#the chapter you all have been waiting for

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

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tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

[absoluteocellibehavior]

*pulls up a chair*

*sits cutely*

Did you miss me?

Wow, ok. Where do I even begin?! Let's start with Kayne and The Tower itself. You may think that pulling cards like The Devil or Death are gonna be the ones that you're worried about but no. You got a Tower in your reading? Buckle up. The Tower is characterized with massive change, upheaval, and chaos. I honestly could not think of anything more fitting for our "Crawling Chaos." It is a change that affects you on all levels: physically, mentally, and spiritually. A massive, unexpected change that knocks down that stable structure built on unstable grounds. The Tower is also characterized with divine intervention that causes this massive change for your greater good. Well, the greater good is not the case with Kayne but he is certainly divinely intervening. He's got a hand in everything. Playing chess while everyone is playing checkers. He knows exactly how to get the people that he needs in the spots that he needs them without them questioning it. Look at those strings he's got on our little boys down at the bottom!

Going back to what I said about the shaky foundation. John and Arthur are the tower itself in this case. They have built this structure out of necessity. They are bonded to one another. So, their relationship has to be built up with one another. However, with the amount of lies and things kept from one another, this "stable structure" is liable to cracks. Just think about the amount of divorces we joke about. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. However, any of the massive things that have broken down their relationship back to the roots have been, for the most part, caused by Kayne. For example, Arthur's deal with Kayne causes Arthur to have to start from square one (no matter how unsuccessfully) with Yellow. John's deal with Kayne leads to John having to lie and manipulate Arthur into getting him to New York to the Grey Stone which culminates to another shattering of their relationship. However, after each of these events, Arthur and John have had to build their trust and bond with one another again. Arguably, I would say it gets stronger every time especially with how they are with one another in Season Five. Yet this cycle of destruction and renewal has Kayne looming over it and we truly can't be certain when Kayne's going to knock them down again.

OTHER CUTESY DETAILS <3 First of all, hello Chakra symbolism! We got two going here! The Crown Chakra is represent by the, well, crown lookin thing behind Kayne's head. This is actually something that shows up in the Rider-Waite tarot deck symbolizing energy coming down through the most divine part of yourself. This is just even more fun symbolism of Kayne's hand and intervention in everything. Down at the bottom between the boys, you've got the opposite: The Root Chakra. This is your grounding chakra. Your earthy chakra. A humanly connected one as opposed to the divine we previously spoke of. A major theme in Malevolent is what it means to be human. Both Arthur and John are painfully human, representing "humanity in all its forms" (borrowing a line from the most recent chapter). Over the course of the parts, you have Arthur and John changing and growing into themselves, choosing when to change or staying stubborn in certain areas. All of these choices symbolizing the essence of the human experience. They learn from one another. This leads into the next fun detail. John and Arthur are in the position of "The Creation of Adam", except your expected roles are reversed. John is Adam and Arthur is God. However, it makes sense in this case. Rather than Adam becoming close to the divine through a tainting of a relationship with God and partaking in the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, you have John becoming closer to humanity through his experiences in his bonding to Arthur (not all due to Arthur, mind you). And this little outreaching of hands is happening -- you guessed it -- in front of the Root Chakra.

Last little fun detail. If you don't know, Nyarlathotep in the OG Lovecraft lore often shown as an Egyptian pharaoh. So, we get some of that symbolism with Kayne here with little Eye of Horus designs on his clothing which was tied to the belief of the gods ruling over humankind. This is the left eye but we see Kayne looking out of his RIGHT eye leaning towards the Eye of Ra instead. The Eye of Ra is said to be able to see anything. Which is painfully ironic for Kayne because is this nearly the case except for that pesky little Black Stone, huh?! Fun details <3

XVI The Tower

Who’d want to be human anyway? Who pilots all these crude machines?

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Part Eight

Summary: Jungkook's feelings for you have grown immensely and he can't hold himself back from being honest anymore. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 2.6K~ (I know it's short but it was at a good stopping point and I couldn't figure out how to continue it without a big time skip/harsh break so yeah enjoy this mini chapter 😅) Warnings: No warnings just fluff a/n: Another almost four months and I only have a little bit for you 😔 I'm still trying to figure out how I want to go about finishing this story (yes it's close to the end) so please bear with me 😪 but either way I hope you enjoy!

Ever since I told him last month that I didn't want to be friends anymore and by default telling him that I wanted to be with him things have been different.

We've settled into a new routine with the tension between us no longer burning to the point I shy away but something that feel natural, domestic even. 

I guess you could say that's pretty obvious from the fact that we're living together but his subtle touches are welcomed and expected.

Things as simple as his hand on my lower back as he passes by or his arms wrapped around me from behind with his chin propped up on my shoulder or even a kiss on the forehead are all things that we've settled into and it makes me feel loved. 

Love is still a scary word for me to think about or even say aloud but it's something I feel towards him, deeply, hopelessly, painfully.

At times I remember that things could suddenly change without warning. That he could toss me out as soon as he gets fed up with waiting like Jared did. That he cou-. 

"Ow!" I cry out when he pinches my side, "What was that for?" I whine, the spot he abused  already sore. "I've been calling your name for five minutes and you didn't respond so..." he chuckles and I hum, not having the energy to scold him further. 

He wraps his arms around my waist and props his chin on my shoulder just like I had been thinking about while spacing out, leaving me relaxing into him, the feeling of being in his arms taking away some of the anxiety that had started to build. 

"You okay?" he asks, placing a kiss on my cheek to which I hum again, nodding along with it. "You sure, because you've been stirring your coffee for the past seven minutes" he says, my hand stilling once he points it out. 

I take a drink of the completely cold beverage and sigh in defeat, realizing that his words are true. 

"I wanted it cold anyways" I mumble and turn to walk over to the freezer to add some ice, Jungkook letting go but still staying close. 

"Something's wrong" he says after observing me for another second or two, very used to reading my body language. "Nothing's wrong I'm just...tired" I reply and the truth is I am. 

"My internship has been kicking my ass and I don't know, I guess it's all starting to catch up to me" I relent and he takes a turn humming, knowing I'm not telling him the whole truth. 

"You know you can tell me anything right?" he says, coming closer and cradling my face in his hands, granting him a sad smile in return. 

"I know, but I promise I'm fine. It's just been a long week that's all" he studies my features for a while and decides to take my word for it, seeing that I'm not ready to talk about it. He nods his head a tiny bit before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss on my lips, one that lasts but a moment before pulling away.

"You wanna watch something tonight?" he asks and I smile as my answer, making him chuckle. "I'll make the snacks if you wanna go choose" he offers and I nod, my face still cradled in his hands so he gives me one last kiss before letting go and leaving our source of entertainment up to me.

~~~~

As the movie we've already watched and fallen in love with plays Jungkook notices my absence even though I'm cuddled up next to him, my reactions being minimal to nonexistent.

The parts we always laugh at are met with the sounds of his enjoyment and not mine so he pauses it and waits for me to notice which I don't for a while leaving him even more worried. 

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours Bunny? Did I do something wrong?" he asks and I sit up, needing him to know that he hasn't. "No, no you've been wonderful, better than I deserve honestly" I say, mumbling the last part but of course he hears it loud and clear.

"I'm good to you because I love you and you do deserve it, that's all" he admits so freely that I almost don't catch it. "You...what?" I ask, almost too scared to breathe. "I love you" he says with a crooked smile, clearly enjoying my practically speechless state.

I sit there for a minute, stunned into silence, not having expected that at all but he just laughs. "What? You didn't think I loved you?" he asks, brushing a stray strand of hair off of my face, letting his fingers trail down my neck before withdrawing his hand.

"No...I mean maybe? Isn't it a little too early for I love you's?" I ask, tentative to say it after I had been burned by...

"I don't think so. I mean it might be forward but I've loved you for a long time and I've cared about you even longer. You're someone that has been a constant in my life for many many years and the fact that you've given me permission to hold you, kiss you...well it's something that I don't think I can hold back anymore" he confesses, making me feel as though my heart might explode. 

"I-" "You don't have to say anything. Take your time and only say it if you truly mean it Darling. I don't want to rush you into anything you're not ready for" he says, chancing caressing my face again and rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip. 

"Come here" he says and pulls me in, having me straddle him not for anything sexual but just for the need to hold me close. 

I burry my face in his neck and he rubs my back, knowing that I feel vulnerable since although he's not rushing me, I know he'll be waiting for an answer. 

"I'm scared" I mumble against his skin and he hums, understanding the situation honestly more than I wish he did. He witnessed the ups and downs of the relationship between Jared and I and sat on the sidelines, knowing he could treat me better but caring about me too much to take away my right to make my own decisions and choose who I love even if it wasn't him. 

"Take your time Bun. You know I'll always be here for you, no matter how long it takes" he reassures me of what I knew, making me nod and wrap around him even tighter, taking his words as genuine but still terrified that this could all slip away at any moment. 

~~~~

A week goes by and I still haven't said it and it's killing me.

When he says goodbye he says it, whenever we've been intimate he says it, he even says it randomly just to try to make me smile but my mind won't truly let it sink in until I say it back.

"Baby?" he asks, knocking on my partially ajar door, seeing that I've been taking a little while longer to get out of bed this morning. 

I hum and let him come in, trying to assess the state I'm in before saying anything else as he comes and sits down on my side of the bed, looking down at me and placing his hand on my waist. I'm still laying down, not having made an effort to get up just yet which I know worries him as well but he doesn't push me too hard. 

"You not feeling well?" he asks, now going to check my temperature with the back of his hand but not noticing a fever of any sort making his theory very short lived. "No, just tired" I say quietly, not having spoken a word since I woke up, my voice still raspy which I can tell he enjoys but doesn't comment on this time.

"You want me to make you something? It's already lunch time and you haven't eaten all day huh?" he asks, knowing the answer but still allowing me the chance to reply. "Yeah maybe something simple like a sandwich?" I request and he nods.

"Want me to get it from that sandwich place we love?" he suggests, rubbing small circles on my waist but I shake my head. "No I'm craving one of your sandwiches" I say making him smile, knowing one of his favorite forms of praise is compliments on his cooking. 

"Okay Bun, the usual?" he asks, knowing exactly what I want but asking just in case I'm feeling like something a little different today but I nod my head in approval making him lean down and place a kiss on my forehead before asking if I want him to bring it up here to which I decline. 

"I need to get out of bed at some point" I say and he shrugs, "You're allowed to have a lazy day every once in a while if you'd like. I could even come join you later on?" he proposes making me smile, in favor of his suggestion. 

"Can we take a nap after lunch?" I ask and he smirks a bit, testing the waters to see what I'm actually asking for. "Just a regular nap this time" I roll my eyes leaving him sighing dramatically before leaving, telling me he'll call me down when it's ready.

Once he's gone the doubt that has been plaguing my mind comes circling back.

'What if he's just saying that to take pity on me? What if he's saying it to rush me into something I'm not ready for? What if-' I groan, cutting off the spiral that I send myself down every time I'm alone and throw the blankets off before going into my bathroom and throwing cold water on my face, glaring at myself in the mirror, daring me to keep acting like this.

He loves me. He loves...me. Why am I so torn up about this? People say it all the time so it's not like it's the end of the world. It's just that...well next time I say it I want to mean it. The next time I say it I want it to be real. 

I want to say it to the man that I'll promise to say it to forevermore. 

Call me a hopeless romantic all you want but if I'm going to trust someone with my heart again I don't want to regret it...

~~~~

"Here you go Bunny" he says and places my sandwich in front of me. "I love you" I mumble, softer than I've ever said anything before but it makes his movements stutter. 

"What was that Darling?" he asks, sitting down in the seat next to me at the table. "I um...I said 'Thank you'" I chicken out and although he wants to call me out on it he doesn't.

"You're welcome baby" he says, his smile a little brighter when he realizes that I'm trying, that I want to say it too but I just don't have the confidence yet. 

"Anything for you" he finishes and caresses my cheek before getting up and grabbing his plate along with our drinks. 

"You sure you're feeling alright?" he asks, my silence through lunch palpable since whenever he tries to start up a conversation I give him small short answers that make his efforts die in his throat. 

"I've just been feeling a little funky that's all" I say and he hums, contemplating his next words which surprise me. "I'm sorry" he says, defeated and honestly quite vulnerable. "Why are you apologizing?" I ask, not thinking that he would have done anything that would require something like that. 

"I knew you weren't ready and I rushed things but I wanted to be able to say what I felt for you because it was eating me alive. Having to cut off my sentences and not being able to speak my mind fully, holding you as close to my heart as possible but not being able to tell you that you had it in the palm of your hand already I just...I couldn't do it anymore" he says, his whole demeanor shifted into an almost sorrowful state that I can't hold it back anymore.

I can't keep hurting him like this when all I want to do is scream it for all to hear, even if the thought terrifies me.

"I love you" I say making his head pop up from it's dropped state, then feeling guilty and looking at his lap again as a result. "You don't have to say it just because I did. I just wanted to apologize because I know that that's was why you've been feeling so off lately" he says but I shake my head. 

"The thought of giving my heart to someone again scares the shit out of me. After...well after going through all of that the thought of opening myself up again was not something I wanted to do. I will admit I sought you out out of lust at first but as our friendship and eventual relationship began to grow I realized that I cared about you a whole lot more that I should" I say, me now with my head turned down, not being able to keep the intense eye contact he's giving me, hanging on every word. 

"I didn't know if you were doing these things for me because you felt sorry or because you truly cared. I know now that doubting your motives was honestly my own self doubt getting the best of me. You've done nothing but love and care for me since the beginning and I haven't let myself fully process the fact that I'm..." I cut myself off and take a deep breath.

"The fact that I'm falling in love with you" and although he said those words first the admission alone has me feeling as though he hadn't, as if he would change his mind now that I reciprocated his confession but he does anything but that, further confirming his true intentions for me as he pulls me closer. 

He doesn't pull me in with a carnal passion in mind, he doesn't even pull me in for a kiss, he pulls me in and holds me close, telling me wordlessly that he's proud of me. That he's proud of me for taking that step, for trusting him with my heart, my mind, soul, fully consumed by him without abandon.

"Thank you" he whispers, his face being buried in my hair making me laugh at the ticklish feeling. "Don't make it weird" I say and poke his side making him flinch and hold me tighter. "How can I not? The woman I love loves me back" he chuckles and when I try to pull back he squeezes me tighter. 

"Just let me have my moment" he huffs making me sigh and return his crushing embrace. "I love you" he says making me burry my face into his neck, mumbling it against his skin in return. 

"Nah nah nah, say it like you mean it" he says, pushing me back just enough so he can look at me. "But I do mean it!" I roll my eyes, playing into his pouty act. "Come on, say it!" he says, pushing me back and forth, making me sway. 

"I already said it, why do you need to hear it again?" I chuckle when his pout gets deeper. "Okay fine" I give in making his brows raise at my quick defeat. "I love you" I whisper in his ear and then run away, his hold on me having loosened from pure shock of my honesty, knowing now that I truly truly mean it. 

"Get back here!" he scolds once he's come back down to earth, the surprise replaced with determination, his intentions being to not let me go til sunrise.  

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[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART TEN

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 7.7k

A/N: Sorry this one is a little late in the day I was bob the builder today putting a dresser together 😭. I think y’all will like this chapter, it’s just really cute honestly, couldn’t do any angst after yesterday just needed pure serotonin. Hope everyone had a great day 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

After their first date, Paige and Azzi found themselves spending more time together again. Their connection felt natural, as if no time had passed, but now it was layered with a new intimacy they didn’t have before. They still followed the established boundaries, but unlike before, the boundaries were more exciting than restrictive–filled with unspoken promises and a sense of anticipation.

When they watched movies, they cuddled, Azzi often curling into Paige’s side. Without thinking, Azzi’s fingers would trace patterns on Paige’s palm. A new habit, different from how she used to play with her fingers, a habit Paige quickly became addicted to. Despite the growing closeness, they still hadn’t kissed and they didn’t spend the night in one another’s rooms, much to Paige’s dismay who claimed she just wanted to cuddle. Still, she was always respectful, hugging Azzi and giving her a kiss on the cheek as she left or insisting to walk Azzi ‘home’ even if it was just a couple of stairs down.

Their busy schedule made it hard to plan another date. November was always chaotic with practices, games, and travel taking up most of their time. But when they did finally find a free evening, Azzi suggested they go bowling.

Azzi had been teasing Paige all night about how she was finally better than her at something, but of course, Paige disagreed. “I’ve had more strikes than you,” Paige pointed out, throwing a glance over at the scoreboard. “You’ve just been lucky.

Azzi shrugged nonchalantly, a playful smile pulling at her lips. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. You were the one lucky at the beginning.” She rolled the ball down the lane, watching it spin toward the pins with confidence.

Paige laughed, but the competition was lighthearted. The evening had been filled with the kind of easy back-and-forth that only happens when two people are completely comfortable with one another.

When it was Paige’s turn to bowl again, Azzi was walking back towards the chairs and Paige’s hand swatted her ass hard as she said “I’ll catch up,” with a grin, not waiting for a response before walking towards the lane with her ball in hand.

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, the brief flash of amusement on her face giving away just how much she was enjoying the attention.

As the game went on, their touchiness grew more frequent, more natural. At one point, Azzi was standing directly behind Paige while she was preparing for her next turn. Sheleaned in, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder as her arms wrapped loosely around Paige’s waist. Paige, for her part, didn’t flinch, the contact familiar and comforting in a way despite Azzi’s intentions. She just focused on the game, letting Azzi’s presence sink in.

Azzi’s breath tickled the back of Paige’s neck, sending a rush of warmth through her. “You seem so focused, P,” Azzi whispered, her voice light but teasing.

Paige gave a half-laugh as she released the ball, knocking down most of the pins. “I was,” she replied, her voice amused. She looked at Azzi, catching her eyes for a moment, feeling the subtle tension of their proximity.

They started to take breaks in between each turn, both of them wanting the night to last longer. When they sat down to rest, Azzi casually threw her legs over Paige’s lap, not giving it a second thought. She leaned her head back against the seat, her eyes closed, as Paige absentmindedly ran her fingers along Azzi’s leg, a silent acknowledgment of how close they had become.

Paige loved every second of the date even though it was so simple. She loved how carefree Azzi seemed to be. How she wasn’t tensing slightly at the beginning of every touch while they were in public. How she initiated most of it. It was simple but Paige definitely noticed all the little things about Azzi’s behavior tonight. The younger girl just seemed a lot more comfortable than she used to.

As time passed, their interactions grew more intimate as they got lost in one another's presence. Azzi, doing whatever felt natural, slid her hands under Paige’s hoodie as they talked, her fingers brushing against her hips. Paige’s breath hitched slightly, a quick jolt of surprise running through her. She sent Azzi a look, her voice low but clear when she said, “Azzi please.”

Azzi immediately pulled her hands back, putting her hands up in surrender, but the playful twinkle in her eyes remained. “What? You didn’t like it?” she teased.

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re pushing it,” she said, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi only shrugged, unconcerned. “Alrighty,” she said with a grin, clearly content to let the teasing continue.

It was clear that they were only getting more comfortable with one another. Paige, for all her playful competitiveness, couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed these little moments with Azzi.

The game continued on for far longer than either of them had intended. With every turn, every laugh, and every playful jab, the competition was forgotten, lost in the easy rhythm of each other's company. The tension between them picked up and Paige swore Azzi was doing it on purpose, so it became less about the game and more about Paige trying to control herself.

Azzi eventually won, but it wasn’t really a surprise. Paige didn’t protest, though. She might’ve let Azzi take the lead intentionally the last two times she bowled, but she played it off like she was disappointed.

“Bullshit!” Paige groaned, pretending to sulk. “I let you win!”

Azzi smirked, leaning back in her seat as she wiped her hands. “Sure you did,” she teased. “Let’s go with that.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the small grin tugging at her lips. It was one of those rare, easy moments, the kind that felt like nothing could ruin it.

They eventually left the bowling alley, stepping out into the cool night air. The sounds of the city were alive around them, but they felt distant, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. The hum of their playful banter lingered as they leaned against Paige's car, the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp casting soft light over them.

Azzi slipped into the small space between Paige and the car, her arms instinctively wrapping around Paige’s neck. Paige looked at her, her gaze flickering between Azzi’s eyes and the way they darted, almost unconsciously, to her lips.

"You know you can kiss me, right?" Paige asked, her voice soft but teasing, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Azzi smiled slightly, her cheeks warming. "I’m not supposed to," she murmured, her words quiet for only the two of them.

Paige tilted her head, inching closer as her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Mmm, why not?"

Azzi hesitated, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Finally, she said, "I have a timeline I’m supposed to follow."

Paige chuckled, as she leaned even closer, her breath brushing against Azzi's skin. "We were never really good at sticking to plans, were we?" Her voice dropped but her tone stayed playful.

Azzi’s resolve wavered, her heart rate picking up as Paige’s lips hovered so close, teasing her with their proximity. Her fingers tightened slightly around Paige’s neck, her voice finally breaking through the tension, "Kiss me then."

Paige didn’t hesitate, instantly leaning down, her lips meeting Azzi’s in a soft kiss. The initial touch was slow, tentative, but it only took a moment for the kiss to deepen, the rhythm between them syncing as if they’d been doing this for years.

Paige’s hand found its way to Azzi’s back, holding her closer as the kiss stretched on, each second feeling longer than the last. When they finally broke apart, Paige’s voice was low, a little breathless as she mumbled against Azzi’s lips, “I thought we were supposed to be moving slow.”

Azzi’s smile was slow and knowing as she pulled Paige back in for another kiss, her arms tightening around Paige’s neck. She didn’t answer right away, instead kissing Paige again, missing the way her lips felt way too much. When she did pull back, just slightly, her voice was soft, but certain. “This is slow.”

Paige didn’t say anything else. She simply melted back into the kiss, her hands tracing the familiar lines of Azzi’s back as time seemed to slow around them. Everything about the night, about their connection, felt like it was falling into place—slowly, but surely.

After what felt like hours—though it was probably only a couple of minutes—Azzi finally pulled away from the kiss, her lips swollen, her breath shaky. She let out a light laugh, trying to catch her breath. “Alright,” she said softly, still holding Paige close, “we need to stop.”

Paige, still a little dazed, just looked at her, eyes full of admiration. She didn’t argue. There was no hesitation in her response. “Okay,” she nodded, her voice soft but firm, clearly completely comfortable with whatever pace Azzi wanted to set for them.

Azzi gave her one more quick kiss, a brief moment that made Paige’s heart race again before Azzi’s hands gently pressed against her chest, pushing her back softly. Paige couldn’t help but smile, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that Azzi couldn’t possibly miss.

Paige opened the passenger door, stepping back and letting Azzi slide into the seat. The moment felt easy, natural—like they had both found their way to something they hadn’t even known they were looking for.

Paige rounded the front of the car and got in the driver’s seat. She didn’t rush, not really. They both knew it was late, but there was no urgency in how they moved. As she started the engine and pulled away from the parking lot, the drive back to campus felt peaceful, even with the soft hum of the tires on the road. It wasn’t filled with heavy conversation; it didn’t need to be. There was something perfect about just being there, together, in the quiet moments.

December 2022

The suite was alive with the sound of laughter, music, and the occasional shout from one of the drinking games happening in every corner as the team celebrated their holiday party they decided to throw with just them. It was a whirlwind of holiday cheer, albeit the slightly messy, drunken kind. Twinkling fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling, their warm glow clashing with the flashing colors of a mini disco ball someone had set up in the corner, and the room had a faint scene of spiked eggnog lingering in the air.

Paige, leaning against the counter with a cup in hand, was watching Azzi from across the room. The chaos of the holiday party swirled around her—laughter, music, and the occasional crash of something hitting the floor—but her focus stayed locked on Azzi.

Azzi was deep in a game of flip cup, her competitiveness on full display as she high-fived Aubrey after every successful flip. The room erupted in cheers as her team scored another win, and she flashed a huge grin. Mid-celebration, she glanced over and caught Paige staring. Her eyebrow quirked, and a playful smirk spread across her lips. Paige rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest, and took a sip of her drink, hoping to appear unaffected.

Nika slid up beside her, laughing as she nudged Paige’s shoulder. “You’re so down bad, twin.”

Paige shot her a glare. “No, I’m not.”

Nika snorted, crossing her arms. “Right, because casually ogling your ‘not girlfriend yet’ all night is totally normal behavior. You act like you can’t go talk to her.”

Paige shrugged, attempting to play it cool. “Just keeping my distance.”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Paige sighed, mumbling as she glanced at her drink. “She still has this no-sex rule, and I’m a little drunk. Just trying to make my life easier, you know?”

Before Nika could respond, as if on cue, Azzi made her way over. Without a word, she reached out and took Paige’s cup from her hand, taking a long sip. Azzi’s casual dominance sent a ripple of heat through Paige, who could only stare as Azzi set the cup back down on the counter with a smile.

“Thanks for that,” Azzi said, her voice light but her eyes were hazy, a clear indication of her being a little more than tipsy.

“You could’ve asked,” Paige said, crossing her arms and attempting to sound unimpressed.

Azzi leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to mess with Paige. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Nika let out an exaggerated groan. “Ya’ll are ridiculous. Just fuck already!”

Paige rolled her eyes, muttering, “Mind your business.” But the small smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

Nika rolled her eyes, muttering something about how she couldn’t deal with them and she was fixing this before the end of the night, before walking away to join the chaos on the other side of the room. The second she was gone, Azzi turned her full attention back to Paige.

Azzi stepped closer and she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. The gentle pressure of her touch made Paige clench her jaw, and before she could say anything, Azzi leaned in, brushing her lips against Paige’s in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Paige exhaled softly into the kiss, her hands instinctively finding Azzi’s waist before sliding lower. Her fingers grazed Azzi’s hip, before she squeezed her ass pulling her closer. With a playful smirk, Paige muttered against Azzi’s lips, “I think we should take Nika’s advice.”

Azzi smiled into the kiss, her voice low. “Should we?”

Paige didn’t hesitate, her lips brushing against Azzi’s again as she murmured a breathy, “Mhmm,” before deepening the kiss. The room around them seemed to fade away, the party’s noise becoming a distant hum as they got lost in each other.

But just as Paige was settling into the moment, Azzi abruptly pulled back, her hands slipping away from Paige’s neck. Her eyes sparkled as she took a deliberate step back.

“I’m sure you would like that,” Azzi said, her tone light and teasing as she grabbed Paige’s drink and turned on her heel.

“Wait, what?” Paige blinked, momentarily stunned as Azzi began walking away, her hips swaying in the process.

Azzi glanced back over her shoulder, smirking. “You’ll survive.”

Paige groaned, leaning back against the counter as she watched Azzi immerse herself back in the game. Her hand ran through her hair in frustration, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

…

Later that night the suite had somehow descended into even more chaos. At Nika’s insistence—“To spice things up!” she had declared—they decided to start doing body shots. No one could quite remember how the idea came about, but with the amount of alcohol flowing, no one was questioning it too much either.

It began with Lou and Dorka, the two veterans claiming none of them could drink like foreigners, laughing uncontrollably as Lou struggled to stay still while Dorka leaned over her, slurping the drink out of her belly button with dramatic flair. The room erupted into cheers and whistles, fueling the competitive energy. Jana and Ayanna, eager to join the fun, followed suit. The two freshmen stumbled through the motions, Jana’s laugh infectious as they fumbled with the lime and nearly spilled the salt everywhere.

Then it was Paige and Nika’s turn. Paige smirked as she stepped up, her confidence on full display as Nika flopped onto the counter dramatically, taking off her shirt completely in the name of competition. The crowd around them hooted and hollered as Paige leaned down expertly, sucking the drink from Nika’s belly button, licked the salt from her skin, and grabbed the lime with her teeth, making sure to avoid Nika’s lips in the process.

“Okay, I see you!” Nika teased, sitting up and swatting Paige playfully on the shoulder as the group burst into cheers. Paige laughed, grabbing a towel to wipe her face, when she noticed the next pair stepping up.

It was Aaliyah and Azzi.

The energy in the room shifted slightly for Paige as Azzi took her spot on the counter, her movements slow. Aaliyah leaned down to start, but the moment she did, Azzi’s eyes found Paige across the room. The heat in her gaze was unmistakable—a playful challenge mixed with something deeper.

Paige froze, her breath catching as she tried—and failed—to focus on Aaliyah going through the motions. Her jaw clenched tightly, the tension building with each passing second. She shouldn’t be jealous; it was Aaliyah for christ sake, her teammate and friend. But watching Aaliyah run her tongue up Azzi’s stomach, tracing a path that Paige desperately wanted to follow herself, was more upsetting than she wanted to admit.

Azzi knew exactly what she was doing. That much was clear in the way her gaze stayed locked on Paige the entire time, her smirk widening as Aaliyah reached for the lime. When Azzi tilted her head slightly, her expression was daring, almost taunting.

Paige’s jaw clinched as Aaliyah leaned in, and she swore she saw Azzi adjust ever so slightly, ensuring the lime was far enough in her mouth that Aaliyah’s lips brushed hers when she grabbed it. The brief contact drew a soft laugh from Aaliyah, but Azzi didn’t react—her focus remained on Paige, her smirk now carrying a touch of satisfaction.

Nika nudged Paige, grinning knowingly. “Damn she’s good. You gonna let her one-up you like that?”

Paige shook her head, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to look away, her mind racing as heat spread through her.

The body shots continued, with different combinations of teammates stepping up and cheers erupting after each turn. Laughter filled the room, and the alcohol buzzed through everyone’s veins, amplifying the chaos. Just when Paige thought they’d finally moved past the game, Nika, deciding to be an instigator tonight, raised her voice.

“Wait, I don’t think Azzi’s done a body shot yet!” she declared, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Paige immediately shot Nika a warning look. “Don’t even—”

Before she could finish, Nika grinned and gave Paige a firm push forward. “Azzi, go ahead!”

Paige groaned, stumbling slightly but catching herself. “Nope. Not happening,” she said firmly, backing away. There was no way she was letting Azzi have that kind of control over her in front of everyone. She knew exactly how Azzi operated when she had Paige like that and she wasn’t about to play into it.

Unfortunately, the rest of the team quickly caught on to Nika’s scheme.

“Paige! Paige! Paige!” they started chanting, their voices growing louder with each passing second.

Paige rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply as the chants filled the room. She glanced at Azzi, who stood off to the side, arms crossed, her amusement barely concealed. The glint in her eye said it all: she was thoroughly enjoying this and the ball was in Paige’s court.

“Fine!” Paige yelled, throwing her hands up in surrender. The room erupted in cheers as she climbed onto the counter, muttering under her breath about how she was going to kill Nika later.

She lifted her shirt over her sports bra, exposing her toned stomach. Ice, of course, took over the role of bartender, grinning as she poured way too much liquor into Paige’s belly button. Faking a “oops,” as the liquid pooled messily out of the sides. Ice added a long salt line up Paige’s torso for good measure.

Azzi stepped forward, her expression calm, but her eyes said otherwise. She grabbed a lime from the counter and walked over to Paige. Holding the lime between her fingers, she leaned in just close enough for Paige to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

“Here,” Azzi said softly, her voice low and a little teasing as she handed the lime to Paige.

Paige huffed, reluctantly taking the lime and placing it between her lips. The weight of everyone’s attention was pressing down on her, but it was nothing compared to the way Azzi was looking at her.

The room fell silent, each teammate watching. Most of them had been waiting for Paige and Azzi to officially get together, and this felt like a nudge in the right direction. Still, there were a few stifled snickers and whispered comments about how this was likely to be both hilarious and a little disgusting to watch.

Azzi stepped closer, her calm composure somehow making everything feel ten times more heated. Her eyes raked over Paige’s body, studying her with an infuriating mix of amusement and intrigue. It was as if Paige was a puzzle Azzi had all the time in the world to figure out. Then, she leaned down, her breath warm against Paige’s skin as she took her time, drawing out every second.

Paige’s jaw tightened as Azzi’s lips brushed against her stomach, soft and extremely slow. Azzi didn’t just drink the liquor pooling in Paige’s belly button; she made a deliberate effort to catch every drop that had spilled from Ice’s purposeful overpour. The slight pressure of her lips and the way her tongue darted over Paige’s skin sent jolts of heat coursing through Paige’s body.

The room was still, but Paige barely noticed. She was hyper-aware of every movement Azzi made. As Azzi worked her way up, trailing along the line of salt, she slowed even further, letting her tongue drag against Paige’s skin in agonizingly unhurried strokes. Occasionally, she’d pause to suck lightly, never enough to make it obvious to everyone else, but enough form Paige to feel it.

By the time Azzi reached the lime, Paige was unbearably warm, her entire body tight with tension. Azzi stopped, their faces now just inches apart. Her smile returned as her eyes locked onto Paige’s. The room seemed to hold its breath as Azzi leaned in, closing the small gap.

When she finally took the lime, her tongue deliberately brushed against Paige’s lips, the contact sending a sharp jolt through Paige. Azzi pulled the lime away effortlessly, stepping back with a gleam in her eyes.

The room exploded into cheers and laughter, but Paige remained frozen, still reeling from what just happened. Azzi, seemingly composed, chewed the lime and shot Paige a quick wink before walking away, leaving Paige sitting there, flushed and completely on edge.

…

Paige had gone painfully quiet, her usual banter replaced by soft sips from her drink. She kept her focus on anything but Azzi, trying to blend into the chaos of the room while her mind raced.

Eventually, Azzi wandered over and took a seat next to her, sliding in close like she always did. The casual intimacy of it only made Paige’s restraint feel more fragile. Azzi leaned in, her shoulder brushing Paige’s, her presence impossible to ignore.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Azzi teased, her voice low and warm, but Paige still didn’t look at her.

Paige exhaled sharply through her nose and muttered, “Az, you need to chill.”

Azzi tilted her head, a small, amused smile playing at her lips. “Why?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Paige finally turned her head, her blue eyes meeting Azzi’s. She looked almost exasperated, her jaw tight as she said, “Because I’m trying to be respectful.”

The simple statement made Azzi pause, a flush of warmth spreading through her. She hummed softly, the sound tinged with something deeper, something more tender.

It wasn’t the first time Paige had stopped herself, holding back for Azzi’s sake, but it never failed to do things to her. The way Paige clenched her jaw, her whole body tense as she fought to respect Azzi’s boundaries, only made it harder for Azzi to keep her own.

Azzi’s resolve was strongest when Paige was being playful or teasing, when she was being cocky, but it crumbled every time Paige was gentle. Every time Paige immediately pulled back when Azzi said “stop,” or when Azzi could see the physical effort it took for Paige to keep her hands from wandering, it made Azzi’s heart race.

And yet, despite how much it turned her on, it also made her feel safe—like Paige wasn’t just after the thrill but genuinely cared about her comfort. Azzi didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the warmth settle over her.

“You’re making it very hard to be chill, you know,” Azzi finally said, leaning in just enough for her voice to brush against Paige’s ear.

Paige’s grip tightened on her drink as she glanced at Azzi. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly making it easy, either.”

Azzi leaned back slightly, her lips curving into a smile as she studied Paige’s face. Then, without breaking eye contact, she said, “Let’s go, then.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what—”

But before she could finish, Azzi was already grabbing her hand, pulling her up from the couch. Paige barely had time to process what was happening as Azzi wove them through the chaotic room, her grip firm.

“Az, hold on—” Paige tried, but her voice faltered when Azzi looked back at her, .

As they neared the door, Nika spotted them leaving and smirked, her voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Use protection!” she called out, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room erupted in laughter, with a few drunken cheers and whistles echoing after them. Paige groaned, her cheeks flushing as she glanced back at the team, who were thoroughly entertained. “Nika, shut up!” she shouted over her shoulder, but her words only fueled more laughter.

Azzi, however, didn’t miss a beat. She simply smirked, holding the door open for Paige as if they weren’t leaving the party under a spotlight.. “Ignore her,” she said smoothly, tugging Paige out into the quiet hallway.

…

As Azzi entered the room, she immediately moved toward the small speaker on her nightstand, connecting her phone to play some music. If any of her suitemates decided to come back, at least the music could cover up some of the sounds that might slip through.

Paige slipped into the bathroom, the soft sound of water splashing in the background as she dabbed a bit on her face. Azzi, now settled on the bed, let out a quiet laugh as she heard this taking place. The blonde was always so intentional about controlling herself, but tonight she was visibly trying to calm the fire that had been building.

Paige emerged from the bathroom, wiping her face with a towel, her expression soft as she took in the sight of Azzi. Without thinking, Azzi pulled off her shirt, tossing it aside before laying back on the bed, her body relaxed, her eyes never leaving Paige. She tilted her head slightly as she looked up, studying Paige with that familiar, intense gaze that made Paige's heart race.

Paige stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, just watching. Her chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths, her lips still slightly parted as she tried to compose herself. Azzi could see it all—how Paige was struggling to maintain control, how the tension between them had grown unbearable for her.

Azzi’s lips curled into a sly smile as she sat up slightly, reaching out and taking Paige’s hand. Her touch was gentle but firm, pulling Paige toward her.

Now Paige was hovering above Azzi, her hands planted on either side of Azzi’s head. The air between them felt electric, charged with all the things they weren’t saying. Azzi’s dark eyes locked onto Paige’s, searching for something unspoken, while her free hand lightly grazed the back of Paige’s neck.

Neither of them moved to break the silence. As they just looked at each other, savoring the moment.

“You’re thinking too much,” Azzi said softly, her voice a gentle murmur that broke through the tension.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her gaze flickering down to Azzi’s lips. “Yeah, well, I have a lot to think about. Trying to control myself” she muttered, her tone almost defensive.

Azzi let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and inviting. “You don’t need to.” Her hand on Paige’s neck slid upward, her fingers threading into Paige’s hair. “So stop thinking.”

Paige’s resolve wavered as her body instinctively leaned closer, her breath mingling with Azzi’s. Their faces were so close now that Paige could feel the warmth radiating from Azzi’s skin, the subtle scent of her perfume making her head spin.

“Az...” Paige started, but her voice faltered as Azzi’s thumb gently traced a line along her jaw.

“I want you Paige” Azzi whispered, her tone teasing yet tender.

Paige didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, she dipped her head, her lips finally brushing against Azzi’s in a slow, deliberate kiss that made time feel like it had stopped altogether.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepened as Paige’s desire took over. Azzi’s fingers trailed up to the back of Paige’s neck, tangling in her hair as their rhythm fell into sync. Paige lowered herself a little more onto Azzi, the need to be closer to her growing with every second.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—kissing, breathing each other in, and forgetting the world outside Azzi’s room. Paige wasn’t in any rush; she was silently waiting, letting Azzi take the lead as she had ever since they started seeing each other. It was an unspoken understanding between them, and Paige respected it deeply.

Their kisses broke intermittently, a few times when they were taking clothes off, tossing them aside with ease, and again when they paused, foreheads pressed together, just looking at one another. The space between them felt different, charged with the weight of everything they hadn’t yet said but felt so deeply.

Eventually, Paige leaned down, her lips trailing down Azzi’s jaw to her neck. Her movements slowed and purposeful, as she left soft, visible marks. Azzi’s breath hitched each time, her hands gripping Paige’s head as she pulled her closer.

“Paige,” Azzi murmured, her voice breathy and laced with warmth.

Paige hummed against Azzi’s skin, the vibration making Azzi shiver. “Hmm?” she responded, her mouth never leaving Azzi’s neck, where she continued her soft assault, her lips and teeth working together.

Azzi arched slightly into Paige, her voice quieter now, like the words were slipping out without her realizing. “God, I missed you,” she breathed.

Paige stilled for just a moment, letting Azzi’s words wash over her before continuing, her kisses growing more intense. “I missed you too,” she finally whispered against Azzi’s skin, her voice low and sincere.

She trailed her lips over Azzi’s neck and down to her chest savoring every moment. As Paige moved, she slid her knee carefully between Azzi’s legs, applying the lightest pressure. Still, she made sure to pause, never moving further without Azzi’s explicit permission.

Azzi’s reactions were everything as Paige continued—her breaths hitching, her body shifting beneath Paige’s as her voice filled the room. She wasn’t quiet about how Paige made her feel, her soft murmurs of “so good” and the way she whispered Paige’s name fueling Paige’s every move.

Eventually, Azzi’s tone shifted, her voice taking on a pleading edge as she breathed out, “Paige…” It wasn’t just a name—it was a request, a need, a call that Paige couldn’t ignore.

Paige kissed her way back up Azzi’s neck, her lips brushing over every sensitive spot she knew by heart before finally meeting Azzi’s mouth again in a brief, passionate kiss. When she pulled back, Paige didn’t say anything at first, just stared down at Azzi, taking her in.

Azzi’s eyes were half-lidded, her pupils blown, her gaze soft and hazy as she looked up at Paige. The sight made something inside Paige swell with affection, and she couldn’t help but smile.

Azzi took a deep inhale at the sight of Paige’s warm smile, and her hands slid up to cup Paige’s face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Paige just shook her head slightly, leaning into Azzi’s touch. “Because you’re so perfect,” she whispered, her voice thick, before leaning down to kiss her again.

Azzi’s voice was soft but laced with need as she muttered out a breathy, “I need to feel you.”

Paige’s heart skipped at the words, and she nodded, her lips curving into a tender smile. Without breaking eye contact, she let her hand trail down, her movements deliberate and filled with care. The moment her fingers landed exactly where Azzi needed her, Azzi’s head tipped back slightly, her lips parting as a soft sigh escaped her, her eyes rolling back briefly before fluttering closed.

When Azzi gathered herself enough to open her eyes again, she pulled Paige closer, her arms wrapping tightly around Paige’s neck as her lips brushed against Paige’s ear. Her voice was a mix of raw emotion and pleasure as she whispered, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

The intensity of her words wasn’t lost on Paige. The “fuck” was an honest reaction to the sensation coursing through her, but the “I love you” carried the weight of something far deeper—a love that had grown and solidified between them over time. Paige stilled for just a moment, her chest tightening with an overwhelming mix of emotions, before she leaned down to kiss Azzi softly, murmuring against her lips, “I love you too. Always.”

As Paige whispered her love for Azzi, her soft touch never faltered, her movements gentle as she moved in and out curling her fingers with intention as she did so. Their lips met again in a slow, lingering kiss, their gazes locking whenever they pulled back for air. The intensity between them was palpable, yet it was laced with tenderness, a quiet understanding of the depth they shared.

Azzi, completely lost in the moment, clung to Paige as soft gasps and whispered praises fell from her lips. “God, baby…you feel so good,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I missed you so much.”

Paige smiled against Azzi’s lips, her own heart racing at Azzi’s words. She kissed her again, trailing her lips down to Azzi’s neck and back, each touch meant to remind Azzi of how deeply she was cherished.

Amidst the overwhelming way she was feeling, Azzi’s gaze found Paige’s once more, and she froze for a moment. The way Paige looked down at her—so full of admiration, care, and unshakable love—made her chest feeling like it was about to explode. Her breathing hitched, and she struggled trying to make words escape her lips.

“Be my…” Azzi whispered, her voice breaking as her body reacted to Paige’s touch. “Fuck..fuck, Paige…be my girlfriend please.”

Paige stilled, her own breath catching at the words. She leaned in, resting her forehead against Azzi’s, their lips just a breath apart as she whispered back, her voice soft but full of certainty, “I thought this already meant I was.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, the sound filled with relief and joy. “You are,” she murmured, pulling Paige into another kiss, her hands tangling in her hair as they melted further into one another, the moment now carrying the weight of something undeniably permanent.

As Paige shifted her focus, her movements became quicker, and Azzi’s soft sighs turned into something louder, something more unrestrained. The music played in the background, but it did little to mask the words spilling from Azzi’s lips—fragments of need and pleasure slipping through her control.

“I forgot how good you feel,” Azzi murmured breathily, her voice trembling with emotion and sensation. “You fuck me so good Paige…yes…right there, baby.”

Paige’s lips curved into a smile as she focused her attention, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s face, wanting to watch every reaction. Azzi’s body arched into her touch, her words becoming incoherent until all that remained were gasps, broken and heavy, echoing in the small room.

Paige leaned down, brushing her lips over Azzi’s ear and whispering, “You’re so beautiful like this.” The soft praise drew a shiver from Azzi, who clung to Paige with everything she had, completely lost in the way Paige was making her feel.

Knowing how much her words always affected Azzi, Paige didn’t stop. She kept her voice low, soothing yet making it clear she was in control, knowing exactly how to unravel the girl under her. “You’re doing so good for me Az,” Paige murmured, kissing the edge of Azzi’s jaw. “Taking it so well, baby. You sound so pretty… feel even better.”

Azzi’s breaths grew uneven, her body trembling beneath Paige’s as the words sank into her. Every whispered praise seemed to fuel the fire coursing through her, her chest heaving as her nails dug into Paige’s back.

“Paige baby…” Azzi gasped, her voice breaking as she arched into her. Paige smirked softly against Azzi’s skin, loving the way Azzi felt underneath her, feeling her body shake from the way she was making her feel.

When Paige shifted her pace just slightly, a cry tore from Azzi’s throat, her hands clutching Paige tighter. “Oh my God—fuck Paige!” she all but screamed, her voice echoing over the music in the background.

The sound of her name, so desperate and raw, only spurred Paige on, her lips finding Azzi’s again to swallow her gasps as she spilled onto Paige’s hand. Azzi’s nails raked down Paige’s back, leaving trails of heat in their wake, her entire body trembling as she clung to the blonde, utterly consumed by the moment.

…

A couple of hours later, they were still tangled in each other, their bodies glistening, hair a mess, and faint marks scattered over their skin. Azzi was straddling Paige as she rolled her hips against the strap between them, her hands threading through blonde hair as their lips moved in sync, the room filled with the quiet sounds.

The moment was interrupted by a loud banging on Azzi’s door. Without missing a beat, both of them yelled simultaneously, “Go away!”

From the other side, Ines’s muffled voice broke through. “Azzi, I’m sleepy!”

Paige groaned internally but didn’t pause, immediately realizing they sent Ines on purpose, knowing Azzi had a soft spot for her and would struggle to ignore her. Paige didn’t say anything, though, pushing her hips deeper into Azzi, making the brunette gasp softly. “Ignore her,” Paige murmured against Azzi’s lips, her voice low and persuasive as she moved again, drawing a quiet, shaky breath from Azzi.

For a moment, it worked. Azzi threw her head back, her chest rising and falling as she bit her lip, trying to stifle the sounds Paige was coaxing from her. But then Inez groaned loudly, knocking again with more urgency. “Azzziii!”

Azzi let out a reluctant laugh, her voice breathless as she called out, “Okay, Nes, I’m sorry!”

The faint sound of Inez’s footsteps retreating down the hall signaled she was finally gone.

Paige’s movements never stopped, only slowed to quiet the sounds, her hands on Azzi’s ass lifting her before bringing her back down as Azzi quieted herself. Azzi leaned forward, capturing Paige’s lips in a soft kiss, her hips moving more deliberately now, drawing them back into their rhythm.

Breaking the kiss, Azzi whispered breathlessly, “Help me finish, so we can be done, baby.”

Paige nodded, her lips brushing against Azzi’s as she murmured, “I got you.” Her hand moved in between them, her thumb circling softly, encouraging Azzi to keep moving. Paige met every roll of Azzi’s hips with her own, their rhythm building as the tension between them grew again.

Azzi clenched her jaw, trying to stay quiet, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. But as the feeling overwhelmed her, she bit down gently on Paige’s shoulder, her fingers scraping along Paige’s back as her body trembled with release. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she slumped forward against Paige, now completely spent.

Paige held her gently, kissing the top of Azzi’s head as she whispered, “You’re so amazing.” She slowly eased out of Azzi as she laid her on the bed, her movements tender, careful not to jostle her too much. Standing, Paige grabbed a towel, her gaze lingering on Azzi, whose body was still glowing in the aftermath.

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open just enough to find Paige. She offered a small, satisfied smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “You spoil me.”

Paige grinned softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”

Once Paige cleaned up, she returned to the bed, slipping under the covers immediately pulling Azzi into her arms. Azzi shifted closer, tangling their legs together as her fingers found their way to Paige’s hair, gently detangling it in slow, soothing strokes.

They talked quietly in the dim light, their voices soft. Azzi let out a small laugh, wincing slightly. “I’m already sore,” she murmured, her tone playful despite the complaint.

Paige chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “M’sorry, baby,” she whispered, her voice warm.

Azzi laughed again, shaking her head as she replied, “No, you’re not.”

A grin spread across Paige’s face as she kissed Azzi’s forehead, her hold on her tightening. They continued their quiet conversation, voices dropping lower with each passing moment as sleep began to tug at them.

Tangled in one another, Paige’s voice softened to a murmur. “I love you, Az,” she said, her words carrying the weight of her heart.

Azzi’s fingers paused in Paige’s hair as she whispered back, “I love you more, pretty.” Her voice was thick with sincerity, both of their words lingering in the air as they drifted off, their breaths falling in sync.

…

When Azzi stirred awake the next morning, she let out a low groan, stretching her arms over her head as her body protested from the night before. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she frowned, her hand brushing the empty side of the bed. Paige never got up early—it wasn’t her thing.

She sat up, glancing around and noticing her door slightly ajar. Confused but curious, she pulled on a shirt and a pair of sweats, padding out into the living room. Where she saw Paige, half-asleep and slouched on the couch with her laptop balanced precariously on her legs. Azzi chuckled softly at the sight.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Paige blinked up at her, a small, sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I told Geno I’d send him film notes for the next team we’re playing,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn.

Azzi’s gaze softened, her heart swelling at Paige’s dedication. She walked over, shaking her head with an amused smile. “It’s too early for this,” she said, gently closing the laptop on Paige’s lap and setting it on the table. “You look exhausted.”

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but Azzi didn’t give her the chance. She sat down on the couch, tugging Paige toward her. Paige allowed herself to be guided, sighing as Azzi pulled her close, positioning them so they were lying back slightly, with Paige resting her head on Azzi’s chest as Azzi rested her head on the back of the couch.

“You need sleep more than Geno needs those notes right now. You can do them later,” Azzi teased, her fingers automatically threading through Paige’s hair.

“Mmm, probably,” Paige murmured, her voice muffled against Azzi’s chest as her body relaxed entirely in Azzi’s embrace.

The two of them laid there in a peaceful silence, Azzi’s fingers gently threading through Paige’s hair as Paige let her eyes fall shut. Slowly, the steady rhythm of Azzi’s heartbeat lulled her back to sleep, her body fully relaxed.

Azzi glanced down after a while, realizing Paige had drifted off. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned down to press a tender kiss to the top of Paige’s head. Watching her sleep like this, so vulnerable and utterly at ease, tugged at Azzi’s heartstrings.

It reminded her of something Paige had said a while ago, before they had things figured out—they were sprawled out in Azzi’s room, homework abandoned on the desk because Azzi had insisted on cuddling instead. Paige had eventually relented but only on one condition: she got to lay on Azzi’s chest.

Azzi had teased her about it at the time, but she remembered how Paige started to ramble, her voice soft as her thoughts spilled out randomly.

“Laying on somebody’s chest is probably one of the most intimate things,” Paige had mused, her cheek resting against Azzi’s chest.

“Oh really?” Azzi had replied, laughing lightly, not expecting the seriousness in Paige’s response.

“Yeah,” Paige had hummed, her voice tinged with thoughtfulness. “You’re just lying there, probably with somebody you like a lot, and the way their heartbeat sounds calms you down, relaxes you completely in a way that’s probably not usual. It feels so... exposed, I guess. You're so close you can hear the one thing keeping the person you love alive. I don’t know, it just seems kinda crazy.”

Azzi’s heart had stuttered in her chest then, and Paige had immediately noticed, her lips curving into a teasing smile as she pointed it out. Azzi had turned red, hastily shoving Paige off her chest with a grumbled “You’re so annoying,” though her cheeks burned for the rest of the day.

Now, as Azzi looked down at this version of Paige—the one she loved so deeply, who was no longer just her best friend but her girlfriend—a grin spread across her face. This was the same girl who had turned her world upside down with her rambles, her teasing, her tender way of seeing the world.

Gently, Azzi tightened her arms around Paige, holding her closer, her grin softening. She pressed another kiss to Paige’s temple, letting herself savor this quiet moment, this piece of intimacy Paige had described so perfectly. It really was crazy, Azzi thought. But it was also perfect.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SIX ━━ A Little Too Much

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.2K

❀ ━ warnings: like maybe an allusion to sex???

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: paige bro lock in

PAIGE SINKS deeper into the couch, the familiarity of the apartment wrapping around her like a hug. It’s nice being back, the familiar scent of vanilla (Jo’s candles) filling the space. The TV is tuned to some random college football game—an SEC game that Paige really couldn’t care less about.

Aubrey’s sitting at the other end of the couch, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, her arm resting on the back cushion. A bag of chips is balanced precariously on her knee as she scrolls through her phone, glancing up at the screen every now and then to half heartedly comment on a play.

“Nah, ain’t no way Tennessee gets this one,” Aubrey says, tossing a chip into her mouth. “Georgia, no debate.”

Paige snorts, squinting at the game for a moment. “Ion know, the Vols are up.”

“They won’t be,” Aubrey insists, waving the bag of chips for emphasis.

Paige hadn’t realized how much she missed all of this until now. She’s spent the last month in LA, focusing on her rehab at a state-of-the-art facility her team insisted on. The work has been grueling—hours of physical therapy every day, pushing her body to its limits, trying to rebuild what she’s lost.

But being away from her teammates has been harder.

It’s the first week of October now and she hadn’t seen any of them since early September, right before she flew out. Sure, there were texts and FaceTimes—especially with Jo, who’s practically made it her mission to keep Paige from feeling too disconnected. But it isn’t the same as this: sitting on the couch, arguing over nothing, being in one of her best friend’s presence.

“You said Jo was working out with Yanna and Caroline, right?” Paige asks, glancing over at Aubrey. She’d be lying if she said she isn’t anxiously waiting for Jo to get her ass home.

“Yeah, they been at it all day. Jo’s on this whole new grind—something about gettin’ faster footwork or whatever. I dunno, think she just wants to be really prepared for the season, cause—” Aubrey nods to Paige’s knee and Paige nods—Jo is certainly gonna have a huge role for the team this season.

After a moment, though, Aubrey sends her a look, asking, “Why, though? You impatient?”

Paige just rolls her eyes, saying, “It’s just been a minute.”

Aubrey hums, though she doesn’t sound entirely too convinced.

Paige doesn’t much care. She cares more about the fact that she has to sit through nearly the entirety of this football game before she hears the door click open, her head snapping up instinctively. She can hear Jo before she sees her—her sneakers squeaking against the floor, her laugh that’s as bright and familiar as sunlight as she mutters something to—presumably—Ayanna or Caroline, who must still be in the hallway. For a second, everything else washes away—the announcers on the TV, Aubrey scrolling lazily on her phone. Paige’s focus narrows completely, landing squarely on the figure stepping into the apartment.

When Jo finally comes into view, it’s like Paige can breathe again. Except, maybe not, because Jo looks exactly the same and yet somehow better then Paige remembers. Her ponytail is a little messy, strands clinging to her forehead, and her tank top is soaked through with sweat, outlining the lean strength of her frame. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes are sparkling with that post-workout adrenaline.

Paige feels her stomach plummet, a sudden, unwelcome realization inching into her mind. She thinks Jo looks beautiful like this.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” Jo’s voice breaks through Paige’s thoughts, light and high-pitched with excitement. Her smile is wide, open, and utterly disarming, like she’s been waiting for this moment for weeks. She drops her gym bag onto the floor without a second thought and breaks into a jog toward Paige, her arms already outstretched.

Paige stands automatically, her body moving before her brain catches up. And then Jo is there, colliding into her with so much force that Paige actually stumbles back half a step. Jo’s arms wrap around her shoulders, strong and unhesitating, and before Paige even knows what’s happening, she’s being pulling into the kind of hug that makes her feel like melting.

Jo smells like strawberry shampoo and a hint of sweat, a mix that should probably be unappealing but isn’t. Paige’s face ends up pressed against the side of Jo’s neck, and, for a moment, she lets herself completely sink into the embrace. Jo is warm and solid and so full of life, and Paige feels herself relax in a way she didn’t even realize she needed.

But there’s something else, too: a tangle of emotions she can’t—or maybe just doesn’t want—to name. Paige’s hands settle on Jo’s waist, and she pulls her closer, tighter, without even thinking. Her heartbeat picks up, thudding erratically in her chest. She tells herself it’s just the adrenaline of being nearly barreled into.

But then Jo’s laugh bubbles out, muffled against Paige’s shoulder, and Paige feels a little breathless.

“I missed you so much!” Jo squeals, her arms tightening around Paige like she’s never letting go.

Paige smiles, closing her eyes for just a second as her nose nudges Jo’s ponytail. “I missed you too,” she murmurs, and there’s a softness in her voice that surprises even her.

The warmth of Jo’s hug, the way her fingers curl slightly against Paige’s back, makes something twist low in Paige’s stomach. It’s almost too much, but at the same time, not enough. Paige doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to think about why this feels different than hugging Aubrey or Azzi earlier.

From behind them, Paige hears Aubrey mutter, “Yeah, maybe a little too much.”

Paige’s eyes snap open, heat rushing to her face. She freezes, her arms going stiff for just a second, but Jo doesn’t seem to notice. Paige’s heart pounds as she wills herself to stay calm, to keep her expression neutral as she pulls back, not too abruptly but enough to put some space between them.

Jo beams, her hands lingering on Paige’s shoulders as she grins up at her. Paige feels like she might die under the weight of it.

“Shit,” Jo says suddenly with realization, stepping back and gesturing to herself. “I’m disgusting right now. I should’ve warned you before jumping on you like that.”

“You’re fine,” Paige says quickly, and then, because she feels like she should say something normal, she adds, “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen you sweaty before.”

Jo laughs, the sound bubbling up effortlessly. “Still. Let me shower, and then we’re hanging out. No excuses. I missed you!”

Paige can’t help but smile back, even as her thoughts churn. Jo is grinning at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and Paige feels something warm and unsteady settle in her chest. She watches as Jo grabs her bag and heads toward the bathroom.

Once she’s out of view, Paige sits back down on the couch with a huff. She hates that her heart is still beating too fast.

Next to her, Aubrey hasn’t moved, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch as she watches Paige with a look that makes the blonde shift a little. The football game continues on, the last few minutes of the fourth quarter blaring, but Aubrey doesn’t seem the least bit interested in it anymore.

Paige finally breaks the silence, blurting out as she turns to Aubrey, “What did you mean by that?”

Aubrey raises an eyebrow. “By what?”

Paige frowns. “That comment you made. About me missin’ her too much.”

Aubrey doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans forward, grabbing the remote and lowering the volume on the TV. When she settles back into her seat, she gives Paige a look—a knowing look that immediately puts Paige on edge.

“She has a boyfriend, bro,” Aubrey says simply, as if that explains everything.

“I know that,” Paige snaps, the words leaving her mouth too quickly. She feels a flush creeping up her neck and shifts in her position, trying to look casual, unbothered. “Obviously I know that.”

Aubrey’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her voice sharper now. She crosses her arms over her chest, defensive without meaning to be. “’Course I do. What’s your point?”

Aubrey tilts her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. “My point is,” she says slowly, “you look at her like she’s the sun or sum. And don’t act like you don’t, ’cause I just saw it.”

Paige scoffs, but it’s weak, almost half-hearted. “That’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” she says, though her tone wavers. “She’s, like, my best friend. I’m just—” She falters, trying to find the right words “I’m just happy to see her. It’s been a month, bro. I’d be like that with anyone.”

“Really?” Aubrey asks, raising her eyebrows. “Uh, you didn’t act like that when I picked you up from the airport. Or when Az came by earlier.”

“That’s different,” Paige says defensively. “You and Azzi—she’s—” She stumbles over the words, annoyed that she can’t articulate why it is different without making it sound worse.

Aubrey doesn’t look convinced. In fact, she looks entirely unimpressed. “Uh-huh,” she says, drawing the syllables out. “P, I warned you about this when you two first moved in together.”

Paige remembers. She remembers when they were moving her bed during the summer and Aubrey had told her seriously, “You cannot fuck Jo Jacobson.”

At the time, Paige had laughed it off. The idea seemed absurd then. Sure, Jo was beautiful, but she was also a freshman and just getting her feet wet here, and Paige would never do that. She would never do that. She still would never do that. But then, Paige hadn’t ever thought of her in that way.

Now—

“I don’t like her like that,” Paige says, her voice firmer than she feels. “I don’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Aubrey says again, in the same tone as before. “Look, I’m not saying you’re doing it on purpose. But, bro, if you do have feelings for her—and I’m not saying you do—don’t let ’em mess with your head. Or the team.”

Paige bristles at that. “I don’t have feelings for her,” she insists. “And even if I did—which I don’t—it wouldn’t affect the team. I’m not that stupid.”

Aubrey shrugs, unfazed. “I’m just saying. Jo’s solid with Asher. Like, really solid. You don’t wanna go down that road.”

Paige feels her chest tighten, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she hates how Aubrey is talking to her or because some small, traitorous part of her knows Aubrey might be right.

“I’m not goin’ down any road,” Paige says, forcing her voice to stay even. “You’re reading too much into this. I’m just happy to see my best friend again. That’s it.”

Aubrey doesn’t press further, but her silence is heavy, loaded with unspoken skepticism. Paige tries to focus on the last few minutes of the football game, but the TV screen practically blurs in her vision as her thoughts spiral.

She tells herself Aubrey’s wrong. That her excitement to see Jo is completely normal. That the way her heart has leapt when Jo walked in the door was nothing more than relief after a long time apart.

But deep down, she can’t shake the way her stomach had flipped when Jo smiled at her. Or the way her chest felt too tight when Jo hugged her, like her ribs were trying to contain something that didn’t want to be contained.

Paige doesn’t know what to call it. She doesn’t want to know.

JO’S EYES remain glued to the screen, but she doesn’t even notice what’s happening in the episode anymore. She missed this—missed the nights spent lying next to Paige, the “sleepovers” which are really just code for one of them being too lazy to walk back into their own rooms and crawl into their own beds.

Jo’s massaging Paige’s knee, the rhythm comforting and almost mechanical now. It’s just what they do; she’s done it a thousand times over since her surgery, though it’s been a month since she’s done it now. She knows how much it helps Paige, and it’s not like it’s anything weird—just a friend doing something nice for another friend, a friend that’s gone through this same thing before and knows what can help.

She’s not thinking about the way Paige’s leg feels under her palm, how soft the skin is, how warm. She’s not. She’s not thinking about how close they are, how the smooth skin of Paige’s thigh rests under her cheek, or how the way Paige moves so naturally beside her makes her chest feel tight in a way that doesn’t make sense.

Paige lets out a soft sigh, and Jo doesn’t quite know why it sends a little flutter through her. She shakes it off quickly, adjusting her position to be more comfortable, still massaging her knee.

They’re almost at the end of first season of The Vampire Diaries now, and Jo’s surprised that Paige has stuck with it. She thought, with all the complaining, that Paige would have tapped out after a few episodes, but here they are, still going strong. Jo knows her well enough that she can tell that Paige has actually started to get into it. Maybe not as much as Jo, but enough to make comments and roll her eyes at the sometimes ridiculous drama.

“You can’t actually be Team Damon, P,” Jo says, shaking her head against Paige’s thigh, letting her fingers glide over the tender muscle beneath Paige’s knee. “Like, come on, girl. Stefan is clearly the better choice.”

Paige shifts slightly, and Jo glances up to see the blonde smirking down at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed and Jo can understand why—it’s hot in here. Maybe they should turn the heat down. “Ion know, JoJo. Damon’s a lot more interesting.”

Jo huffs, “Yeah, well, interesting isn’t always the best option. You need someone who’s steady, who’s good for you.”

“Who’s ‘boring,’ you mean?” Paige’s voice is light, a teasing edge to it.

Jo shakes her head again, laughing a little. As she does so, her lips lightly graze the top of Paige’s thigh. She doesn’t think anything of it. But then she feels Paige’s leg tense up. Jo stills her hand on her knee, thinking she might’ve done something wrong. But then, maybe a second later, Paige is relaxed again, and she doesn’t say anything, so Jo cautiously resumes the massage.

“Yeah, boring’s fine. It’s good. It’s better than all the shit Damon brings,” Jo says.

She can feel the subtle shift in Paige’s posture—she’s looking at Jo, eyes soft, gaze steady—and Jo quickly glances back at the TV, avoiding it. She doesn’t know why. Because it’s because if she lets herself look at Paige for too long, she’ll start thinking about things she’s not supposed to.

“Whatever,” Paige says after a pause. “I still think Damon’s cooler.”

Jo just snorts as she finishes working on the blonde’s knee, feeling the tension slowly melt away as her fingers work the muscles. A final press of her thumb into the joint elicits a soft sigh from Paige, and Jo grins slightly, the satisfaction of helping her best friend making it worth it.

Her fingers ache slightly from the pressure, but it’s nothing really. She looks at Paige briefly before flopping down beside her, her legs splaying out on the bed as she turns onto her stomach. The weight of the day and the long workout is starting to press in on her, and the soft, quiet room feels soothing. “My turn,” she says with a little grin, throwing a look over at Paige as she gestures to her back. It’s a deal they became accustomed to before Paige went off to LA—Jo massages Paige’s knee, and Paige takes care of the horrendous knots in Jo’s back. Simple.

Paige stares at her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, before moving over to straddle Jo’s hips and starting to knead into her back. Jo tries to relax, exhaling deeply as Paige’s hands work their way over her tense muscles. It’s familiar and comfortable, and God, is Jo glad Paige is back in Storrs.

Paige’s fingers press into a particularly stubborn knot, right between Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo winces, just a little. It’s the one knot that never seems to go away, no matter how much she tries to stretch or work it out. It’s been there for years, a stubborn thing.

“Still there?” Paige’s voice is soft, but Jo can hear the hint of concern.

The younger girl nods into the pillows. “Mmm, yeah, it never goes away.”

Paige hums in acknowledgement, and Jo hears her shift slightly. For a moment, she wonders if Paige is just going to stay where she is and work the knot from the outside, but then, to her surprise, she feels Paige’s hands move to the bottom of her t-shirt, sliding under the fabric carefully.

“Lemme get in there,” Paige murmurs lowly.

The words and the cool air against her skin sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, but she doesn’t pull away. Paige’s touch is so familiar, so comforting, that even the shift in how they’ve positioned doesn’t feel strange—at least, it shouldn’t. She can feel Paige’s fingers move under the fabric, creeping up her spine near her shoulder blade, right where she can press deeper into the knot. The pressure is sudden but not unwelcome. It’s exactly what Jo needs.

“Mmm, that’s better,” Paige says softly, her voice closer now, almost against Jo’s back, as she works the knot precisely. Her fingertips press firmly into the spot, working the muscle, easing the tendon.

The warmth from Paige’s fingers against her skin sends a wave of heat through Jo’s body, and she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The knot is finally loosening, and for a brief moment, she’s too focused on the sensation to even process anything else. Paige’s hands move with ease, like she’s done this a thousand times. And she has. Or, well, at least a few.

“You good?” Paige asks, voice soft but steady, like she’s concerned, and Jo feels a strange pull in her chest.

Jo hums in response, though it comes out softer than she intended. “Yeah, that feels perfect.”

For a moment, there’s silence between them, and all Jo can focus on is the steady rhythm of Paige’s hands as they move over her back, the weight of her stomach settling into Jo’s muscles. The room is even warmer now—they really should turn down the heat. Even if it’s Connecticut, it’s only October. That, or maybe it’s just the proximity, the closeness of Paige’s body to here. Jo doesn’t know what it is, but her heart’s not beating the way it usually does.

Paige’s hands slide back up, pressing into the tender spots along Jo’s shoulder blades, and Jo bites her lip, trying to ignore how good it feels.

And then, without thinking, Jo shifts slightly, a small motion that presses her chest just a little closer to the bed. With the movement, her body aligns a bit more with Paige’s, and suddenly the space between them feels too small, too close. She can feel Paige’s breath against her back, steady and warm, and Jo’s pulse quickens despite herself.

“God,” Jo mutters. “You’re good at this.”

Paige’s fingers stop their movements for a moment, as if processing the words. “It’s nothing,” she says, but there’s something different in her voice. Maybe it’s just how close they are, or maybe it’s the weight of the silence hanging between them, but Jo’s pretty sure she hears a shift in the way Paige speaks. A slight tension in her voice that Jo can’t explain.

Eventually, Paige finishes working the knot, her hands pulling away slowly. Jo almost feels a pang of disappointment, but she can’t place why. She’s just relaxing, just letting herself unwind. It’s nothing.

Paige lies back down next to her, the space between them still feeling a little smaller than it should be. Jo turns her head to meet Paige’s gaze, their faces just inches apart.

“Better?” Paige asks, her voice soft and almost too quiet. Her fingers trail lightly down Jo’s spine, slipping out from under her shirt with a gentle touch that sends a small shiver through Jo.

Jo smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

Paige nods, her lips lifting at the corners a little before Jo turns her gaze back to the TV. She tucks her hands under her cheek as she lays on her side, eyes lazily watching the screen. Damon and Elena are fighting over something—per usual.

She doesn’t even notice at first when Paige shifts, her leg brushing against Jo’s under the covers. And then she slides a little closer, her shoulder brushing against Jo’s arm. Her face is even closer now, and Jo’s aware of that. She can feel her breath against her skin. It catches her a little off guard, but it’s not weird. It’s just how they always seem to end up—close.

“I missed you, Joey.” Paige’s voice, so soft, echoes through the room.

Jo glances up, meeting her gaze. It makes her smile. “I missed you too.”

And she did—she got so used to being so close to her that it was terrible when she was gone for so long. So bad it felt like Jo was going through withdrawal or something. And it only makes it worse that she’s flying back out in a couple days and Jo is going to have the apartment to herself again.

Paige’s face is still close, her eyes searching Jo’s for something. They’re so blue, even in the dim lighting of the room, and they feel like an ocean Jo could easily drown in.

She doesn’t know why she does it, but she presses herself closer still, their chests touching now, Jo’s nose brushing against Paige’s neck. Their legs tangle more under the sheets, and Jo feels Paige wrap her arm around her waist gently, letting it rest there. Jo doesn’t mind.

It’s just them. It’s just how they are.

PAIGE WAKES slowly, the soft morning light streaming through the slats of the blinds casting stripes across the bed. Her body feels heavy, warm, and there’s a comforting weight against her arm. Blinking her eyes open, she shifts her head on the pillow and glances down. Jo is still asleep beside her, her face soft in the pale light, her features slack with peace.

Jo looks… pretty, Paige thinks, her thoughts still hazy with sleep. Her hair is tousled, sticking up slightly at the crown from no doubt a restless turn in the night, but it only makes her look softer, less put together in a way that feels intimate. Paige is half aware of the fact that her own arm is tucked under Jo’s, her hand resting near Jo’s waist. Their legs are tangled together, too, her calf brushing Jo’s under the covers.

Paige doesn’t move immediately. She doesn’t want to. It’s warm like this, comfortable, and even though the logical part of her brain tells her to pull away, to avoid making it weird, she stays where she is.

Her gaze lingers on Jo’s face, on the slight curve of her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose that are barely visible. There’s something unguarded about Jo in the morning, something vulnerable and even sweeter than she is when she’s awake.

Last night drifts back to Paige’s mind. The massages, the feel of Jo’s hands on her knee, the feel of Jo’s back under her hands. The way Jo told her she missed her, too. Paige had meant it when she told her—she’d missed Jo more then she thought she would during her time in LA. But it’s not just that. There had been something else in the air last night.

Maybe it’s just the shift of being apart for a month, she tells herself. That’s all. It’s just the way things feel different when you come back to someone after being away. Things will settle back into place eventually. They always do.

Jo stirs slightly in her sleep, her brow twitching, and Paige instinctively stills, not wanting to wake her. The younger girl murmurs something unintelligible and shifts closer, her head tilting toward Paige’s shoulder, and Paige’s breath catches for half a second.

The buzz of a phone breaks the quiet, cutting through the gentle hum of the morning. Paige blinks, her thoughts scattering, and she glances toward the nightstand. The phone buzzes again. She assumes its hers—she gets texts at odd hours from basically everyone. Without thinking, she reaches out, fumbling for the phone blindly without lifting her head.

Her fingers close around the cool device, and she squints at the screen as she opens it, not wearing her glasses yet. By the lockscreen, she immediately can tell that this is not her phone, though—it’s Jo’s. She’s about to close it and put it back when the name at the top of the screen makes her freeze. Ash.

Her stomach twists. She knows that name and she knows it well. Asher. Jo’s boyfriend.

Maybe she doesn’t mean to look, maybe she does. Either way, the messages are right there, impossible to ignore.

Ash 💓

Hi baby I know it’s early

Just wanted to say I miss you

and love you

And I can’t wait to see the media day flicks you better send me them all

Paige stares at the screen for a long moment, her chest tightening in a way she doesn’t—but also might—understand. She knows she should stop looking, that this is a complete violation of Jo’s privacy, but her eyes tracy the words again. Baby. I miss you. I love you. They feel like a slap.

She exhales sharply, locking the phone and setting it back on the nightstand. Her case flicks back to Jo, still fast asleep. Her face is serene and peaceful and Paige feels an overwhelming rush of emotions. It’s not jealousy. It’s not. She’s not jealous. She has no right to be jealous of two high school sweethearts that literally grew up next door together that are probably soulmates and are someday going to get married and have babies.

She’s not jealous of that.

But, nonetheless, the knot in her stomach doesn’t go away.

She unentangles herself carefully, shifting her leg and arm away from Jo’s, mindful not to wake her. Jo murmurs something again, soft and sleepy, and Paige pauses for a second before slipping off the bed entirely. She needs space. Air.

She pads to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for a moment. Her hands grip the edge of the sink, and she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, her face slightly puffy from sleep.

She shakes her head, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on her face. It doesn’t help much.

Paige forces herself to focus, to push away the strange feelings clawing at her. Jo is her roommate, her freshie, and, yeah, basically her best friend now. And that’s all this is. That’s all it will ever be. She needs to stop overthinking. She needs to get ready for the day.

But even as she brushes her teeth and begins to brush through her hair, her thoughts keep circling back to those texts. To Asher. To Jo. And to the way Jo’s body had felt so warm and close and right against hers just minutes ago.

PAIGE STANDS in front of the mirror in the locker room, adjusting her uniform and smoothing her jersey. The bold, navy #5 stitched on the front catches her eye, and for a moment, she lingers. It feels almost strange, wearing the jersey she won’t be able to play in this season.

Not that she hasn’t come to terms with it. Paige is good at keeping herself together now, even if the pang of frustration hasn’t entirely disappeared—and won’t, she knows, until she gets to play again. But she’s learned to deal with it, to channel her energy elsewhere. If she can’t be on the court, she can still be here—still lead, still help her team in every way she can.

Her hair is perfectly straightened, sleek and sharp, the way she likes it. Her makeup looks good, too—just enough to emphasize her sharp cheekbones and blue eyes, but nothing overdone. The uniform ties it all together, making her look just like the player she’s supposed to be, the one she still is even if she’s stuck on the sidelines.

She takes a couple mirror pics—her annual media day mirror pics. They come out well, and she posts them to Instagram with the caption “5’ll be back soon,” because it will. She will.

By the time the day is in full effect, Paige knows the drill: photos, videos, soundbites for promos. She takes a few solo shots first, her expression switching between serious and smiles for the camera. Then it’s duo photos—first with Azzi, then with Nika and Aaliyah, her classmates. They laugh and joke between snaps, Nika managing to pinch Paige and Aaliyah during one, probably getting a perfect reaction picture.

Whilst Jo is getting her photos done, Paige is off to the side, hyping her up. When she makes Jo laugh—loud and sudden, the kind that makes her throw her head back—Paige is the one who catches the photographer’s eye. He gestures for her to join Jo, saying how he likes their energy together. Paige does as he asks, coming into view of the camera.

They stand side by side, first posed with their arms crossed, meant to look tough and intimidating. Then, the photographer tells Jo to lean her arm casually on Paige’s shoulder. Jo does, and it feels so normal, so them, that Paige doesn’t even notice how close they are until the photos pop up on the photographer’s screen.

“Yo,” Paige says, leaning in closer to the preview image. “We look good.”

Jo grins, nudging the blonde with her elbow. “Yeah, we do.”

And they do. There’s something about the way they look together—Jo’s darker features contrasting with Paige’s lighter ones, their postures balanced between playful and powerful—that feels striking.

When the photographer tells them they’re done, Jo taps Paige on the back lightly, her touch lingering for a half-second too long. Paige pretends not to notice.

They continue on through a mix of photos, promo videos, and shorter interviews. Paige’s role as “Coach P,” as everyone’s begun calling her, doesn’t go unnoticed.

Nika, of course, has to chime in. “That girl ain’t my coach,” she mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, shaking her head while she stirs a few laughs from their teammates and some of the media coordinators.

Paige rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Jo cuts in, throwing her arms around Paige’s shoulders from behind and resting her chin right by Paige’s neck. “You’re right, Nik,” Jo says, her voice teasing as her arms tighten slightly around Paige. “She’s not your coach. She’s mine.”

Nika hisses at her in mock annoyance, making Jo laugh loudly as she lets go of Paige—though not before making sure to squeeze Paige’s shoulders fondly.

Paige hardly notices the way Nika flicks at Jo’s arm afterwards, or the way Jo sticks her tongue out at her. Instead, her brain replays the words—she’s mine.

Mine, mine, mine, mine.

It’s not like that, though. And, goddamn, she has to get herself together.

Luckily, she has an interview waiting for her, so she doesn’t have long to continue dwelling on it. Except, actually, she thinks she might be unlucky, because when she spots Celeste Sinclair waiting for her with that soft little smirk and a glint in her eyes, Paige almost groans aloud.

She supposes she did this to herself, though. It’s not like she didn’t know Celeste was one of their media girls when she started fucking her—it’s literally how they met.

As Paige approaches, Celeste’s eyes sweep over her, lingering just a fraction too long on the way her uniform fits. Paige notices it immediately, and begins to steel herself.

“Paige,” the redhead greets, her tone syrupy and professional, but there’s a flicker of something else underneath. Something Paige is very familiar with.

“Celeste,” Paige replies evenly, keeping her expression neutral. She folds her hands in front of her, trying not to let her irritation show. She doesn’t have time for this—doesn’t have the patience or willpower to handle another girl turned obsessed—but media day is about appearances, so she plasters on a polite smile and takes the mini mic Celeste offers her.

The questions start predictably enough. Celeste asks about her recovery, her plans for the future, how she’s adjusting. Paige answers each question with the kind of practiced ease she’s managed to master over the years. She talks about her rehab process, about staying focused, about how the comeback will be stronger than the setback. The words feel automatic now, almost rehearsed.

Still, it stings a little. Every time she’s reminded that she won’t touch the court this season, that she’ll have to watch from the bench while her teammates fight for another championship, there’s a flicker of frustration she can’t quite extinguish.

But she doesn’t let it show. Obviously.

Celeste presses on, asking something about how Paige is adapting to her new role as a leader from the bench, and Paige forces herself to smile through it. She talks about embracing the role of “Coach P,” about how it’s just as important to support the team off the court as it is on it. She doesn’t let her voice waver, doesn’t let any of the bitterness slip through.

When the interview finally wraps, Paige exhales quietly, ready to walk away—but Celeste steps closer, cutting her off.

“So,” Celeste says, her voice dropping just enough to make it clear this part isn’t for the cameras. “You’ve been busy out west, yeah? I—you haven’t been back at all lately.”

Paige sighs a little. “Yeah, well. Rehab and stuff. You know how it is.”

Celeste tilts her head. “I do. Still, I thought you might text or call or something. I left you a few messages, but you never answered.”

Paige resists the urge to roll her eyes. Celeste’s persistence is both flattering and annoying. Yeah, the sex had been good—but was it genuinely good enough for Celeste to continuously run after Paige when she’s made it more than obvious that she doesn’t really want her? Paige doesn’t think so.

But, then again, Paige is better with her tongue and fingers than Celeste is.

“Been busy,” Paige says again, brushing her off.

The red-haired girl doesn’t seem deterred, though. She leans in just slightly, murmuring, “Well, if you’re not too busy tonight or even later this week… ?”

Paige starts to shake her head, ready to shut it down. She has enough girls in her bed back in LA that she doesn’t need to make up for it here while she’s only back for a few days.

But then—her mind flashes to this morning. To Jo. To the messages from Asher. The pit that settles in her stomach when she saw the I love you and I miss you and the baby. Something about it still lingers, sharp and annoying, and Paige can’t quite shake it.

Before she really thinks about what she’s doing, she hears herself saying, “Actually, I am free tonight.”

Celeste’s face lights up, her smile widening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, her tone casual, like she isn’t committing to something she’s already dreading a little. “I fly back to LA in a couple days, so tonight works.”

Celeste doesn’t bother hiding her excitement. “Perfect. Come over later?”

Paige nods and Celeste looks almost giddy as she finally walks away.

As Paige rejoins her teammates, sitting next to Jo, the brunette smirks at her a little, judging her arm and asking, “Again?”

Paige feels heat rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. “Stop, it’s nothing,” she says quickly.

Jo doesn’t press or tease her much like anyone else would, just letting out a little laugh under her breath before getting up for one of her own interviews.

Paige can’t help but watch her during it. And think.

Jo, asleep in her bed this morning, soft and peaceful and pretty. Jo, laughing loudly during their photoshoot. Jo, whose phone had lit up with messages from a boyfriend that Paige can’t stand to think about.

Her jaw tightens slightly, and she shoves the thoughts aside. She’s going to Celeste’s tonight. At least she’ll be doing something.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Show Me What Love Is

(Sequel to "This Is How It Starts")

Sebastian Sallow x Reader (Female MC)

Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (shameless smut, profanity) Words: 7,356 Themes: friends to lovers, shameless smut, fluff and smut

Summary: In the weeks after your breakup with Andrew Larson, you and Sebastian Sallow waste no time making up for lost time. But it's impossible to study for your N.E.W.T.s when you can't keep your hands off each other.

Notes: I had so much fun writing "This Is How It Starts," I needed to write a continuation. I recommend reading that first. Just more shameless smut. Loosely inspired by "Happiness" by The 1975.

I promise to ease up on the shameless smutty one-shots and focus on my chapter fics now. I'm probably lying.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

“I heard she dumped Larson because he’s a virgin.”

“No, I heard it was because he didn’t quite… measure up to Sallow, if you know what I mean.”

“Wait, I thought she was hooking up with Gaunt now.”

A snort escaped before you could suppress it. If the rumors hadn’t been so ridiculous, you may have found them insufferable. Instead, you and Sebastian Sallow were currently cozied up in a secluded corner of the library, where you – and your classmates – were supposed to be studying.

Sebastian clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter as he fought to conceal his own. He had you pinned against the bookshelves, his body pressing yours against the rows of wood and bound pages as you struggled to remain quiet. Shielded by bookshelves, the two of you had decided to postpone your study session for a quick snog.

It had been two weeks since your breakup with Andrew Larson, and the Hogwarts rumor mill was still churning. Given that you didn’t hide your new romance with Sebastian, whispers spread like wildfire through the castle walls. And while you weren’t particularly happy about them, you didn’t really care.

Because for the first time in months, you were satisfied. My god were you satisfied. 

You and Sebastian had wasted no time making up for lost time. Your relationship with him fulfilled you in ways Andrew couldn’t have even considered, physically and emotionally. 

Despite all the sex you and Sebastian were having, your bond had strengthened and you found yourselves falling easily into the routine of a seasoned couple. Sure, the early stages of any romance were always more fiery, more passionate, more electrifying, but the two of you seemed to have cemented yourselves in each other’s hearts for the long run. 

With both of your feelings out and in the open, there were no more secrets or unspoken words. You and Sebastian were simpatico; two people who were content in simply spending time together – though most of that time was spent in various states of undress, engaged in salacious activities.

As your giggles subsided, Sebastian smirked, dipping his head to kiss your neck. He smelled like the cinnamon you’d watched him sprinkle in his tea that morning. The sensation of his lips pressed against your skin drew a moan from your lips.

You froze, your wide-eyed gaze shifting sideways toward the end of the aisle as you and Sebastian held your breaths. When no one seemed to have overheard your indiscretion, Sebastian shot you an amused smirk.

“You’re going to have to learn to be much quieter if we’re going to stay here,” he murmured.

“It’s not my fault!” you hissed. “You know my neck is a sensitive spot.”

“Precisely why I did it.”

“You’re cruel.”

“You’re not complaining.”

“I’ll burn your house down.”

Sebastian breathed a soft chuckle. “No need for such violence,” he hummed before he pecked an affectionate kiss to your forehead. “Besides, it’ll be your house too someday.”

Sebastian spoke of your future with such certainty, it was both thrilling and dizzying. You had no doubt he was the only person you’d ever want to spend your life with. You knew that long before the first time he touched you or told you he loved you. The two of you had far too much history, and now that you knew one another sexually, you had ruined your futures with anyone else for life. 

Now, Sebastian referred to himself as “We” – as in the two of you, a couple. His plans for graduation, your careers, your home, were your plans now. His future was your future and he wasn’t shy about letting others know.

But you still had three weeks remaining as Hogwarts students. Your N.E.W.T.s were set to begin the following day, which was the only reason you were standing in the library instead of romping around in bed like you’d done the previous night.

You knew your romance with Sebastian wouldn’t be perfect forever. Neither of you were perfect, and you certainly didn’t expect your relationship to remain that way. Sebastian could be impulsive, stubborn and downright stupid when it came to making decisions. You were snarky, ambitious and strong-willed. Your past friendship together was all the proof you needed that the two of you would inevitably have fights and shouting matches. But it was also proof that the two of you could overcome anything – especially if it meant the make-up sex would make it all worthwhile.

Yet as satisfied as you were, you were still insatiable. You couldn’t get enough of Sebastian, even though he’d been your best friend for nearly three years. But you were his girlfriend now, and that made you see him in an entirely different light.

You were his first real girlfriend. He’d never bothered to craft much connection or meaning to any of the girls he’d hooked up with in the past. You had always chalked it up to his short attention span and impulsive ways. You hadn’t known it was because he’d been waiting for you.

Today though, he was clearly tired of waiting. You’d spent the morning with your noses buried in books, seated at one of the long tables at the center of the library, until you felt Sebastian’s attention vacate his Astronomy notes. His stare fell on you; the way you softly sighed while you contemplated the spell theories in your book; the way you subconsciously chewed your bottom lip as you scribbled in your notes; the way the hem of your skirt creeped upward when you crossed your legs. 

He looked at you like you were the last piece of dessert he’d ever get to consume. He’d always looked at you like that, but you failed to notice until now. Only recently had you come to learn just how much power you held over Sebastian Sallow.

Now, you’d seen the way he whimpers at your touch; the way he grits his teeth and clenches his fists whenever you climax around him; the way his chest heaves when he watches you undress. But you also had seen the way he beams when he makes you laugh with a lewd joke; the way he always pours your morning tea before his own; the way he lets you steal all the blankets and covers at night, only to smile at you with sleepy eyes the following morning. You’d ruined Sebastian Sallow far more than either of you thought possible.

But now Sebastian had you pressed against those bookshelves, his hips guarding you from daring to move. He stood with one foot between yours as he leaned into a deep, slow kiss, the top of his thigh pressing against the apex of your thighs. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, tightening with impatience. 

“Careful, darling,” he murmured. “You’ve already ruined two of my shirts.”

“I’ll ruin your life if you don’t fuck me already.”

He didn’t bother to bury his laugh this time. It erupted from his throat and echoed through the aisle, sure to draw attention this time. The two of you swapped a glance and Sebastian shrugged. He brandished his wand from his back pocket as he held your gaze, and with a fluid wave, cast a Disillusionment charm.

You quickly did the same, disappearing against the rows of books such as Sophronia Franklin came curiously wandering into the aisle. Once she was gone, you caught the glimmer of Sebastian’s outline moving toward the Restricted Section. You followed him quietly through the gate and down the stairs, a route you could navigate with your eyes closed after three years of illicit exploits.

Once you reached the storage room at the bottom, you and Sebastian shed your charms and hurried toward a desk that had been shoved against a wall. Without a word, you backed Sebastian into the desk and clung to his shoulders as you kissed him. His hands snapped to your waist, the melt of your curves triggering his arousal.

He groaned as you stepped closer, your hip pressing against his front to facilitate his erection. You were certain you’d never grow tired of the power you felt every time you made Sebastian’s best asset stand at attention.

You palmed his erection over his pants, dragging your fingers across his hard length. He hummed at the friction, his heavy panting exposing his anticipation.

Your hands fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper before you shoved his pants and boxers to the floor in a heap, his cock springing from their confines. You took it in one hand, your fingers circling around the shaft while you swiped a thumb across the tip. Sebastian twitched at the touch.

You watched him with glee, drunk on the way his jaw clenched and breath hitched. It was the most fun you’d had in ages. He couldn’t help but smile at your proud expression, a sign he was also aware of the power held.

“You’re evil, you know that?” he murmured. 

“You made me this way.” 

You pumped him steadily, his breaths increasing with your pace as he leaned backward against the desk. You tore your gaze from his blissful expression to examine his cock in your hands, the tip glistening with his arousal.

Dropping to a crouch, you guided him into your mouth, your hands gripping the backs of his thighs as you relaxed your jaw. Sebastian balled your hair into his fist as he gazed downward to admire you as you worked.

“I love you so goddamn much,” he growled. 

You hummed a reply that sent vibrations around his cock, forcing a groan from him. His tip hit the back of your throat and you squeezed your own thumbs into your palms as you held him there for as long as you could stand it.

When your throat released him, you sucked your cheeks in hard as your lips returned to stroking his shaft. The storage room echoed with the sounds of your sins, punctuated by Sebastian’s grunts and moans. His reactions to your hungry mouth piqued your own arousal, your knees parted as you remained in a squat. 

You couldn't help but drop one hand between your own legs, your fingers coating themselves from the pool that had gathered at your entrance. You dipped a finger inside yourself, the warmth of your own core a stark contrast to the cool air of the dark storage room. 

You used your own fingers to dig at your ache, though they didn’t feel nearly as good as Sebastian’s. You willed yourself to remain patient as you focused on his pleasure, knowing damn well he’d never fail to return the favor.

You removed your soaked fingers and used that same hand to stroke Sebastian’s cock, the new moisture earning a groan from him. The sight of it all – his cock covered in a cocktail of your arousal and spit – was overwhelming.

He dipped his head backward, his eyes squeezed shut as he tugged your hair tighter. You’d come to learn that as a sign he was losing control.

You replaced your hand with your mouth, the taste of yourself spreading over the flesh of his length as you flattened your tongue against Sebastian’s shaft. It dragged up and over the tip, tracing teasing circles around the head. 

Sebastian panted harder, his lungs laboring as he dared to open his eyes again. You met them with your own gaze, your eyes watching him with wonder and lust. The vision of your doe-eyed stare and his cock disappearing into your mouth made him whimper, a sound that made your own core throb. 

You flicked your tongue and Sebastian tensed. Your hollowed cheeks began to sting, but you quickened your pace, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs as you relaxed your throat to gurgle around his tip at a frenetic rate.

A sharp, sudden pain seared over your scalp as Sebastian lost control, his fist yanking your hair and his hips thrusting forward as he finished. His climax hit the back of your throat, thick and hot, as your head continued to bob in determination to drain him completely. He grunted as his orgasm subsided, his sensitive cock twitching the remnants of his seed over your tongue.

His cock fell from your mouth as you swallowed, one hand still pressed into the back of his thigh while he caught his breath. Meanwhile, your anticipation seeped from your entrance, soaking through your panties. 

You sank to your knees, tired from your performance and aching for your own relief. You glanced upward at Sebastian, who gazed at you affectionately through heavy eyelids. He extended a hand to you to help you to your feet. You rose slowly, the motion crafting more pressure within your core.

Sebastian pulled you into a slow, deliberate kiss. His hand ventured between your thighs as he reveled in the wet warmth surrounding his fingers. He pushed you up onto the desk, your legs dangling from the edge as he stood between them and paused to kiss you again.

“Naughty naughty, you’ll get caughty!”

You gasped at the sudden intrusion as Sebastian spun to look for the source.

“Peeves!”

The poltergeist hovered in the doorway, laughing as he took in the scene. You straightened and slid off the desk, smoothing your clothes in an attempt to salvage some dignity while Sebastian hurriedly pulled his pants up.

“Wicked little seventh years, how shameful you are!” Peeves declared, though his eyes appeared to be laughing. 

“Get out, you perverse fucking voyeur!” Sebastian snapped. Peeves cackled. 

“Peeves knows this isn't the first time Sebastian Sallow has defiled the Restricted Section. Peeves will miss all this fun once the naughty seventh years graduate! Consider this secret his parting gift!”

He disappeared through the wall, his cackles echoing through the stone. Sebastian uttered a groan of disgust while your heart rate recovered from the abrupt imposition.

You heaved a sigh when Peeves’ laughter had faded. “Well, I suppose we’d better get back up there in case he actually sends someone to check,” you said. Sebastian was clearly still annoyed, but flashed you an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, darling,” he said as he hooked an arm around your waist to pull you in for a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

You held him to that promise as soon as you could.

---

Two days later, you and Sebastian relocated your study spot to a place that was much more private. The library was packed with students that day, including your ex-boyfriend who glared daggers at you the moment you walked in.

You felt bad for the way things ended with Andrew. He wasn’t a bad person but he’d been a bad boyfriend. He neglected you, dismissed your wants and needs and didn’t take you seriously. Still, he probably didn’t deserve the scene you caused when you broke up with him – not that it had been your idea. 

You had wanted to end the relationship quietly, but Sebastian practically skipped into the library with you on his arm minutes after you’d been moaning his name in the Room of Requirement. The two of you found Andrew sitting at that same study table and Sebastian marched you right up to him, where you told him the two of you were over. Then Sebastian paraded you into the Great Hall, you still wearing his sweater, where he didn’t bother to hide his affection for you during dinner. Afterward, you dragged him to the Undercroft for another round.

Sebastian found it hilarious when Andrew glowered at you in the library again, but you steered him back into the Central Hall to avoid any confrontation. You really did need to study that day. Your History of Magic exam was scheduled for the following morning and you were one of the many students who hadn’t paid much attention during class for the duration of the term.

But Ominis had banished you and Sebastian from the Undercroft for the week after he discovered the two of you in an obscene position the previous day. 

“The Undercroft ?” he had uttered in disbelief. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”

So today, you and Sebastian sat in the Room of Requirement, your stacks of spellbooks and scrolls scattered over a study table.

Sebastian had lost concentration ages ago. He twirled his wand in one hand while he watched you study. You’d already scolded him twice for being disruptive, and despite his mounting boredom, he knew your exams were important so he did his best to keep quiet.

After three hours of painfully mundane reading, you sighed and sat back in your chair, your eyes tired from straining over your textbooks.

“Ready for a break?” Sebastian asked eagerly. Your gaze drifted over his notes and you snorted as you studied the doodles and drawings he’d made on the edges of the parchment.

“Is that… Ominis?” you asked, squinting at one of the doodles.

“Riding a dragon, yes.”

You laughed and fiddled with your wand, appreciative of the comic relief. But Sebastian’s gaze had shifted and you immediately recognized the way his eyes were darkening with desire. They drifted to your chest, but you crossed your arms to obstruct his view.

“Sebastian…” you warned. “We need to study.”

“We’ve been studying!” he whined. “For three hours. Surely you could use a break. Wasn’t this the exact thing you were anguishing over just weeks ago with Larson?”

“Andrew went weeks without touching me,” you pointed out. “I just fucked you yesterday.”

“Feels like it’s been weeks.”

You rolled your eyes but crossed your legs beneath the table. You, too, were antsy with arousal, but were determined to assert your self-control this time. You’d given in to Sebastian every time until now – not that you’d needed any persuading. 

Sebastian leaned closer to you, his hand skimming the top of your knee beneath the table. He was challenging you. He knew your resistance was thin. But he didn’t know you were intent on affirming your power.

His thumb began tracing tiny circles against your thigh and you clenched your jaw. He seemed to notice the twitch in your facial expression because his puppy dog eyes lit up with amusement. Slowly, his hand snaked toward your entrance until two fingers gently brushed over the smooth fabric of your panties.

You fought to maintain a stoic expression, even as a finger pressed into your clit, but a hitch in your breath betrayed you. Sebastian smirked.

“No!” you said firmly as you snapped your knees together to force Sebastian’s hand away. “Sebastian, I want to study.”

“Judging from how wet you are, darling, I don’t think I believe you.”

You huffed an exhausted puff of air. “Okay, so maybe I don’t want to study, but I need to.”

“Do you need it as much as you need to come right now?”

Your eyes widened at his audacity, but you folded your arms in firm denial. “We can address that later,” you said, praying the pitch of your voice wouldn’t expose the filthy thoughts circulating inside your head.

But per usual, Sebastian saw right through you. He lounged backward in his chair, his legs stretched out as he continued to smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that, darling?”

You scowled at him in annoyance and rose to your feet. A book in one hand and your wand in the other, you strode to the sofa that sat six feet away. Sebastian moved as if he were going to follow you, but you pointed your wand at him.

“Hey now! Watch where you point that thing!”

In one fluid flick, your wand emitted a milky haze of dancing white light. You cast a faint glowing line through the air between the table and the sofa until it stretched the entire length of the room. It glimmered and danced as you reached toward it with one palm open. Your hand recoiled against it, confirming that your barrier charm had worked.

Sebastian’s mouth fell open in protest.

“There,” you said indignantly. “Now there will be no temptations.”

“And just how do you expect to leave?” Sebastian demanded.

“The barrier should only last an hour or so, maybe even less. I think we’ll survive.”

Sebastian pouted in his chair as you settled onto the sofa with your book in your lap. You tucked your legs beneath yourself and continued your reading about the Warlocks' Convention of 1709.

In hindsight, choosing the most dreadfully boring subject to study while your boyfriend stared at you with bedroom eyes was probably a poor decision. Soon, your eyes glazed over and you realized you’d read the same page three times with no memory of its contents.

You looked up and were unsurprised to find Sebastian watching you. He quirked an eyebrow at you and you rolled your eyes in an attempt to feign disinterest. But you couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye.

He looked so damn good that day. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and his hair was particularly messy from waking up late that morning. You imagined those strong arms lifting you onto that study table, where you’d sprawl out as he stood and fucked you.

The image lingered in your head for just a moment too long, and you knew you were a goner.

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, annoyed at Sebastian for trying to rile you up. He’d succeeded but now, you both were paying for it. It made you want to strangle him – as soon as you were done riding him into the ground.

But now that stupid barrier lingered between you, and there was no possible way you could wait for it to fall. You could already feel the swell mounting within your core. It made you shift on the sofa, the movement heightening the sensitivity between your legs.

The usual cool of the Room of Requirement felt suffocating. Your cheeks were starting to flush and you knew studying was a lost cause. As you stole another glance at Sebastian, who still lounged quietly in his chair with his legs stretched, you decided the least you could do was have some fun with your situation. Maybe next time, he’d think twice before distracting you – and for trying to challenge you.

You heaved a dramatic, audible sigh as you snapped your book shut. It went forgotten on the sofa next to you as you ran a slow, deliberate hand over your neck.

Sebastian watched you in guarded silence. Slowly, you began to unbutton your blouse, your fingers working carefully as you exposed more and more of your chest.

Sebastian straightened in his chair, sitting upright with his hands on his knees. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled. Your only reply was a silent, fleeting glance and a sinister smile.

Your blouse fell open and your legs followed suit. The hem of your skirt guarded your core, so you slowly hiked it up, pulling it backward to expose what lay beneath.

Sebastian already knew what was waiting. Your soaked panties covered your entrance. He let out a sharp exhale at the sight, his hands gripping his kneecaps as you ran a hand from your neck downward, dragging over one breast and across your stomach until it found the fabric protecting your cunt. Your legs opened wider. 

You gently ran a finger over your slit, the friction from the fabric provoking a low moan. You dared to look at Sebastian, who was looking positively distraught over the sight before him. 

Good.

You continued to rub your clothed entrance with two fingers until you decided your panties had become too restrictive. As Sebastian’s stare remained locked between your legs, you teased him by running a finger along the edge of the fabric.

“Please,” he rasped. You tugged your panties to the side. You could hear him whimper.

One finger dipped quickly inside your swollen cunt, the moisture coating it immediately. You pulled it out and your arousal glistened over your fingers. You used the moisture to coat your clit, your fingers gliding over the little bundle of nerves until the absence of something inside you was overwhelming.

You dabbed two fingers inside yourself and moaned as your walls clenched desperately around them. As you worked your own core, you sank lower into the sofa, your legs spread wide and your teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

Sebastian dropped his head backward for a moment, his face contorted in absolute anguish as he stared at the ceiling for a moment. It almost appeared as if he was in pain.

The sounds of you fucking yourself echoed, exposing your act to the poor portraits lining the walls. Your moans filled the room. You dug desperately inside yourself, your fingers beckoning and coaxing a release, the cadence of your breathy moans reflecting your nearing climax.

Sebastian’s hands were gripping the seat of his chair, his knuckles bright white as he watched. You almost felt sorry for him. Almost .

He swiped at his face with his hand, as if he were trying to stifle another whimper. The peak in his pants looked positively painful. You couldn’t help but feel impressed that he had managed to refrain from any attempts to relieve his own arousal. 

But your dripping need was more important. Finally, your eyes fell shut and you had to picture Sebastian’s face as you became too immersed in the heat that was coursing between your legs.

“Mmm, I’m going to come, Seb,” you managed to whine. He swore under his breath.

With your eyes squeezed shut and your walls squeezed even tighter, your fingers drove at your sweet spot and your palm dragged against your clit. You moved with vigor despite your tiring arm. 

Finally, you knew you were close. You wanted to sneak one more glance at Sebastian. You knew he was positively reeling. But you were feeling too selfish and too needy; your release was too demanding.

So instead, you moaned his name. It was followed with a grating cry that had formed deep in your throat. You came so hard, it felt like your walls were pounding around your fingers. You held them in place, clutching at yourself as you tried to prolong the sensation.

When it finally subsided, your heart was still pounding and your eyes peeled open. The room took a moment to fall into focus, but through the haze, you could see Sebastian’s form. 

He slumped in his chair, shoulders forward and knees bent. He looked positively miserable, as if he’d been dragged through absolute hell. 

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you… do you want to… take your turn?”

“No. I… don’t need to.”

Your eyes fell to his lap. “Oh.”

Now, you were feeling torn between guilt and pride; remorseful for making your poor boyfriend sit through such a sinful act; proud of the clear power you held over him. But this was his fault. You were perfectly content on studying until he decided to exhibit such feral behavior. You were simply matching his conduct. And now you knew you could make him come without even touching him.

But you were also physically spent. The magic barrier continued to glimmer across the room as you redressed yourself. Sebastian watched you quietly, his expression sedated and sleepy.

You nearly laughed as you realized he looked more spent than you did. But even the relief you had given yourself could never match the absolute euphoria of Sebastian’s touch. You already found yourself wanting it as soon as possible.

With time to spare as you waited for the barrier to fade, you tried to return to your reading. But now, your prior tension was replaced with a sluggish post-orgasm haze that made you drowsy. So instead, you curled up on the sofa with your head on the arm rest, asleep within minutes.

A gentle nudge pulled you from your nap. You sat up to find Sebastian lounging on the sofa next to you. 

“Seb?”

“Hey, darling.”

“How long was I asleep?”

Sebastian consulted his pocket watch. “Little over two hours.”

“Two hours ? Why did you let me sleep that long?”

“You looked like you needed it. Especially after that grand… performance you put on.”

Your cheeks flushed and you noticed Sebastian was wearing a new pair of trousers. “Did you… where did-”

“I went back to my dorm to change,” Sebastian explained. His cool, calm demeanor caught you off guard. You had been certain he’d be eager to ravish – or punish – you for your earlier antics. “Dinner’s going to start soon. You hungry?”

“I should be studying,” you groaned as you realized you had wasted an entire afternoon. The History of Magic exam was tomorrow.

“I’ll tell you what, love. How about we go grab some dinner and then you can study in peace and quiet. I’ll use the time to visit Anne,” Sebastian offered.

You blinked at him, your suspicion raised instantly. “Visit Anne,” you repeated blankly.

“Yes, Anne. You know, my sister?”

Something didn’t feel right. You knew Sebastian. You’d spent the past two weeks attached at the hip – literally and figuratively – and you couldn’t believe he’d be willing to spend the evening apart so willingly.

“You’re not going to punish me?” you asked stupidly. “For earlier?”

Sebastian barked a laugh. “What for, darling? How could I possibly be upset about having such an independent girlfriend?”

“Independent?”

“Yes, independent. Clearly you can take care of yourself. You don’t need me.”

Ah, there it was. His gameplay. You knew he wouldn’t let you off the hook. He was going to withhold sex from you as punishment. He’d seen how you agonized when Andrew had denied you for weeks, but he knew this would be much worse. You liked Andrew but you loved Sebastian. You’d spent the past two weeks absolutely enamored by the way he ruined you. 

This would become a game; a contest to see who could pretend to care less. And you’d give it your best performing act. Because you knew Sebastian, too. He was merely a man; a man who couldn’t contain himself at the mere sight of you falling apart hours earlier. 

So instead of protesting, you flashed him your prettiest smile and draped your arms around him in a hug, feigning gratitude for a night off.

—

Your gratitude was short-lived. You went to bed alone that night, tired after an evening of actual studying in the Room of Requirement by yourself. But by midnight, you were tossing and turning in distress over the excruciating ache that had returned between your legs.

Sebastian sauntered into the Great Hall the next morning and pressed a kiss to your temple as he slid into the seat next to you.

“Get all your studying done?” he asked casually.

“I know more about the outlawing of dragon breeding than I know the back of my hand,” you sighed. “How’s Anne?”

“She’s good,” Sebastian answered as he heaped a pile of eggs onto his plate. “I, uh… told her about us.”

You froze mid-bite into a slice of pineapple. “You did?”

“Relax,” Sebastian chuckled. “She’s thrilled for us. I knew she would be. She claims she knew all along that we’d end up together.”

You spent the remainder of breakfast quizzing each other for your exams, but beneath the table, you squirmed, annoyed that Sebastian had managed to appear so nonchalant over your lack of intimacy the previous night. What you didn’t know was that he’d spent the later hours of the evening relieving himself – twice – at the memory of what you’d done in the Room of Requirement.

The day’s exams didn’t end until late afternoon, meaning you didn’t see Sebastian again until dinner. You were dissecting the answers to the Arithmancy exam with Imelda Reyes when Sebastian appeared, lowering himself across from you.

“Survive that Muggle Studies exam, Sallow?” Imelda asked. 

“Easily,” Sebastian answered as he shifted his gaze to you.

“How was History of Magic?” he asked.

“Dreadful, but I think I aced it,” you answered.

“That’s my girl.”

Imelda rolled her eyes and redirected the conversation to her upcoming tryout with the Montrose Magpies. 

You listened to the details, genuinely happy your friend was close to securing her dream, but you couldn’t avert your eyes from Sebastian who was watching you quietly. When your eyes locked, he reached for an apple from the bowl on the table.

You narrowed your eyes in a silent quizzical stare as Imelda rambled on, her voice fading to a background hum as Sebastian took a slow and deliberate bite from the apple. His jaw closed and you could practically hear him sucking the juice from the apple’s skin. He chewed carefully and swallowed before he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes still on yours.

Your hips shifted in your seat. Sebastian noticed and smirked. 

You spent the remainder of the meal pretending Imelda’s quidditch tryout was the most fascinating thing you’d ever heard.

Students spent that evening enjoying the extended curfew that only came during exam week. Many lingered in the Great Hall while others scattered across the school grounds to take advantage of the warm evening. The rest retreated to the library to continue their studying.

You, however, didn’t make it down the steps to the Viaduct Courtyard before Sebastian was steering you toward the dungeons.

You greeted the few familiar faces in the Slytherin Common Room until Sebastian impatiently prodded you with his knee. After ascending the steps to the boys’ dormitories, he ushered you inside his room and kicked the door shut. The room was empty, his roommates likely out enjoying the evening, and you couldn’t wait to enjoy yours.

“Thought you were going to make me wait,” you teased as you slid yourself backward onto the bed, your legs dangling off the side.

“That was me making you wait,” Sebastian growled. You snorted.

“Seb, that was one day,” you noted.

“And that was more than enough.”

His admission that he couldn’t bear more than one day without burying himself inside you was exhilarating.

Sebastian all but dove for you, his hands clawing at your shoes and tights. Your skirt and panties followed until only your blouse and bra remained. 

Sebastian groaned at the sight of your entrance, which was already slick with anticipation. His arms hooked around your legs, yanking you to the edge of the bed.

“You’ve been fucking killing me,” he whined as he lowered himself between your legs.

A low, slow sigh left your lips the moment his tongue made contact with your entrance. He lapped at you in so much earnest, you could feel his breaths against your swollen skin.

He planted a kiss to your clit before a finger teased your folds. Your hips rocked in agony, your cunt desperate to swallow any part of Sebastian he’d allow. 

Two fingers sank into you and you instantly scolded yourself for thinking your own hands were worth a damn while in the Room of Requirement the previous day. Nothing felt as good as Sebastian. 

You moaned as you stretched around his fingers, your wet arousal making him hiss. 

“Fucking hell.”

He pulled his hand away and you whimpered in protest, though your frustration was short-lived as you watched him suck his fingers. It was an erotic vision that made your nipples harden.

“Better than any stupid apple,” he murmured. And his mouth returned to you again.

Fists balled the bed covers in your hands as your back sank deeper into the bed while you lifted your hips and gasped for more; more pressure, more relief, more Sebastian. His tongue teased your clit until his entire mouth was around your entrance, sucking at your flesh.

“Fuck, Seb. I’m so close.”

You could feel his tongue flatten over your clit in brisk swipes. The sound that vibrated from your throat was more of a pulsing hum than a moan as your eyes clamped shut, your focus drilled on the edge of your looming orgasm.

“Seb, I’m going to c-”

And then, silence. The pressure and heat was gone in an instant and your eyes shot open. Sebastian loomed over you, his glistening lips parted in a smug grin.

It was infuriating. You were splayed out, exposed and vulnerable, and your boyfriend had the audacity to tease and torture you. You wanted to curse him, hex him and pummel him with your fists.

But the best you could manage was a sharp, pained whine. And Sebastian, that cruel, conniving prick, responded with a short and maniacal laugh.

You glared, your cheeks flushed and your entrance seeping, determined to get your release. Maybe he was right. Maybe you’d just have to be an independent woman.

Your hand snapped to your entrance, fingers working frantically. It caught Sebastian off guard and he moved quickly to pin your hands to the bed above your head. You kicked your feet and he forced himself on top of you, more weight pushing your wrists downward into the mattress.

“Not yet,” he growled. “You’re going to wait for me. Understand?” You nodded in compliance. 

Sebastian didn’t speak as he returned to his feet. You watched with dark eyes as he reached for his belt, the buckle clinking softly as it released. His pants dropped to the floor, followed by his boxers. He slid his shirt overhead and stepped out of the heap of clothes on the floor, his erection bobbing as he moved.

He crawled over you again, one of his knees deliberately placed between your thighs, inches from your entrance. One hand worked slowly at the buttons of your blouse, addressing them one-by-one until your chest was exposed. 

That same hand snaked its way beneath you, fingers fiddling with the clasp of your bra until it snapped apart, your breasts falling from its hold. Sebastian helped you from your shirt and bra, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

“So fucking perfect,” he said. You shifted miserably beneath him. 

He lowered his mouth to your right breast, his tongue tracing slowly over your nipple. The bed creaked as his knee shifted closer, pressing itself against your cunt. You whimpered, certain that your body was going to catch fire.

Sebastian cupped your breast, pressing a trail of kisses to your neck where you could feel him smiling into your skin. His knee twitched and he snorted against the crook of your neck.

“You are so fucking wet,” he laughed. 

You narrowed your eyes in ire, but the pressure of skin against your entrance was intoxicating. You couldn’t help yourself. You bucked your hips, grinding your folds against Sebastian’s leg.

He looked ecstatic. 

“And I thought I was a pathetic mess in the Room of Requirement yesterday,” he mused as he gazed down at you. “But look at you, trying to fall apart against my fucking leg .”

If it hadn’t been for the students lounging in the Common Room below, you would have screamed. Or murdered him.

Sebastian pulled away to stand over you, the cool room coursing over your skin without his warmth.

“You know,” Sebastian murmured. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”

“Please,” you breathed. Your chest heaved and your hips rocked against nothing. It was shameful but you were void of any dignity now.

“That’s better.” You couldn’t help but pout at him and he grinned. “You know, darling, I don’t like making you wait either. My self-restraint has been hanging by a thread all day.”

“Then stop making me wait,” you growled. “ Please .”

Hearing you beg with authority was his final undoing. Sebastian liked to dominate you, but he liked your fiery attitude even more. It was what made him fall so stupidly in love with you in the first place. 

He pushed your legs apart and stood between them, his eyes drinking in the way your body was laid out for him, your breasts bouncing with every movement. 

The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance and you moaned in relief as you felt it settle inside you, pushing and stretching you until you were filled.

“I have to say,” Sebastian panted as he paused to allow your walls to adjust to his size. “I quite like the view from up here. Can’t wait to watch you fall apart beneath me.”

“Then hurry the fuck up,” you hissed. Sebastian beamed at you.

He started slow, pulling his cock until the head lingered near the folds of your entrance before he rocked his hips forward, sinking into you until he was fully sheathed again. His plan had been to tease you like this for quite some time, with leisurely, deliberate strokes slow enough that you’d feel every inch of his cock parting your walls. But reality was quite sobering. Soon, Sebastian’s restraint shattered and he was pumping into you at a short, steady pace, his eyes glued to the spot where you were connected. 

“My god,” he choked. The view of your cunt swallowing his length repeatedly turned his brain to mush, but nothing had prepared him for the sight of your wet arousal coating his shaft.

Your moans filled the room, your hands gripping and squeezing your nipples. Sebastian grunted at the sight of you playing with your own breasts, an erotic vision straight from years of his fantasies. 

“God, you take me so well,” he moaned, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled your body into his thrusts.

You were teetering on the edge of ruin, your nerves heightened from the edging Sebastian had given you with his tongue moments ago. He reached down to trace circles over your clit, the extra source of sensation pushing you through the threshold.

“Sebastian!” The cry of his name preceded a sharp gasp as the swelling wave inside you crashed. Your toes curled and your back arched as your walls spasmed and grasped around Sebastian’s cock. 

Sebastian pressed the tip of his cock hard into your sweet spot, coaxing more moisture that dripped down his length while you orgasmed. He held it there until you were done crumbling around him.

“You’re fucking perfect when you come,” Sebastian croaked. He reached for your ankles and pulled them together, lifting them into the air to rest against his shoulder.

He regained a steady rhythm of thrusts, the new position squeezing your tight heat around him. His cock drove upward, drilling hard until you were certain you were too sensitive to handle him.

Sebastian’s grip tightened around your ankles, his thrusts falling out of sync as he began to unravel. The smacking sound reverberated off the walls. But you were too selfish to allow him to quit just yet.

“Seb, I’m close,” you moaned.

Sebastian grunted. “Going to come for me again so soon?” he managed.

“Yes, please. Please .”

His jaw was clenched so tight you feared it would crack, but his cock pounded your cunt harder. The pitch of your moans drifted higher and higher until the peak of the noise matched the peak inside your core. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Sebastian coughed just as your final orgasm tore through your insides. You came so hard, you arched off the bed, your ankles digging downward into Sebastian’s shoulder as you cried out. His knees would have buckled beneath the force if he hadn’t tensed from his own climax, his body going rigid as his cock twitched. He groaned through the sensation until he used your leg to pull your body flush against himself with one final slam, spurting his release inside you.

He remained there, though he was barely able to stand as you wondered if your skeleton had vacated your body. 

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian panted. “Let’s never go that long without each other again.”

“Agreed,” you murmured.

And before you could move apart, the dormitory door swung open and Ominis strode in. He froze dead in his tracks, the tip of his wand glowing vibrant red as he analyzed the scene before him.

“Are you two fucking serious?!”

[jessthebaker]

How? How? HOWWWW did I not read this when you published it?! Did I read it on ao3 and not here? Did I leave you a comment there and not here? My friend, if I haven’t commented or shared this chapter yet, I have SINNED. Because this is amazing. The whole story is amazing. You are an amazing writer.

Watching Frankie and Lee grow together, watching her grow in her personal life - grow in her confidence that has been planted and nurtured by Frankie - and then she takes that confidence and saunters it back to him in slacks - is the sexiest and most affirming way for her to be.

(That is, until she finds the confidence enough to LEAVE HER ASSHOLE ADRIAN and trust that she DOES have skills to survive without Asshole Daddy’s money. Keeping her in a job she’s not good at, with a man who disrespects her and begrudges her anything good and only wants her around for the status it bestows upon him. UGH. Fuck that guy.)

BUT. I was talking about Lee and Frankie. It makes me so happy that they are talking, sharing parts of their lives, sleeping over, staying over past sunrise (she gets to see his glorious self naked in the daylight?! *swoon*) , getting more and more in tune with each other, more comfortable discussing things - the big things, things that matter more than “what do you do for work” or “where do you live”.

I can only hope that as they separately think about being together for REAL, that they actually discuss the idea together. And that Ava’s arrival is a catalyst to making something happen! Something good!!

My darling Orange, please do not apologise for taking a long time to write this story. If you didn’t write it at all, it would never get written. And that would be an absolute tragedy. Take your time, you are worth waiting for!

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 5

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Time flies, in room number 2. How much longer do you have, just for the two of you?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange bedroom besties 🧡 It's been a hot minute, I sincerely apologise. Thank you to everyone who stuck around, I hope it was worth it, and thank you to everyone who just passed by 🧡 @frannyzooey my love, thank you for your help on the Americanisms, invaluable as always 🧡

Word count: 13.8k

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Chapter 5: Time in a bottle

It’s late when you pull into the parking lot. Dusk cloaks the motel in its fuzzy veil, the surroundings fading in diffuse shadows. The single-story building stands out in the twilight, akin to an old ship. Wooden poles for masts, hanging lamps swaying gently in the briny breeze, their lights blurry in the muggy air. Tacky and warm, it wafts in through your car’s open windows, dampening the exposed skin of your forearms and the back of your neck. 

On the passenger seat, your iPhone’s screen glows in the semi-darkness with an incoming call. 

Adrian.  

“What now?” you sigh, through clenched teeth. 

Your eyes dart up to Frankie’s truck parked in front of you. The word FORD stretched in chrome letters on the tailgate, shining bright in your headlights. 

The familiar pull awakens between your constricted lungs. A pounding, greedy little tug compelling you to get out of your car and cover the distance to the room as quickly as your step will carry you. But you want to calm your nerves first. Slow down your heart rate, deepen your breathing. 

That discussion you had with your father, earlier this afternoon, still clings to your frame. The humiliation conveyed by his carefully chosen words like tar, black and viscous. You can almost smell its foul stench. And you don’t want to bring any of it inside. 

It’s only the third time Frankie gets here before you, if you count that very first Friday back in September. And the second, since you came back from Colorado earlier this month. The pressure in your rib cage eases at the memory of that sweet evening. 

All day long, you had rushed through your counting routine. Through the long, icy corridors of your glass prison. Rushed on the 589 northbound. Rushed to strangle the uncertainty of his presence there. 

It was a few minutes past 7pm when you parked next to his truck, his early presence cranking up your anxiousness. You got out of your car with an anguished scowl, and you all but ran toward the porch, toward the brass number 2, shoes scuffing the gravel. 

The door swung open the very second you stepped under the overhang. A flash of dimple, and his arms wrapped around your waist. He scooped you up from the floor, swift and easy, carrying you inside. Hungry kisses, teeth scraping at your jaw, down the line of your neck. A throaty husk of Happy New Year, Lee Abbott, as he tugged your clothes off your body that thrummed with his scent and his voice and his arms and his taste. 

With the density of him. 

He lifted you again, your short, giggly yelp bouncing across the room as he hauled you over his shoulder with an easy force. His steps long and balanced, as if your weight was inconsequential to his strength. 

In the dim bathroom, he put you down directly into the tub. There, he unbuckled his belt and slid down his jeans, looking at you with a mischievous grin you’d never seen before and that fitted his gorgeous face a little too well. 

“Told you I’d fuck you in this shower.” 

Thirty seconds later, you were standing together under an aggressive stream of scalding water, his broad back shielding you from the high pressure, steam blurring the tiles and the mirror. You pressed your face into his neck, hands splayed over his chest, feeling it heave with his low, rumbling chuckle. 

“ That’s the best I could do. This place is trash,” he scoffed, lips grazing your ear. 

“ It’s perfect,” you laughed. 

Another notification lights up your screen, yanking you back into the stifling cab of the sedan, to the nagging cramp poking your rib cage, to your hindered breathing. 

It glowers at you, bold black letters over a steel gray rectangle. 

MESSAGES 

Adrian

Your eyes flicker back to the red truck, your face crunching into a grimace. 

“Shit,” you grit, grabbing the phone and quickly pressing the home button before you can change your mind.  

The lock screen fades as the message app pops open. You squint against the brightness of the glowing white screen. 

I made it, babe. I fucking made it. You’re talking to the new senior partner of Balmer & Steigt.  Fuck yeah. I finally get what I fucking deserve.  

The gray ellipses start blinking underneath the bubble. You frown, bracing yourself. 

I couldn’t have made it without you. This is your victory as much as mine.

You scoff, but the dread-inducing ellipses keep bouncing happily. Fantastic. There’s more coming.

I got you something. Something fancy for my fancy girl.

“Oh, hell no.”  

Leaning down, you pick up the roomy I ❤ NY tote bag Ava got you as a Christmas present and dump your phone into it, before stuffing the bag under your seat. 

If only you could take a full breath. If only your chest would expend. It’s not that bad, really. A few months back, you would have been physically unable to keep going with your day after that conversation with your father. Let alone drive. You’d have suffocated, chocked up on your panic, until you’d been left with no choice other than to gulp down a pill, or two, or three, topped off with a swig of gin. The bitter taste of surrendering. 

Is that what it means, to give oneself some grace? You’re doing good, you’re doing better, you’re doing your best.

Closing your eyes, you exhale through pursed lips and ease down your shoulders. 

He had you called into his office by his secretary, as you were about to leave, bag in hand, counting steps. 

But you were expecting it. In all honesty, you’re surprised it’s taken him this long. Four weeks since you came back from Beaver Creek. Four weeks of defying his strict, outdated, misogynistic dress-code. 

The very first morning, you stepped out of the mirror-lined elevator on the 15th floor wearing high-waisted, wide-legged slacks and a loose button-up, the sleeves folded high on your forearms. And flat derbies.  

Nervousness, sitting heavy and queasy in the pit of your stomach, beating loud against your eardrums. Prickling under your armpits, raising the hair on your nape. 

Kaytee’s eyes widened as she caught sight of you walking by her office, before she remembered to police her expression. The shock on her face turned into something else, something worse. Lurking in the lift-up corner of her lips, in the smugness coloring her cheeks. Something sardonic. Condescension. 

“ You can’t spend your life trying to be someone else. ” Ava’s words through the receiver the previous night were a dizzying swirl inside your head, as you walked down the glass corridors, coworkers and subordinates watching you with a similar shocked expression, that blurred their features into one subdued, frightened face. 

But who the fuck am I, Ava? you wanted to ask, the only sound on the line that of your short breathing. How did you know who you were? Always. From the very beginning of your life. How did you know how to be so unapologetic about it? 

Had it been your gift to her? Does self-confidence require love? Or guidance? Is it innate? 

All you know, at this point in your life, is that wearing clothes that you chose for yourself seems like a sound first measure. One that you can actually undertake. 

And with that in mind, you stepped into your father’s office, your heart pulsating in your throat, to take a seat across from him, his clear desk standing like a wide canyon between you.

Now, your steps are nearly silent on the shifting gravel, as you walk across the parking lot, fingers brushing along the cool metal of the truck as you pass it by. That pull toward Frankie propelling you forward, inescapable, irresistible despite the nasty sensation oozing down along your legs like thick-flowing tar, weighing your gait. 

On the porch, you pause. On Friday evenings, this is when you shed your old skin. Healing wounds, scar tissues. When you set your eyes on the canopy as it swallows the sun, pink-orange dusk fading to dark. Grainy photographs, forgotten vacations. This is when your spine straightens, when you take in the horizon and let it deepen your breathing. When you ready yourself for the life you’ve chosen, between the brown carpet and the yellow curtains and his arms. 

But it’s already night. The darkness has erased the horizon and your old skin won’t shed. 

The door opens, a draft ruffling your hair.  

The first thing you see is the crease between his brow. The tick of his whiskered jaw, and then, his dark brown eyes, appraising the tension that winds up your body, appraising your silence. His grunt, like an echo, distant. 

“You sat in that car forever. I was about to come out and get you.”

The concern in his voice rattles something deep inside your belly. You’re not bringing any of it inside that room of yours, you think, as he pushes away from the door to let you in, as you cross the threshold, but it’s stuck to you. Your father’s voice. The tremendous power it still holds over you. His disappointment. Your failures, plural. All the wrong choices. 

His hat is set on the desk. His suede jacket is draped over the back of the angular wooden chair. Your gaze lingers on it, you can almost feel the comforting softness of the fabric under the pads of your fingers.

He stands a few feet away from you, giving you space. Dark mahogany searching your features, your posture. His hands propped on his hips, like that other night in the parking lot, after he’d seen the fresh scar in your hairline. 

You face away from him. The smell of the room is familiar, in a comforting way. Musty. Dust and the faintest perfume of industrial laundry detergent coming from the starched sheets. He’s pulled the bedspread off the bed. It’s folded neatly on the floor underneath the window. It rises tears along your throat, the idea of him prepping himself, prepping the place, alone in this room where you’ve waited for him countless times and hours. Guilt scrambles your brain, over what, you’re not entirely certain. Keeping him waiting? You failures, plural. All the wrong choices. 

“Lee.”

His voice seeps in through the blackness coating your skin, like warm and persistent little droplets of sweet amber.

You turn to face him, at last. An awkward upper-body twist, feet rooted to the brown carpet, teeth clenched around the lump in your throat. He’s wearing that gray threadbare t-shirt you love, the one with a v-neck, and your eyes find the dip at the base of his throat, the fireworks of freckles between his collarbone. Tears well up, too strong to hold back, and you shut your eyes to the muffled sound of his booted steps on the matted carpet.  

You’re drifting, enveloped in his warmth, his scent, leather and musk. The contact of his skin as he curls a large hand around your nape, tucking your face into the curve of his strong neck. 

His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you closer, flush to his chest, and he presses his chin to your temple. You let go, surrender, honey dripping thick and golden along your loosening limbs. 

His pulse beats solid and steady against your cheek. You breathe him in, a hindered inhale at first, and when your shoulders begin to drop, a deeper one. A single tear escapes. It rolls down the round of your cheek into his skin. Your palms skim up to the plane of his back, soaking in his heat, and he presses you in harder, his forearm aligning with your spine, fingers spreading at the base of your skull. 

Time stretches. He holds you. You lean in. 

Later, after he’s helped you climb into the cab of his truck, you keep your eyes on him as he rounds the red hood.

Sitting behind the wheel, he puts the key in the ignition and, looking at you, tilts his head to the left. 

“C’mere,” he says, and you scoot next to him, biting down a relieved sigh as you slide over the seat bench. 

He leans over your lap, grabbing the middle seat belt, and buckles you in, then himself. You settle in, with your head against his shoulder, and your hand on his thigh, soft cotton, worn denim. Under your touch, his firm muscles ripple as he drives you into the night, into oblivion. The steady motion lulling you to sleep.

Alongside the deserted road, trees and bushes roll out in the headlights as the truck swallows miles and miles of asphalt. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble after a while, fighting drowsiness.

“Don’t be. You wanna talk about it?” he adds after a pause.

“No.” 

You shake your head, your voice so low you’re not certain he’s heard your answer.

“Doesn’t have to be now,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Your head bobs with his bunching muscles as he releases the wheel to bend his arm at the elbow, fingers threading through your hair. Without lifting his eyes off the road, he leans in, and pecks a pointed kiss on the crown of your head. 

Your eyes close. The image of the bedspread neatly folded underneath the window flashes through your mind. You can’t seem to get used to his tender gestures, to his attentions. You hope they will never stop. You hope you will never get used to them. 

The emotion washes over you, a soft wave, and you float with it. In the cab of his truck, in his scent and his hold, you feel free of all doubts. Fear and pain cannot find you here. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced so far, a strange feeling, potent and all encompassing, albeit one that doesn’t need to be dulled or tamed. 

The words come out of your mouth as a surprise. 

“I think I don't want it to define me anymore. My family, I mean. Where I come from.”  

This is a new state of mind. Or perhaps it’s been there for a while, a mere shadow on the wall, something you couldn’t clearly discern. Suddenly simple to comprehend and articulate.

“Yea. I get it,” he says.

And you know he does. 

You open your eyes, and take in a deep breath, fill your lungs with that distinct old leather scent that clings about him, and the smell of vintage Bakelite from the dashboard, so specific to his truck.  

“Music?” you ask.

“Sure, good idea. You like Jefferson Airplane?”

You nod, brushing your cheek against the cottony fabric of his t-shirt, leaving a little bit of you there, for him to find later.

“Yes. I like them.”

“Jefferson Airplane it is, then,” he answers. 

Gently, he bends forward, mindful not to nudge you too much, and turns on the stereo. His thick fingers push the tape that’s already there into the slot, and your lips curl with an explicit thought, unlike any you used to have before meeting him. Crude, but welcome pictures that now constantly crowd your brain. 

He keeps the volume low, and with the round rumbling of his quiet humming, your mind slowly drifts off again. 

You’re about to fall asleep when a thought surfaces, skirting the edges of your consciousness. 

“Frankie?” you quietly call. 

“Mmh?”

“Are you… Were you in the military?”

The humming stops, his silence abrupt, and his shoulder tenses under your cheek. Pushing away from it, you risk a sleepy glance at his face, plunged in the semi-darkness. It’s not dark enough that you don’t recognize the cocking of his jaw. 

“Frankie?” you ask again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I’m a pilot,” he cuts in, pausing to inhale deeply. “I was in the Army for nearly twenty years. I got a discharge a couple years back.” 

You remain silent. His eyes flicker quickly between you and the road, and you give his thigh a strong squeeze with your left hand, before resting your cheek against his shoulder, eluding his searching gaze.

Volunteers is crackling through the speakers, but you don’t hear the music. Fully awake now, your mind is reeling with those scattered, minute parts of him you picked up Friday after Friday to stash them away in your subconscious. His puzzle of shadows. All the things that now make perfect sense, and the ones you’re dying to unravel. 

His quiet assertiveness. His hands, quick and sure. His silences. His commanding tone. That long, sideways scar etched on his left flank. 

His early rage, and his anger too. The flight forward, dimming his eyes, where deep rich mahogany now glimmers. 

The zip ties. Your eyes grow wide, a gasping sound catching in your throat. You’re not ready to address how much you appreciate this particular skill of his, considering where he picked it up.  

Your imagination produces a clear vision of him in a US Air Force uniform, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, and you bite your lip, your entire body covering in chills. 

Frankie has yet to say another word. Something raises your consciousness, something in the scowl sharpening his features as he scanned your face for a reaction. 

Images flash through your head. The 8 × 10 picture displayed in your father’s office in its platinum frame, for every visitor to admire. Smooth faced and confident, his sleeves rolled up high on his lean forearms, your father’s shaking hands with Reagan in front of a colorful assemblage of containers, in the industrial quarter of the Tampa Bay Harbor, during the 1984 campaign. His coldly handsome face split by a smile, larger and more genuine than any of those he ever addressed you, let alone Ava. 

Recollections of those dragging hours you spent in church as a child, beads of sweat dripping along your spine as you sat in the sweltering heat on a hard wooden bench, rigid and still like a marble statue for fear of being reprimanded. 

The hateful, vehement speeches your father would burst into at random, your mother pinching your arm for you to listen, this is important. The uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach, like bile, like nausea. Wrong. This is wrong. A feeling, not an idea yet. It grew with you, expending, to become impossible to see past by the time you started high.

The list of names in your father’s neat handwriting, scrawled on a crisp piece of paper, that he handed you before driving the entire family to the polls for your very first election. The sheer terror, primitive in its hold over you, prickling on your nape as you systematically disregarded his instructions, choosing the names followed by the three letters DEM. 

The rare political meetings you secretly attended in college, the pamphlets in loud colors and bold letters, that you read hidden from your roommate’s prying eyes, as if they were satanic verses. Reproductive rights! Demilitarization Now! No to privatized prisons! End gun violence! 

Petitions you signed with a shaking hand, because what if your parents found out? What if they heard of it? A dread so profoundly anchored at the very core of your psyche that you have never told Ava any of it, even when she would chastise your lack of interest in politics, your lack of involvement, lest she’d reveal your treason to them in the heat of an argument.

Could this be when you started finding yourself? In your diverging convictions? Could it be enough? Could it count? 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask tentatively.

He huffs a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“You’re a hell of a fast learner, aren’t you?”

“I have a very good teacher,” you shrug, trying to ignore the sharpness in his tone. 

Curiosity overthrowing your ingrained fear to displease, you ask, “What kind of aircraft do you fly? Planes? Helicopters?”

He simply nods, and your cheeks heat again at the notion, your heart racing. 

“I’m very impressed,” you whisper. “I can barely parallel park.”

“I’m sure you got plenty of other skills,” he answers, softer. 

“No. I really don’t.”

—

Frankie walks briskly across the parking lot, carrying a take-away bag and a six-pack of beer. His head hung low to shield his face from the thin, mid-February drizzle. His denim shirt sticks to his back with humidity, and sweat from the drive. It’s pulled uncomfortably taut across his shoulders. 

He steps onto the porch, hands too full to open the door or even knock on it, so he gives it three light kicks. A tiny screw pops out from the curved top of the brass number two. The whole thing swivels upside down, swinging like a pendulum.

“Jesus christ, this fucking place,” he scoffs.

The door flies open, and you’re here, with that bright, earnest smile and your wide, luminous eyes. You’ve tied your hair up in a casual do, but you’re still fully dressed. He likes those slacks on you, snug on your curves, wide on your legs. It fits you so much better than the tight pencil skirts you used to wear when he first met you. Those made you look like an 80s porn producer fever dream. But these trousers transform your gait, your entire demeanor, into something more relaxed. More confident. He could watch you strut around the room for hours. If only there was more time.  

He catches a glimpse of the mesh fabric of your bra, peeking out from the cleavage of your open shirt, and he mentally curses the corporate fucks who get to work all week around you.

“Hey, Frankie.”

The sharp, familiar pang rips through his chest at the sound of your voice, light and cheery. That ache he waits for seven excruciatingly long days to experience again.

“Hey, baby.”

As you let him in, he feels the tip of your fingers brushing his thigh, as if you need to make sure he’s here in the flesh. The miracle of you wanting him, still. 

“What’s in the bag?” you ask, dragging the chipped chair away from the desk, so he can set down his bounty. 

His eyes fall on your graceful nape as you crane your neck to see what’s inside the bag, too well-behaved to touch it without having been invited to do so. 

“Didn’t have time to eat. I took something for you too, I hope you don’t mind. Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t usually eat before I come here,” you admit. “I drive in straight from work,” you add, heat visibly creeping up your neck and ears.

He takes off his hat, ruffling a hand through his hair to conceal a smug smile. 

“And you’re not starving, by the time I’m finished with you?”

“Quite the contrary, actually. I feel pretty full when you leave.”

Your lips stretch into a wide grin you’re ineffectively trying to hold back. 

“That so?” he chuckles, propping his hands on his hips. For countenance. 

Pride glimmers in your eyes, as it does every time you make him laugh. He knows it’s mirrored in his eyes. Your levity is his reward. 

Everything about you is unbearably endearing. He’s not sure if he’s hungry for food anymore, or if he’s not going to go straight down on you. You’ve already prepared the bed, that ugly bedspread neatly folded under the window. He could lay you prone on your stomach, lower your trousers to your knees, perk up your pretty ass and eat your sweet cunt from behind.

His hunger for you sizzles along his spine, sparkling in his loins, imperious and distracting. The sensation is delicious, and for once, he takes the time to revel in it. He’s so used to barging in here and just taking. He doesn’t savor, not really, not until after he’s had you at least once. 

He’s not proud of his unbridled hunger, the consequence of seven days’ worth of pent-up frustration, chasing your perfume on his clothes and the ghost feeling of your cool, smooth skin under his palms. That ever-growing obsession for your scent, for your eyes, and that crippling craving for the sounds you produce when he moves inside you. That high he gets when he makes you feel good. Every time he gives you what you want. 

And there’s the absolute black-out on all communications between you throughout the week that drives him out of his mind. He knows that’s the tacit deal the two of you struck at the very beginning. No phone number, no address, no marks. Hell, he didn’t even know your name until you gave it to him at Christmas. Only, he’s left in the dark for seven consecutive fucking days, with no means to check up on you, and no way to make sure you’re safe. 

He understands the necessity for secrecy. But the more time passes, the less it makes sense. 

So come Friday night, he needs to crush you under his weight. Needs to feel your flesh gushing through his splayed fingers and hear you mewl his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your body tensing up in his hold before it shatters around his cock. 

He needs to fuck you deep and full, find you in that place within yourself and wreck you there. He needs to make sure you’re alright. Make sure you’re real. Make sure you’re his. 

And his control might be tenuous, but he sure loves the way you lean into it. 

You’re still smiling when he takes a step closer behind you. Lowering his face into the curve of your neck, he inhales you there, that spot behind your ear, where your subtle scent becomes heady. He feels your chest rising with your own deep breathing, and he pictures your eyes fluttering shut. His hand skims the curve of your hip, sliding up to the swell of your breast over the smooth fabric of your shirt, gripping you roughly as he takes your earlobe between his lips and sucks on it. His hips move against your ass of their own volition, his cock half-hard, fucking twitching.

“Frankie,” you whine.

“Yea?”

He licks a broad stride up your neck, collecting the tangy taste of your skin, mixed with the chemical one of your perfume. 

“What’s in the bag?”

“What bag, baby? Oh, right.”

It’s a beat before he can detach himself from you. His cock is beating hard and angry against the confining fabric of his jeans. With a light brush of his knuckles along your side, he reminds himself there’s also pleasure in the anticipation. The word sits in the back of his throat, like a knife ready to bleed him dry. Concupiscence. 

Ripping the paper bag open in the middle, he smooths both sides neatly over the desk, and points at the three rolls wrapped in tin foil.

“Took three burritos, and some fried beans. There’s one beef, one pork, and one vegetarian, in case you don't eat meat.”

You look at him with a twinkle in your eyes, your grin getting wider than he’s ever seen it. He braces a hand flat on the desk. 

“Oh, I eat meat, I thought you’d know that.”

The words have barely left your mouth that you burst into a fit of giggles, covering your face with both hands.

“Christ, woman!” he laughs. “Alright, sit down. Let’s get proper food into that mouth of yours, for once.”

Together, you unfold the bedspread and arrange it over the foot of the bed. The thing is already stained, and you mutually agree there’s no need to make a mess of the white sheet just yet. 

Letting you pick between the two richer ones, he takes the vegetarian burrito, and you start eating together, two open cans of beer at your feet. 

His bites are ravenous, while you nibble gingerly at your food, holding the burrito with two hands, the foil crackling between your fingers. After a few bites, however, you start eating in bigger chunks. 

“This is delicious,” you moan with your mouth full. 

Is he getting jealous of a fucking burrito now? Is that where he’s at?

“What, you never had a burrito in your life?”

You wince, and he immediately regrets the teasing skepticism of his tone. 

Setting the food down, you dab a paper towel to the corner of your mouth, catching a fleck of sauce. There’s grace in all your movements, even the tiniest ones.  

“My mother monitored everything I ate. God forbid I put on any weight,” you explain, a hint of bitterness in your voice. 

He lowers his hands, eyes trained on your averted gaze. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” you tell him, looking up at him.

There’s that quiet resignation painted all over your face. 

“Try me.”

“You’re thinking I’m a grown woman, old enough to make her own decisions.”

He shakes his head. “Was actually thinking your mother sounds like the exact opposite of mine.”

Your mouth curves into a sad attempt at a smile.

“I don't judge you, Lee. We all do what we can with what we got dealt with.”

A slight frown knits your brow, as you seem to consider his words. 

He has spent a lot of time, lately, reflecting over his own choices, and the many places where they’ve led him, for better or for worse. 

Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. Libya and the most dangerous places in sub-Saharan Africa. Nearly everywhere in South America. Twice over.

Over the fucking Andes, and to Tom’s funeral. 

Choices that also made him Lua’s father. 

Crossroads that have taken him all the way to that shithole bar, last year at the end of August. Conscious decisions that brought him here, into this room. Into your arms. Into your life.

A chain reaction he wouldn’t alter, he knows it now, even if he was given the chance for a do-over. 

He used to consider things as definite. Choices as absolute and irrevocable. It took him becoming a father, and meeting you, to understand his mother’s words. Paso a paso, she’d say, watching him with a tender, knowing smile as he rushed toward his life. Paso a Paso, Francisco. 

You eat in silence for a while, and he keeps watching you. That sharp pain solidly entrenched inside his chest, blooming through his heart, he has to make a conscious effort to breathe around it. 

He bought you the food you’re eating right now. Drove to his favorite place, stood in line and placed his order with you in mind. And you’re enjoying it. In fact, you’re demonstrating an impressive appetite, hungrier, messier with every bite. Sauce dripping down your chin. Pink flashes of tongue licking it from between your fingers. 

He could get used to that. Providing for you. Taking care of you. In more than just one way. Sharing the mundane routine of a daily life together. 

But this is not real. Whatever is happening between the four walls of this shitty motel is not ground for life-altering choices. 

“Do you want to share the pork one?” you ask, crinkling the tinfoil wrapper into a compact ball. 

“I’m good, baby,” he answers with a soft smile. “You can have it. Just make sure you’re still hungry for more meat when you’re done.”

—

Adrian has gifted you a new purse from another French luxury brand. It’s a square-shaped thing cut from some grayish reptile skin, with a matching tag and a decorative lock hanging from its handle. It looks insanely expensive and ridiculously vulgar, its tackiness almost cruelly ironic. Like a rich people’s inside joke.  

Somehow, you’re vaguely aware this model is exclusive and can’t be bought online or even in stores, however high-end. It has to be ordered, and there’s a waiting list. Useless knowledge you probably gathered from one of your mother’s magazines. A family of four could most likely live comfortably for a whole year for the price of this thing. 

Incidentally, there’s a new perfume clinging to Adrian’s clothes when he comes home late at night. The first time you caught a whiff of the heady fragrance, intense vanilla and white musk, it reminded you of the stunning blonde with feline hazel eyes. 

The gift immediately felt less like an expression of gratitude for your support than like a reward for your silent compliance. But it’s of little to no importance. The bag sits idly at the bottom of your walk-in dressing. Unused, containing what’s left of the love and respect you once harbored for the man. 

Every so often, you think about it, as you cruise along the 589. It makes you smile. A wide, Cheshire cat grin, one that bares your front teeth, and you wonder if it’s cruel of you to smile about the end of something that used to mean so much. Something that meant nearly everything. You wonder if you’ve ever been cruel before. Intentionally, that is. 

Then, you conclude you don’t care. This particular kind of cruelty feels far too good. Too righteous. You could get used to it. 

And you keep cruising along the 589 northbound. 

—

“Mark Twain or Lewis Carroll?”

“Oh god, Frankie, I don’t know…” you moan, too distracted to think straight. 

Teeth ghosting a bite over your neck, he wraps a kiss around your skin, sucking on it. Not sharply enough to bruise, but enough for you to clench hard around him.

In the past few weeks, he’s become playful. It’s new to you. Was it always a part of him, constituent but buried underneath the scars and the years, or was it born from your touch? 

He’s become talkative, too. Talkative, and curious. But then again, perhaps he always was. Only, not with you. 

Thus, there are new rituals between you. Secrets exchanged behind the shielding partition of the yellow curtains. Murmurs shared underneath the droning of the ceiling fan, in the golden lighting from the quaint bedside lamps.

Some of his questions can pose a challenge. You’re not always certain about the proper answer. The right one. You were raised to say what was expected of you. Taught to speak to please, not to speak your mind. To wait for your cue, and hold your thoughts in between.

Frequently, you hesitate, afraid to trip on your words. 

But he doesn’t easily relent. He’s playful and curious. But above all, he’s patient and persistent.

“I don’t know,” you repeat.

“You know. Come on.”

“Okay, um… Lewis Carroll. I love– I love Alice.”

“Oh yea? You do? You like following big white rabbits to strange places, huh?”

His chest shakes with his raspy chuckle, and you laugh, until he pulls you in closer, sheathing himself deeper inside you, and your laughter plummets into a throaty groan.

Seamlessly, these new ceremonials have replaced the old ones, the ones that were carried out under wary gazes, in appraising silence.  

Now, you don’t always count your steps on Fridays, but you leave work earlier, and when you arrive at the motel, you try to engage Raul in conversation. His discomfort is obvious, bordering on annoyance, as you disrupt his concentration while he’s busy drawing charcoal landscapes of jagged mountains. But these past two weeks, he seems to have loosened up a bit. Either you’re wearing him off, or he’s trying to get rid of you faster. 

On the porch, in front of room number 2, you watch the sun slowly sink into the canopy of trees in an explosion of tangerine pink. Every week, the sunset creates a different palette of orange, but your emotion continues to be whole and unaltered. 

Before stepping in, you flick the upside-down brass number. It smiles in greeting, swinging on its one remaining screw.

You wish the place carried Frankie’s scent. It never does, of course. As you fold the comforter and prop it under the windowsill, the only smells wafting around are that of laundry detergent, dust, and the faintest hint of mold. 

There’s nothing tangible for you to hold on to in his absence, and this is by far the most difficult. It creates a vacuum, a fertile soil for foul, festering thoughts. Doubt, dread, agitation. During those seven days apart, there is no text or voicemail on your phone you can turn to for reassurance. No photo booth pictures stashed inside your wallet. No clothes of his to drape over your body and keep you warm and safe. Keep you sane. 

Every so often, when you cannot find sleep, you convoke the memory of his gray t-shirt, the one with the v-neck and the pilled fabric. The sensation of the slightly rugged cotton under the pads of your fingers. The immediate comfort gently lulls you to sleep. 

There is one thing, one thing only: the receipt from the burrito place, that you retrieved from the wastebasket after he’d left, that one time he brought you food. It’s tucked between two pages of your Moleskine planner. You’re not sure whether it’s cute or downright pathetic.  

You had thought the want, the yearning, would ease with time. It only kept spreading to every corner of your existence, every aspect of your life. Instead of only missing his touch, you now miss his voice, too. His choice of words, the cadence of his speech, the pace of his gait. His crinkled-eyes, dimpled smile. The way he rolls up his sleeves, leaves the top buttons of his shirt open, and the way he undresses. His three-finger hold on his glass. His long reflecting pauses before he speaks. The freedom and safety you experience with him.

You just became better at handling the longing. Recently, you have become very good at handling numerous things. Quietly but steadfastly defying your father’s injunctions to comply with his dress code. Adrian’s glaring eyes of blue, their silent judgement. Ava living a life of her own, far away from you. 

Reading helps. You hadn’t read in years, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it. Now, you carry a book with you everywhere in your I ❤ NY tote. In these last moments before he walks into the room, you lie on your side across the motel bed, your head propped on your hand, and you read.

And when Frankie arrives, everything makes sense again, everything is justified. 

The wooden door creaks open, the brass number swiveling frantically, and his relief upon seeing you lights up the dim room. Hushed greetings, his large hands curling at your waist, pulling you into him, a husk of Hey, baby, his lips barely leaving yours while he tugs at your clothes, undressing you already. 

There’s rarely any other form of preamble beyond an occasional variation of Fuck, I really missed you, Lee , his teeth trailing down the line of your throat, sinking in just shy of a bite. Out of breath, out of time. 

The wait is over. 

Does he still come here to escape? Does he come here for you? His urgency hasn’t abated. But his intent feels different.

Stop me, skin on skin, chest to chest, the weight of his body covering yours, calloused hands hooked on your shoulders for purchase, pounding into you loud and ruthless. 

Stop me, crouched over you like a devouring beast, his face buried into the crook of your neck, shallow breaths and gripping hands, grinding deep inside your heat. 

Stop me, and what you hear is, I trust you. 

Deep grunts thrumming out of his throat, tumbling from his plush lips into your skin, a searing branding, an invisible mark. 

His plea. Lee.

He comes right after you do, pulling out just in time to spurt hot and thick over your arching body, or inside your wanting mouth. 

Later, when his spend has dried on your skin, when he’s kissed the soreness better, when your breathing has slowed, he brings you a glass of water, and waits until you’ve drank it all to bury his face between your legs, or fuck your throat if you begged him to. 

And on some Fridays, he goes by the desk to sit on the rectangular chair. He positions it sideways from the framed mirror. Says the reflection distracts you. It’s true. 

You could spend hours watching him. Watching him move, watching him sleep. Watch the care he puts in the way he handles his clothes and his truck and your pliant body. Watch him button up his jeans or tie his belt around your wrists. Watch his curls catch the light as he combs his fingers through them, the working of his throat, the pulsating throb of his heartbeat in his strong neck. The dip in his collarbone. The darker scar on his side. The muscles of his shoulders and his back, rippling under his freckled skin. Watch, and map those freckles with your lips. 

You could spend the rest of your life with him.

“C’mere,” he beckons, with a little tilt of his head, and a light pat on his thigh.

You get up from wherever he left you lying, the bed, the rough carpeting, the bathroom tiles, and walk over to him on wobbly legs. There, he draws you into his lap in a face-away straddle, his hands on your waist guiding you, firm and gentle, as he makes room for himself inside of you. The tip of your toes barely reach the carpet once you’re seated, and you have to rely entirely on him for balance. You like that. 

He braces his strong arms around you, and you keep your fingers curled around them, reclining against him, against his warmth. You like the sticky sensation of your combined sweats gluing your loose bodies. Your back molds to his chest like it was shaped for this very purpose. 

Your head tips back onto his firm shoulder, and he props his chin in the curve of your neck. The slight swaying of your hips is languid and slow, barely perceivable, in the same way the earth’s revolution around the sun is imperceptible to its inhabitants. 

Time lingers, in long lazy stretches, infinite moments in the amber lighting of the room, in the friendly shadows. In the heart of the night, and the folds of your existence. The low husk of his voice like honey in your ears, his words vibrating from his chest to your back, to your core. 

You can hear the smile in his tone. If you close your eyes, you can see it.

He asks about your taste in books, music or movies, food and entertainment, and tells you about his. Silly games of Would you rather? and Never have I ever. 

Scrunching up your nose under your pinched brow, brain cells scrambling back together inside your hazy brain, you try to produce coherent answers as his lush lips trace intricate patterns along your skin, your throat, your shoulders, nimble fingertips rolling your nipples into hardened peaks. A scrape of his teeth, followed by the wet glide of his tongue, soothing over your flushed skin.

Sometimes, you feel so full it’s overwhelming. The sensation, the emotion strangles the air out of you. Your cunt flutters around the thick, stiff girth of him, and he lets out a gravelly groan, cock throbbing inside your snug walls. Your slick pools down onto the coarse curls at his base. It’s like a virtuous circle. Everything feels right with him. 

After a while, when you’ve melted inside, when amber twirls in your bloodstream and your thoughts have turned to swirling molasses, his hand slides down along your stomach. His calloused fingers parting your folds, he starts rubbing at your clit, telling you that it’s time to come for me, baby. 

And when you do, he comes with you, shoving you down and deep onto his pulsating length, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth pressed to that sensitive spot over your pulse point, his feverish grunts sizzling against your damp skin. 

When he comes inside you, when you come together, you are made brand-new. Anything’s possible. There’s nothing you can’t do. 

The elating sensation is your favorite daydream, sitting at your desk, over dinner, stuck in traffic, or in the blue hours before dawn. It sustains you throughout the week. The promise of it tingles in tense anticipation, from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes, when you watch him walk over to the desk and fold his tall, massive figure into the ugly chair. 

Week after week, question after question, you come into focus between his arms. It’s terrifying, and exhilarating. You keep getting better at it.

It’s a bittersweet ache, tender and addictive, to learn about his existence outside this room of yours. The borderless confines of his life. Of him. The details he chooses to confide in you, about his childhood, his past, and his present, in the dead of the night, his body wrapped around yours, chasing the contact of your skin. Chasing your touch, your softness, your understanding, when he used to grunt away from it. Like a threat, with bared teeth, and a shake of his head. A forbidding. A not yet. 

It makes sense to you now. There’s an absolute about him. An all or nothing. You’re not sure when it happened. The tipping point. Perhaps in the bathroom, on that sunny morning after Christmas, when he crowded you against the sink with a wolfish look turning his gorgeous face dark and threatening. You think it was meant to scare you. One last attempt. Your last chance to recoil and escape. 

You didn’t. You kept blooming, unfurling into your own limbs under the dark depth of his gaze, reflected in the black-edged mirror. You pressed back into him, the solid, steadying bulk of his body, of his broad chest. You pushed back and sunk deeper into his world. 

Today, he had to scoop you up from the floor where you were lying, boneless, in the wet mess he drew out of you. 

When he stormed into the room, you could still hear the engine of the truck revving. A scowl shadowed his face. Fidgety, tightly wound up, he began undressing you without a word. Unceremonious in his need, an echo of those early days, when he was imprisoned in his past, when his strength was unrestrained, when violence was his sole language. 

Fingers digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders, carding through his hair, you sought eye contact, softly cooing, I’m here, Frankie, I’m here, until your voice got through him. Until he heard you, slowing down, drawing you close. His forehead smearing sweat over your temple, his ragged breathing fanning the shell of your ear. His fist clutching the fabric of your shirt in a ball, with a push-pull motion, torn and primal, I need it, Lee. Please, I need you.

You relented, gave into it, lose and pliant as he bent you over the desk with a press of his palm, flat between your shoulder blades, as he pulled your panties to the side and lined himself up, as he thrust into you in one ruthless shove, down to his base. The clasp of his watch biting into your flesh. He was still fully clothed. 

Pulling on your wrists with an iron grip, he drilled into you at a brutal pace, skin catching at your entrance along his length, and you bit your lips through it, nearly drawing blood, until, at the very center of you, the pain turned into something blindingly pleasurable, bright and searing. A shockwave, erupting from your core, fast spreading along your limbs, lighting up every nerve-ending. 

Tensing under his constraining hold, bucking against his grip, you cried out his name, your back achingly stiff. Slick gushing out of you fast and hot, as your legs trembled uncontrollably, and through the din of it all, his rumbling growl, a guttural string of Fuck, before you slumped onto the desk and he fucked his own release into you. 

When he let go of you, he had to lay you on the carpet, where he collapsed next to you, chest heaving with exertion. Time blurred, you might have spent the whole night lying there, staring blankly at the popcorn ceiling, but he got up to undress.

He’s cradling you on his lap now, gently rocking into you. The slow and steady rhythm of his heartbeat aligned with yours, you’re bathed in his warmth, enveloped by his musky scent. You play along, searching your brain for answers. To his questions, and yours.  

There’s no evidence of his earlier outburst, saved for his thumbs drawing circles on your wrists where his fingers left a bruising indent. And of course, the wet spot on the carpet. 

Nuzzling your jawline, he trails a path of messy, lazy kisses down the column of your neck, capturing the tender skin between his plush lips, his tongue peeking through them.

“I should read it again. Alice. Read it so long ago. When I was a kid.”

Humming distractedly in agreement, your head lolls back on his shoulder. 

“Did I hurt you, earlier?”

Your eyelids fly open. His voice is barely a murmur, no more than warm breath grazing your ear, and you feel him throb inside you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

The vulnerability in his words shoots through your heart like a bullet. You free your arms to twine your fingers with his. 

“What happened today, Frankie?” 

His chest stiffens underneath you. 

“Nothing. Nothing happened. It’s more… It’s the date.”

The overhead fan hums over the room, louder than your breathing, louder than his. 

“A year ago, I agreed to a mission. With my former teammates. It was… It was bullshit. From the start. Nothing went as planned.”

He pauses and you wait, still and silent. 

“One of us got killed.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hands with all of your strength.

A chilling, bone-deep dread settles over your body in the sweltering heat, so cold he can probably feel it. You don’t want him to. 

“You said you resigned a couple of years ago?” 

“I did. I worked for the private sector, on occasions. It’s over now.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Fuck no,” he snarls. “But some of my friends did. I– I had to go.” He clears his throat. “I chose to go.”

“Do you miss him?”

He doesn’t answer for a while. Lifting his hand in yours, you give his knuckles a long, open-mouthed kiss. His forehead rests heavy against the back of your head, his eyelashes a fluttering caress on your nape. 

“For a long time, I felt responsible for his death.”

His words are dense with defeat. With sadness, and fatality. They sink heavily into you, into your bloodstream. You don’t need a mirror to know what his face looks like at this very moment. Your body will remember it, even if you live long enough to forget your own name. The pitch-blackness of his beautiful eyes, the stern crease splitting his brow, imploring for your touch. The tightness in his jaw. The downward curve of his plush lips.

That first night at the motel comes back rushing like a flood, like a wildfire. His roughness, the urgency saturating his actions, the anger in his grief. His bleeding wounds, invisible, evident, glaring. He reached for you through his despair, clutching your body, clinging to the idea of you. 

Are you real?  

I don’t know. 

A dry sob wells up in your throat, but you swallow it down. 

“What do you think now?”

“I think it doesn’t matter who’s responsible for his death. His girls are still orphaned.”

Between your lungs, the wild creature curls up into a ball. Its tears fill up your heart. There isn’t any pill or alcohol strong enough to numb this pain of yours. But it doesn’t matter. You want to feel what he feels.

You turn around. You kiss him.

—

“What about this one?”

He should be leaving soon. But your body’s soft and relaxed, curled into his side on the rumpled bed. Pleasantly cool in the muggy atmosphere of the motel room, in the dawn’s indigo hues. Your thin fingers hover gracefully over his skin, tracing the outlines of his scars, and it’s like you’re reshaping his entire body, all of his wounds, and his whole life, with the gentle touch of your fingertips.

“Frankie, what’s this one?”

He should be leaving soon. The sun’s about to come up. 

“Did you save it for last because it’s the largest?” he deflects with a smirk.

Folding an arm over his chest, you prop your chin over it, frowning exaggeratedly with your jaw shifting to the side. He laughs so hard that your head bobbles with his shaking belly.

“That supposed to be an impression of me?”

“You recognized yourself,” you smile, sitting up next to him.

He should be leaving soon. And you know it. You’re giving him the space he needs to get up and get out. He fucking hates it.

“Stay here,” he says, curling his fingers around your arm as you’re about to get down from the bed.

The look you give him awakens the pain in his chest. You peer through the curtains, into the blue morning sky, and your gaze returns to him with a silent question. 

“Come on. Please. Just a little longer.”

It’s not lost on him that he should be the one getting up. Not pleading.

The mattress creaks in protest as you move over it on your knees, sitting in a straddle across his hips. 

“Yea, that’s better,” he smiles, smoothing his palms over your thighs. His left hand slides up to palm your breast, and he notices he hasn’t taken off his watch, tonight. It’s the second time this month.

“What’s this one?” you ask again, entirely undistracted, measuring up your hand to the length of the darker patch of skin. 

“Okay,” he sighs, “I crashed a chopper near– wait, I can’t actually tell you that.”

“Jesus, Frankie,” you gasp, spreading both hands over the old wound, as if to stop a ghost bleeding. Your eyes have grown so wide, they eat up half your face.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s old. Wasn’t a big deal.”

It had been a big deal, at the time. There had been talks of awarding him a Silver Star for that mission.

“Did it hurt?”

“Mostly my pride. It wasn’t that bad, don’t worry. Nothing compared to what my sister threatened to do to me if I didn't leave the Army.” 

“I can’t say I blame her. I would have probably done the same.”

“Ok, my turn. What’s this one?”

His left thumb skims along the thin line on your inner thigh, and he feels you tensing under his touch.  

“It’s nothing,” you snap, taking your hands off his skin as if you just got burnt. 

He presses his thumb into your soft flesh. The pain in his chest accentuates, radiating down to his stomach. 

“You’re cheating,” he says, as softly as he can. 

You face away from him, gaze flickering up to the window again, and you start moving away, but he holds you firmly in place with both hands on your waist. 

“Lee. Tell me what it is.”

Seconds turn into minutes, the only sound in the room that of the ceiling fan’s motor, and the pain grows stronger, pulsating from his neck to his gut. Your eyes remain trained on the window, lost somewhere beyond the curtains. 

“I had several more like this,” you start. Your tone is detached, your voice distant. “Smaller ones. On the back of my arms. When I was 17, my mother took me to a dermatologist. He removed them with laser treatment.” 

You pause, and look down at him. 

“She got me fixed, so I could find a good husband.”

His fingers dig into your flesh. It’s a full minute before he remembers to breathe, through his nose, because he can’t unclench his jaw. The chest pain turns into blinding, white-hot rage. His truck is parked outside and in his mind, the sequence of actions is crystal clear. Get you dressed. Get you in the cab. Drive away with you as far as the road goes, and never come back here. 

“It burnt like hel—“

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he cuts in. 

“I’m really not, Frankie,” you calmly answer. “What I am is a coward.”

He sits up with a cinch, cupping your face so you can’t recoil from him. Somehow, this would be easier if you looked upset. If you were crying. Showing any kind of emotion, really. But you’re far beyond that. 

“I can’t let you say that. Not when you risk everything to come here every week.”

“Alright, so I’m a selfish coward,” you say with a joyless little smile. 

“No. You’re perfect. You’re my perfect girl. Say it.”

It’s there. Your unbending will, your steel-hard determination. In your defiant gaze and your pinched lips. In the distance you're trying to put between your body and his. 

“Okay, fine. Don’t say it. I’ll keep repeating it until you believe me. I can be fucking persistent, you know?” he adds, falling back onto the pillows.

“I know you can,“ you say, lifting a leg off the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he nearly growls, a bruising grip on your thigh, “I’m not done with you.”

His clipped tone appears to be more effective on you. You sit back down, let your shoulders relax, and the palm of your hands find his skin again. Distant gaze, cold touch.

“What’s this one?” he asks, the blunt fingernail of his thumb grazing the grid-shaped scar on your left knee, his tone barely a question, and to his surprise, you come alive with a spark in your eyes. 

“Oh! This one’s a good scar. I like it.”

You adjust your position over him, slotting your folds over his resting cock, and a coiling heat stirs in his loin.

“I had a bicycle when I was a kid. The most beautiful bicycle in the entire world. Red, the exact same shade as your truck. With a round cushion protection on the frame, I don’t know how you call that, and the letters MBK painted in white over it, you know the kind?”

He nods, and you continue talking. 

“I would spend hours riding it. I would disappear for entire afternoons. It was heaven. And maybe you’re not going to believe me, but I was pretty reckless on that thing.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You’re smiling again. 

“Well, one day, I was too reckless. I hit the brakes too abruptly and I skidded over gravel. I flew ten feet away from the bike and I tore my knee open. I got home covered in blood, my parents were furious.”

A vengeful smile curves your lips, one he’s never seen on your face.

“They confiscated the bike. My mother said it wasn’t ladylike, and my father said– I can’t remember his exact words, probably 'you can’t damage my property,’ or something along those lines. They never let me on a bike again after that.”

“How’s that a happy story?” he frowns.

“I didn’t say it was a happy story. I said it’s a good scar. I got to keep this one. It reminds me of what I’m capable of. Even when I want to forget.” 

The sun is rising. A new day colors the sky in vivid bronze. The light filters into the room through the yellow curtains, dust particles suspended in the air, suspended like Frankie’s life when he can’t be with you. 

He should leave, but instead, he’s going to fuck you one more time. Pump you full of his come. Brand you with his essence, mark you as his in the only way he can before he has to let you go back to face those people who put murder on his mind.

His hands skim along your thighs to the swell of your ass, roughly kneading the round of your cheeks. His grip settles on your hips, and he bucks up into you, ever so lightly, his length hardening between your lips. He sees it on your face, on your profile bathed in the first ray of sunlight. The moment when you register his intention. The shift in your body, the echo to his desire. So powerful, so immediate, it’s almost like black magic. Your mouth parts open, your back arches. You press down on him. 

“That serves him well, your father,” he says, sliding you slowly over his cock.

“How’s that?” you ask, voice laced with lust. 

“Look what you’re riding now.”

—

The pillow is damp underneath your back, sweat exuding from your every pore. The last days of March have been unforgiving. You find yourself longing for a room with a proper air conditioning system, instead of the motel’s weak, outdated fan that only swishes hot air. 

Frankie’s searing touch doesn’t help. Stroking the back of your arm in a repetitive up-and-down motion, he’s laying across the bed, his head resting heavy on your lap, his long hair curling in every direction in this sweltering atmosphere. 

Instead of shying away from the discomfort, you embrace it. With your fingers twined in his locks, you lean into his touch, focusing on his high forehead, and the crease in his brow. On his long eyelashes, the curve of his lips as he speaks, the working of his throat. 

Ignoring the dark blue rectangle of night sky, gradually lightening up behind the musty curtains.

Dawn used to be a deliverance. From your thoughts that the night painted black. From the wait, when Adrian wouldn’t come back. From a forced rest that never really came, another disappointment, another let down, another part of your life requiring the artificial help of chemicals. 

Now, you resent it. Dawn is when Frankie leaves you behind to go back to his family. Dawn is when he’s the happiest, with his child, without you, in a realm over which you have no grasp. 

A rational part of you acknowledges that it’s easier if he leaves before the sun rises. It prevents you from yearning for things you’re afraid to want. Things you cannot have. A life with him in broad daylight. A life without shame. 

Recently, he’s become increasingly reluctant to let go of you. Dawn finds him wrapped around your body. Last week, he stayed past daybreak, and fucked you in the sunlight. 

The brighter tone of his skin, the lighter shade of his curls, the depth of his mahogany irises hit by a sunbeam, everything was like a knife through your chest.

“Lee?”

The caressing timber of his husky voice brings you back to the soft amber light from the dusty lampshades, to the humming fan, and the blue rectangle. 

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“I asked if you like it. Your job.” 

“God no, I hate it! Sales productivity statistics and accounting manager, can you picture me?”

He huffs his breathless chuckle, the one that sends tremors rippling through your chest. 

“Not really, no.”

“I’m terrible at it, and it’s a problem, but no one says anything because daddy runs the company. I don’t understand why he insists on maintaining me in this position. It’s like a power play. He needs me to be miserable.”

Frankie’s hand pauses, fingers digging into your flesh, and he cranes his neck to peer at your face. You give him a reassuring smile. A genuine one. 

“Is that what you studied at university? Accounting and statistics?”

You wipe your sweaty brow with the back of your hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yes. But university was a golden parenthesis. I minored in Russian literature. Not a skill that easily translates to the employment market, but Richard was thoroughly pissed,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“My little punk.”

His smile is brighter than the midday sun. Your index finger darts to the dimple in his right cheek. 

“I really like this,” you whisper, your voice dropping, thick with heat and arousal. With affection. “And these,” you add, scraping your fingernail over the bare patches on each side of his jaw. 

“Mmh. I’ve noticed,” he says with a smug expression. 

“Oh, you have?” You try to laugh off your embarrassment, but what comes out is a quivering sound, betraying the want that hinders your throat. 

He grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth, closing his plush lips around your index finger, wrapping his tongue around it. Your belly quakes. You clench around nothing. 

He releases your hand, and you hope he’ll get up and move over you, but instead, he reaches for your arm again, resuming his rhythmic strokes. 

“So what would you do, if you didn’t do this?” he asks. 

You sigh, glancing up, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror above the desk. 

“I’ve no idea, really. I never allowed myself to consider the possibility.” And before he can prod any further, you add, “What about you? What would you have liked to do, if you hadn’t become a pilot?”

The diversion doesn’t fool him, you know it. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, scrutinizing your face. You picture the familiar, pensive frown. His hand leaves your arm as he suddenly gets up, air hitting your damp skin where his head was lying. 

A few strides, and he steps into the bathroom, disappearing behind the partition wall. The tap runs for a moment, and there’s the distinct sound of wrung out fabric before he comes out, holding the hand towel. 

You watch him walk back toward you, his naked body glistening with sweat, highlighted in shadows in the warm lighting. You think about how beautiful it is, about your extensive, intimate knowledge of it. How it feels under your touch, every single part of him. How this knowledge is now constituent of the woman you have become. 

You know the callousness of his palms that catches at your clothes. You know the silkiness of his curls around your fingers, the smoothness of his chest against your breasts, the taste of his mouth and the bobbing of his pebbled throat between your lips. The thicker skin of his shoulders, tanned and freckled. The coarseness of the darker hairs under his navel, and how they feel rubbing at your clit. You know the weight of his cock in your hand, on your tongue, inside your walls. 

And if you know all this, then, isn’t he yours? 

He circles the bed over to your side, by the window, and sits next to you. 

Delicately, his fingers circle your wrist. He lifts your arm, and brings your hand to his lips, nuzzling the relaxed curl of your fingers open, to press a kiss inside your palm. His eyes briefly flicker shut as he inhales the transparent skin of your inner wrist. 

Lowering your arm, he starts running the towel along it and you jolt at the contact of the cold, wet fabric, letting out a short whimpering sound.

The sensation is sudden, seizing like an electrical shock, but the relief is immediate. The coolness radiates on the surface of your feverish skin, soothing your thoughts. Eyes fluttering shut, you relax into it. 

“Maybe an architect,” he starts, the towel gliding up to your shoulder, “or a carpenter. Build stuff, for a change. Instead of destroying them.”

Goosebumps break out along your arms, on your nape, as he skims the towel over the plane of your chest in slow, meticulous movements. As he rounds your breasts with reverent care, one, then the other, your nipples tightening in peaked buds, the low rumble of his voice filling your mind, his words boring into your heart.

The towel brushes up, tracing your collarbone, left, then right. Higher along the column of your throat, curling to the side of your neck. A droplet of water rolls down between your breasts, running along your stomach to end its course into your navel. You sigh.

“I could… run a small business, building houses or crafting furniture. In a small town, somewhere up north. Somewhere with seasons,” he says. 

The towel wipes over your trembling belly, over your mound, down your inner thigh. He’s slow, precise, thorough. Careful and gentle with your limp limbs. You’re sinking into the mattress, and floating over it all at once. 

You lift a heavy eyelid, your dazed gaze landing on his gorgeous face. He’s solemn, focused on his task. 

He readjusts his position on the mattress, so lightly the bed barely moves, and twists his torso to reach down your leg. 

“You could be my accountant.”

Your eyes shoot open. He’s facing away from you, wiping the towel under the arch of your foot.

“The last thing you want is to have me as your bookkeeper,” you whisper, your heart beating in your throat. 

He turns around, looking straight at you. Soft sad eyes, cold hard stare. 

“That’s all I want for the rest of my life, Lee. Be with you night and day.”

—

Everything seems to hinge on you now. 

His balance, his happiness, his redemption.

You filled a void, a hollowness inside his chest, he carries you with him wherever he goes. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green. 

He tries to convince himself it’s harmless. That he’s not doing anything wrong. That it’s easier this way. Easier than the drugs, easier than placing that burden on his daughter’s shoulders. He tells himself the peace you bring him makes him a better man, and a better father. Makes him worthy again. There might even be some truth to it. 

He’s not so sure if he deserves the second chance. If he deserves the parts of you that you confide in him. Your past, your regrets, your secret victories. Your hindered aspirations and the shores of your inner island, within his reach. The touch of your cool skin. The strength of your embrace. The veneration in your eyes. Your trust, your faith. Your time. 

But he wants to believe it. It’s more of a fundamental need, really. 

And as long as he’s with you, the illusion holds. When you’re sitting next to him in the truck, singing along to the tunes playing on the old crackling stereo as he drives to nowhere, when his body’s wrapped around yours in the dark, when he murmurs against your temple everything and anything that runs through his mind, when you’re coming undone between his hold, with his name on your lips. He believes he can be as good for you as you are for him. 

But it’s a thin fabric. One that tears the very minute he steps outside the room, leaving your sleepy form tucked under the starchy sheet. 

Day after day, until the next week, he’s left on his own to fence off the thoughts that plague him. 

The voice inside him, relentless, somber, asking how much longer this can last. How long before the consequences on your life are irreversible? How long until that man who’s not your husband finds out, and takes action? What repercussions would you face, then? 

He knows what he’d be capable of if he ever met him. He doesn’t like to think about it. 

You won’t open up about your life with him, no matter how much he prods and pry. He knows your strength. And he chose to trust it.

Seven months, and one week. He sat down with the cardboard calendar hanging above Lupe’s desk at work, and counted. His mind crowded, overflowing with what ifs. 

What if he took you out of this shitty motel, for once? Not just to drive into the night, but on a proper date. Dinner. A movie. Fucking lunch. A weekend somewhere. An entire vacation. 

What if he took you out of your life? 

Lupe started dating this Marcus guy back in December. Now she’s staying at his place every other night. The man is decent, one of the best paramedics he’s worked with, honest, reliable and steadfast. The kind of man Lupe deserves, and that he doesn’t mind around Lua. 

He should move out of the house. Lupe hasn’t said anything yet, but it’s just one more grace she gives him that he hasn’t earned. Every time they see each other, Will hints at it, the allusions becoming increasingly less subtle. 

The truth is, he sees no point in moving forward with his life if it’s not with you. If it’s not to take care of you, and provide for you. Watch you thrive, keep you safe.  

A couple of weeks back, when he’d first thought about it, he’d deemed the idea crazy, painfully aware of all the frustrations a couple’s daily life entails. 

Now, it’s the only choice that makes any sense to him. 

—

The airport terminal is bustling with flocks of tourists. Noisy families with children too young to travel, transient businessmen and women, groups of youths of dubious soberness flying out after spring break. 

Ava stands out in the crowd, her tall frame topped with a short bob of bright purple hair, and you spot her immediately. Standing on your tiptoes, you wave at her until she sees you and starts running in your direction.

She all but leaps into your open arms, and you both grab at each other, leaning into the embrace, laughing. You inhale her scent, searching for that baby smell in the crook of her neck.

“Oh my god, pup, your hair!” you exclaim. “You look terrific!”

“Yeah? You like it?” she asks with a broad smile, running her fingers through her locks. 

“I love it! It’s perfect for you!”

In turn, she takes you in, looking you up and down, and lets out a low whistling sound.

“You look good, too. You look better than good. You look gorgeous!”

“Oh shush,” you gesture bashfully, but you can’t hold back your own smile.

The two of you walk to the parking lot to retrieve your car, immersed in bubbly conversation, oblivious to the moving crowds around you.

Driving out of the airport, you glance at the sign indicating the 589 northbound and smile at your precious secret, before making a left turn south.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks, “I’m hungry! Feed me! Feedmefeedmefeedme!” she chants, before breaking into a high-pitched giggle.

“Alright, alright! Hold tight, I’m taking you somewhere special. Do you like burritos?”

“Who doesn’t like burritos? Wait, what? Burritos? Do you even eat burritos? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You had to type the address from the crumpled receipt into your GPS. Until today, you’ve never allowed yourself to go there. Not on your own.

It’s a small cantina with tiled walls and concrete floors, colorful trinkets arranged in pyramidal displays behind the counter, chalkboard menus and an endless list of drinks. Star-shaped lanterns are hanging from the ceiling, and the staff is busy but jovial.

Lunchtime on a Saturday, the place is packed with couples and kids, and your pulse accelerates. You hadn’t considered the possibility of running into Frankie and his family. 

You place your orders, and after a short wait, you secure a spot in the back of the restaurant. Sitting on high metal stools behind a round table, you catch up on the past three months as if you hadn’t texted every other day, speaking with your mouths full, sauce dripping down your fingers.

The life she’s built for herself in New York treats Ava better than anything you could have hoped for, anything you could have helped her achieve, had she stayed here. A job in a cutting-edge art gallery, where her vibrant personality and her flair for networking are not only recognized but valued, a bustling social life, more thrilling projects than you can keep track of, all of it balanced by Polly’s grounding presence by her side. 

Your choices and sacrifices, justified.

Ava puts down the crumbling remnants of her vegetarian burrito to wipe her mouth, and takes a sip of her margarita.

“You sure you don’t want to drink anything?”

“I’m drinking something,” you answer, pointing at your iced tea.

“Whatever you say, girl,” she shrugs.

“It’s too bad you’re not staying with me. It’s idiotic, you’re only here for a couple of days and you have to sleep over at Jules’.”

“Listen, even if your douchebag of a fiancé had agreed to have me, which I know he didn’t, I don’t want to see his ass face.”

“Alright,” you concede, “valid.”

She nearly chokes on her margarita. Setting her glass down, she gives you a pointed stare, emphatically scrutinizing your face.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on with you? How are you? I mean, that’s obviously the wrong question, you’re fucking thriving. What happened? What’s happening? New medication? Are you finally leaving him?”

“I’m not taking any medication,” you answer with unexpected satisfaction. “But no, I’m not leaving him.”

You catch yourself before you can add another word. 

“Are you still seeing that other guy?”

You nod, dipping your head, heat creeping up your neck. Why are you like this?

“I take it he likes burritos, am I right?

“You are correct in your assumption, detective,” you quip with a grin.

There’s a pause as Ava seems to consider her next question. It’s always so easy for you to forget that she’s a grownup now. That she knows you at least as well as you know her. That she has the capacity to outsmart you. The notion flares pride in your chest.

“Is he married? Is that why you haven’t run off together in the sunset yet?”

“I’m not sure if he’s married or not.”

“What does he do in life?”

“I don’t know.”

Ava throws up her hands. 

“Girl! What do you know?” she exclaims with only half-feigned exasperation.

I know what’s important. He’s a father. He’s a friend and a brother. A pilot and a veteran. He's thoughtful and observant. He’s organized and practical. And a reluctant sentimental. He learned to swim in the Pacific Ocean. He’s capable of cold-blooded violence, but it will break him. He’s capable of infinite tenderness. And it will save him. 

You pull a face, communicating how little you care about what you don’t know. Your sister shifts on the hard stool. She frowns, and when she speaks next, her voice is low, her tone conspiratorial.  

“Adrian doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Of course, he does. Or he did. His attention is elsewhere, for now. Seems serious.”

“Again?”

“Again,” you nod. 

Ava squirms on her stool again, probably trying to restrain her temper. 

Your mind wanders, jumping back through time at light-speed, to when you first met Adrian. To the way he used to hold your hand when you started dating, squeezing your fingers with his. Letting you choose the wine, opening doors for you. To the affection in his smile, and how fast he started calling you babe . The glimmer warming his cold blue eyes when he introduced you to his family. The way he leaves the bathroom mirror splattered in toothpaste every time he brushes his teeth. The way he lets his alarm ring off forever after he’s gotten up even if you’re still in bed, even on weekends. 

The ease with which he admitted to all his flings, whenever you confronted him, but never confessed to the one with his coworker, the ambitious young lawyer. 

Would you admit to having an affair? Would you use that ugly word that make you crawl out of your skin? Would you deny it? Could you answer No, I’m not seeing anyone? Could you bear the betrayal of denying Frankie’s existence? The truth of what you share, but can’t define?

“Your fiancé is a bag of dicks,” Ava finally says, shaking her head. 

“His obliviousness suits me for now,” you remind her.  

“I don’t understand why you don’t leave him,” she snaps back, forsaking her reserve. “He got his big promotion, he got what he wanted! And Richard loves him, it’s not like he’s going to fire him just because you two broke up, right? You don’t really love him anymore, do you?” she adds on second thoughts.  

The words spill out of you unchecked, once more. Just like in the truck with Frankie, back in January. Months, years for the idea to mature below the surface of your conscious thoughts, the reflective process unbeknown to you. 

“I’m scared, Ava. I’m scared shitless. I want to leave. I’ve been wanting to leave for so long. Adrian, the company, that fucking ugly apartment.” 

“Well then fucking do it, Lee!”

“If I leave, I have nothing. No job, nowhere to go.” 

And if you could give up a relatively comfortable life, would you be able to renounce the refuge of your sadness? Of your life between the folds? 

“You have money,” Ava counters. “You have shares. Sell them. Richard can’t stop you. Get a lawyer, if you have to. One that’s not on Adrian’s payroll. And then you can fuck your man Friday every day of the week, how’s that?”

You think about the folded bedspread under the windowsill. About the wet hand towel brushing up your skin. The trucker hat on the desk, and his fingers splayed on the steering wheel. The pleading arch of his brow. 

You think about that space between Frankie’s chin and collarbone, that contains your safety, your desires, and all of your hopes.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I should leave a man for another one,” you whisper. 

Ava’s eyes widen. She sits up straight, a smirk tugging the corner of her lips. 

“I don’t know either, but it looks like this one fucked some sense into you. The irony.” 

She’s withholding something, you realize. It’s in her uncharacteristic pauses, her sideways glances. Surprisingly, human interactions were simpler when pills kept you numbed and oblivious. Being attuned to everyone’s minute expressions is a daily trial. 

“Why don’t you move to New York with us?” she eventually asks. “We can take you in until you find a job there, for as long as you need.”

There’s that we again. People talking about you in your absence, judging your choices, plotting your future. 

“I don’t know how to do anything, Ava. I have zero skills.” 

“First off, that’s not true,” she retorts, relentless with her well-rehearsed arguments. “And then, Polly can help you find something. Lee, if you can leave this company, there’s literally nothing you can’t do.”

Suddenly, you feel exhausted. Weary and old. A bone-deep lassitude. And at the heart of it, the realization that this is a liminal sequence in your life. 

“Is that why you flew here for the weekend? To ask me to come away with you?”

“Are you mad?” she asks with a face. A little girl’s expression, afraid of being scolded. Your little girl. 

“No, I’m not mad, pup. I can’t be mad. You came back for me.”

“Of course, I came back for you. I was never going to leave you behind, silly.”

****

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆ 

Chapter 3, After party

Masterlist

Word count: 1.2 k

Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Author's note: Tehee, I'm suddenly writing like I'm on fucking speed. Have another chapter while I'm not burned out from this story yet <3

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me,' you hiss to yourself. You've gotten dried off and dressed after your very unsuccessful cold shower (that maybe ended in you masturbating anyway) and opened your phone to see if you had any notifications. The last thing you expected to see was a new video from Red Crow, aka Sylus, aka your neighbor, jacking off right after meeting you wearing the same thing shirt he had when he opened the door for you.  

Is he teasing you? No, surely not. He said he'd make a video if everyone begged for it, don't be delusional... It is a nice idea though. Him being that horny after meeting you for no more than two minutes. 

Before you can even watch the first ten seconds of the video, your doorbell rings. It scares the bejesus out of you and you almost drop your phone. Fuck, you need to calm down and you need to do it fucking now. Tara is at your door, and you need to get through a night of romcoms and facemasks before you can watch that video. 

You rush to the door and open it with a friendly smile, trying hard to hide the lust filled thoughts playing behind your eyes. There stands Tara, but she's engaged in a conversation. 'Oh, hello,' she says to you with a smile and turns to your neighbor's door, 'Kieran, Sylus, have fun. See you soon.' 

Shit, you just can't help it. You stick your head around the corner and there he stands, confidently leaned against the doorframe of his door, arms crossed, wearing a different shirt for a reason that you can very easily imagine after that video. He wears a self-satisfied smirk on his lips when he sees your head peak around the corner and nods his head to you. Your cheeks burn and you barely even notice Kieran standing there. You try to nod back at him as casually as you can but there's no saving you now. So you just head back in and wait for Tara to follow you in hopes that it won't look too strange. 

'What was that all about,' she asks, following you inside. You shrug and venture further into your apartment. 

'Do you want tea?' Tara frowns and closes the door behind her a little too loud. She seems more concerned than angry, just as she had this morning. 

'Ma’am, what is going on,' she demands, standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of the living room. If you hadn't know what kind of person she is, you might've taken it more seriously but with the way your brain is fried you fear you might not even be able to hold a normal conversation. 

'He's rude,' you blurt out, your filter completely gone. Shit, your brain really is fried. 'Anyway, what movie should we watch?' 

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'What was all that,' Kieran nearly cries out like an excited teenage girl while trying to hit Sylus’ shoulders. Not that he can. Despite his size, Sylus is incredibly fast. Blame years and years of boxing for that. 

'I have no clue what you mean,' Sylus says cold, calculated, monotone, but the slightest flinch of the corners of his lips give him away. He quickly turns to his bar cart to pour them all a drink, but then he spots the bottle of whiskey you gave him and his lips twitch up again. 

This time Luke also catches it. He turns on the couch, clutching the back and pulling himself up in a chaotic attempt to climb over and tease Sylus like there's no tomorrow. He fails miserably when Sylus looks back at him with one warning look while pouring the whiskey. 

Kieran sits down in one of the two big lazy chairs while Luke spreads out on the couch. 'Did she come over?' 

'She got me a housewarming present,' Sylus muses, trying to keep his composure as he grabs the three glasses of whiskey by the rims and walks them over to the coffee table. As soon as they're set down, Kieran and Luke shoot up to claim their glasses. 

'A housewarming present,' Luke says in a teasing tone while wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicking from Kieran to Sylus and back a few times. Sylus sighs and pinches his brow, still trying so damn hard to make it seem like everything is the same. 

'Whiskey,' he says to explain, 'she got me a bottle of whiskey.' 

'And you made her throat burn,' Luke teases once more, but this time even Kieran cringes. 

'And you wonder why you're single,' Kieran sighs. 

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'Come on, out with it,' Tara demands. Throughout the last two hours, you've been dancing around the topic under the guise of choosing a movie, making tea, putting facemasks on, painting each other's toenails, etcetera, but you're dead out of things to keep Tara busy. So you just give in. Well, you give in a little bit. Can't play all your cards yet. 

'He's hot okay,' you groan, 'he's fucking hot and I have a fucking dry spell.'  

That was clearly not what Tara expected you to say after you told her he was rude to you. 'Wait, back it up, I thought you were joking about you and Zayne just being friends.' 

'No, we're really just friends. We've kissed once to see if we wanted something more but neither of us felt anything.' She nods. 

'And Sylus is your type?' 

'Well,' you mumble, a blush forming on your cheeks, 'I guess. I've always liked them tall. Can't say I've ever met anyone like him before, though.' Mentally, you beat yourself up. This man is a sex God and you're sitting here, one measly wall away from him, blushing like Sylus and you are the main characters in a slow burn k-drama. 

'Fair enough,' she agrees and suggests, 'I can give him your number under the guise of telling each other about parties and stuff. Like what you did with Zayne.' 

'I don't think he's the kind of person who likes having his hand forced,' you note uncertainly, 'besides, he's a grown man. If he wants something, he can get it himself.' And shit, the way you would give it to him. They'd have to add a new level to the Richter Scale after you're done with him. Or he's done with you, whatever he prefers to say. You're not picky as long as you can feel his hands all over you. “Wait, stop, you're still with Tara. Calm your ovaries woman,” you mentally scream at yourself, hoping the blush on your cheeks still seems as innocent as it had a bit ago but you can feel your ears flush.

Tara agrees with a nod, seemingly not noticing anything: 'You're right. And he did seem to like you.' 

'That's probably just because I gave him whiskey as a housewarming gift.' 

'No, I don't think I've ever seen him look at a woman like that,' she says absentmindedly. You suddenly feel your heart pounding in your chest once more. Truly, your heart is trying to be your undoing. You're not supposed to like this person after meeting them once but at the same time, you've been watching him for ages. When you think about it, it actually feels a little bit weird. 

You've been watching him, he doesn't know you. And yet, he seems to be the more confident one.

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[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: My Enemy I Love

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: TORTURE (BURNS), ANXIETY ATTACKS/RESPONSE, trauma from abusive mother, description of child neglect/abuse, GROSS MEN ALERT!

—————

Pourquoi ton prénom me blesse. Quand il se cache juste là dans l'espace? C'est quelle émotion, la haine ou la douceur, quand j'entends ton prénom?

It’s a bit harder braiding Lila’s hair with the cut healing on your palm but you made do. You sat on the couch while she sat on the floor between your legs playing with some toys given to her by members of the community.

“Then we took turns counting. I got to sixty-two!” She says and you smile tying the end of the one long braid with a band.

“Woah that’s pretty high,” You say smoothing out any stray hairs and she giggles at the tickling sensation.

“How high can you count?” She asks turning to face you and you smile swiping away the leftover crumbs on her puffy cheeks.

“Definitely not that high,” You say before helping her stand, “Alright all done!” You say and she runs over to the mirror in the hallway and you hear a squeal of excitement.

“I love it!” She runs back into the living room where you’re cleaning up and she crashes into you with a hug, “I love you Y/n,” It’s so innocent and you grow quiet as you hold her. You feel something churning in your stomach it was different when your mother said it with an emptiness to it that you’re used to but with Lila, it’s so genuine it feels wrong. Her small face scrunches as she reaches her hand up.

“You got an ouchie,” Her finger points at her mouth and your hand covers the partial split lip you have.

“It’s alright just an accident I was clumsy,” You say giving a smile that causes pain stretching your lips. “Come on let’s get you to meet up with your friends. Can’t keep them waiting,” Lila accepting the reason bounds to the door bouncing on her feet as you grab your pack slinging it over your shoulder. The second the door opens she’s bounding down the steps to the street excited to meet the kids she’s become friends with.

“Don’t run!” You say as she stops looking back at you following her before continuing her quick speed-walk skipping through the street. A soft smile creeps on your face, despite everything going on in this fucked up world few still saw the good, and truly the innocent still live like the world never ended. The small playground was built for the children beside the Tipsy Bison comes into view along with the sound of kids and Lila squeals rushing ahead and you let her. Reaching the fence that separates the playground from the street leaning against it watching the kids play. You catch flashes of Lila running amongst the kids playing games, a wide grin and laughter spilling freely from her. For a moment she trips landing on the mulch and you almost hop the fences but she takes the fall with stride quickly getting up and laughing it off running off to join the group. You settle back though still keeping an eye on her.

“Woah girl!” A familiar voice calls out and you see people move quickly out of the way of the quickly approaching horse to the playground. You smile seeing Red ignore her rider stopping before you letting a huff of air frustrated by your absence.

“Hi Red,” You hold out the back of your palm and she sniffs it before letting you pet her.

“She’s been extra grumpy since you’ve left the stables,” Joel calls out from atop her he also takes note of the split lip that is crusted over. You nod retrieving an apple from your pack that was meant to be your lunch and feeding it to Red who happily accepts. The sound of two other horses appear and you see it’s Tommy and Ellie on their mounts.

“Joel what the! Oh, that’s where she was heading,” Tommy trails off noticing you are there. It’s a bit awkward while you spoke to Joel since the big blowout you haven’t conversated with Tommy and especially Maria. The moment is broken by Lila’s little feet pattering over to the fence practically climbing up it.

“Horsies! Y/n it’s horsies!” She jumps on the fence and you reach over the railing pulling her up to sit on top of it.

“Lila this is Red,” You introduce your sister to the large creature, and Lila shrinks away a bit especially being this close. “It’s okay she’s not going to hurt you. She’s a big sweetheart,” You hold out Lila’s hand palm out and Red slowly leans forward sniffing her hand before pushing her snout further into it.

“See she likes you.” You smile down at Lila who shakes in excitement softly stroking her nose. Joel has a soft smile at the moment you share with your sister. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen you this soft-spoken and gentle with anyone before. While you still looked drained being around Lila brought a hint of life back into you. Joel glances at his brother and surrogate daughter seeing the similar looks that he too shared.

“I’m sure if you came back to working at the stables Lila would love to meet all the horses,” Tommy mentions and you look over at him surprised by the offer. Part of you wants to say yes, to have a reason to be out of that horse, a moment of peace of quiet.

“Please Y/n! I wanna meet all the horsies!” Lila begs shaking your arm and you steady her so she doesn’t fall off the railing.

“I don’t know…” You say rubbing the back of your neck. You would have time for yourself self but if you were gone then who would watch after Lila when your parents were home? There was never a moment when Lila was alone with your parents always being in the house. Too many fears of what could happen if you left them be, you saw how she was before they came to Jackson scruffy and dirty but here she was being taken care of…she was protected.

“Y/n!” The sharp shout sends you on alert and even the horses sense the change in atmosphere as Red gets a bit antsy until Joel calms her down pulling away. They're coming down the street is your parents. “We come back from our job and you leave the house in complete disarray?” Your mother says and you know she’s trying to embarrass you but it hurts even more that she’s lying straight through her teeth. Her sharp gaze moves to her other daughter who is held on the railing.

“Why is Lila dressed like that are you trying to get her sick, it’s way too cold to be out like this!” She scolds you practically ripping Lila from your arms.

“It’s not even cold she’s be running around—” “I don’t wanna hear it!” She spats and you can smell the liquor off her breath. She’s drunk and that only meant one thing. You were fucked when you got home.

“Let’s go.” Your father grabs you and Red makes an agitated noise. You try shrugging his tight grip on your shoulder but he only pushes you forward to move and you almost trip. It’s sudden and out of nowhere Joel coming and shoving your father away from you.

“Don’t touch her like that.” Joel growls and Tommy is immediately off his horse holding his brother back.

“Don’t tell me how to handle my kid.” Your father spits back the two men getting face to face and you know sooner or later punches will be thrown.

“Joel stop it! Let’s just take a step back!” Tommy tries defusing the situation and you shove yourself between the two men pushing Joel away and he stumbles a bit back. He has a shocked expression on his face and is almost a bit hurt.

“Joel stop,” You say shakily, “Please just don’t.” He can see what reads on your face, ‘You’ll only make it worse’. It seemed like it was pretty out in the air the relationship with your parents. There was no point trying to hide what goes on behind closed doors but they couldn’t do much if you didn’t want their help. Joel feels his anger rise again seeing the snarky look your father sends him.

“Learn to mind your business Joel,” He says before forcing you to walk away leaving Joel, Tommy, and Ellie to watch the dysfunctional and highly harmful environment you and Lila were in take you away.

“We can’t just let them leave.” Joel hisses and Tommy has to keep a hand on his shoulder as they watch you disappear down the street.

“Joel we can’t just take them,” Tommy says weakly and his brother whips around to face him.

“You know what they do to her!” Joel shoves a finger into his chest, “And you just want me to sit aside and act blind?!”

“I’m not saying that Joel!” Tommy retorts, “I care about her as much as you do…just give me time to figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” Joel responds and his brother knows they are right. The longer they wait the possibility of the more harm you’ll end up in increases. Tommy sighs rubbing his face.

“Just give me tonight okay,” He offers and Joel bristles even having to wait that long, “Then you can go all rescue.” Joel huffs in agreement crossing his arms.

“You have until sundown.”

The door to the house slams open as your mother carrying Lila heads to her bedroom, your father shoves you into the spotless living room and you send a glare over your shoulder. He moves lean against the doorway as you hear the sound of your mother coming down the stairs. She stalks in silently an unclear look on her face.

“Mom why would you li—” Your head snaps to the right, a loud crack when her palm makes contact with your cheek. Your skin burns from it, tears well up from the contact and you can feel your split lip reopen.

“Don’t you ever backtalk to me you understand me you little shit?!” She spats flecks of spit landing on your face and you recoil back, “Who the fuck do you think you are embarrassing me in front of them. Do you know how to raise my child better?” She shoves you back and you stumble your back digs into the fireplace mantle cringing at the pressure. That’ll bruise. The rational part of you curls your hands into fists to defend yourself, but the part of your mind still wrapped around your mother’s finger tells you just to take your punishment. She notices your balled-up hands and the flash of irritation.

“You wanna hit me huh?” She goads you holding her arms out, “You wanna hit your mother come it do it. Hit me!” You shake your hands your fist still curled your nails digging into your palm, the cut on your palm screaming in pain.

“I’m not going to hit you.” You say and she scoffs.

“Oh so I’m a horrible mother who hits their children is that it!” She asks and you shake your head feeling the tears of frustration.

“I’m not saying that,” “Shut up!” She explodes and it’s silent between you two. You briefly glance at your father who stands there his arms cross not interfering. Is this what you wanted from your father, to just stand aside and let your mother harass you? Why couldn’t he be more like Joel, standing in to defend you?

“You are a fucking disappointment you know that.” She says and your throat tightens up and you shake your head making her laugh, “You don’t think that? You think you are the best there is. I should’ve let you fucking starve as a child.” You shrink into yourself at her jabs.

“Why do you think I had Lila? To replace what a horrible daughter I was burdened with.” She spats and you don’t know why that hit much worse than any insult she’s thrown at you. “Really tears you think I'll pity you?” You are shaking like a leaf, tears pour down your face and you desperately wipe it away.

“You know what...I think you haven’t learned,” She says and you can sense the malice in her tone. A shiver of fear of what she is capable of. She moves out of the living room and you see her open a drawer pulling out something, “I know something that’ll make you understand.”

You see the small box with a faded label, though it’s not something you recognize when she opens it a cold rush of water runs through you when you spot the tiny sticks. You sprint trying to get to the door when a hand snatches at your hair ripping you back. A scream rips from your throat but you are slammed against the corner of the wall and your vision goes dark.

Instant pain rushes through you and a scream tears through your throat though muffled by a rag stuffed in your mouth. The sound of the stick being pressed against your flesh and the sizzling sound and smell of burnt flesh as you thrash in what you notice as restraints. Another scream rips through you trying to arch away from the stick being pressed and held for a few seconds onto your stomach. Tears blur your vision and you're hyperventilating unable to catch your breath.

“Stop squirming!” Your mother hisses. Above you see your father sending you a sickening smile and you almost hurl seeing him palms his crotch over his jeans.

“Do you think when you’re done I can get a moment with her,” Your father says and you cry when he strokes your hair, “Call it father/daughter bonding time.”

“I don’t give a fuck she isn’t yours.” Your mother hisses and your eyes widen at the confession. She notices your reaction and smiles, “What you really thought he’s your father? God, you really are an idiot for believing that.” You thrash in your restraints another scream rips from you as the stick is pressed down against this time for up to ten seconds and you’re sure your vision went white. Your vision returns and you are gasping for air between sobs. A harsh knocks come from the door and your mother pauses and goes open the door, you use the chance to take in your surroundings. It looks like a basement with one window high on the wall that looks like the outside but low on the ground.

“The others are ready when you are.” Someone says before they speak again, “What are you going to do with her?”

“Just prepping her for tonight,” Your mother says and you’re confused about what she means by that. She reenters your field of vision, “You know I was surprised when they described the ‘wild woman from the cabin’ I had to know who they were.” Your eyes widen dramatically at that name. Only the Raiders knew of that title but—

“Understanding it now? You know when they got the jump on you that winter storm until Joel and Tommy showed up. I mean you did kill Derek’s brother and I was going to finish you off but then I realized who you were and decided on an even better idea.” She says with a wicked grin and you look at the now dangerous look of the man you thought was your father or Derek gives you, “Let you get comfortable then find a reason to allow us inside Jackson and learn everything we need to know about it. I didn’t think Tommy would let a group of strangers in but you just so happen to have Lila and all it took was one word from you and we were in.”

You thrash in your restraints snarling and she presses another stick to your flesh releasing another scream, “So now we’re going to kill everyone and then kill you.” She says before stepping back.

“I wanna thank you. The only time you’ve done some good for me daughter,” She says reaching under the table and producing a pistol cocking it back, and also grabbing a shotgun and tossing it over at Derek. “I’ll be sure to send Joel your regards before he dies. I’m sure he’d like to know his daughter in his final moments.” You freeze at the bomb just dropped. Joel…Joel Miller the man who you’ve been at odds with since the beginning was your father. It was an overload of information as every interaction, every conversation, everything was with your father… Why didn’t you notice the similarity? Did the others notice it?

‘You know she kinda reminds me of you. Not sure if that’s a good thing, you are a pain in my ass.’ You remember Tommy saying that to Joel but none of you took it seriously.

“Get comfortable Y/n,” Your mother says as they head to the door, “Get your final thoughts in order before we come back.” The room is bathed in darkness as the door slams closed. You had to get out here and warn everyone. You need to save Maria, Tommy, and Liam, protect Ellie, you had to keep Lila alive from your horrible mother, you need to warn Joel…your father.

Where the Wild Things Are Tags

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If your name is crossed out tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry :(

[holylulusworld]

A fresh start (6) – New Beginnings

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Pairing: Post-Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, plus-sized reader, virgin reader, virgin Steve Rogers, fluff, implied smut, first time, romance

A/N: A short last chapter.

Written for my 16.666 followers celebration. Requested by @elle14-blog1​

Catch up here: A fresh start (5) - First dates

A fresh start masterlist

“Doll?” Steve gasped. “I thought…I mean. You’re so beautiful and sweet. I can’t believe you never had a man before me. There must’ve been dozens of guys interested in you.”

“None of them were you,” you replied, gently touching his cheek. “Maybe I was waiting for the right man, and he sits right before me.”

“Same!” He hastily said. “I meant not a guy, but the right girl. I once thought I found her, but we weren’t meant to be. Now that I met you, I know what love is.”

You giggle because this is the sweetest and cheesiest thing to say. “I love you too, Stevie.”

“Thank fuck!” Steve exclaimed before kissing you softly. He moaned against you, feeling his heart flutter.

“No swear words, Captain,” you said, and cupped his face to deepen the kiss. “But I’m glad you love me too.”

Your confessions didn’t make things awkward between you and Steve. If anything, it made you both realize you have so much more in common than you thought.

His friends gave him advice and tried to strengthen his self-confidence. Steve didn’t listen. He didn’t want to lose his virginity in a hurry for the sake of having sex.

Steve wanted to do things right. He’d taken you out on dates and organized romantic dinners. Steve even went so far as to sign up for a cooking class to learn how to cook for his future wife.

One afternoon, he invited you to a romantic picnic in the park, and the next week, he enchanted you with his first homemade dinner.

You only fell harder for the charming superhero. He proved over and over again that he’s more than a handsome face. Steve Rogers is a kind soul and a sensitive man.

When you both were ready to take the next step in your relationship and after Steve assured you he was here to stay (even though you already knew that much), you let yourself fall.

Steve and you didn’t rush things. You started with soft kisses, gentle touches, and grinding against each other. You were both nervous and, to be honest, a little clumsy.

He was scared to hurt you, and you were afraid he’d be disappointed after seeing you bare for the first time. You were both wrong.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes or hands off you. And you weren’t afraid of getting hurt only because your boyfriend is enhanced. He was gentle and careful, always asking you if you felt good or if you wanted him to stop.

You clawed at him, refusing to stop now that you were finally united with the man you love.

It was worth waiting for Steve. He was a passionate yet gentle lover, and all you hoped for. Even though you ripped three condoms because your hands were busy exploring your bodies.

You laughed about it later, looking at the used and destroyed condoms lying on the ground. Because let’s be honest, Steve can do it all day and night.

Four months later you look at Steve, tears in your eyes as he kneels in front of you. His friends cheer him on as Steve asks the most important question.

“Doll, Y/N,” he whispers your name lovingly. “You’ve changed my life forever, and only because of you, I could save the world one last time. Now that I gave the shield to Sam, would you give me the honor of wearing my ring?”

Bucky and Sam held their breath as you stared at their friend for a moment. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Stunned, you watched the man you love kneel in front of you, his smile fading with every passing second.

“Fuck, what if she says no?” Bucky whispered while Sam prepared a speech to help Steve cope. “She wouldn’t do that. Right?”

“Why do you ask me?” Sam retorted the moment everyone clapped their hands. Bucky and Sam watched Steve put the ring on your finger before kissing you fiercely.

“Great! Now we missed it!” Bucky grunted.

Sam glared at Bucky. “And whose fault is it, old man?”

“Guys, are you ready to celebrate my engagement now, or do you want to fight some more?” Steve joked as you grinned as Bucky and Sam glared at each other. “Doll, I’m sorry. They come in a package with me.”

You both laughed wholeheartedly before sealing Steve’s proposal with another passionate kiss. Soon you’d be wearing not only his ring but Steve’s name too.

THE END, for now...

[revelboo]

the recent development with 'everything is alright' has me wondering about king starscream and how... lonely he seems. granted rattrap is there but hes... not much company in stars mind, i think. like dont get me wrong i knew he'd be lonely and a little on the right side of miserable, but that in tandem with the bit about 'dont you know you're home/his future/the one good thing in his life' bit from the last chapter has me!! chokign up a bit cuz damn he really wasnt kidding!!! he got what he wanted but at the cost of still being miserable bc its fuckin LONELY at the top when youre paranoid as all hell with VERY REAL justifications to back said paranoia up!!! god!!!

Yeah, King Star isn’t all that happy. I do like playing with different versions of the same character and just tweaking the circumstances. In Everything is Alright he’s alienated himself from his Trine due to his paranoia, in True Romance he still trusts his Trine and has that relationship, so he’s a lot less paranoid and lonely, in Overdone his Trine just drifted apart. He could have made more of an effort to connect and reach out, but he was so focused on his goals, he didn’t really notice that gap widening until they’re almost strangers to each other

Overdone Pt 2

IDW RID Starscream x Reader

• “You’re weren’t on earth, were you?” He asks when Rattrap gawks at the human in his grip. Striding past, he heads for his private habsuite. Hears Rattrap weakly call out about the reports and he ignores him. They can wait. But you? A human from nowhere plummeting to your death. Closing the door behind himself, he studies you as you cling to his servos. Timid for a spy. “Well?” He growls, depositing you on his desk. “Where did you come from?” Who sent you to spy on him? Wants to know so he can and deliver your broken body to them.

• Falling on your hip, you stare at the big monster and his wings flare out. Trying to say something, anything, when you’re too terrified to make a sound. You’d been driving and then crippling plain had slammed through you, feeling like being torn in two. And then finding yourself somewhere wholly different falling to your death. It’s a nightmare and you can’t wake up. Lip curling, he slams his huge palms down far too close to you and you scream and cringe into a ball. “Speak! Who are you working for?” He roars.

• Pretending at terror? No, venting softly as that acrid shift in your scent registers, he leans back. Not an act. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” You cry, little voice broken and terrified and his wings droop slightly. Maybe you’re telling the truth, but you came from somewhere. Humans don’t spontaneously teleport across space and time. Except you apparently had. Servos tapping on the desk, he glares at you and the problem you pose. If you are a spy? An autobot ally sent to undermine him? Why risk your death? If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have died. Maybe whoever had dropped you meant to see what he’d do and you’re of no importance to them beyond as an expendable pawn?

• “Stop cowering and sniveling,” he growls and you risk a glance at that scowling face, see his optics narrow at you. “If you show your fear, others will use that against you.” Heart hammering against your ribs, you watch him pace around the huge room. And when he’s not looking at you, you can breathe. Try to get your bearings. You have no idea where you are or how you got here, but it had hurt worse than anything you’ve ever felt. Tracking him as he lifts a hand, murmuring, you realize he’s talking to himself at the same time it sinks past the fear that he’d caught you when you’d been falling. He’d saved you.

• Why had he saved you? Because you’re not a monster not matter how much you pretend you are, that annoying, little ghost whispers and he curls his lip. “You know nothing.” Refuses to look, to let his processor trick him with impossible things. Would think maybe you’re a hallucination, too. Except he’d felt your little heart beating against his servos, the warmth of your body in his hands. He’s not mad enough to imagine details like that, yet. Though for you to appear when he was considering not pulling up? Are you a punishment? Drifting back to the desk, his head tips with predatory interest as he rests a servo against your throat and you lay a soft hand on him. You feel real. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rid myself of you. Make me believe you’re no spy.”

Previous

[burreauxwrites]

“LOATHING” - (joe burrow x oc)

CHAPTER THREE - “thru the phone”

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ (MDNI)! perv!joe, a wet dream happens, joe has a voice kink, jerking off, over the phone stuff…joe is just really horny this chapter 😭

winnie sighs as she walks into her physics class, spotting a seat next to joe and getting her things out. she had been pushed and almost trampled by all the tall students roaming the halls. it was annoying, but thankfully, she made it.

“god, winnie,” joe snickers, looking at winnie’s disheveled and frustrated appearance, “you look like you just woke up.”

“well. i did. but also, people roam the halls with no sense of awareness,” she groans, putting her book on top of her desk, “or urgency.”

joe chuckles, knowing that winnie hates getting to her classes. even when they were in middle school together, winnie struggled with transitioning between classes.

“yeah? well, that’s the life of a student for you.” he nudges her shoulder, getting a small smile from her.

oddly enough, there’s something about winnie. he’s not sure if it's the fact that she styles her hair, or if she does a bit of makeup, or if it’s her fidgeting. maybe it’s the small pout she does when focusing. but she looks…pretty. really pretty.

joe watches as kaori continues getting her things out, deciding to take a brief moment to speak up.

“hey…you got a volleyball game today, right?”

winnie looks at joe, nodding with a smile. “mhm…why?”

joe grins, raising an eyebrow. “i’m gonna come and watch.”

her gaze softens. truth be told, she really did want joe to be there. she would never say that part out loud, of course. that’s straight up embarrassing. but hearing that he’ll be attending the game did make her heart swell with joy.

“really?” she asks, leaning back in her seat, “i’ll hold you to that.”

“trust me. i’ll always be around if it means i’m supporting you.” joe affirms, his eyes gleaming with a specific fondness to them.

for a moment, a brief moment, the both of them were locking eyes. they may have been looking at each other for longer than necessary, but they couldn’t look away. it’s like they were magnetized.

the bell rings, interrupting their moment. despite this, they share a brief smile, their faces both being bright red.

———————

winnie was warming up with the team as more and more people filled the gym. saying she was nervous would be an understatement. nonetheless, she’s aware of what she needs to do. after all, she finally made the team! this was the exact moment that she’s been waiting for.

as she practices hitting and serving the ball, she notices joe walk in with his friends, ja’marr and justin. his hair is styled with a few curls against his forehead, and he is wearing a sweatshirt with some black joggers. though his outfit is simple, winnie finds it…attractive?

no. snap out of it winnie. now is not the time to be ogling your friend.

as she continues warming up, her friend alina noticed her staring.

“winnie,” she asks, “you don’t happen to like joe, do you?”

with a pause, winnie holds the ball, looking at alina in shock; she wasn’t expecting that question from her.

“no. we’re just friends. why?”

alina rolls her eyes, “just friends my ass.”

in an exasperated sigh, winnie serves the ball over the net. “we are! we go way back. we had a falling out, but we rekindled our friendship.”

“and? i just saw the way you looked at him.”

huh. she did? winnie didn’t think she was that obvious. nonetheless she shrugs. “i mean. it’s normal to find your friend good looking.”

“well,” alina pauses, looking at joe for a minute before looking back at winnie, “you do know that you’ll have to deal with emma, right? she’s crazy obsessed with joe.”

she scowls a little at that. that was a very true statement. winnie isn’t dumb; she’s aware of the fact that many women are attracted to joe on campus. and sometimes, he plays into their attraction. it was something she never ever understood, but she just knew that it was something that he did.

as far as emma goes, she stops at nothing when it comes to getting what she wants. she’d beg, borrow, steal, lie…whatever it takes. but winnie doesn’t get why that bothers her so much. her and joe are only friends, so even if emma does want joe, she shouldn’t care…right?

with a small shrug of her shoulders, winnie speaks, “she can have him.”

alina scoffs, knowing that winnie is putting up a front. she doesn’t press on the subject anymore though.

meanwhile, in the stands, joe was…struggling. ja’marr and justin were laughing about something, probably a dumb instagram post or video. but he couldn’t help but focus on winnie as she warms up.

the way her hair is tied back and her stare is so focused. it’s attractive to joe. but even worse (or better), it was something about those shorts she was wearing. they hugged her curves in the best way possible, leaving nothing to his imagination.

in a way, joe felt guilty for being the perv he was being. this is his friend he’s thinking about. but with winnie looking the way she does? he’s a goner.

“joe…? joe!”

snapping from his thoughts, joe looks at justin and ja’marr. “huh…?”

“you good? you were staring hella hard at winnie,” justin chuckles.

“eh. can’t say i blame him.” ja’marr shrugs, causing joe to slap his hand against his chest roughly.

“i was not staring.” joe denies, shaking his head and folding his arms.

justin puts his hands up. “i’m not judging, man. i mean, she does look pretty good from here.”

joe huffs, waving their words off. “okay, guys that’s enough. i was looking for a very brief moment.”

and as if on cue, justin and ja’marr share a glance at each other. without words, they seem to agree that joe isn’t being smooth like he thinks he is.

———————

their hands were all over each other’s bodies, their lips floating across the other’s skin. the feeling of winnie’s nails dragging along joe’s arms made him shiver, his spine tingling from the excitement and pleasure.

“god…joe,” winnie gasps, straddling joe’s lap as the two sit on his bed.

joe chuckles, his hand on her hip slowly drifting down to her panty-clad core and rubbing very small circles. just small enough to suffice, but still be a tease. and the sensation makes her legs jolt slightly, her lips slightly parted as a breathy “oh, fuck” leaves them.

“you have no idea what it does to me, seeing you in your cute little skirts and stuff,” he whispers, watching as winnie begins to grind against his hand slightly, “or…maybe you do have an idea.”

he takes his free hand, cupping her breast gently under her bra. a soft hum of approval at the soft, supple skin, his thumb massaging her nipple. “the way you act so innocent and nonchalant…but you and i both know what you want.”

winnie’s body trembles at joe’s teasing words and touches, her mind cloudy with nothing but thoughts of him. thoughts about his hands and his lips, thoughts of his eyes piercing into her.

“joe…please,” winnie mewls, looking at joe with a dazed, love drunk look.

“please what?” joe, smirks, leaning in towards winnie’s ear, “if you want me to fuck you, then you better say it loud and clear.”

and with that, winnie wastes no time, nodding and looking at joe, “yes…yes, please, joe! i-i want…need you to fuck me so bad,” she begs, her breath hitching with every pinch and touch joe leaves on her sensitive frame.

“alright, princess. but only because you asked so nicely.”

as joe hooks his fingers around winnie’s underwear-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

joe shoots up from his bed, looking over at his clock on his nightstand and groaning. he slams his hand on it, turning it off and rubbing his hands over his eyes. he looks down and…

holy shit.

whatever that dream was, it did a number on him. he groans, looking at his morning wood in frustration. having a wet dream about your friend and now having to deal with a boner because of it was not on his bucket list.

he looks down and notices that winnie is calling. and so, he picks up the phone.

“hey, winnie…what’s up?” he asks, still drowsy and annoyed from his dream.

“not much, just…wanted to talk to you. i know we have a physics test soon and i was wondering if we could go over some stuff?”

of course, winnie was up early. studying. but she sounds so pretty and charming, like usual. it pisses joe of to no end, but it also…arouses him.

“sure,” joe nods, his hand slowly, oh so slowly moving down his body, “care to tell me what you remember so far?”

“yeah,” winnie answers, and joe can hear her rummaging through some notes, “so, we’re going over thermodynamics…”

joe would occasionally nod and go along as winnie spoke, hooked on every word she’d say. and he knows that this would be a perverted thing to do, but he can’t help it. not when winnie sounds so perfect.

his hand gently wrapped around his cock, and he swipes some of the pre-cum off the tip. he lets out a small groan as winnie continued going over her notes, stroking his length. the reality of what he’s doing causes his cheeks to turn red, but he doesn’t feel like stopping; he’s too entranced by her to stop. and plus he needs to release some tension from that wet dream.

“there are four different thermodynamic processes, and-”

“fuck…” joe moans, perhaps too loudly. because there’s a moment of lingering silence. “um-”

“joe…are you…jerking off?”

shit. he’s been caught. he can’t lie. winnie isn’t that dumb. she may be a virgin, but she’s not stupid.

“um…yeah?”

“oh…” winnie murmurs, though she doesn’t sound disgusted. rather…intrigued? she eventually speaks, “uh…so should i keep speaking, or…?”

“god, yes…keep talking,” joe nods, sounding a bit desperate, not that he cares.

though joe couldn’t see it, winnie’s cheeks were dusted over with a slight pink shade. she’s never had anyone be aroused by her voice, but it feels…nice? and besides, it’s joe.

“okay…so as i was saying, there’s four thermodynamic processes…”

soon enough, winnie could hear joe’s heavy breathing through her phone. the way he mumbled out small hums and curses made the hair on her body stand up. the thought if having such an effect on someone was a different, but good feeling. even if it was just a friend.

with a loud groan, joe finally comes, riding out his orgasm as spurts of cum land on his stomach and wrist. once he finished, he sighs, resting against his pillow.

“so…you good now?” winnie asks, waiting for joe’s response.

“yeah,” he pants out, “i am…thanks for helping out with that, baby.”

baby…? the name caused winnie’s heart to thump, and she didn’t know how to respond, other than a small “you’re welcome.”

joe looks at his phone, his eyes widening. “shit. i’m supposed to meet justin and ja’marr for breakfast,” he says, quickly sitting up and using some tissue to wipe himself off. “i’ll talk with you soon, okay, winwin?”

“okay…bye!” winnie replies, to which joe bids his farewell too, and hangs up.

as for winnie, she sits on her bed with her notes. her face is warm and her legs clenched together.

it seems like she too has her own little problem now.

we are so back guys :]

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (14.3/15) - Part III

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @a-moment-captured, @boujiestpoet, @avngrsfangirl, @cocobutterqwueen @yeea-nah @alika-4466 @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @saturnville @weetjy @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @niahxo @purplelewlew @f1-football-fiend @imjustheretomanifest @gg-trini @kinggbl @iamryanl @mitruscity @nichmeddar @xoscar03 @eugene-emt-roe @cherry2stems @louvrepool @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1 @lewisroscoelove

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist.

CHAPTER 14.3: Waiting Game

A month and a half later...

Since the end of summer break, the season had gone from promising to frustrating. The Mercedes was temperamental at best, leaving Lewis fighting for points rather than podiums. Azerbaijan and Singapore had been particularly shaky - a P9 and P6 that had him questioning if his decision to leave Mercedes was premature. But watching George struggle with the same issues confirmed what he already knew: it was time for a change.

At least things at home were peaceful. With Rorie entering her eighth month, they'd decided to base themselves in LA until after the baby came. Their daughter was active as ever, especially during Lewis's races, leading Rorie to joke that she was already a motorsport fan. Marian had practically moved in, bringing that particular brand of Black mother energy that meant Rorie was never allowed to lift a finger, while Aaliyah kept Lyric entertained with endless art projects and dance parties.

The sibling situation had evolved too. Athena was a constant presence in the paddock now, her F1 journalism career flourishing. Aaron had made genuine efforts to make amends, even flying to Singapore just to have dinner with him after the race. And Azariah... well, Azariah had proven to be exactly the kind of big brother Rorie deserved - protective, wise, and unfailingly kind.

Martin, on the other hand, had faded into the background. His attempts to control the narrative had backfired, leaving him on the periphery of his children's lives. It was his loss, really.

The upscale vegan restaurant in Austin was quiet as Lewis made his way to where Azariah and Aaron sat at a corner table. Both men stood to greet him, the handshakes and hugs feeling natural now.

"How's our sister?" Azariah asked as they settled in.

"Ready to not be pregnant anymore," Lewis chuckled. "Your niece is giving her a workout."

"Still not telling us the name?" Aaron raised an eyebrow, signaling for drinks.

"You know what? I'm gonna tell y'all something, but it stays between us," Lewis leaned forward. "We're announcing it soon anyway, with some maternity shots we took." Both brothers perked up. "Her name is Larke Atlas Hamilton."

"Meaning?" Azariah asked, intrigued.

"Larke means 'song bird' - for music, obviously. Atlas is for carrying the weight of the world, being strong. Plus I love mythology."

"Wait, you named her?" Aaron asked.

"Yeah, named both of them actually. Lyric and Larke."

"The L name legacy, huh?" Azariah grinned.

"Just something small, you know how it is," teased Lewis as he took a sip of his water.

"For real though, what if y'all had another one?" Azariah asked. "Just hypothetically. I'm curious now."

Lewis thought for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Lennon, after my favorite Beatle."

"Nigga, what?" Aaron laughed. "You really got it all picked out?"

Lewis shrugged. "I got names for at least ten kids."

"And all their names begin with an L?" Azariah asked, flabbergasted.

"Yeah, check this out - Lyric, Larke, Lennon, Lyanna, Locklyn, Ledger, Landen, Luca, Loyal, and Liberty."

They all burst out laughing.

"By the way, that investment opportunity we discussed for Mission 44? The numbers are looking good," Aaron shifted topics, and Lewis appreciated how his brother-in-law had grown into more than just Martin's angry son.

The conversation flowed easily between racing, business, the announcement of him being a co-chair for next year's MET Gala, and family. Lewis found himself studying these two men who'd become such an unexpected but welcome part of his life. He'd been ready to throw down with Aaron in Barcelona. Now here they were, sharing meals and making plans.

When a nearby diner's phone rang with Martin's signature ringtone, Lewis noticed how both brothers tensed slightly. Some wounds were still fresh, some patterns hard to break. He understood that better than most - the complicated dance of fathers and sons.

"You know," Azariah said thoughtfully, pushing around his quinoa bowl, "it's weird how life works out. A year ago, we didn't even know Rorie existed. Now I can't imagine our family without her."

"Speaking of family," Aaron added, his voice careful, "Mom's been asking about meeting her. For real this time."

Lewis studied both men carefully, thinking of Rorie at home, their daughter kicking away while Marian fussed over her. His protective instincts kicked in - they'd been through so much in the last year with Deja's betrayal, the court case, all of it.

"I'll talk to Rorie about it. But no pressure, yeah? She's got enough on her plate right now."

They nodded in understanding, and Lewis felt grateful for how far they'd all come. From that tense first meeting to now sharing their unborn daughter's name, planning investments together, building something real. Sometimes family wasn't what you were born into, but what you chose to build together.

And watching these brothers who'd chosen to build bridges rather than walls, Lewis knew they'd made the right choice in letting them in. Larke Atlas Hamilton would be born into a family that had learned the hard way what really mattered - and was stronger for it.

_______________________________________________

Qualifying had been a disaster.

P8. Fucking P8.

Lewis sat in his driver's room, still in his race suit, the urge to put his fist through something growing stronger by the minute. The car was a mess - unpredictable, temperamental, like trying to tame a wild animal that had no interest in cooperating.

He wanted to break something. Specifically, he wanted to break this fucking car that had been giving him hell all season. Five world championships together and this was how it would end? With a car that couldn't decide if it wanted to understeer or oversteer, that ate through tires like they were snacks, that…

His phone buzzed - a video call from Rorie. He took a deep breath, centering himself before answering.

But before he could say anything, Lyric's face filled the screen. "Dada fast!"

Despite his mood, Lewis felt a smile tug at his lips. "Not fast enough today, big man."

"You did great," Rorie's voice came through, the camera shifting to show her lounging on their LA couch, bump prominent under one of his hoodies. "That last sector was intense."

"The car's fucked," he said bluntly, then quickly added, "Sorry, Lyric, don't repeat that word."

"I know you're frustrated," Rorie said softly. "But tomorrow's another day. And your daughter's been doing somersaults all through qualifying, so at least someone enjoyed the show."

Lewis laughed despite himself. "Already my biggest critic, huh?"

"More like biggest fan. She goes crazy whenever Bono comes on the radio."

The rage that had been building started to dissipate. Yes, the car was a nightmare. Yes, P8 was nowhere near where he wanted to be. But watching his pregnant wife trying to make him feel better while their son made race car noises in the background… some things were more important than qualifying position.

Still, as he ended the call with promises to FaceTime later, Lewis couldn't help but glare at his reflection in the mirror. Nine races left in this chapter of his career, and right now, the ending wasn't looking like what he'd imagined.

His phone buzzed - this time a text from Toto: "My office when you're ready."

Lewis closed his eyes, leaning back against the cool wall. These conversations were getting harder. Years of championships, victories, making history together... and now they couldn't even get the fucking car to behave for one qualifying session.

Another buzz - Aaron this time: "That car looking rough bro. But tomorrow's another day. Athena's got some intel about Ferrari's tire strategy if you want it 👀"

Despite everything, Lewis smiled. Who would've thought Aaron would become one of his biggest supporters in the paddock?

His mind drifted to Rorie and Lyric back in LA. To Larke, doing her qualifying analysis via kicks. To the future beyond Mercedes, beyond this frustrating season. He'd announced his departure early, to be transparent with the team and fans. But damn if these last races weren't testing his patience.

"Fuck it," he said. Tomorrow was race day. He'd started from worse positions, fought harder battles. And at least he had something many drivers didn't - a family waiting for him, win or lose.

Still, as he headed toward Toto's office, Lewis couldn't shake the feeling that this car had one last surprise in store for him. He just hoped it would be a good one.

The Mexico City paddock buzzed with its usual energy, but Lewis felt disconnected from it all, like he was watching himself go through the motions. The Austin DNF still stung - another race, another technical issue, another reminder that this wasn't how he'd imagined his final season with Mercedes.

"How's the car feeling heading into the weekend?" Will Buxton asked, microphone extended.

Like a fucking nightmare, Lewis thought darkly. "It's going," he said instead, maintaining his media-trained smile. "We're always working to improve, always pushing forward."

Between interviews, he found himself gravitating toward the younger drivers. Franco Colapinto's enthusiasm was infectious, the Argentinian rookie's eyes lighting up as they discussed racing lines through Turn 1. Ollie Bearman reminded him of himself at that age - hungry, determined, full of dreams about what F1 could be.

"Any advice for managing the altitude here?" Ollie asked during a quiet moment.

Lewis actually smiled genuinely for the first time that day. These conversations felt real, unlike the endless questions about the car's performance that made him want to scream in frustration.

"Lewis, can you talk about the development direction for these final races?" another journalist called out.

I'd rather talk about how this car seems determined to break my spirit, he thought. "We're focused on maximizing our package," he said diplomatically. "Every race is an opportunity to learn."

His phone buzzed - a photo from Rorie of Lyric watching his Austin race replay.

"My boy," Lewis muttered under his breath, before turning back to the next interview.

"What are your expectations for this weekend?"

To get through it without this car finding another creative way to fail, his mind supplied. "We're taking it one session at a time," he answered smoothly. "Mexico always presents unique challenges."

The contrast between his internal monologue and his measured responses was giving him whiplash, but years of experience had taught him how to maintain the façade. As he watched Franco and Ollie's excitement about their first Mexican GP, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for when it all felt that new, that full of possibility.

His final Mexican GP with Mercedes. Another last in a season full of them. At least Aaliyah and Lyric would arrive tomorrow - having his son in the paddock always made everything better, even when the car was determined to test his last nerve.

"You're finally escaping these Mercedes media days soon," Ollie joked during a break between interviews, both of them hiding in a quiet corner of the building.

"Trust me, they don't get easier. No matter the team," Lewis chuckled, though his mind was already on his next commitment - a sit-down with Sky where they'd inevitably ask about Austin.

His phone lit up with a text from Rorie: "Liyah and Lyric’s flight is confirmed. Lyric's already asking if we'll make it in time to see 'Dada's silver car.' Also, your daughter is doing backflips. ❤️"

That brought a genuine smile to his face, one that didn't go unnoticed by the next journalist who approached.

The Sky interview was exactly what he expected. Ted tried to get technical about the DNF, while Naomi probed about his emotions heading into these final races.

"It must be bittersweet," she pressed.

"It's definitely emotional," he answered diplomatically. "Mercedes has been such a huge part of my journey."

Franco caught his eye from across the room, the rookie giving him a sympathetic look. These kids understood more than people realized - they'd grown up watching his battles, his victories, his dominance. Seeing him struggle with this year's car must be strange for them too.

Another text came through - a picture of their at-home ultrasound machine and sure enough, Larke was doing somersaults in Rorie’s stomach.

This time he couldn't suppress his laugh, earning curious looks from the media gathered around him.

"Care to share the joke?" someone asked.

"Just my baby’s recent sonogram," Lewis replied, feeling more like himself for a moment. "May have a little gymnast on my hands."

As the day wound down, he found himself back with the rookies, their energy somehow making this endless parade of interviews more bearable. They talked about their karting days, their dreams, everything except the current state of his Mercedes.

It was refreshing. Almost enough to make him forget about the mechanical time bomb waiting in the garage.

Almost.

_______________________________________________

Lewis spotted them first - Lyric running ahead of Aaliyah, his little Mercedes cap slightly crooked on his head.

"Dada!" Lyric launched himself forward, Lewis squatting down to catch him.

"Oof," Lewis exaggerated as he lifted his son. "Getting too big for this, big man. What's Mama been feeding you?"

"Pancakes!" Lyric announced proudly, making Aaliyah laugh.

"Of course she is," Lewis grinned, adjusting Lyric on his hip. "How was the flight?"

"Your son gave a full race analysis to everyone in first class," Aaliyah shook her head. "Complete with sound effects for when 'Dada's car went night-night.'"

"Car sleeping," Lyric nodded seriously. "Like Roscoe!"

"Exactly like Roscoe," Lewis chuckled. "Ready to see the garage?"

"Franco!" Lyric suddenly called out, spotting the Argentinian driver approaching.

Lewis watched with amusement as Franco jogged over, but the moment the young driver caught sight of Aaliyah, his whole demeanor shifted. The confident swagger that emerged was something Lewis hadn't seen from his usually focused rookie colleague.

"You must be Rorie's sister," Franco smoothly transitioned from high-fiving Lyric to extending his hand to Aaliyah. "I've seen you in some of Lewis's Instagram stories. I'm Franco."

Lewis's eyebrows shot up, still holding Lyric who was babbling about wanting to see the "silver car." The confidence in Franco's tone was unexpected - this was the same kid who'd been nervously asking him about racing lines just hours ago.

"Aaliyah," she replied, her hand lingering in his just a moment longer than necessary. "Nice to meet you."

"You know," Franco leaned slightly closer, his accent somehow thicker than usual, "I could give you a tour of the paddock later. Show you where all the real action happens."

"Is that right?" Aaliyah's lips curved into a slight smile.

"Among other things," Franco winked, managing to make it charming rather than cheesy. "Maybe we could grab dinner after? I know this amazing place in the city..."

"Franco come see car?" Lyric interrupted, completely oblivious to the flirting happening in front of him.

"Of course, pequeño," Franco said, but his eyes stayed on Aaliyah. "Maybe your beautiful aunt would like to join us?"

Lewis bit back a laugh. The boldness of it all - hitting on his sister-in-law right in front of him. The kid was twenty-one and Aaliyah was twenty-four, and yet here he was, shooting his shot with the smoothness of a veteran.

After Franco reluctantly headed off for his media commitments, Lewis couldn't resist. "Just got here and got the whole paddock in a tizzy."

Aaliyah scoffed, adjusting her bag. "Don't start, Lew. He isn't really my type anyways."

But Lewis caught her glancing back in the direction Franco had disappeared, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Mhmm," Lewis smirked. "Lies."

"Whatever," Aaliyah rolled her eyes, but her slight smile told a different story. "I can't wait to tell Rorie about these thirsty F1 drivers you work with."

"Pssh," he blew out a raspberry and rolled his eyes at her. Aaliyah was undoubtedly going to call Rorie later and have a venting session about what just happened, but from the way Aaliyah was looking at Franco – she was just as interested in him as he was in her.

_____________________________________________________

The garage screens showed Franco's Williams dancing through the final sector. Lewis paused, balaclava in hand, to watch the young driver push through Turn 15.

P10 - not bad for a rookie in a Williams.

He waited near the Williams garage, watching Franco emerge from his car with that unmistakable rookie enthusiasm. The moment Franco spotted him, his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.

"You were watching my qualifying?" Franco's accent was thick with excitement. "That's so cool, man."

"Not bad out there," Lewis nodded, then decided to seize the moment. "Listen, about Aaliyah..."

Franco immediately stood straighter, all attention.

"She's a free spirit," Lewis started, placing a hand on Franco's shoulder. "Vegetarian, loves Legos more than people most days. Takes her coffee black but her tea with honey. Can't stand pretense or games."

"You're giving me intel?" Franco's grin was infectious.

"I like you, Franco. I do." Lewis's tone shifted slightly. "But let me make this clear: Aaliyah is my sister, and if you break her fucking heart..."

"It's my neck?" Franco finished, still grinning but with understanding in his eyes.

Lewis chuckled. "You catch on quick."

"I sometimes do," Franco chuckled.

"I usually wouldn't help a driver get with her," Lewis continued. "Lando was bothering me about it before, but I think you're alright, Franco."

Franco's face scrunched up in disgust. "Lando? He wouldn't know what to do with a woman like Aaliyah."

Well, damn…

Lewis raised his eyebrows, impressed and amused by the kid's confidence. Before he could respond, the sound of children's laughter filled the air as Lyric and Laura came tearing around the corner, Aaliyah in pursuit.

"No running in the paddock!" she called out, but she was laughing too as the kids circled Lewis and Franco before darting off again.

"She's so good with kids," Franco said in awe, watching her chase after them.

"Yeah, she's a great aunt," Lewis replied, studying Franco's expression. The kid was already smitten. This would either be highly entertaining or complete chaos.

Probably both.

______________________________________________

Aaliyah Phillips turned heads without trying. At 5'7" with a slim waist, wide hips, and the kind of curves that made men walk into walls, she was used to the attention. Her straight black hair fell to the middle of her back today, though she often let it free in its natural curls. While she didn't have her sister's designer wardrobe or brother-in-law's fashion empire connections, her simple high-waisted jeans and cropped white button-down showed she understood how to dress her figure.

But what people didn't see was the woman who spent weekends building intricate Lego Architecture sets, who had an entire room in her Jersey apartment dedicated to magnetic tiles and architectural models. The entry-level architect who stayed late at her firm sketching designs for her dream home - a modern Pueblo Revival style house she hoped to build someday in Arizona or New Mexico, all clean lines and adobe walls with a courtyard full of succulents and desert wildflowers.

"Aaliyah! You look so good girl," Lando's voice interrupted her thoughts as she made her way through the paddock. His attempt at smooth came off try-hard, as usual.

"Thanks, Lando," she replied politely, though her mind drifted to a different accent, one that actually made her stomach flutter.

"We should grab dinner sometime," he pressed on. "Or we could–"

"Still not interested," she cut in gently but firmly. Lando was alright, but his cockiness felt forced, unlike Franco's natural confidence that seemed to flow as easily as his Spanish.

Franco. She hadn't meant to let any F1 driver catch her attention – she'd seen enough through Lewis and Rorie to know how complicated that world could be. But there was something about the young Argentinian that made her want to break her own rules. Maybe it was the way his curls fell into his eyes when he talked, or how he'd managed to be smooth without being arrogant, or the genuine enthusiasm he showed when talking about his passions.

The Mexico City paddock buzzed with pre-race energy as she found her way to the Mercedes garage. At twenty-four, she was established enough to know what she wanted - and what she didn't want. Lando's manufactured swagger wasn't it. But Franco...

"Earth to Liyah," Lewis's voice broke through her reverie. "You good? Or still thinking about a certain P10 qualifier?"

She rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law, but couldn't help glancing toward the Williams garage where Franco was preparing for his first Mexican GP.

Maybe it was time to take a chance. After all, she was single, and that accent was something else.

Aaliyah settled into a chair, Lyric bouncing on her lap as they watched Lewis prepare for the race. Her architecture brain couldn't help but appreciate the engineering marvel of these cars, even if most of the technical talk went over her head.

"Aunt Liyah, look!" Lyric pointed excitedly as Franco's Williams rolled past their window. She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach when the Argentinian driver glanced up, his smile visible even through his visor.

"Still not your type?" Lewis teased as he stopped by before heading to the grid.

"Don't you have a race to focus on?" she shot back, but her smile gave her away.

The race itself was chaos that somehow made sense to everyone except her. Lyric seemed to understand more than she did, cheering at appropriate moments while she mostly just followed Lewis's silver car and, occasionally, a certain blue Williams.

"Remember what Mama says," Lyric told her seriously during a pit stop. "Always bet on black."

Aaliyah burst out laughing. That was such a Rorie thing to say - her sister had probably been teaching Lyric that since birth. But watching Lewis fight his way to P4, she had to admit the saying held true.

Franco's P12 wasn't bad either, though she pretended not to notice how many times she'd checked his position throughout the race. The way he handled the car through those tight corners was actually impressive, not that she'd admit that to anyone.

After the race, she found herself lingering in the paddock, ostensibly helping Lyric collect signatures on his little racing suit. When Franco approached, still in his race gear with curls damp from the helmet, she blamed the Mexican heat for the sudden warmth in her cheeks.

"Get any good signatures?" he asked Lyric, but his eyes were on her.

Maybe her sister was right - sometimes you had to bet on what felt right, even if it wasn't part of your careful plans. And this curly-headed rookie with the smooth accent and genuine smile definitely hadn't been part of her plans.

"There you go, campeón," Franco handed the marker back to Lyric after signing his suit.

"Actually," Aaliyah said, surprising herself with her boldness as she took the Sharpie from him. "Give me your hand."

Franco's eyebrows rose but he extended his palm, a slow smile spreading across his face as she wrote her WhatsApp number in neat architect's handwriting.

"About that dinner you mentioned..." she started.

"I know the perfect place," he finished, studying the numbers on his hand like they were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "You coming to Brazil?"

"I can go," she replied casually, though she'd already arranged two weeks of PTO from the firm to help her sister and Lewis out with Lyric, but aunties need some down time too.

"Lucky me," Franco grinned, that accent somehow getting thicker. "I'll text you later about dinner, yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied, pretending not to notice Lewis and Lyric making exaggerated kissing faces behind Franco's back.

As Franco walked away, clearly trying not to look too eager to program her number into his phone, Lewis sidled up beside her.

"Smooth moves, sis," he teased. "Very smooth."

"Shut up," she laughed, but she couldn't help watching Franco's retreating figure. "Why are you always in my business?"

"Because I can be, and this is very entertaining."

The Las Vegas strip had been transformed into an F1 circus, neon lights competing with camera flashes as Lewis navigated through what felt like half of the world's population crammed into the paddock. His custom bedazzled Tommy Hilfiger tracksuit caught the artificial light, the matching Timbs completing a look that screamed Vegas baby - even if his mind was firmly fixed on Los Angeles.

Nothing.

He checked his phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing from Rorie. The helicopter was on standby, ready to whisk him to LA the moment she texted that their daughter was ready to make her debut. Toto had already arranged everything - Mick was ready to step in, though there were whispers that Kimi might even drive. Because fuck a race when his baby girl was being born.

"Lewis," Bono called out, trying to get his attention during the pre-race briefing. "The tire strategy…"

"Sorry," Lewis muttered, eyes still glued to his phone. "Just…"

Bono's expression softened. "How about this - you focus on the race, and I'll keep you updated if Rorie calls or texts. Deal?"

"Yeah, okay," Lewis agreed, though his hand still twitched toward his pocket. "Thanks, man."

The paddock was a maze of VIP areas and pop-up clubs - because only Vegas would turn an F1 race into a full-blown festival. Under normal circumstances, Lewis would have been living for this energy, this spectacle. But right now, all he could think about was Rorie at home, their daughter seemingly content to keep everyone waiting.

"Any news?" Toto asked as he made his way to the garage.

"Nothing," Lewis shook his head. "Larke's taking after her mama - showing up whenever she damn well pleases."

After another meeting, he made his way to his driver's room to get ready for the race.

Lewis pulled his race suit on, phone pressed to his ear. "Anything? Any contractions?"

"Nope," Rorie sighed. "I'm bouncing on this ball, drinking this nasty labor-inducing juice from TikTok… nothing. Though these celebrities showing up to Vegas are wild-"

"I don't care about that, Rorie, honey. I'll say fuck this race if you're going into labor." The sound of her laughter made him pull the phone away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief. "Rorie, I'm serious," he said once her giggles subsided.

"What if you're driving?" she asked.

"Bono is on baby watch and he'll tell me over the radio. I'll stop like I'm doing a pit and just leave."

"What- Lewis, you can't leave in the middle of a race!"

"Like I said, I don't give a fuck. Besides, this car is ass and I'm not missing her birth like I did Lyric's."

"Lewis…"

His jaw tightened. He hated that being an F1 driver meant missing important moments. Missing Lyric's birth because of a race still haunted him. Yes, he'd made it to the hospital while Rorie was still there, but he should have been the one holding her hand, telling her to push, feeding her ice cubes, even being the target of her labor-induced rage.

"Sweetheart, I know how you feel but trust me when I say this, I think she's waiting until you're officially done."

"Rorie, your due date is tomorrow. You could go into labor any time today," he pointed out.

"She's stubborn. More than you, actually. Trust me. When you are done with your last race and it's the end of the season - Larke will be here."

"You sure you're okay?" Lewis asked for the third time.

"Yes, baby. Go race. Win something for our girl."

"I just… I need you to promise me you'll tell someone to call if anything happens. Even if it's just a twinge."

"Lewis Hamilton," Rorie's voice took on that tone he knew well. "I have your mother, my mother, my sister, and about fifteen other people here watching me like hawks. Trust me, if this baby so much as hiccups, you'll know."

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "I love you. Both of you."

"We love you too. Now go show Vegas what you've got."

After hanging up, a knock came at his door. "Lewis? It's time," Rosa called.

The walk to the garage felt surreal, Las Vegas lights reflecting off his visor as he settled into the car and then lined up in his spot on the grid.

Lights out, and away we go.

The start was clean, Lewis immediately picking off two cars into Turn 1. "How's the grip, Lewis?" Bono asked.

"Anything from Rorie?" Lewis countered.

"No mate, nothing yet."

Lewis groaned, both from the lack of news and the understeer he was fighting. "Car's pushing wide in Turn 6… Should we add a crib mobile? I feel like we forgot a crib mobile."

Despite his distracted mind, he was flying through the field. Another overtake into Turn 1. "Nice move, Lewis!"

"Thanks. Do you think we need a humidifier? The nursery might need a humidifier." Another pass, up to P5 now. "And maybe one of those sound machines? Lyric loved his sound machine."

Bono's chuckle came through the radio. "You're doing brilliant, mate. Just brilliant."

P4.

P3.

Lewis barely registered the positions, too busy mental shopping for the nursery. "The changing table - did we get enough supplies for the changing table?"

"Box this lap, Lewis," Bono managed through his laughter. "Whatever you want, mate. You're absolutely flying out there."

As Lewis hit his marks in the pit box, he was already planning his next Amazon order. Somehow, racing while planning for Larke was bringing out his best driving.

10 more laps.

5 more laps.

Then the final lap.

The fireworks exploded over the Vegas strip as Lewis brought the car home in P2, George just ahead in P1. The garage was erupting - their first 1-2 of the season, and in Vegas of all places.

"Anything from Rorie?" Lewis immediately asked over the radio.

"Nothing mate, but bloody brilliant drive!" Bono's voice was gleaming with pride.

Lewis placed his forehead against the steering wheel, then gently banged it a few times. "Yeah, yeah… thanks man."

The crowd was deafening in parc fermé, casino lights mixing with camera flashes as he climbed out of the car. George was already there, grinning ear to ear.

Maybe Rorie was right. Maybe Larke was really waiting for his final race with Mercedes. Their stubborn little girl, already showing that Hamilton determination before even making her debut.

"Lewis! What a drive!" George pulled him into a hug. "The old Mercedes magic is back!"

"Yeah," Lewis managed a genuine smile, pride in their team's achievement breaking through his baby-focused thoughts. "Hell of a way to light up Vegas."

But even as he went through the motions of celebration, his thoughts kept drifting to Rorie and their baby. Their daughter was definitely taking after her mother - making her own plans, everyone else's schedule be damned.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Next is the final chapter then there's the epilogue.

Do you like my work? Buy me a coffee to support

[dunmeshistash]

...how long does mana sickness last? for marcille it seemed like a game-ender for her, she seemingly couldn't recover in a week's time without drinking the undine, but mithrun just straight up is better in like. A day? An hour?(at thistles house) is he just built different? Maybe more offensive magic like marcille's explosions make it harder for you to recover?

In that case it wasn't mana sickness it was loss of magic power

"Couldn't recover in a week's time" she probably could! But they were rushing to save Falin, and they had to survive in the dungeon while she recovered, they already had a party that was too small and were getting deeper into more dangerous parts of the dungeon, they wouldn't have been able to keep going with Marcille not being able to fight that's why Laios wants her to go back

This is the timeline of events of this part, drained of magic on 3/22 and having to fight the dragon on 3/24 barely a day to rest, she would be in a weakened state in a deep dungeon floor and would have to fight the dragon (here's the timeline I'll be using if you want to check)

She even gets drained again after fighting Thistle, they fight thistle on 3/25 and by 3/28 when they find the Dryads she's still too weak to fight, but the next day (after a good meal) she's okay enough to fight the Cockatrice (she gets petrified but cant blame lack of magic it was lack of Laios)

Now for the Mithrun timeline, he faints from lack of magic after they eat the roasted walking mushroom and rest for a bit (I imagine he was already with low magic before from the floor one fight and then teleporting them around to stop the fall and overworked himself?) that was on 4/4

The next day he continues to be weak and faints just from teleporting them away from the wolves so he's still drained

The next day he's once again forced to use magic to teleport the griffin away, he manages not to faint but he's clearly still unwell

The day after that he doesn't need to use magic they just need to take a bath to get rid of the mushroom spores, and finally the next day they're rescued

So he first faints on 4/4 joins with the canaries on 4/8 and they only arrive at thistle's on 4/13 I believe. So he had at least 9 days from the first time he ran out, he was still VERY weak in the next few days after fainting which would be the situation Marcille would have been in for the Dragon fight if she hadn't eaten the undine.

He doesn't get drained after this does he? After fighting Marcille for the first time Kabru does say this, but he's not drained he's "on the verge"

After that Mithrun was "forced to rest" for a bit before fighting again so maybe not being fully drained and resting helped him have enough for that last hurrah when fighting Marcille?

Just checked their fight and he only uses magic to heal himself once and then one other time to teleport, even Marcille calls his bluff, that was probably his last drop now that I notice

But even with all that Mithrun is stronger than Marcille (The canaries are specialized in defeating dungeons after all they're all strong and used to combat), Kabru even mentions he has lots of stamina for an elf. They aren't really eating well these few days waiting for rescue so I imagine this contributes to why it took him a while to get better during that, he's also used to forcing himself to the extreme so even if he is almost running out in the Marcille fight he would force himself to the last drop (as he does)

Anyway, maybe it seemed like he recovered super fast during ch62 since it all happens in one chapter but it actually takes him a couple of days to get back to 100%

[hannahbarberra162]

Under the Microscope, Chapter 11 (Yandere Sabo x Reader)

on Ao3 | The other chapters

Note: I’m keeping Iva’s pronouns the same by chapter for ease of reading.  Also pls, this isn’t realistic science. I barely know what an atom is.

Huge thank you to TDESMC and @gouraminnow <3 <3 <3

Thank you to @kitsunechan707 for hyping me up :3

~

Sunny POV

While the first few days had been rough on your body, the next ones were rough on your spirit. It was difficult to be near Sabo one on one again without Ace as a social buffer. Ace was catching up to the ship and you’d see him soon which couldn’t come fast enough for you. Sabo was behaving like he did when you first met and it left you bewildered and unsure of what to do. You used your anger to ground yourself with the bangle on your wrist reminding you daily of his betrayal of your trust.

You had prepared yourself to face Sabo's wrath or ire but it hadn’t surfaced since his discovery of your misdeed. If anything, Sabo was more amiable and attentive than ever before. He hadn’t asked you for any more kisses or physical affection, though he did leave lingering touches on your skin as often as he was able. You were happy for the reprieve after the kiss he’d made you give him but you were walking on eggshells. The look in his eyes showed you that his intensity hadn’t faded when you continually caught his ever-present stares as you went about your days on the ship.

After the effects of the medicine wore off, Sabo took you on a tour of the ship and introduced you to the RA crew. The ship was bigger than the last though there were only about twenty people aboard, though Koala wasn’t among them. Sabo mentioned she was his closest friend but your only connection to her was her suggestion that Sabo should have killed you. You weren’t so sure you’d want to meet her once you got to the RA base.

Sabo showed you the simple ship with his tour ending at the galley just as breakfast was being served.. You hadn’t seen so many new people since you’d joined your first unit in the Marines and you hadn’t liked the crowds then either. Not only that but Emporio Ivankov was at the back of the galley and she intimidated you beyond compare. Sabo’s hand drifted to the small of your back and pushed you forward as you two began moving toward the back of the galley. Iva’s larger than life personality made her bold and loud as she spoke to people around her. When you and Sabo approached her table you were greeted with a heavy once over that made you step back in an effort to shrink away from her harsh examination. Sabo’s hand on your lower back stymied your attempt to cringe away.

“Now, who is this little lady, Sabo boy? A new lover, perhaps?” Your face flamed as Sabo laughed and walked up to Iva, kissing her on the cheeks. He returned to your side before wrapping his arm around you and leaving his hand on your waist.

“This is Sunny, she was the lead scientist on project Seraphim, although she didn’t know it at the time. She’s also the one who made Ace’s fruit and gave him his powers back,” Sabo explained. You stiffened when Sabo didn’t correct Iva’s assumption about the two of you being lovers, but decided that correction could wait for a different time.

“I-I’m sorry for being so nervous, I’m a huge fan of your work,” you forced out of your throat. Along with Trafalgar Law, Emporio Ivankov published the most interesting scientific articles. Her article about pancreatic insulin deficiencies and the means to solve them was truly groundbreaking. She’d saved thousands of kids’ lives just by publishing the article for the Marines to copy the formula for insulin. You idly wondered if she had any copies on board that she could autograph for you.

“Oh! Which of my shows have you seen?” she said with a wink. Sabo moved to stand slightly in front of you but you were unsure why, a simple wink couldn’t possibly be dangerous.

“Um, no, not the shows. I read all your articles, you’re one of my idols. Your paper about ACTH was part of the reason I became interested in lineage factors to begin with,” you said, trying not to gush too much to your hero.

“Oh ho, that old thing? I can’t show you what I’m working on now, it’s confidential…but I’d love to show you what I’m researching, interesting stuff. You have quite the resume yourself, making a Mera Mera from scratch on a deserted island. Smart girl you got there, Sabo boy. Try not to blow it,” Iva said in dismissal before sauntering off to the deck. You stared after her starry-eyed as she passed through the assorted crew gathered.

“Iva too? Do you know all pirates except Ace and I?” Sabo asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin. You knit your brows in confusion.

“What? No, she’s incredible - most people only know her for her work with sex characteristic hormones - which is beyond compare of course -  but hormones are much more complex than that. She’s revolutionized so many fields of endocrinology, she’s like the Vegapunk of the human body. And, ah, of course, the shows and piracy and all that,” you added at the end in case she could still hear you. You hoped she would stay true to her word and let you see what she was working on. It would be a true honor to be in the presence of Iva and an even bigger honor to see her unpublished research. 

After your introduction to Iva, there were still a lot of other crew to meet in the galley of the ship as Sabo wheeled you around to make introductions. Sabo walked you around the room, introducing you to the assorted RA crew that comprised the ship. You mumbled the appropriate polite words but you couldn’t help the familiar anxiety that rose as you met more and more people. The only reason that you weren’t chewing on your fingernails was because Sabo kept his hand entwined in yours. You didn’t like meeting new people, especially so many at once. You tried your best to remember all their names but they swam in your head after the first five or so. They kept asking the same questions over and over, who you were, where you were from, and how you knew Sabo. Fortunately for you, Sabo took the lead socially and answered most of the questions which left you to answer with only a few words when you needed to. 

It was interesting observing Sabo in this new setting among people he knew well. He greeted everyone with smiles and kisses to the cheeks, side and front hugs, and even a few strong slaps to the back. His grip on you remained but it matched some of the other holds you saw among the RA soldiers, friends holding each other around their waists. They were all an affectionate bunch, so maybe Sabo was acclimating you to their culture with his repeated touches. The RA soldiers greeted you with sharp smiles, like they were pleased to see you but only as long as Sabo was there to vouch for you. 

“Sabo! Your sleeping beauty finally woke up, huh?” someone named Bobby (or maybe Robby?) said with a chuckle while elbowing Sabo. Sabo smiled and patted your arm that was linked in his own with his gloved hand. 

“Something like that. Sunny is very sensitive to seasickness, but outside of rough waters, she’ll be alright. So you’ll see more of her around the ship. Right, Sunny?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, and as if on cue, the ship started rocking heavily from side to side. Sabo steadied you once more by wrapping his other arm around you. You were drained socially and emotionally and you wanted to curl back up in your bed and sleep this exhaustion away.

“Hey, you’re pale. Are you alright? Let’s go back to the cabin, you need to lay down,” Sabo said, putting the back of his gloved hand against your cheek. You nodded your agreement, for once thankful that the ocean had upset your stomach and finally ended your social outing.

Sabo POV

Sabo tucked Sunny back into bed after placing a bucket by her side. He reached out his hand to pat her hair as she groaned and closed her eyes but pulled his hand back at the last second. He’d resumed touching you more casually but he didn’t want to overdo it, especially when you weren’t feeling well. He would gradually worm his way back to where he wanted to be in your heart, he knew it for a fact. You had liked him before and you would like him again, he simply had to be patient as he rebuilt the trust. 

Sabo had barely walked two feet outside of his cabin after taking his leave of you before Iva interrupted his thoughts.

“So that’s the new fiance eh, Sabo-boy? I couldn’t stay away from the melodrama of it all -I simply had to come on this trip and see the new love interest. And you finally resurfaced after she woke up,” Iva teased, beckoning Sabo to follow her.

“Not exactly,” Sabo grumbled as he walked in tandem with his close friend. He trusted Iva to keep his confidence even as it applied to you. Who better to talk to about the trials and tribulations of love?

“Hmm, she won’t get over the whole kidnapping thing….but she’ll get over you taking her from the Marines. She’s a pretty little thing, I know what you see in her,” Iva said, opening the door to her cabin.

“Oh?”

“Yourself!” Iva said with a barking laugh. Sabo exhaled through his nose and stretched his neck with a grimace. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing even if it was playful ribbing. 

“She’s really got her hooks in you, Sabo-boy! I’ve never seen you so dour before, the Grand Line’s most eligible bachelor reduced to tears in my dressing room. What’s the matter?” Iva said, as she guided Sabo to the couches. Even though Sabo outranked Iva, she had the best rooms on the ship. They included a bedroom and a salon from which she would conduct her business. It was a pleasant place to discuss matters of the heart, thought Sabo.

“Ah, just some setbacks, Sunny doesn’t like me very much right now. She really is brilliant -” Sabo began, trying to get Iva to see the benefit of having Sunny in the RA. Though Dragon was the Chief of Staff, it was well known that people didn’t last long if they didn’t have Iva’s approval.

“I know, I’ve been watching her career for a few years now. I don’t have the time to read but I read her articles. But that’s not the problem, is it?” Iva asked, pouring herself and Sabo some tea from a teapot. Sabo picked up his teacup, noting that his fingers were stiff. He’d have to look into that later after he’d taken care of Sunny.

“She’s wonderful but after she made that Mera Mera I had to put her in seastone. I couldn’t risk her doing something else foolish enough to risk our lives. Besides, I told her not to try to escape and she did so I had to punish her…” Sabo lamented, trailing off as he got lost in his thoughts.

“Ooh, you know I appreciate a good kink. Now, what are you going to do about it? I know what to do about it,” Iva declared as Sabo scoffed. “I’ll put in a good word or two for you. Send her my way,” Iva said, patting his thigh.

“Thank you, Iva, I appreciate it,” Sabo said, still sulking while sipping his tea.

“She’ll come around. Who could stay away from this sweet face?” she cooed while pinching and pulling Sabo’s cheek. 

A few hours later, Sabo went to check on you to see how you were faring. The sight of you dozing in the bed reminded him of the first voyage the two of you had taken together. He couldn’t resist running his hand along your exposed lower back where your shirt had ridden up as you slept on your stomach. If he had it his way, he’d be sinking into you right now, keeping you satisfied on his cock morning, noon, and night. You groaned from his light touch so Sabo prepared a cup of water for you when you eventually woke. He knew the vomiting was hard on you - he had pondered inviting Law to the RA to take a look at your insides and make sure everything was okay. But the way you talked about Law made Sabo want to sink Law’s stupid submarine before he even got to the RA. It was something he’d think over depending on how you fared.

“Mmnmmh,” you groaned, turning your head over to the other side. 

“Any better?” Sabo asked, placing his hand on your back while slightly heating you up. He felt along your spine for knots or tight muscles that may have been causing you pain, his fingers gently pushing and kneading. He sat next to you on the bed to get a better angle for massaging you.

“Mmhmph,” you repeated. Sabo removed his hand, interpreting the message to mean that you wanted to be left alone. 

“Feels good, keep going,” you muttered into the pillow with your hair obscuring some of your face. Sabo replaced his hand and joined it with the other to continue slowly kneading your back. He was surprised you welcomed his touch but then again, you’d always been more agreeable when you were ill. 

“ ‘S Sabo, right?” you said a few minutes later, Sabo still working on your back. When you were more open to his suggestions, he was going to offer you regular massages. Not only did he enjoy touching you but your back held immense amounts of stress. The knots on your back felt like ball bearings with how tight they were. He worked them under his fingers, using his claw technique for good to rub your sensitive back.

“Mmh,” Sabo hummed in response. It was quiet for a few minutes longer until you rolled over and sat up in the bed, suddenly ending the impromptu massage session. 

“Thank you, that felt nice,” you said in a hesitating voice. Sabo decided not to mention anything because it would only cause you to retreat further. He was surprised you allowed the contact at all, much less asked him to continue.

“You’re welcome, your back’s very tight. I’d be happy to help if you’d like. By the way, I spoke to Iva. She extended a formal invitation to you to come visit her lab if you’re interested -”

“ If I’m interested?! What did you say? What did you tell her?!” you asked, rising to your knees on the bed, your shyness forgotten at the mention of your idol wanting to share work with you. Sabo smiled at your antics but found himself amused that you were so easy to manipulate with a simple invitation.

“That I would talk to you about it. It’s not my place to say yes or no,” Sabo said, planting his hands in his lap. You studied his face and nodded in agreement with his plan.

“Well, I would absolutely love to when we get to - er, wherever we’re going,” you replied with sincerity. Sabo cupped your cheek, you really were cute. “And did I miss Ace? I want to see him before he goes off to Wano,” you asked, glancing out the window and dislodging his hand. Sabo snorted - as if Ace would leave without saying goodbye. Ace had already double checked that the vivre papers Sabo had made worked while you were passed out. 

“No, he should be coming up from the south very shortly if he isn’t close already,” Sabo said, thinking about the coordinates Ace had last shared. The route he would have to take was coming up but there should be plenty of time for one last rendezvous. 

“Marine ship inbound from the south! Admiral level threat! All hands on deck!” came a loud voice over the snail intercom. You looked at Sabo in alarm, naturally seeking him out for guidance and comfort in uncertain times. He would have praised your trust in him if there wasn’t an admiral coming to capture you.

“Sunny, I need you to stay in the cabin,” Sabo said while gripping your upper arms in his hands.

Sunny POV

You recognized the large fleet ship because you had been on it twice to present your last research to Admiral Sakazuki himself. The ship was a monstrosity, with it being the largest and most powerful of all vessels in the current naval fleet. It could hold thousands of Marine troops if it was filled to capacity. It was swiftly catching up with the RA one you were on, outpacing it easily with its massive sails and engine.

Sabo had locked you in his cabin after asking you to remain inside. It was one order you didn’t mind following - you didn’t know how to fight and would be a hindrance to either side. 

Seeing the ship from afar gave you a small glimmer of hope that perhaps they’d come to save you, though the cannons pointing your way made you think it was happenstance. You hoped the RA ship could make some kind of miraculous getaway after you’d been recovered. Code stated that the Marines would board the ship and then take everyone prisoner after they’d won the skirmish. It would be obvious that you weren’t there by choice when they discovered you locked in a cabin. You’d clear your name, get back to your lab, get back to work, and…

Your thoughts trailed off as you listened to the sound of stomping feet above and below your cabin preparing the ship for battle. You didn’t want to be Sabo’s little pet for the rest of your life but you also didn’t want the people you met to be sent to Impel Down. You hated fighting, it was one of many reasons you weren’t in the other corps. The pit in your stomach grew and you bit your fingers as the threat of a clash loomed ever closer. You’d never been in a battle proper and didn’t know what to expect. As you peered out the small cabin window, you saw the unmistakable flames of Striker coming in from the southeast. Your heart sank as Striker flew across the water towards the RA ship. You knew Ace had been a Commander for Whitebeard but you weren’t sure he was healed enough from his trauma to be able to fight against the Marines, particularly if Admiral Sakazuki was there.

An incredibly loud boom shattered your thoughts as the ship listed to the side. You didn’t have time to get your bearings before two more came in quick succession, jostling the boat further. Wood groaned and snapped as something fell into the water with a tremendous splash. The sounds were deafening, like one hundred guns firing at once. Your eyes widened as you realized the sound was cannonballs the Marines were firing on the RA ship. You wished you had your power so you could see what was happening but the small window severely limited your range of vision. 

Standing on the bed to get a better look out the small window, you saw Striker circling the Marine ship as Ace blasted it with fire without much success. The Marine ship drew ever closer to your own until you could make out the shapes of hundreds of individual Marines, standing in platoon order. Ace also closed in on the RA ship, continuing to dodge cannon balls and bullets while defending the RA. The RA wasn’t fast enough to outmaneuver the Marines and soon the ships were side by side, the noise rising to a cacophonous level that made you put your hands over your ears.

As all the ships converged you lost your ability to see much of anything beyond the broad side of the Marine ship. The sounds of fighting, yelling, and gunshots grew louder as Marines boarded above you. You heard Iva’s shrill voice yelling out her attacks and the consequent screams of injured or dying Marines. You also heard Sabo’s voice as he barked orders and fought though his voice was harder to hear. What worried you was that you didn’t hear Ace’s voice even as the fighting grew closer until it sounded like it was right outside your door.

“Ensign Mag! Ensign Mag! Are you in there?” yelled a Marine voice from beyond the door. The voice had you whipping your head towards the door even as you wondered if they thought your actual name was Mag. You’d almost forgotten the nickname since Sabo had been calling you Sunny for so long. 

“Y-yeah, I’m here!” you yelled back as an unexpected uncertainty rose in you. Now that the moment of your rescue was upon you you weren’t as sure of your decision. 

“Stand back!” the voice ordered as repetitive booms smacked against the door. You were still standing on the bed as the heavy wood door groaned against the assault but finally splintered as a Marine Commander you didn’t recognize pushed through the now busted door. 

“Ensign Mag, are you unharmed?” the Commander questioned, his authoritarian voice almost making you salute from muscle memory.

“Ah, oh, yeah, I’m - I’m ok,” you stammered as the Commander rushed you. Several other Marines entered and began ransacking the room. You weren’t sure what they were looking for but it didn’t seem like the time to ask. 

“Target acquired Admiral,” the Commander said into a baby Den Den as he gripped your arm tightly enough to bruise with the other. Were you the reason for the attack? You hoped not as screams indicated that either Marines or RA soldiers, most likely both, were being killed above your head.

“Let’s go, the others will kill off the rest of the pirates,” the Commander said, pulling you along.

“K-kill? I thought they were going to be arrested,” you said, trying to slow down the speed he dragged out of the room by dragging your heels. When you first were kidnapped by Sabo, you imagined how your rescue would go down but you hadn’t imagined so much carnage. The smell of smoke hit your nose before you heard wood crackling. 

“Heh, not in the big leagues kid. All these pirates are gonna get what they fuckin’ deserve. Admiral Sakazuki’s killin’ Gol D. Ace as we speak,” the Commander said, barking a laugh. Your stomach dropped as you realized that was your Ace. Sweet, kind, self-hating, funny, idiotic, Ace. He - they were going to kill him? After everything he’d been through? He wasn’t even that bad of a pirate, he -he couldn’t be killed, he just couldn’t. You’d finally made a good friend and now - you heard Admiral Sakazuki laugh as the smell of smoke grew inside the vessel.

For once in your life, you didn’t stop to think, analyze, or plan. You just moved. You ripped your arm back from the Commander who was leading you and made a break out the door. The Marines were so stunned to see you moving quickly that they didn’t think to stop you immediately. The halls were filled with RA soldiers fighting Marines, there was blood spilled everywhere, weapons being fired, swords being drawn - but you didn’t see any of it. You ran as fast as you could up to the deck to find Ace. You weren’t sure what you’d do when you got there but you had to save him .

You pushed forward to the top deck, miraculously avoiding any hands that sought to restrain you. Dodging Marines, RA soldiers, and anyone else trying to stop you, you ran through the already broken door to the deck. There, on the bow of the ship, Marines had made a human barrier blocking off Ace from Admiral Sakazuki. RA Soldiers were trying to break through but they were outnumbered and Sabo and Iva were fighting dozens of Commanders at the stern of the ship.

Ace wasn’t doing well. He was dodging attacks from Sakazuki but wasn’t returning fire. His face was ashen as if he was fighting a ghost. You could hear Admiral Akainu taunting him from where you stood as he belched lava over the deck, Ace narrowly dodging every time.

“...Isn’t that right boy? Killed your Captain, your brothers, everyone, and you couldn’t even do them the justice of staying dead. How pathetic. Not even fit to fill the shoes of your criminal father. Whitebeard’s final thoughts were what a disappointment you are, how he shouldn’t have come for you -” 

You couldn’t listen to this bullshit anymore, you couldn’t hear Sakazuki pummeling Ace emotionally while cornering him physically. You wanted to help but you didn’t have any way to fight anyone, much less the Fleet Admiral. A flash in your mind had you quickly formulating a shaky plan to help Ace but you would need the bracelet off immediately. You heard the voices of the Marines coming up the stairwell after you - you didn’t have much time. Looking down at your wrist and tugging on your bracelet, your mind brought up an old memory of your sister. Once she’d begged your mother to borrow her gold bracelet, the only nice piece of jewelry your mom owned. Your mother agreed but at some point in the day, your sister’s thumb joint had dislocated and the bracelet slipped off never to be found again. For your sister, it was her Ehlers Danlos, but if your thumb joint broke it would be the same principle.

Without hesitation, you bashed your thumb joint against the cement wall to your right. The pain would come later, right now you were filled with adrenaline as you purposely smashed your hand against the concrete wall. Finally, you heard a snap of bone and winced as your joint dislocated. 

“Ace! Just hold on a few minutes longer!” you shrieked into the distance as you tugged the bracelet off, clattering to the deck. You didn’t think Ace could hear you but the Marines chasing you did. 

“Helping the pirates, eh? You’re further gone than we thought. It’s OK, you’re coming back -” arms reached out to grab you and you tried to duck away but there were too many. You flailed and pushed as hard as you could to escape but you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your ankles quickly tied together.

“Calm down, Ensign! That’s an order! Not sure what they did-” You stopped listening as you realized you could still see Admiral Sakazuki. Using your thumb was difficult but you were able to make a rectangular frame and zoom in. You were being jostled and moved farther away rapidly but that didn’t matter anymore. Zooming in further and further, you searched around the lava that had been spewed on the deck until you found what you were looking for right on the shoulder of the Admiral himself. 

Uranium. 

Lava often had pockets of uranium that occurred naturally within the molten rock. You knew it was an unstable element and it would be possible to get a reaction if you worked quickly enough. Your fingers worked in a flurry as you ripped apart the atoms comprising the rare element, hoping that you were right about your conjecture. You ripped and tore your way through and you needed just a few more - when someone shook you like a rag doll and put their hands on yours, erasing the magnification.

“What’re you doing there? What’s all th— AAAHHHHH!” whatever hand was gripping yours now had your teeth sunk into it with all the force you could muster. They dropped their hand and you scrambled to remagnify the area you needed as the taste of copper filled your mouth. You were being carried farther from the action, almost to the gangplank to the Marine warship.

“FUCKIN’ BITCH! This is the thanks we get? Pirates musta cooked your brains or some shit -” You ignored them as they yelled, all that mattered was saving Ace. What was seconds but felt like minutes passed as you once again found the pocket you needed and got back to work. Holding your breath, you jostled the last atom, breaking its bonds. 

The next atom broke its bonds without your help as your mouth dropped open. You protected your ears and face with your hands, curling up as much as your position would allow on someone’s shoulder.

“The fuck is she doin’ now? This bitch really is crazy -”

Boom.

You didn’t hear the noise the explosion made. Everyone swore it had been so loud it was heard miles away on the Grand Line but you never remembered any sound. It was the blinding white light that alerted you that your plan had worked. You didn’t open your eyes but the flash was blinding all the same. A mushroom cloud rose over the ship, emanating from the location that had once been Admiral Sakazuki. There was nothing left of him but a smoking crater on the charred remains of the hull. The Marines who had once been encircling the Fleet Admiral and Ace were scattered about the deck from the force of the blast.

Everything stopped. 

Not a sound was made, it was like time had frozen.

All eyes turned to you. 

Even Ace was standing in the same defensive crouching position he had been before you detonated the Fleet Admiral of the Marines. You were dropped onto the deck on your stomach as the Marines looked at the spot that their Admiral had been standing on just seconds prior. The only sounds were the waves lapping against the side of the boat.

“What did you do?” the Commander said, still looking at the bow. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer.

“What the FUCK did you just do?” he repeated, this time turning and facing you, his mouth tight with fury.

“What the fuck did you do, you spineless bitch?” he yelled while rearing back his booted leg. You tried to brace for the kick you saw coming but it didn’t help the explosion of pain you felt. And just like the atoms in the uranium, his kick caused a chain reaction. Fighting resumed, but the tide had turned in the favor of the RA. Without the Admiral, their power and morale were considerably weakened and Marines started abandoning the fight in favor of retreating to their ship.

You weren’t able to see that because the Marines surrounding you closed ranks. They watched the Commander who had been carrying you kick you repeatedly in the ribs, torso, legs, and head. You tried to cover your head and neck but weren’t successful as his large boot found its target over and over on your soft body. Your bones crunched and popped as you weakly tried to abate the onslaught. He stomped on your hands repeatedly, breaking the bones that you hadn’t broken yourself.

“Try that shit now! Just you try that shit now!” he screamed into your face. You tried to look at the assembled Marines for help but they either steadfastly stared away from you or were outright encouraging their Commander. He kicked you on the side of the head, causing your head to bounce back against the deck. You tried to get on your hands and knees but your body gave out as you collapsed against the wood floor. 

“Phea -” you were drooling your own blood onto the deck as you tried to beg for him to stop but your jaw wasn’t working. Neither was one of your eyes or either of your hands. You spat one of your teeth onto the deck as you gave up trying to save yourself from destruction. You’d given your life for Ace’s and it felt like a fair trade. Your head lolled to the side and you saw the Commander taking his gun and holding the stock above you. You closed your eyes and waited for the final blow that would surely kill you.

It never came.

Peeling open the eye that worked, you looked up and saw the Commander’s skull being crushed in Sabo’s grip as he struggled and screamed against the Flame Emperor’s hold. Sabo looked as calm and collected as he always did like this was an average day for him. His normally pristine clothes were covered in blood spatter though none of it seemed to be leaking from his body. The lead pipe in his other hand was already coated in blood, dripping onto the deck. 

“Sunny, close your eyes.”

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @epochal-oracle

[just-an-anon-reader]

The Forgotten Sister

Chapter II

Pairing: Ekko x Fem!Reader

Tags: Minimal use if Y/N, no specific description of the reader, friends to lovers, CW swearing, CW blood, CW injury, CW violence, CW guns, TW death

A/N: This took me forever to figure out how to not make too dialogue dependent 😰

Chapter III

...this is Caitlyn?

You thought to yourself. Watching her glower and glare from her spot on the dirty steel floor. This, even though she was, quite literally, free. Free from both the dirty rag bag over her head and the rusty but well-oiled cuffs that would have kept her hands behind her back. She continued, saying something that, paired with her low tone and your lack of focus, you missed. After all, rather than listening to an untrustworthy Piltie enforcer prattle on about heroics, your attention shifted to the subtle movement from the corner of your eye instead. Vi, who opted to lean against the wall just far enough to stay hidden from view while being within earshot, had the most shit-eating grin on her face. She slapped a hand over her face as she tried to stifle the silent giggles that shook her shoulders violently.

"...it's me you want," you catch Caitlyn say as Vi, as if on cue, finally steps into view. Leaning against the door frame with the same shit-eating grin as before.

"My hero~" Vi swoons playfully.

Caitlyn stutters and stammers, flustered and exasperated but relieved all the same. You would have found the banter between them funny, adorable even, except for the fact that your brain couldn't wrap around the fact that your sister...Vi!...had fallen in with a Piltie. And, to add salt to the wound, said blue-haired Piltie, also happened to be an enforcer! It left a funky aftertaste on your tongue just thinking about it.

"Vi says we can trust you," Ekko interjects, eyes hard and icy as he glares at the woman still seated on the floor.

"You get a pass back topside, that's it. Let's go,"

Ekko stands up from his spot on the door's edge and nods at you, then at Vi, before maneuvering between you and moving back towards the tree. You look towards Caitlyn, letting your eyes roam over her features. You study how her shoulders tensed, her breathing slowed, her eyes twitched, and even how her brows knitted in the middle of her forehead. No blatant deception...at least, not yet. With a huff, you turn to hobble after Ekko.

"Who are you!? " Caitlyn asks, her voice bouncing off the steel wall of the makeshift prison, vibrating and echoing.

You stop, slowly turning slightly. The sun shining against you, casting a shadow of your side profile on the floor, you say, almost in a whisper, "Ironic, isn't it? The same group your people have been hunting for for years now welcomes you into their hideout. You'd be black and blue if the other Firelights had their way. But you got to my sister first. Our leader trusts her more than you..."

Slowly, you shuffle your way toward Ekko, who waits with his hand outstretched, ready to catch you should your knee buckle and you stumble. You smile at him, gently...lovingly, sliding your own into his, letting him guide you to stand beside him. The two other girls moved slowly towards you. Vi kept pace with Caitlyn as she took in her surroundings with awe and wonder. It's not an unusual reaction, but one that is more than welcomed. Everyone who ever stepped foot in the hideout for the first time always had the same look of amazement plastered on their faces. And every time, it never failed to make you proud. Knowing that seven long years of pain, effort, and hard work had paid off with each "woah" that would leave their jaw-dropped mouths.

"It's beautiful..."

"If your people had their way, it'd be a pile of rubble and ash..." Ekko says bitterly.

Your hand gently squeezes his, trying to keep him calm, as the words falling from Caitlyn's lips fuel his anger. Tension begins to rise as he squares his shoulders in rage. But your touch does little to stifle Ekko's furry at Caitlyn's next words.

"That's not possible...you're wrong."

Ekko pulls away from you, marching towards the taller blue-haired woman before him. Ready to butt heads and let fists fly at the sheer bullshit of her words. You try to call his name, but it falls on deaf ears.

"You say that one more time..."

Heat builds as both sides stand their ground. Each glaring at the other before Vi finally steps in between them. Pushing the two a few spaces away from one another. Quickly, you take hold of Ekko by his elbow, pulling him closer towards you. Increasing the distance between the two hot heads. You'd rather avoid a full-on brawl if you can. Being on the ground doesn't allow easy access to a med kit from the infirmary on the third floor of the tree. Looking towards you, Vi sighs your name before turning to Ekko and doing the same. Calling his attention

"Guys...she believes in what she's saying, okay? She's not your enemy," Vi says defensively.

"Oh, yeah?" Ekko scoffs, "Then what's this?"

From the glass canister hanging on his waist by the sling over his shoulder, he pulled out a beautiful blue orb no bigger than the average marble. It was strange-looking, yet it felt ethereal. It glowed this beautiful hue of blue as streaks of glittering lights swirled within like a galaxy of stars. You've never seen the likes of it before, never even heard of it. And, judging by the expression on Ekko's face, neither has he. Shuffling closer, you press against his back as you peer over his shoulder with curious eyes. Watching, mesmerized as the orb shimmered where the sun's rays would refract from its smooth, round surface as Ekko rolled it between his gloved fingertips. However, you were roughly jostled out of your reverie as Ekko recoiled, almost accidentally elbowing you in the process, from something Caitly said that you failed to catch.

"What is it?" you and your sister ask in unison, albeit with varying tones and intentions. While yours was asked more out of curiosity, Vi was her usual aggressive self. Almost angrily demanding an explanation.

"It's a gemstone...it was stolen during the attack...by your sister," Caitlyn explains delicately. Quite hesitantly. An understandable approach, considering Vi's very pissed-off rebuke.

"You just forgot to mention that?!"

Jinx...

That was twice now that you've heard of her in one day. And from two separate people from two opposing ends. Something big had to be happening. You hadn't the slightest idea what, but with her, it could be anything. And anything with Jinx was always spelled with trouble...the messy kind of trouble.

"With this, someone with the right knowledge could build any hextech device," Caitlyn continues, "If the enforcers are becoming more aggressive...that's why,"

...hextech...

If this small stone is the key to building hextech, it may be your ticket to saving lives. Saving the hideout, the Lanes, Zaun! If Ekko could find a way to manipulate it, use it...

...we could beat Silco with this...

You thought to yourself...or at least...you thought that you did. Apparently not, though, as all faces turn to you. Ekko, especially, nodded in agreement. Apparently, you said that out loud and maybe a bit too loud.

"That won't solve things," Caitlyn replies to you somberly.

"That's easy for you to say..." You grumble, "You aren't the one with blood on your hands...watching it drip down your fingers as people you promised you'd save die all around you!"

"Look, it's wrong what's been done to you..." Caitlyn says, "You'd be within your rights to keep it. I couldn't blame you. But...if you do, this cycle of violence will never stop."

She speaks of "setting the record straight", Zaun needing "healing", and how she just so happens to have a friend on the council who would "listen". The same sob stories you'd heard before. The same exact words that people would throw around like a ball in a game of catch. Toying with you, who worked hard to make these words a reality. The only difference now was the leverage Ekko held in his fingertips. The gemstone...hextech...maybe...just maybe...they'll finally listen. They'll finally see reason, the truth, and put a stop to all the shit that Zaun and its people were left to deal with on their own. Beside you, you catch Ekko giving you a sideways glance. A familiar expression, one that you have come to know very well. He's made up his mind.

"One condition. I'm the one who gives it to them," He says resolutely.

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed chapter 2!!

@silas-222, @scarletrosesposts, @f1nnfyuu, @rinisfruity14, @vicurious28, @thebiggestsimpoutthere, @miharuki, @mirophobic, @sundaybossanova