2, and how sangwoo haunts gihun throughout the entire thing. from the second he’s out the games to the second season 2 begins, sangwoo is there. the hauntings vary, sometimes sangwoo looks exactly how he left him, blaming him for everything and forcing him to look at “what he did to him” (gihun refuses to believe that ghost is actually sangwoo haunting him, but rather his guilt disguised as sangwoo), and sometimes sangwoo looks like the kid gihun first met. bright eyes, glasses too big for his face, constantly asking the same phrase. can gihun-hyung come and play? that version always leaves wells of tears in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries. it’s clear the child isn’t intending to hurt him, but seeing sangwoo so innocent, knowing exactly what he’d done to himself and what gihun had done to him, and knowing the fate that kid faced? how was he not supposed to cry?

i feel corny writing this out lmfao BUT TRUST ME THE IDEA IS SO COOL IN MY HEAD. SANGWOO COMES TO HIM AS DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF HIMSELF EACH TIME, AND GIHUN IS JUST. BEING PSYCHOLOGICALLY TORTURED.

12. a trope you’re really into right now

the trope ive been obsessed with recently, i don’t know if its an actual trope that people have coined, (if not, let this be me coining it), but lowkey stalker4stalker. i blame the song “an unhealthy obsession” for it tbh, it’s such a good song and from what I take away from the songs meaning, it sounds like two people being obsessed with eachother and stalking one another, though not knowing the other is stalking them. i swear it sounds weird explaining it but there’s just this vibe from the song that gives this trope a new meaning, specifically the lines where she talks about “one day we’ll have a pretty wedding.” it just sounds SO insane and i love it.

22. do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

actually yeah, I worry about this alot. the main reason I feel like I haven’t posted a fic is because yes, I feel like I can never make time to write them, but the same cycle kinda follows me every time because of this worry. I get an idea, and just surging with creativity I kinda just. write as much as possible right then and there. then, when I try and come back to that later and keep building on it, i get this weird like. fear that my writing sucks and someone reading it is gonna either be bored or just be thinking how bad it is 😓 it’s really annoying and it makes me write even worse when that’s my though process whilst writing, but im not really sure how to get past it. ive been trying my best to just write for fun and ignore the fact that it will be bad at some points and it’s allowed to have mistakes/not be Shakespearean level LMFAO but it’s kind of hard.

27. your favorite part of the writing process

my favorite part of the writing process has gotta be like, planning everything out beforehand. i love coming up with an idea in itself and brainstorming beforehand and making sure every plot-point goes together, every character gets their moment in the sun and has a purpose for being there, there’s no plot-holes, etc, it’s genuinely so fun. brainstorming is just my favorite thing ever cause ideas almost come naturally to me, or ways to fix up plot holes just kinda. come to me. I try to not make a story that is perfect from the beginning, cause no story is. messing it up and having issues within the storyline is part of the process, and I don’t mind having plot-holes if I enjoy filling them.

30. share a fic you’re especially proud of

well… the fic that I would’ve been especially proud of was my guard!sangwoo au, my first chapter and prologue for it was INCREDIBLE imo, but I lost almost every form of it possible and every time I’ve tried to rewrite it, it just isn’t the same. 😓

HOWEVER, I do have, in my opinion, my favorite snippet of writing ive made out of all my drafts of fics. (it’s actually what the line at the top is from!!)

this is from my squid game x the pitt au, (a medical au), the name so far being “getting some air”, which may be subject to change. (the pitt fans understand the reference 😈) enjoy this little snippet!!

October 31st. That was the date that had echoed throughout his head the moment he’d awoke. October 31st. The thirty-first of October. His birthday. The anniversary of his mother’s death.

Eyes blinking open, sealed shut by raw sleep, the sounds of the morning filled his room, a lullaby that threatened to lull him back to sleep. The early morning honking and rushing of cars was common in Seoul, so common that he’d adapted to sleep through it. Moving from the quiet Ssangmun-dong to the metropolitan landscape of somewhere around Seoul was a culture shock, to say the least.

It was times like these, days that held a particular meaning to him, that had him missing his home-town. A certain feeling ached at him once more, a harrowing emptiness that really only bit at him on this particular day. It surely had to be too early for this, he thought.

Oh Mal-Soon. That name rang throughout his head, bouncing off every corner of his mind until it’d found a way to wedge itself into the deepest pit of it— as if her name wasn’t already all he could think about.

He gave a sigh. A long one, at that, laid flat out on his back. The chilly breeze now blew through his windows, fragments of light cutting through his blinds and illuminating his room an impossibly warm orange hue. Despite how his bare legs had practically crawled with goosebumps the moment he’d came in contact with the cold air, he couldn’t find it in himself to shudder underneath the blanket. It felt nice, this breeze. Something about the unrelenting cold had yanked him right out of his mind, pulled his soul that threatened to escape his body straight back into him. He needed an anchor, or at-least something to keep him sane.

That anchor was his open window. Suppose it wasn’t anything to scoff at, this small action he’d done before escaping to sleep had an effect on him he couldn’t have predicted. It was the little things, he told himself, (or, rather that’s what Geum-ja had told him, and he’d just been trying it out.)

A sigh once more. A draft of wind blew through his room, making his blinds sputter and smack back into the windowsill, the morning sun bright as ever through the window—it had burned a mark into his retinas when he’d threatened to look at it.

It was almost six in the morning, on the dot. Usually, on this day, he’d never find himself awake at that hour. Only at the crack of noon would he be even considering getting out of bed, so why was he even awake?

He’d asked himself that, but he knew the answer. Nobody was forcing him to come to work—they all knew the drill, this day meant no Dr. Seong in the office—but he’d still felt the need to. Like Geum-ja had said, resting on this day forever would never allow him to get over it, he had to “scale the hill,” so to speak. The odd echolalia of her words, that was.

Geum-ja had, for some reason, also burrowed herself into his mind. Every half-inspirational word she’d somehow came up with gave him an odd sense of feeling. Nothing in particular, but it’d all somehow became an ear worm. Climb the hill. Work to forget. Become a better person. Get therapy for fucks sake. How kind she was for that last one, he recalled.

Yawning, he’d now grabbed his blanket off from the foot of his bed, yanking it up and over himself and turning on his side, directly facing the window. Now, the gentle breeze could only touch what wasn’t hidden under the blanket. Unluckily for him, his blanket was just the tiniest bit too small. His feet were freezing.

A noise sounded itself from behind him, a creak of some sorts, but he’d already begun lulling himself back to sleep. It echoed and fizzled out within the sounds of the Seoul morning.

His bed all of a sudden creaked under the weight of another person—leaping onto it and practically landing on-top of him, chasing him from his slumber.

that’s all im gonna give yall so far… you’ll have to read the whole fic to find out the rest….

BUT YEAH, thank you for the ask!!! anyone else can feel free to send any, they’re so fun to respond to 💗