#the one I thought I was going to take at the beginning of June has been once again moved | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

httpsserene · 4 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.

content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. for extended tags, open in ao3.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader

word count: 18k words. (new record!)

from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)

this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)

Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.

It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.

It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.

Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.

You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.

It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.

Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.

It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.

The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.

The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.

Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.

Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.

Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.

“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.

“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”

You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”

Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.

You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.

“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]

The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.

“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”

“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.

“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”

“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”

The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.

He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.

The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.

Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.

Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.

The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”

Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.

Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.

You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]

Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.

“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]

Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”

“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”

“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”

“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”

You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.

“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]

“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”

“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”

Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”

You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”

“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]

Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.

Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.

You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.

The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.

“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”

You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”

“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”

“¿Qué?”

“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”

“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”

Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.

The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.

Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.

“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]

“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”

Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”

Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.

“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.

“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.

“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.

“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.

Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”

Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.

You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”

Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.

Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.

“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]

“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”

“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.

“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.

“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”

Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”

Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”

You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”

Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]

“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]

Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.

They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.

You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.

Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.

You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”

“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”

The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.

“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.

“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”

“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.

You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.

“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”

“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”

You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.

“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”

The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”

You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.

The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.

The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.

The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.

The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”

You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”

The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”

The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.

“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.

“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”

You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.

“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”

You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.

“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.

The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.

“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”

“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”

One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.

“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.

You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.

Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.

Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.

Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.

The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.

You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.

“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”

Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?

“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”

“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.

Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.

“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”

Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”

Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.

“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.

The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”

“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”

The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”

You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.

Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.

“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”

“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”

They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.

They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.

They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.

It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.

Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.

You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.

“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.

You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”

“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.

You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.

You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.

“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”

“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.

“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]

They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.

The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”

“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.

You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.

The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.

With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.

The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.

His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.

Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.

“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.

You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.

“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”

“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”

“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.

“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”

The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.

“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.

“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”

How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.

The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.

He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.

You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.

“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”

“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”

The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.

The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.

He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”

Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”

Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.

“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”

Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.

He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.

The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.

The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.

“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”

The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.

“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”

You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”

The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.

The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.

Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.

The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.

“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”

He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.

“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]

The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.

The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.

“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.

Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.

The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.

They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”

The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.

You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.

Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.

He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.

Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.

There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.

A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.

Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.

The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.

You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.

It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.

Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.

“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.

“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.

“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”

“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”

You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.

“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”

The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.

“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.

Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.

“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”

The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.

“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”

You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.

The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.

A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”

Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.

Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.

Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.

Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.

The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.

You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.

The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.

The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.

It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.

Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.

“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]

Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.

His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”

Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”

The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.

A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.

Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.

You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.

Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”

Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”

Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.

Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.

It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.

Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.

Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.

His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.

Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.

“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”

Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.

Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.

Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?

You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.

“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”

The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.

“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]

“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.

The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”

The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.

His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.

“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“

Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”

The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.

You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.

He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.

The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.

Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.

Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.

“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”

The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.

There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.

He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.

Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”

“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]

The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.

“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”

Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”

You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.

“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”

You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.

Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!

A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.

You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.

Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.

You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.

With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.

“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]

He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.

Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.

“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.

“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.

He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.

Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.

“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”

“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”

You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”

Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”

You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”

Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”

You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.

Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”

You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.

You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.

You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.

You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.

“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”

Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”

“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]

“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.

“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]

You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”

You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“

“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“

“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]

“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]

Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”

Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”

Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.

You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”

Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”

“It’ll work.”

He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.

You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”

Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”

“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”

The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.

“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”

“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]

His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.

You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]

You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.

“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”

You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”

“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]

Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”

“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”

He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.

Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]

She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”

“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”

She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”

Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”

The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”

You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”

You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.

The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.

And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.

You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.

Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.

“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.

“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.

“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”

“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”

“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”

“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”

You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.

“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.

“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.

Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”

The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.

You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.

The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.

You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.

The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.

Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”

Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.

When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]

The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.

The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.

Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.

It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.

You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.

And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.

Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.

The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.

Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.

They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.

Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.

You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.

“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”

“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.

“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]

You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.

Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”

The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”

“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”

“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.

“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”

Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.

“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”

You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.

“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]

“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.

The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.

“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.

“See you next summer.”

general taglist (ask to join):

@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool

@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea

@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification

@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/

@rexit-mo/@oscahpastry/@sweatrevenge5436-blog/@bokutos-babyowl/@oliviah-25

@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134

@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking

current SOS taglist (ask or leave a reply if you would like to be added):

@dhanihamidi/@alilcloudy/@tremendousstarlighttragedy/@justanothersuckerforanime-blog/@shepgurl

@sainzluvrr/@arialikestea/@urfavnoirette/@swechchhaj/@delululeclerc

@formula1-motogpfan/@f1orza/@daniskywalkersolo/@uselessginger0/@mickslover

@isaidlandowecanbeworldchampion/@tremendousstarlighttragedy/@annispamz/@certifiedlesbianbaddie/@sofs16

@tomiwastilinskii/@sakuxxi/@mitruscity/@pal3rmo/@lando-505

@hahahjej/@eugene-emt-roe/@nissaimmortal

886 notes · View notes

leovenuslatina · 7 months ago

Text

𝓓𝓞 𝓜𝓔(18+) ୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡ PT.1

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•

tips appreciated

this is all about what your FS thinks while doing you

(as always this reading is 18+) MDNI

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

✧˖°. IM so so so sorry for being MIA so i decide to make this reading a three parter 💘 AND it was my bday month in June so turn up for me yall and after that i just took a small hiatus 🤭 also i wanna say thank you all for checking on me 🥲 it warm my heart so much knowing you guys care about me 🥹!!i may also be redoing some old PACS of mine so stay tuned !! ✧˖°.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊this is just a reminder that tarot isn’t permanent or set in stone YOU decide how your life goes no one or nothing else now take a deep breath and choose the pile that calls to you ₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊˚⊹

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

pile one - knight of cups, the sun, two of wands, ten of pentacles

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

pile one when having sex your FS thoughts are “don’t finish too quick” and “i hope i last” lmaooo they’re literally laser focused on lasting as long as possible. they literally want to just pound into you and fill you up as quick and as fast as possible but they restrain because ultimately your pleasure is theirs. your FS main thoughts are all about being close to you and how much they love it they adore having sex with you because it means they get to be as close to you as possible: skin to skin limbs intertwined with one another. they also want so badly to be good enough for you your FS wants badly to pleasure you and they worry deeply about how they’re performing for you they take pride in making you feel good and communication is key with this person they loveeeeee when you tell them just how good you feel 🥹 or if you don’t like something they also love that because at least they will know how to better understand your needs. when having sex with you your FS has spent so much time thinking about this special moment they literally always fantasize about sharing really hot intimate moments like this and making you moan all night long. your FS thinks about all the different things he’d like to try and what type of kinks you two may share together your FS seriously is willing to do literally what you want to try they love to make you happy. while inside you pile one all your FS can think about is how you must be too good to be true you’re just too beautiful too gorgeous to be true. Your FS views you as their dream girl and all they think about is how they are so nervous and they hope that you can’t tell just how scared they are to let you down.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

extra messages - creative, charming, dreamer, joy , success, anxiety, gain, goals,

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

pile two - five of pentacles, ace of wands, page of swords, knight of pentacles

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Similar to pile one your FS worries about them making you feel good your FS feels like they’re putting on a performance for you. they may even hold off on sex for a while in your relationship just because of how nervous w make them 🤭but eventually their love for you will overcome any negative thoughts they may have because their feelings are wayyyy stronger than anything. i’m also seeing that they have a huge fear of getting you pregnant so they will make sure to have hella protection on hand like always. i’m seeing you and your FS will have lots of conversations about his fears pertaining to intimacy and the bedroom which may sound like a scary thing but i’m seeing one or both of you could have major issues when it comes to being so intimate and vulnerable but it will make you so much more stronger as a couple therefore making your sex life ten times better. when the two of you are making love they will overcompensate in some ways like they have hella toys i’m seeing vibrators and d!ldxs and also getting they’ll get some pleasure from overstimulating you watching you squirm and jerk around it really gets him going like nothing else.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

extra messages- new beginnings, intelligent, challenging, ambitious, dependable, honorable

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

pile three - the emperor, knight of wands , four of swords, queen of cups,

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

right off the bat pile three your FS is very confident in their size i see him almost presenting himself to you. you know that snl sketch “d!ck in a box” it’s like that bc he’s like really proud of how big he is. Your FS is very confident in how well he can please and you know what he can most definitely back it tf up. he knows exactly how to walk that walk and talk the talk 👏🏾. i’m also seeing he’s like about to put it in and you’re all like “it won’t fit” and he kisses you and smirks and he’s like “i’ll make it fit.” Your FS feels like having sex with you as the most addictive drug he’s every done. literally even one single day without your body your kisses your touch and he’s itching for another hit of you. When having s3x with you pile three your FS thinks about how it feels like being intimate with you heals parts of them that you may not have broken but you play the biggest part in putting them back together again 💞 so even though the two of you are horny freaks in the bedroom your s3x is extremely healing ❤️‍🩹. Your FS thinks about how compatible the two of you are and how good it feels to be with you not just having sxx but outside of the bedroom. Your FS thinks about how luck ly he is to be with you how he truly feels spoiled by the universe to have found their perfect match 🥹

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

extra messages- passionate, masculine,determination, impulsive, rest, spouse

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

#black tarot readers #tarot asks #leovenuslatina #tarot #daily tarot #pick a card tarot #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a pile #tarot daily

965 notes · View notes

pbaz7 · 1 month ago

Text

CROSSING THE LINE — PART ONE ♡

paige x azzi

trope: ‘player’ p to ‘lover’ p

word count: 7.7k

A/N: This is another Pazzi series but in this one they don’t know each other well prior to Uconn. This story is also based off of the 23-24 roster so Nika and Aaliyah will be in it. Let me know what you think about the first chapter if you can!

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

June 2023

The air in Storrs was thick with early summer humidity as Azzi Fudd stood outside her new dorm suite, taking in the moment. The sunlight reflected off the glass windows of the building, casting sharp shadows on the sidewalk, and a slight breeze brushed through the trees. It was time for the summer session, and though she was excited, a nervous edge clung to her as she stared at the door in front of her.

It was one thing to have visited campus on her official trip, a whirlwind tour that had felt like a dream. But this—this was different. This was real. She was officially here now, transferring from the University of Maryland, a school much closer to her home state of Virginia. And everything felt... uncertain.

Azzi glanced back at her parents, Katie and Tim, who were busy unloading boxes from the trunk of the family car. Her mom smiled warmly, but Azzi could see the pride and slight sadness behind her eyes. They’d spent so many years together, traveling from court to court, celebrating wins and comforting losses together. Azzi knew that this moment wasn’t just a transition for her, but for them too.

“Everything okay?” her mom called out, noticing the hesitation in Azzi’s stance. “You good?”

Azzi nodded quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, Mom. Just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Tim asked, as he hefted a large duffel bag onto his shoulder. His voice, deep and steady, was always a source of comfort, even now, when he was trying to hide the slight lump in his throat.

Azzi let out a breath and smiled. “Just... everything, I guess. Feels different now. I’m really here, you know?”

Tim chuckled softly, giving her a quick side hug. “You’ve been ready for this since you were six years old, Azzi.”

“Yeah,” she said, a little louder this time, trying to shake off the butterflies in her stomach. “I guess so.”

Just as Azzi was about to walk inside, she heard voices from inside the suite. She unlocks the door to the common area and she sees two figures on the couch.

It was Ice Brady and KK Arnold, two familiar faces from the team. Ice had been at UConn for a year now, and KK, like Azzi, was a newcomer. They’d both greeted Azzi warmly during her official visit, but this was different. Now, they were teammates, and the real journey was about to begin.

“Yo, Azzi!” Ice’s voice was full of energy as she spotted her standing there. She exchanged a quick glance with KK before both girls shot up from the couch in the living room.

“Hey!” KK added, giving Azzi a huge smile. “We thought you were coming in tomorrow!”

Azzi returned the smile, shrugging a little as she closed the car door behind her. “Yeah, I was supposed to. But I figured I’d come today so my parents could be at Jose’s game tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s nice,” Ice said with a nod. “How’s he doing, by the way?”

Azzi’s heart softened at the mention of her brother. “He’s good. Really excited. His team has this big AAU tournament this weekend so he’s been talking about it nonstop.

“That’s awesome,” KK said. “I’m sure he’ll be great.”

Azzi agreed. "Yeah. are you guys who I'm rooming with?"

Ice gave her a playful smile. "No, the suite is going to be you, me and Paige. My room is the one right across from yours.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the mention of Paige. She already knew her from the USA U16 team, though they hadn’t spent much time together there, barely even spoke in fact. But she’d heard a lot about Paige from her best friend Caroline Ducharme who had filled Azzi in on some of the colorful details of Paige’s reputation on campus. On one hand, Caroline had talked about how great of a leader Paige was on the court, how she was the best teammate and friend anyone could ask for. On the other, Caroline had shared some of the more... interesting sides of Paige's social life. The way she seemed to move effortlessly from girl to girl, never sticking around too long with anyone, always leaving an impression, but rarely giving anything more than that.

Azzi blinked, her surprise not just from the name but from the mixed impression she’d formed of Paige. She wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, but there was no denying the complexity of the person she’d be sharing a suite with and Azzi was always one to try to understand people.

“Paige?” Azzi repeated, trying to mask the hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Yeah,” KK said with a nod. “She’s not here right now, but I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

Azzi nodded, still processing. “I hope she doesn’t mind me taking up all the space with my stuff,” she joked, looking down at the suitcase, bags, and boxes stacked beside her.

“Nah,” Ice said, laughing as she led the way inside. “We’ve got plenty of room, trust me. Besides, Paige prolly has more shoes and clothes than me and you combined.”

As the three of them carried Azzi’s things into the suite, the easy camaraderie between them put her at ease. They chatted about the upcoming summer practices, the team’s expectations for the season, and the plans for team bonding over the next few weeks.

"Everyone’s cool," Ice said as she dropped Azzi’s bag next to the door. “Caroline’s been telling us about you so you’ll fit right in.”

KK agreed. “Yeah, I think you’re gonna love it here. I already do.”

Azzi smiled, feeling a little more comfortable with each passing minute. The transition wasn’t going to be easy—nothing ever was. Leaving Maryland, her home state of Virginia, and her family was tough, but UConn felt like the right place for her. The team, the tradition, the opportunity to grow—it was all right there in front of her.

After a few more minutes of chatting, and once everything was settled in her room Azzi turned to her parents, who were standing by the door with proud but reluctant expressions.

“You good?” Tim asked again, his eyes scanning the room, making sure all the boxes and bags were there.

“Yeah,” Azzi said softly, her smile genuine but a little sad. “I’m good.”

Katie pulled her into a tight hug, whispering into her ear, “We’re so proud of you. This is your time now. Just remember, we’re always here.”

Azzi squeezed her mom back, and then pulled away to face her dad, who nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ll call you tonight,” Azzi promised, blinking back any trace of emotion. It wasn’t goodbye—it was just a see you later.

With one final glance around the suite, she gave her parents one last hug and waved them off. Watching their car drive away from the curb, Azzi felt a weight settle into her chest, but she didn’t let it break her. This was the next chapter. She was here. She was a Husky now.

As Ice and KK returned to their spots on the couch, Azzi took a deep breath and sat down beside them. The nerves were still there, but the excitement was starting to overshadow them.

…

It had been a busy, chaotic afternoon for Azzi, but the mood in the suite was starting to shift. The moving boxes were scattered across the floor, and though not everything was in its place, Azzi felt a little more settled. Ice had been a huge help—her energy contagious as she bounced from one task to the next, organizing, unpacking, and offering friendly banter that made Azzi feel like part of the team already.

Now, with a little bit of space to breathe, Azzi found herself in the kitchen, sorting through a few snacks she’d brought from home. Ice was at the counter, casually chatting with Azzi about everything from her childhood in Virginia to the UConn program, and how Ice had felt when she first stepped onto campus.

“I swear, when I first got here, it was like everyone already knew everyone,” Ice said, tossing a bag of chips into the pantry. “I felt like I was in high school again, trying to make new friends, but, you know, in a D1 college locker room where everyone’s the best.”

Azzi laughed, thinking about her own transition. “Yeah, I can’t imagine. It was weird enough transferring from Maryland. Different atmosphere. Different vibe.”

Ice gave her a sympathetic look. “You’ll get used to it. You’re a Husky now. Everyone has your back.”

Just as Azzi was about to reply, the door swung open, and in walked Paige. Azzi wasn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this: Paige, striding into the kitchen with her arm slung casually over the shoulder of a girl Azzi didn’t recognize. Paige’s eyes widened the moment she saw Azzi.

“Oh shit, you’re here already?” Paige said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

Azzi didn’t miss a beat, still calm and laid-back as she looked over at her. “Yeah I was supposed to,” she replied, shrugging. “But we figured it’d be easier to settle in today so my parents can go to my brother’s game tomorrow.”

Paige smiled, her tone lightening. “Ah, right. Family stuff. I get it.” Then she sauntered over to Azzi, giving her a quick, casual hug. Azzi, surprised slightly by the physicality returned it with an easy smile.

“I should’ve been here to help you get settled. Let me know if you need anything else. Seriously. I can help.”

“It’s fine, really. Ice and KK helped a lot already so I’m good for now, just getting organized.”

The girl Paige had walked in with stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for her attention as she cleared her throat.

Paige blinked and glanced at the girl, momentarily forgetting her presence, trying to be a helpful teammate and all. She smiled at the girl and gave a little wave. “Right, right. Sorry about that. One second.” She turned to Azzi and Ice. “Let me just take care of this real quick.”

Azzi watched with mild curiosity as Paige turned back to the girl, her tone shifting. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t know my roommate was moving in but don’t worry. I’ll call you later, alright?”

The girl crossed her arms. “You promise?”

Paige grinned, though she hesitated for just a moment. “Uh, yeah. I swear. I’ll call you.”

The girl wasn’t convinced. “How are you going to call me when you don’t even have my number?”

Azzi, looking on with mild amusement, couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath. Ice, who had clearly seen this routine a million times before, let out a snicker. Azzi found it just a little funny seeing this first hand.

Paige shot Ice a brief glare before reaching for a random piece of paper, scribbling a number on it, and passing it over with a grin. “Here, I got you covered. Call me later.”

The girl took the paper, looked it over for a second, then gave Paige a satisfied nod and walked out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Once the door was shut, Ice laughed and shook her head. “You didn’t even give her your real number, did you?”

Paige looked at Ice, looking completely unbothered as she grabbed a snack from the counter. “Nah. Why would I?

Azzi leaned back, still amused. “That’s... bold.”

Ice snorted from across the room. “Bold? Nah, it’s fine and dandy until you hear her overdramatic ass crying on a random Tuesday night knocking on the door. You know, ‘I can’t believe you don’t answer my texts, Paige!’” Ice mimicked in a high-pitched voice, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Paige shot her an unimpressed look. “I’m not that bad.”

Ice just snorted again, walking over to the counter with a teasing grin. “Yeah, right. You’d be better off giving out your real number to the next girl so I can actually get some sleep for once.

Azzi chuckled, clearly entertained. “I feel like that’s something I’m going to hear a lot around here.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-accusing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azzi shrugged with an easy grin, her tone still relaxed. “Just... a feeling. You don’t seem like the ‘long-term’ type.”

Paige smirked, leaning back against the counter. “I’m not. You’re quick.”

Azzi smiled back casually. “I’ve got my ways.”

…

Later that night, Azzi was standing in her room, staring at the drill in her hands, an increasingly frustrated frown spreading across her face. She had tried several times to drill a screw into the wall, but it wasn’t going well. The screw wouldn’t go in, and she couldn’t quite get the angle right. The half-hung poster she was attempting to place was starting to look like it might end up in a mess on the floor if she didn’t figure it out soon.

After a few more failed attempts, Azzi huffed and placed the drill down on her desk. She let out a deep sigh and then, with a resigned look, walked across the hall to Ice’s room.

Ice was stretched out on her bed, propped up on one elbow, scrolling through her phone. She seemed to notice Azzi’s presence as she looked up from her phone. “What’s up?”

Azzi stood at the door for a second, considering. “Do you know how to work a drill?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and frustration.

Ice snorted without even thinking. “Nope. But Paige’s your girl for that, she hung up and put together literally everything in here” she said, as if the thought of using a drill had never crossed her mind.

Azzi shot Ice a look, not really surprised but not quite ready to give up just yet. “Alright, thanks.” She turned on her heel and walked back down the hall, stopping in front of Paige’s door.

She hesitated for a moment not knocking if the girl was asleep before knocking lightly on the door. “Paige?” she called.

From inside, Paige’s voice floated through the door. “Come in.”

Azzi opened the door slowly and walked inside. Paige was lounging on her bed, gaming controller in hand, completely immersed in whatever game she was playing. The sound of a loud explosion from the TV made Azzi pause, unsure if she should interrupt.

Paige didn’t notice Azzi standing there at first, so Azzi spoke up, half-joking, “Never mind, I didn’t want to bother you…”

Paige immediately hit the pause button on the game, her focus shifting toward Azzi as she leaned forward. “Nah, wassup? You need something?”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at how quick Paige was to drop her game. “Yeah, actually. Can you help me with something in my room? I can’t get the damn screw in the wall.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Sure thing, no problem.” She stood up, tossing the controller aside. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

The two of them made their way down the hall to Azzi’s room. Azzi moved aside so Paige could have space to look at the wall, where a lone screw still stubbornly jutted out, barely halfway drilled in.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh as she inspected the job Azzi had done so far. “Okay, no offense, but this is probably the worst drill job I’ve ever seen,” she teased, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Azzi raised an eyebrow and grinned, folding her arms across her chest. “Shut up, Paige. It’s not that bad.”

Paige chuckled again but didn’t say anything more as she grabbed the drill from the desk and started to work. She quickly fixed the screw, tightening it into the wall with ease. The sound of the drill whirring made Azzi relax as Paige went about the task with no problem at all.

“So, how’d the move-in go?” Paige asked casually, her tone more laid-back now that she was drilling screws into the wall.

Azzi leaned against her desk, watching Paige work. “It was alright. A little chaotic, but Ice and KK helped me get most of the stuff in. This place is a lot bigger than I thought tho. Not what I expected when I saw it on the tours.”

Paige nodded, glancing over at her briefly. “Yeah, I get that. I had the same reaction when I first moved in. It’s like... huge, but at the same time, it feels like home. You’ll get used to it.”

Azzi smiled. “I think I already am, actually. Everyone’s been so chill.”

Paige finished drilling the last screw into the wall and stepped back, inspecting her work. “There we go. Nice and sturdy,” she said, wiping her hands on her pajama pants. “You’re all set.”

Azzi stepped over to the wall and lightly tested the screws. “I’m impressed,” she said, grinning.

Paige shrugged nonchalantly, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve done it a few times.” Then her expression softened as she glanced at Azzi. “But seriously, anytime you need help, don’t hesitate. I’m here.”

Azzi returned her smile, genuinely appreciating the offer. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of them stood there for a moment, looking at the poster now hanging neatly and safely on the wall. Azzi stretched and yawned. “You probably saved my life. I’m pretty sure if I did it we would’ve been in the emergency room in the middle of the night.”

Paige just grinned as she laughed lightly. “It’s all part of the job. Just don’t make me do everything in your room like Ice did okay?”

Azzi chuckled. “I’m not making any promises. But thanks again Paige. Goodnight.”

Paige gave a small wave, then turned to head out the door. “Goodnight.”

Azzi watched her go, feeling that familiar sense of quiet satisfaction after a day of transitions. She took a moment to look around her room again, now that the poster was securely on the wall and a few of her things were more organized. It felt more like home already.

With a quiet sigh, Azzi grabbed her phone, checking the time, then turned off the lights, closed her door and slid under the covers.

Through her closed door she could hear a faint “Goodnight Paigey” from Ice across the hall, followed by a low laugh.

Azzi smiled to herself, feeling a bit more at ease than she had earlier in the day. It was the first night, but she already felt like this could be her place. She closed her eyes, letting the day’s chaos finally fade away, as the soft hum of the dorm drifted into the quiet of the night.

The first few weeks of the summer session had flown by for Azzi. At first, the pace had been overwhelming—everything from the practices to getting used to the new schedule—but after about the fourth day, she settled into a nice rhythm. The hustle and bustle of UConn life started to feel less like a challenge and more like second nature.

She was quickly getting to know her teammates and Caroline had made sure to introduce Azzi to everyone. The familiar faces were starting to feel like family, and it was easy to see who she’d click with.

Paige and Ice were definitely among the first she’d bonded with. The three of them had been roommates since the start of the summer, and they’d already established a little routine. Ice was always bouncing around, full of energy, and Paige was—well, Paige. Confident. Unapologetically confident, Azzi quickly learned. But it was more than that. Paige had this magnetic, charming way about her that made it hard to not like her, and Azzi found herself laughing along with her obnoxious jokes more often than not.

Their banter was effortless—teasing, joking, the kind of friendship where they didn’t have to work at it at all. Azzi had quickly grown fond of their inside jokes, especially as Paige continued to narrate her escapades with her "friends." Azzi didn’t mind. In fact, she found it hilarious hearing all the excuses Paige came up with.

Azzi had only been woken up by random girls being a little too loud a few times —which, all things considered, wasn’t that bad. Ice had painted a very different picture, so Azzi was feeling pretty lucky. She figured if that was the worst of it, she could deal. Still, it was always interesting to see the fallout the next day especially with how unapologetic she was about it.

Though one night Azzi had a test for one of her summer classes early the next morning and the noise coming from Paige’s room had reached a new level of obnoxious. So Azzi started with a text:

Azzi: Please tell her it can’t be that good. Big test tomorrow.

When no response came after some time, Azzi groaned knowing she would have to get up. She padded over to Paige’s door and knocked. The noise stopped, and after a beat, the door cracked open.

Paige appeared, shirtless, wearing only a sports bra that revealed her toned stomach that was slightly glistening. Her athletic shorts hung low on her hips as she leaned casually against the doorframe. Azzi felt her breath catch for half a second, her eyes involuntarily sweeping over Paige before snapping back up.

“Like what you see?” Paige asked, her grin widening as amusement sparkled in her blue eyes.

Azzi rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Shut up,” she shot back, unable to stop the laugh that slipped out. “Please tell her it can’t be that good. Some of us do like to sleep around here.”

Paige snorted, tilting her head as if considering. “Trust me, it definitely is,” she said, her smirk returning.

Azzi groaned, her exasperation melting into amusement. “Oh my god you’re so full of yourself,” she said, shaking her head before crossing her arms. “But seriously I have a test in the morning. Can you find a way to make her less–you know?”

“Say no more,” Paige said, already stepping back into the room. “Give me two seconds.”

Before Azzi could respond, Paige turned and strode into her room. A moment later, Azzi watched, equal parts amused and stunned, as a girl—clearly embarrassed and trying to straighten her shirt—was ushered out of the suite. Paige reappeared moments later, leaning against the doorframe again like nothing had happened.

“All set,” Paige said, grinning. “Now get some sleep so you can ace that test.”

Azzi blinked, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You’re awful.”

“You’re welcome,” Paige quipped, shooting her a wink before closing the door.

Shaking her head, Azzi walked back to her room, equal parts exasperated and charmed.

…

Today was Saturday, and Azzi was sprawled out on the couch in the common area of the suite, waiting for Caroline so they could grab some food. It was quiet, unusually so, and Azzi had almost forgotten what it felt like to have some peace.

That peace, of course, was short-lived.

The door to Paige’s room creaked open, and out strolled Paige, looking like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her hair was messy, and she was wearing a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, but she was walking down the hallway like she owned the place, much like she always did. And she wasn’t alone.

Azzi looked up, already knowing what was bound to happen. Paige was walking with some random girl, chatting casually with her, but Azzi could tell the vibe already. It wasn’t unusual—Paige was… well, Paige and they hung onto every word she said. She was definitely one of those girls who lived in the moment, and the moment often involved a lot of moments with other girls.

They exchanged a glance—Azzi’s eyebrow lifting slightly, Paige’s lips curling into a small grin. Both of them silently acknowledged the situation without saying a word.

Paige was clearly trying to move things along and get the girl out of the suite without making it awkward.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” the girl asked, voice sweet, almost hopeful. She didn’t seem to want to leave.

Paige, flashed the girl a smile. “I really appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a busy day ahead,” she said smoothly, despite the fact that the team was off today.

Azzi couldn’t help but react to that, silently amused by the lie. But Paige said it with such conviction that it almost sounded believable.

The girl, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. She tilted her head, her smile faltering. “Oh, come on. You sure? I can hang out for a bit longer.”

Paige held her ground, gently guiding the girl toward the door. “Really. I’ve got a ton of things to do. A busy day ahead. But I had a great time last night, Kelly.”

The girl froze for a second, the name clearly not sitting right with her. “It’s Kelsy, not Kelly,” she corrected, voice suddenly sharp.

Azzi, who had been sipping her water on the couch, didn’t manage to swallow in time. She choked, water spluttering out of her mouth as she tried desperately not to laugh.

The girl shot her a glare, clearly annoyed by the interruption. Azzi, trying to regain composure, quickly cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said, though it was clear she was doing everything she could to hold back a laugh. “I just—uh, you know water went down the wrong way”

Paige, without missing a beat, gave a shrug, offering the girl a small, unbothered smile. “Yeah, right. My bad, Kelsy,” she said, waving her off with exaggerated sincerity.

The girl, not buying it, huffed, clearly upset, before storming out of the suite. The door slammed behind her with an almost dramatic finality.

Azzi stood there for a moment, her mouth hanging open in disbelief, before she finally let out a full laugh, shaking her head. “I didn’t think it could get worse than the Tiffany thing, but wow. That was a level of awkward I didn’t even expect from you.”

Paige, who had been casually leaning against the door frame, just gave a small laugh herself. “What can I say? People get confused. It happens.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.”

Paige smirked, clearly amused by her own antics. “Well, what do you expect? I’m a very popular girl.”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re something else.”

Paige grinned, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I know.”

Before Azzi could say anything else, the door to the suite opened again, and Caroline appeared, looking like she’d seen the fallout of the chaos that just ensued inside the suite.

“I have no idea what just happened but you ready to eat Azzi, I’m starving?” Caroline asked .

Azzi, still grinning, grabbed her bag. “I think I’m ready for food. The whole situation that unfolded was enough for me.”

Paige gave her a wink. “You’re welcome for the entertainment.”

Azzi followed Caroline out the door, still smiling to herself as they walked down the hallway. Behind them, Paige went back into her room.

…

Later that evening, after hours of texting back and forth in the group chat, the team decided to gather in Nika, KK, and Aubrey’s room. The campus was eerily quiet, and the rain that had started around noon was still pouring, giving everyone the perfect excuse to stay indoors and hang out.

When Azzi arrived with Caroline and Jana, the atmosphere in Nika’s room was already buzzing with energy. The team was always a little chaotic when they came together, and tonight was no exception.

Caroline and Jana waved as they entered, heading straight for Ayanna, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone. They quickly fell into an easy conversation as the three of them always did.

Azzi, however, was drawn to the couch where Paige and Nika were lounging. The two of them were in the middle of a low-key conversation, but when Azzi walked in, Paige grinned and gave her an exaggerated wave. “Oh wow look who finally made it!”

Azzi smirked as she plopped down beside Paige, nudging her with her shoulder as she did. “Things were just so boring without me huh?”

Paige rolled her eyes, leaning into Azzi’s side. “Yeah, well, we were thinking about getting a game started anyway, but we’re so glad you graced us with your presence”

Nika looked over at the two of them, her voice light but teasing. “You two are honestly the worst at acting like you’re not attached at the hip already.”

Azzi and Paige shared a glance, both of them laughing before Paige nudged Azzi again. “What can I say? I’m her favorite person.”

Azzi gave her a knowing look. “I was gonna say ‘I’m yours,’ but we’ll keep it PG.”

Paige snorted. “Please, you can’t even hide it. It’s ok to admit it.”

KK, who was pacing around the room like a ball of energy, jumped in. “I’m so bored! Somebody needs to come up with something fun. Right now. I can’t handle another second of just sitting here.”

Aubrey, who had been quietly observing the back-and-forth, laughed. “You can’t sit still for five minutes without going stir-crazy. We do need a game for the drinks, though.”

“How about something that makes us talk?” Caroline suggested from the corner of the room, already leaning in toward the group. “Like Two Truths and a Lie or something.”

“Or Truth or Drink?” Paige suggested, raising an eyebrow at the rest of the group. “You know, if you’re not feeling brave enough for truth, you just take a shot. Keeps things interesting.”

KK immediately jumped on that idea. “I love it. I’m in.”

Azzi added in, “No one gets to make up anything too wild. Yes I’m looking at you Paige.”

Paige grinned and leaned back against the couch. “You know I’m just here for the drama, all my business is out there.”

Eventually Nika grabbed a bottle of tequila from her dresser and set it on the table. Everyone shifted in their seats, eager for the game to start. They hadn’t even taken a sip yet, but the excitement was already buzzing.

“Alright,” Nika said, giving a cheeky grin, “Truth or Drink time. No backing out, no chicken-out answers. If we ask for more details you have to answer. If you can’t answer honestly, you drink.”

Caroline picked up a drink, already eyeing it. “You all know I’m going to answer everything honestly. I'm basically an open book.”

Paige rolled her eyes at Caroline’s proclamation. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me.”

Everyone laughed as the game began casually, with people picking easy questions to warm up. It was now maybe the second round and Ayanna was up.

“Okay, Azzi,” she said with a mischievous smile, “who was your first crush?”

Azzi’s eyes widened a little. She wasn’t exactly ready to dive deep yet, especially with her knowing the answer. “Uh, I’m gonna have to pass on that one. Drink it is.”

She grabbed a shot and took it without hesitation, laughing it off. “Some things are just better left a secret.”

“Alright, alright,” Nika said, playfully waving her hand. “We’ll keep it light for now, but I’m coming for the good stuff later.”

They moved around the circle, everyone keeping it easy until the questions started getting a little more personal. That’s when Nika’s turn came up.

“Okay, Nika,” KK asked, leaning in with a grin, “tell us about the boy you’ve been talking to from the basketball team.”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Nika, who instantly blushed.

She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Oh no, I’m not answering that. I’ll just drink.”

Without missing a beat, Nika poured herself a shot and knocked it back, looking like she regretted the decision immediately. The group burst out laughing, KK throwing her hands up.

“That’s what I thought!” KK said with a bright smile. “Girl boo you not fooling anyone.”

The game continued with increasing energy, the shots flowing and the questions getting juicier. Paige had successfully dodged every question so far, but she couldn’t dodge forever.

Nika said, smirking as she looked at Paige. “Okay, who was your last kiss?”

Paige didn’t hesitate for a second. “Kelsy.”

Azzi’s eyes widened for a second, then she burst out laughing as she caught the memory from earlier in the day.

Paige shot Azzi a look. “You don’t get to bring that up again. That was a one-time thing,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Azzi just chuckled harder. “It definitely wasn’t but whatever you say,” she grinned.

“Anyway,” Paige said, raising her cup, “it’s not like it’s a big deal.” She took a sip, clearly proud of herself for answering that one without flinching.

“Alright, alright,” Ayanna said with a laugh. “You earned that one. But here’s a harder one—How many people have you slept with?”

Paige shrugged, genuinely indifferent. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s a little too much to keep track of.”

There was a brief pause. Everyone exchanged looks, a mix of shock and amusement. KK adding in, “What does that even mean? You lost count?!”

Paige just raised an eyebrow, looking unfazed. “I wouldn’t say lost count. More so like I never started.”

“Okay, okay,” Nika said, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Here’s a real question—Have you ever actually fallen for someone?”

The room went quiet, the group waiting for Paige’s answer. She glanced around the room then shrugged. “Nope,” she said flatly, taking a sip of her drink anyway.

Azzi blinked. “Never? Not even a little? Not once?”

“Nope,” Paige repeated with a grin. “It’s all just... whatever.

“Alright, I’m curious about this one. What made you start sleeping around?” KK asked, raising an eyebrow.

Paige let out a small laugh. “Honestly? It was easy. And I don’t like getting too attached to people. It’s not complicated.”

Everyone nodded, though there were a few knowing looks exchanged, especially between Azzi and Nika, the two of them knowing Paige the best.

“I feel like I’m getting to know you a little too well,” Azzi said, teasing her friend.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” Paige replied with a grin, pouring herself another shot.

Nika was next, clearly prepared to ask a question. She knew exactly how to get Paige to squirm.

“Alright, Paige,” Nika said, her grin wicked. “Who in this room would you sleep with if you had the chance?”

The room went dead silent. Everyone leaned in, waiting for the answer, expecting Paige to dodge.

Without missing a beat, Paige smirked. “Azzi.”

The room erupted into fake cheers and exaggerated reactions. KK threw her arms up like she’d just won a championship. “Now see that’s positive attention!”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?” she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and amusement.

“I knew there was tension there,” Nika said, grinning knowingly as she pointed between the two.

“Nah, no tension,” Paige said with a wave of her hand, leaning back casually. “Azzi couldn’t handle me.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Oh, is that right?” she shot back. “You’re lucky I’m too classy to argue with you about this in front of everyone.”

The room howled with laughter, KK practically falling over.

“Y’all are killing me,” Ice said, pretending to wipe a tear. “But for real, Paige, I’m offended. Not even a second thought for your other roommate? What am I, invisible?”

“Sorry, Ice,” Paige said with a teasing grin. “But we all know you’d fall in love with me.”

Ice gasped dramatically. “Excuse you, I’m not a simp.”

Nika shook her head, still laughing. “Alright, that’s it for me. I can’t keep drinking when Paige just steamrolls through everything. I’m done.”

“Agreed,” Ice said, standing and stretching. “This was fun until I got my feelings hurt.”

As the group began to disband, KK teased, “P boogers, you better sleep with one eye open. Ice coming for you.”

Paige laughs as she and Azzi stand up as well, exchanging a quick look. Azzi grabs her phone, checking the time. “You heading to bed too?”

Paige shrugs. “Yeah, it’s been a long day. You ready?”

Azzi nods, her hand already on the door handle. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Before they leave, they glance over at Ice, who’s sitting with KK, who was pulling out her laptop.

“Hey, Ice, you coming?” Azzi calls out.

Ice looks up from KK’s laptop, giving them a thumbs-up. “I’ll be there later, after I help KK with something. Don’t wait for me.”

They head out of Nika's room, walking down the hallway side by side. The sound of the rain is a steady backdrop to their conversation, the soft rhythm adding to the relaxed vibe between them.

After some time Paige glances over at Azzi, a bit curious.

"So, back in U16," Paige begins, looking over at her with a slight grin, "why didn’t you ever talk to me? I could’ve been harassing you for years by now."

Azzi laughs lightly and stops walking for a moment, thinking, before glancing at Paige. "Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you. You just... kind of gave off a vibe."

Paige raises an eyebrow, incredulous. "A vibe? What kind of vibe?"

Azzi hesitates, trying to use the right words. "You seemed kind of distant. Like, you weren’t exactly there to make friends. You had this... I don’t know... serious energy. Like you were always focused on something else. It felt like you were... in your own world so I just let you be."

Paige shrugs, not offended but now more curious. "I was honestly dealing with some things at the time so I wasn’t as friendly as I usually am so I can see that."

Azzi nods, taking it in. "Yeah, I get that. It didn’t help that you looked... intimidating, too."

Paige’s eyebrows shoot up. "Intimidating? Me?"

Azzi chuckles softly. "Yeah, you. You never smiled, and your eyes were always sharp, like you were constantly analyzing everything around you. I don’t know, you just... didn’t seem like someone I could approach easily and be like, Hey I’m Azzi.”

Paige laughs, a little embarrassed now. "I had no idea I came off that way. I was probably just lost in my head all the time. Sorry if I freaked you out."

Azzi grins. "Nah, don’t apologize. Honestly, it was kind of intriguing. I spent the whole time trying to figure out what was going on in your head. You were like a puzzle I didn’t know how to solve."

Paige smirks, amused by the whole thing. "Well, if I was a puzzle, I definitely wasn't making it easy."

Azzi shrugs, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "True. But hey, the mystery was kind of cool. It was like you had your own world, and I didn’t want to disturb it."

Paige hums thoughtfully, looking sideways at Azzi. "Well, that was probably true. I wasn't the best at making people feel included. But... I’m not exactly the best at making the first move either."

Azzi’s grin widens. "You know, I had a little crush on you back then. That’s why I didn’t answer back in Nika’s room.”

Paige stops in her tracks, her eyes widening in surprise. "Wait, what? You liked me?"

Azzi laughs, shaking her head. "I didn’t say I liked you, I said I had a slight crush. Big difference. I just thought you were attractive."

Paige bursts out laughing, incredulity in her voice. "Me? I was scrawny as hell back then."

Azzi grins, slightly blushing now. "Yeah, but it was that... vibe you had. You know, the whole ‘don’t smile or talk to anyone’ thing? It was... kind of hot."

Paige smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, so you’re saying I must be way more attractive now, huh?"

Azzi pushes her lightly, rolling her eyes. "Don’t flatter yourself, Paige."

“Yeah, yeah. I know you like what you see.” But then Paige stops for a moment, looking at Azzi in slight shock. "Wait hold on, you're gay?"

Azzi hesitates, then shrugs casually. "Eh."

Paige looks at her, clearly confused. "What the hell does ‘eh’ mean?"

Azzi chuckles. "It means I’ve never been with a girl. But, yeah, I’ve been attracted to them before. Just never really... explored it, I guess."

Paige hums thoughtfully, processing what Azzi’s just said. She shrugs, her tone casual as they reach the door to their room. "Huh. Interesting. Guess I never would’ve pegged you for that."

Azzi laughs softly, her eyes meeting Paige’s for a second before she opens the door. "Well, I don’t exactly go around talking about it. It’s just... a thing. But it’s not really something I’ve acted on."

Paige gives her a sidelong glance, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Hey, whatever works for you."

Azzi laughs again, pushing the door open to their suite.

The two of them walk in, with Azzi dropping onto the couch and Paige tossing her bag aside before sitting down next to her. They’re both comfortable here, the casual vibe making it easy to just exist together.

Azzi stretches her legs out on the couch, leaning back. “You know, I was thinking about something earlier... You said you’ve never fallen for anyone. Ever.”

Paige looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I said that. Why?”

Azzi hesitates for a second, watching her. “I don’t know... I just— I guess I was surprised. I thought maybe... I don’t know. You’d had some kind of experience that made you feel different about people.”

Paige chuckles, leaning her head back. “Nope. You know me. Always avoiding anything that smells like feelings.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Yeah I know that, but like, why though? I mean, even after all this time?”

Paige’s expression softens, and she pauses for a moment, clearly thinking about her words. Then she shrugs slightly, turning her head to meet Azzi’s gaze. “I guess... when my parents divorced, my mom left when I was really young. I don’t know. After that it kinda just changed my view and I just didn’t see the point. I figured, why get close to anyone when they’re probably just going to leave eventually? I mean, people don’t stick around forever.”

Azzi’s breath catches in her throat at the honesty in Paige’s voice. She had no idea that was part of Paige’s story. There’s a brief silence before Azzi speaks, her voice softer. “I didn’t know that.”

Paige just nods, her gaze distant for a second. “Yeah, well... it’s just the way it is, you know? No one really sticks around. So why bother?”

Azzi, still processing what Paige’s said, doesn’t want to make things awkward. It’s one of those moments where they don’t need to say much, but it means something—something shared. She shifts a bit, her voice a little quieter but still filled with warmth. “I get it. But, you know... not everyone’s like that. People stick around if they want to.”

Paige gives a small, rueful smile. “Maybe. But it’s easier to just keep things light. No strings. Doesn’t really give them the chance to decide for me.”

Azzi nods, a little thoughtfully, but then shifts the mood back to a lighter tone. “Fair enough. Well, your rules definitely make it clear that you’re not looking for a relationship. But I gotta ask...” She raises an eyebrow mischievously. “You’re always talking about rules but what are your actual rules when it comes to... sleeping with people? How have you made it work?

Paige looks at her for a moment, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “Why? You finally ready to admit you’re interested?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

Azzi snorts and grabs a pillow, tossing it at Paige hard enough that it lands squarely on her face. Paige laughs, throwing the pillow back, but Azzi ducks it and grins.

“Paigeee, what are your rules?” Azzi demands, still laughing.

Paige throws her hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll answer. But don’t get any ideas.” She shifts on the couch, getting more serious for a moment. “I don’t sleep with the same person twice. That’s rule number one. I don’t want anything complicated. And I try to make it clear to people that I’m not looking for anything serious. No feelings involved. And rule number two? No athletes. I see them way too often in the Pavilion. It’s just... weird, you know?”

Azzi raises her eyebrows, impressed. “Wow, no athletes? So you’re telling me, if I wasn’t your teammate, I’d be on the table?”

Paige smirks, then glances over at Azzi, her eyes glinting. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen you and you’re too much of a tease you’d probably want me to chase you.”

Azzi laughs again, shaking her head. “Wow, you really know how to sweep a woman off her feet.”

“I try,” Paige says, her voice filled with easy humor, the tension of the earlier conversation fading into their usual rhythm.

Azzi looks over at Paige, her smile softening. “You know, for what it’s worth, I think you’re full of surprises. I think you just need someone who’s not... afraid of sticking around, you know?”

Paige’s gaze softens at Azzi’s words, and she offers a small, genuine smile. “Maybe. But I’m good. I’ve got it all figured out for now.”

Azzi gives her a knowing look, but says nothing more. They both fall into a quiet, comfortable silence, the night outside slowly quieting down, just the sound of rain lightly tapping at the window as they relax together.

Azzi glanced at the time on her phone and stretched her arms overhead, stifling a yawn. “I guess we should probably get some sleep, huh?”

Paige stood up, stretching also. “Yeah, it’s been a long day. You ready for bed?”

Azzi smiled, pushing herself off the couch. “Yeah. I think I’m done trying to figure you out for tonight,” she teased lightly.

Paige grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “Good. Let me know when you’re ready to start again tomorrow.”

Azzi shook her head with a laugh as she made her way to her door. “Night, Paige. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Paige smirked, opening her door. “No promises.”

“Of course not,” Azzi said with a grin, stepping into her room. “See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Paige called after her, before stepping back into her own room.

The doors clicked softly behind them, the quiet of the night settling once again.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

366 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 months ago

Text

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn.

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now.

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock…

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Join Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @this-is-me19

@emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka

@chevroletdean @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @mimaria420

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @ajjustice

222 notes · View notes

onlyswan · 2 years ago

Text

summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

3K notes · View notes

glow-worms-are-believers · 7 months ago

Text

Tim Drake: Ugly Duckling (dp x dc)

So this is the last day of pride month, and so also the last day of me trying to write as many LGBTQ+ canon dc characters. It’s been fun (and I got to read a whole bunch of comics which was actually much more fun than the first time I’d tried to read those!!)

Now even though this is the end of June, feel free to send an ask if you want me to write a blurb with any character. I make no promises, but I will very much try! (It might take a while especially if I’m in a Tumblr hibernation phase.)

Anyways, for the last day of pride month I wanted to do Tim Drake coz he’s dc’s main “it” gay girl. I’ve been working on this Dead Tired fic for ages, based on the post about Tim getting turned into a swan and meeting Danny, who as a prince has to give him a kiss to change him back (I can’t find the prompt but it was hilarious so this was my take on it).

Here’s the beginning of the fic:

Red Robin was on patrol duty, while Batman and Robin were following a lead on possible joker safehouses. All in all, It was a pretty quiet night with only two muggings, both low-energy as both perpetrator ran away as soon as a bat-shaped shadow moved.

So Red Robin had spent most of the night chatting with Babs. He was grappling around town, as they started on the new date app they’d both found out Jason was using.

“I told him he can’t put only photos of his motorcycle but- wait I’m getting a call,” Oracle interrupted herself. Tim waited before the earpiece came to life again.

“Sorry to cut this short Red Robin, got a full-attention request from Canary. If you need anything, beep me, and Keep your coms open.”

“Bye, Oracle,” he said, and like that, Red Robin was alone once again.

He stopped on Grand Avenue Station and just let himself take in Gotham. The city was beautiful at night, and Tim was itching for a camera. He seen hundreds of pictures of the city’s skyline but they always managed to be unique. The night sky may always be covered by dark clouds above, but Gotham had its own stars in the lights shinning on top of the skyscrapers. So lost in his thoughts, Tim was, he almost missed the soft noise that sounded behind him. The voice that sounded behind him was harder to miss.

“Wither away so late, Little Red Bird?”

Red Robin turned to see a tall woman standing half in the shadows

“Sorry, can I help you?” Answered the vigilante despite the bad feeling creeping up to him.

“I’d like to know where I can find your guardian,” the woman said, still in the shadows.

“You mean Batman?” He chanced.

The woman nodded and Tim resisted the urge to sigh.If this was another one of Bruce’s ill-advised fling, Tim was going to hack every electronic device the man had to play sex-eds on loops for at least a week.

“He’s busy at the moment.” Then feeling like he shouldn’t assume what the woman wanted Bruce for, he continued. “But if you need any help, I’ll do my best.”

The woman stepped forward, and Tim could see her better. Her face was bare, but her distinctive outfit seemed to indicate she was some kind of vigilante-slash-criminal. The outfit did, in fact, ring a bell in the back of his mind, but it was dim. Tim didn’t tense up, but he did angle his body in a way to accommodate for a better escape through grappling. She continued walking until she was within arm’s reach of Tim, towering over him. She extended a hand to lightly caress his cheek, and Tim went still at the touch.

“Such a kind Little Bird you are,” she said gently. “You know, you remind me of my daughter.” She sighed. “Oh, what pretty children you both are.”

“Thank you,” said Tim as he sidestepped out of the way. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person.”

“Oh she was,” the woman said and through his growing wariness, Tim spared a thought for the girl. “She had dark hair and the fairest skin, just like you. The most beautiful girl in the land some would even say.”

That niggling feeling came back as a feeling of familiarity poked at him once again. “You must’ve been very proud.”

The woman let out an airy laugh before saying playfully/contemplating. “mustn’t I?”

A shiver ran down his back. Alright, there was something wrong with this woman, and Tim wasn’t waiting around to find out what. Not without any information or backup.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you, I really have to get going,” Tim said as he took out his grapple gun. In a second, the gun was ripped from his hand , and he was slammed to the side of the staircase leading up to the roof. He let out a gasp at the impact and his features tensed in pain. The woman hadn’t even touched him.

“Not so fast, Little Bird. We don’t want you going back to the Batman just yet. I’m not ready to make him my Knight yet.”

“Your knight?” Tim managed to get out. He tried to move his arms, but some unseen force was pinning him in place. Shit, that meant he couldn’t reach the comm to send out a distress signal. Hopefully Babs would check in soon.

The woman smiled as she approached him once again. “What better for a Queen, than a Dark Knight?”

And just like that it clicked. “You’re the Queen of Fables.”

“Well look at this, you’ve got the brains and the beauty,” she teased, her voice as smooth as honey.

“What do you want with Batman?” Tim asked though he could guess from previous encounters she had had with the Justice League that the villainess wanted to turn Bruce into a fairytale character of some sort. She’d done the trick on Clark, and twice on Diana, so it was probably Batman’s turn now. So, yes, Tim could guess, But the longer he kept her talking the more time he had to figure out a way out of this.

“I told you, he’ll be a Knight of the Queen,” She extended a hand and tilted Tim’s face up. “Do you know what that would make you Little Bird?”

Most villains assumed the batclan worked like a crime family. So the family of a knight? “Nobility,” Tim guessed, unsure where this was going.

“Exactly.” She smiled, and then she moved. Tim braced for the hit.

Instead of a punch though, he only felt a tingling sensation. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, only for them to grow bigger as he took in his uniform. Or the lack thereof.

He was in something-century clothing, in some sort of frilly shirt and pants, all in white. This was worse than a punch. Then, as the thought hit him, Tim’s hands flew to his face only to come in contact with the silky fabric of a masquerade mask. He sighed in relief, and as he calmed down, he realized he was now free of the force pinning him down.

“The color is for my daughter,” the Queen said. Then, she let her head fall to the side before tracing a line across his forehead and Tim could feel something like a circlet setting down on it. “There you go. Now, it’s perfect. You could practically be siblings.”

“No thanks.,” Tim answered.

The Queen tsked him. “That’s no way to behave Little Bird, has nobody taught you to say thank you when you receive a gift.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Tim disagreed mildly as he took stock of his weapons. Everything was gone, including the earpiece, which meant Babs had to have been alerted and someone was en route.

The Queen frowned. “I was going to be merciful, for you guardian’s sake, but I no longer feel generous.” She raised her hand and Tim tried to roll away, but the magic beam swerved and hit him in a blinding flash of light.

When he managed to open his eyes once again, the world seemed quite a bit bigger than it had been moments before.

“What did you do to me?” He said. Or tried to say.

Instead a strange squawk echoed and Tim took a step back in surprise. However, he lost his balance and started to fall and as he tried to catch himself with his hand, two large white wings unfolded. He dropped down, which wasn’t as far as he would’ve estimated and laid stiff. He moved his left arm, and a white wing followed suit.

Oh, no. Oh no no no.

A grating laugh interrupted his freak out. “There you are my pretty Little Bird, all better. White really is your colour, don’t you th-“

With a loud hiss, Tim propelled himself towards the woman. Making use of his newfound beak, he pecked and bit everything he could, as he flapped his wings.

“Blasted creature- Get off! Stop it, you despicable, puny-“

Finally she managed to grab Tim and throw him away from her. He landed with a squawk, but managed to get himself back to his feet quickly. “You little/awful brat,” she snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

But as the Queen threw out her hand, something rippled in the air between them and the magic beam seem to explode midway into a green vortex. Tim’s clumsy attempt at waddling away had him head straight towards it, and it was in vain that he tried to redirect the course. She and Tim made eye contact as the swan-boy tipped right into the swirling green vortex, both of their eyes wide-open in surprise.

Danny was exhausted. He was currently on week one of the full month of Royal Duties he’d promised Clockwork. Being Prince of the Infinite Realm was not all that it was cracked up to be, and that was saying a lot since he had already been expecting it to be awful.

When Clockwork had made the request, Danny had proceeded to freak out about his new status, and then tried to abdicate. It was only the master of time reminding him of all the terrible possible candidate for the throne per rites of combat (such as Vlad) that stopped him from washing his hands of this mess. And now Danny was forced to spend one whole month of his summer vacation in the Ghost Zone to fulfill his duty as a Prince.

He thought it would be some paperwork, maybe a battle or two, nothing too bad, but nooo. Because, of course nothing was easy, Danny had to show up at Events, and be Diplomatic. It was meeting, after meeting, after weird parties that were a mix between Medieval Banquets and Debutante balls.

And worse of all were the marriage proposals. Danny could sorta understand, marrying into royalty was a definite plus for a lot of more powerful ghosts but when they called him a half-breed behind his back, only to smile in his face with a marriage contract in one hand and flowers in the other, that was where he drew the line.

Plus there was also the fact that he was, like sixteen.

Suffice to say, Danny was exhausted and hiding out in Pariah Dark’s old castle as a last resort. It wasn’t his favorite place all in all, but the gardens were absolutely beautiful, which was where he was walking. He was currently headed to the hedge maze, since it was the best way to get rid of any tails he may or may not have.

The maze was nasty if it didn’t like you, and it didn’t like anybody but Danny, and even then, it still tried to take a bite every once in a while. Despite the snaking vines and roots trying to capture anything that moved, the flowers that wailed softly when disturbed or the sharp thorns of the hedge plants themselves, it was still a beautiful place. Uniquely, the closer you got to the centre, the more colorful (and dangerous) everything got, which was why he liked it best.

He reached the centre much quicker than the first time he tried, thanks to the maze actually helping him, and something pale caught his eye right in the middle of the open area, right next to the bench Danny loved to use. As he got closer, he realized it was a swan laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

“Oh no,” Danny said as he approached. “What happened to you?”

As if awakened by the sound of his voice, the swan started to shift, its wings twitching and it rose its head groggily. As soon as it clocked in Danny, it let out a surprised squawk, followed by a long hiss as it struggled to move away.

“Hey, hey, none of that, Duckie, you’re ok.” Danny raised his hands placatingly. “I don’t want to harm you, ok? I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

The hiss subsided by a bit, but that may have only be due to the swan managing to get further away.

“Sh, sh, it’s ok,” Danny repeated as he slowly inched forward. The swan stopped hissing but still observed him warily. “I don’t want to hurt you Duckie, but I do think we’d better get you out of this maze.”

Danny took another step, and this time the swan stayed still. “How about bringing you back to my rooms just for now.” The swan hissed louder at the statement. “Don’t worry Duckie, I’m not keeping you prisoner it’s just this maze has been known to eat people. And you’re too pretty to be eaten,” Danny flashed a smile at the swan which had it stare back with a gaze saying really?

“So what do you say, wanna crash at my place?” Danny asked. The swan didn’t move forward but he didn’t move away either.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust a guy who talks to birds either,” Danny allowed. “And the place where I’m staying is a little gloomy, so I don’t blame you, but I can’t leave you here. The maze is honestly really dangerous, especially for a nice bird is like you. “

The swan seemed to hesitate before it hesitantly made its way to Danny. Ghost animals were usually smart but the swan seemed to understand English, which made communicating that much easier. Danny smiled and opened his arms. “I can carry you.” The swan just looked at him, with what Danny would’ve thought was a deadpan stare. “It would go much faster.”

If the swan was human it probably would’ve sighed, but instead, its wings just fell a little before it waddled towards Danny and looked up as if to say ‘get on with it’.

Danny smiled and gathered the animal in his arms. “Buckle up,” he said before flying off towards the maze exit, which was accompanied by a low hiss. Making sure there was nobody there to ambush him, Danny made it back to the castle in record time.

“Here we are Duckie.” Danny set the swan back down and it plopped down on the ground and just steadied themselves for a while.

Tim was a swan. He had wings and no fingers, and his feet were webbed.

He was handling it though. By which Tim meant he was shelving the impending panic attack for later when he wasn’t stuck in a swan body.

Ok, so he’d been turned by the Queen of Fables, so there had to be an answer in a fairytale,a way to make him normal again. He knew the ugly duckling story. That had a swan in it, right? He didnt know any other swan stories, except maybe as a dish during the wedding banquet of whichever princess. He vaguely remembered a Barbie movie that had passed on the TV when he was younger but the only thing that came to mind were a scary-looking Troll thing, and ballet. So with lack of better alternatives he was going to go with the ugly duckling. The ugly duckling’s happy ending was reuniting with family, so maybe all he needed was to make his way back to Gotham.

“Are you ok?”

And that was another thing. The guy. The one Tim had at first wanted to get away from. He seemed nice and all, but he also had neon green eyes, and fangs. Unfortunately, while they suited the boy very well, they also marked him as an unknown.

On the other hand, if the glowing portal wasn’t enough of an indication, the green tinge of everything around was clear indicator that Tim wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The guy seemed to want to help him, and having an ally wherever he was could only help.

Tim nodded as best as he could with his long weird neck, and he had to take a few steps to regain balance.

“That’s good,” the boy smiled with his white pointy canine. “How did you end up in the middle of that maze?”

Tim just looks back tiredly. He didn’t know how to even try and explain when he couldn’t say a word and had no opposable thumbs.

“Yeah, sorry.” The boy winced. “Maybe stick to yes or no questions.”

There was a sharp knock at the door that had the boy turning away.

“Prince Phantom!” A voice rung through the door.

Prince?

The newly-dubbed Prince Phantom got up to open the door, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“Your meeting with Queen Dora is approaching. Do you still prefer to forgo an escort guards?” a purple lady was saying.

“I’ll be fine without, Maj but thank you very much,” Phantom answered with a polite smile.

“I’ll pass it along, my Prince.” She bowed and closed the doors behind her.

Phantom walked back to lay on the bed with a sigh. “I really hate that they call me that.” He turned towards Tim to continue. “I bet swans don’t have royalty. You guys had the right idea.”

#Yep so this is the beginning beginning #Tim drake #danny fenton #dead tired #dc x dp #dp x dc #roxpox #roxpoxwrote #bisexual character

364 notes · View notes

junedenim · 3 months ago

Text

maybe i was mistaken

just a summer thing

warnings: smuting, sexing, blowing, eating, fingering, flinging, etc.

word count: 3.4k

The relationship between Alex and you can't be understated. Some say it was gradual, some say it was all at once. But you would just describe it as one summer. Nestled in the heated crest of 2013, you met Alex, you fucked Alex, you loved Alex, and you never saw Alex again.

You met Alex at a party in January. One with a blurry memory and only one photo to prove you were ever there. Then, you met again at another party. This time in June, only one drink in, and enough hair gel to suffocate a man and turn on a woman to a ridiculous degree.

"You know, I'd never thought I'd have a thing for Danny Zuko," you told him, three drinks in, two makeout sessions later. The edges of his mouth had red lipstick smeared on it, just like the rim of your glass. He had visions of that smear around his cock and he was sure he was going to get it tonight. "But after tonight."

He wrapped an arm around you and gripped your ass, not shameful in feeling you up. In fact, every advance had been edged closer and closer to exhibitionism. It turned you on along with the clang of his belt and those black Chelsea boots. "Some say it's Elvis," Alex said, pushing his hand along the side of the grease helmet.

"Isn't that the same thing?" You countered. "Elvis, Danny, Birdie."

He raises an eyebrow. It feels calculated. "Birdie?"

"From Bye Bye Birdie, the musical," you explain. "It's based on Elvis going to war. It even has Ann-Marget, Elvis's l—"

His mouth covers you, absorbing away at that red pigment. He takes control of you completely and you fall away, into him completely. There's a tight squeeze of your ass and a signal from him, rubbing up against you, telling you it's time to get a room.

Somewhere in the pounding chaos of this party, he locks a door, and you get down on your knees. Alex's eyes glaze over as you take him into your mouth, his head lulling to the side as your tongue sweeps across his head and teases his slit. Your eyes lock onto his, watching him watch you as you bop your head up and down, your plump lips stretching as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

You hollow your cheeks and suck, your mouth making obscene noises. You get halfway down before you pull back and start again, bringing a hand up to wrap around his shaft and stroke him as you begin to descend again, this time gagging when you feel his tip poking the back of your throat.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," Alex moans, his hands tangling in your soft hair, feeling your throat contract around his dick. He doesn't hold your head or force you to take more, just massages your scalp and lets you keep control. "That feels so good."

You smile around his cock, slurping and sucking and stroking him to full length with eagerness and vigor. You watch his face as you please him, feel the way his thighs tighten underneath your hands, the way his body does these cute little jerks and jumps when he's trying not to come too early. You fall in love with it all. He takes hold of his cock and empties completely into your mouth, the last drop hanging on that faded red lip.

Then, there was a call. It might have been a week after the party, maybe less. He called and invited you to dinner and what you thought to be unrequited infatuation after a hookup became reciprocated because Alex has always known how to reciprocate.

He never called you his girlfriend. You never called him your boyfriend. But you were each other's arm candy. He was your date for a wedding. You were the woman on his arm at Glastonbury.

Fortunately and unfortunately, it wasn't a friendly affair. It was a carnivorous and burning desire that left you both desperate individuals with only the other to suppress the flames until the fire fought back and the process repeated.

You slammed your head up against the wall as he mauled away at your neck. He could kill you, mouth on your jugular, let you bleed out. Is it sick that you'd let him? You've fallen so deeply into him. Deeper than you want to confess, even to yourself.

He's hungry, hand on your thigh, pulling your left leg up, his erection dancing right around your core. It's obsessive teasing and you ride up right into him, making his breath hitch against your throat. "You want me to do you right here?"

You hum with a quick nod. He pulls back with a smirk, his hands leaving your body to undo his belt. You're in some bathroom at some fancy function that you don't understand and are quite bored by but he asked you to come so you came. Now, well, now he's asking again.

He presses his body up against yours, sandwiching you in between the wall. Alex's hands slowly drag their way up your thighs to your short silk dress, pushing the skirt up so teasingly. His mouth hovers inches away from your mouth, hot breath consuming you. You could fall right into him and die for it but you maintain your willpower to resist his pull.

His fingers brush the lacy edge of your panties, sending shivers through you. The smirk on his face only grows more pleased. He moves across the waistline, stopping to play with the tiny bow.

Then, suddenly, his movements quicken like the desire has caught up with him. He pulls himself out of his underwear, giving himself a few pumps. "Do you want me to...?" You suggest, motioning to his cock.

He chuckles. "Nah, I want to fuck you here and now and quick. That alright with you?"

It's all too easy to say, "Yeah" before he's taking you over again. He pulls your panties to the side and runs his fingers through the folds once before he enters you. It's pounding and there's no teasing in any way. You both know there is probably a line forming outside this bathroom and you're both so hungry for it that there is no need to play it slow and sensual. Not that there's much love in your lovemaking.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you like that? Huh?"

You can only manage to say, "Yeah." Your arms cling around his neck to keep some stability as he thrusts into you. His hands are on your waist, pulling you into him, having you match his rhythm. It's dirty. You feel dirty. And you like it.

Everything is pounding—Him, the music, your head—but you're lost in it completely. You throw your head back and knock into the wall again, enough to grasp your head in pain, cursing. Alex just thinks you're really into it. He pushes you to your knees, grabs your head, and lays his dick on your tongue, shooting into your mouth. "Fuck that was good."

"Yeah." You continue to clutch the back of your head. "I think I'm bleeding."

"What? Like your period?" Alex looks down at his cock, still out and shiny with cum, no period blood.

"No, my head. I hit it." You look at the tips of your fingers, a slight stain of red.

"Oh, fuck. You okay?" He takes up his pants, fixing his belt, and taking a long gaze in the mirror at his slightly roughed-up appearance. He pulls out a comb from his back pocket and runs it through his hair.

You're not sure what to say. You take to your feet and try to get a look at yourself in the mirror. "Yeah." Your hair is messy but that's nothing new. The light is hurting your eyes and you suddenly feel like you should be at home. Not in some foreign country with a man you barely know. "I think I'm gonna go back to the hotel."

"Alright. I'm gonna hang around here some more. Are you sure you're okay? I'm sure a drink would help."

Alex seems to think that a lot. The cure for anything is a drink. You're not sure if that applies to everything in his life or just you. You shake your head and say you'll be fine. You're not sure what time he returns to the hotel but his arm is wrapped around you when you wake up. It's enough reason to not go home.

In July, he crashes at your place for a week. You try to be realistic, as you always have with Alex, but you can't convince yourself this isn't serious. That during his break from touring, he shacks up with you. He cooks dinner for you one night and on another, he rubs your feet after they've suffered in heels.

"I love having you around here," you tell him on the last night. It's the closest you'll ever get to saying "I love you" to him.

He rubs his hands along your legs that are sitting in his lap. "Thanks for having me. I like it around here a lot."

You giggle at his pronunciation. "You mean you like the privacy."

"Well, yeah." Your words are a sign for him and he brushes his hand up higher, past your knee, up your thigh. Any response you had is left in your throat.

His fingers touch the waistband of your shorts, flicking them away from the skin. "Will you do something for me?" For the first time, he sounds timid, nervous even.

"What?"

You think of what he could say, what you long for him to say. Those declarations of love that sit on your tongue. Instead, he asks, "Can you touch yourself?"

Your mouth gapes. "Like masturbate?"

Alex chuckles at your reaction. "Yeah. Touch yourself," he whispers.

You never thought you would do this, something so vulnerable to you, but his gaze is strong and he can convince you of anything with those eyes. You slide your shorts off, your fingers brushing against the moist material of your underwear.

You lean back and relax against the couch's arm cushion as you spread your legs wider, allowing Alex a greater view. You bite your lip as you run the tip of your finger up and down your underwear, applying a little bit more pressure each time you trace yourself.

"Will you do it too?" You ask. The imagined sight of that turns you on severely.

He shakes his head. "Later. I want to watch you now." You hum and dance over the fabric shielding your pussy. You reach in and finally touch yourself. "How wet are you?" He asks softly, watching your hand move between your legs. He keeps one hand on your leg, the other sits on his crotch, neither moving.

Your eyes flutter closed as your fingertips slide through your slick folds, tracing a long path up the entire length of your slit, your breath hitching as you brush your clit. "So wet," you finally answer him.

You start rubbing tight circles on your clit until your whole body tenses and you're coming violently with Alex staring straight on.

A satisfied smile covers his face as your body relaxes. His body starts moving toward you, a predator hunting its prey. You whimper as his fingers approach your pussy, his hand resting on the lips. "You want to come on my fingers now?"

You nod and his slowness is destructive but it's so much softer now. You've never done foreplay but now one hand is smoothing over your sensitive skin while the other reaches under your top, searching for your nipple. His eyes look into yours and for a moment you can see everything clearly, the feeling seeping out of him.

Then, his fingers run through you, wetting themselves from you. His head moves down lower and he moves off the bed, kneeling beside you. He shifts your hips toward him, giving him a perfect view. He hooks his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and spreading you wide open to get a nice look at your pussy. He licks his lips before diving in, giving your inner thigh a few quick nips before he drops the pretense and moves his mouth directly on you.

The first lick makes your head spin and he laps at you to get more and more of you on his tongue. The flat of his tongue licks broad stripes up and down your wetness. Your hips buck off the bed and towards Alex's mouth, practically humping his face.

He latches his plump lips onto your swollen clit, sucking and slurping on the nub as his tongue traces words and shapes on it. His fingers wrap around your thighs and pull you even closer.

Alex abandons your clit to move down to your hole, dipping his tongue inside your warmth and fucking you with it while his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit. As he eagerly licks you out, his gaze drifts up and meets yours, staring you down until you are falling apart around his tongue, the walls of your pussy vibrating around it. He grips your thighs tightly to keep you in place as he continues to eat away at you through your orgasm.

He wraps you up in his arms that night. Each caress is caring when he fucks you and he leaves his cum inside you and you know your deluding yourself with the thought that he loves you, trusts you enough to hold something so personal. You know you're not the first. You'd beg to be the last. But you've always seen the writing on the wall.

On tour, it's like being a ghost. Sex is the only solution it seems. You can't complain, you enjoy it, you love it, but sometimes you feel like you don't exist. It's easy to make excuses. He's busy. The schedule is insane and it's hard to hold the same bliss as you had at your house when you're basically in a tin can for a month straight.

You decide to head back home citing work responsibilities but you know he doesn't believe you. The rest of July passes with no contact. Everything is a blur until August.

He shows up at your front door like some bizarre vision. He's suave and moves with little hesitation into your apartment. You think about questioning him, asking him what right he has to stroll in here after hearing nothing from him, but you know it's no use.

"You look nice," Alex says. He looks around the place like he's playing Spot the Difference, trying to find the changes in you, trying to see if somebody else has come in here. He eyes you up and down like he's trying to see if there is somebody else.

"Thanks. You too." For him, that's all the permission he needs to approach you. "It's late."

"Yeah," he rubs the side of his head, "I'm a little drunk."

You nod. "Figured."

"Come here to fuck you," he laughs embarrassingly. "Now I just kind of feel pathetic."

You shake your head. "I'm the pathetic one."

"No, you're not. Sorry I've been a jerk."

"It's fine. I'm not shocked by it."

He chuckles. "I'm just, you know, going through some stuff."

"Okay."

"I'll probably be going through it for a while."

"Okay."

"Sorry."

"You don't have to feel guilty. We can just fuck."

"Okay," he says. His lips are quick because it's always quick. His hands are rough on your body and he's pulling away at your shorts, taking them off along with your underwear. He's equal, pulling away to take off his jeans. You take your shirt off, so he takes his shirt, and suddenly you're both nude.

He comes back to you, taking your head in his hands, holding you to him. His hand travels down, teasing its way to your pussy where he rubs his fingers through you. "This good?"

You nod your head, bucking your hips forward into Alex's hand, desperately trying to create some friction. "Please, I need…"

"What do you need?" He whispers, smirking at you and the way you shiver as his hot breath tickles your neck. He moves with your body, his fingers slipping through you, pulling little gasps out of you every time he hits your clit. He keeps teasing you, massaging the bud for a moment before dipping back into your folds, reaching back, but not far enough to get to your entrance.

He trails his hand across smooth skin, flipping you around so your back is to him. You lean against the back of the couch and stick out your butt. Alex shuffles and lines himself up with your core. He grips the base of his cock, and guides the head through your wet folds. He slowly starts pushing inside you. "Holy fuck."

"You okay?" You pant out, turning your head back to look at him.

He nods but doesn't make eye contact, too dazed. "Yeah. It's just been too long."

You giggle at him. "Same here. You stretch me out good."

He moans at that, dipping his head back. He pushes the rest of the way in, burying his entire length in your pussy. You clench around him as you get used to the feeling of being so full again.

Alex holds still, taking a moment. It takes so long that you start moving your hips back into him, rolling them in that way he likes. His eyes roll back as you fuck yourself on his cock, and he lets you set the pace for a few moments before he gathers his bearings and starts thrusting forward, meeting each of your slams with his own sharp pumps.

You rock against each other roughly before your movements start to flow, and you're fucking each other in rhythm. He grips your hips as he drills into, holding on tight as his thrusts pick up speed.

He drops his forehead against your shoulder, his eyes drifting down to watch as your ass presses up against his stomach with each pump. "That feel good, baby?" He pants into your ear.

You moan back, "I want you to come inside me, fill me up."

He whimpers at the words, and transitions from his pounding into smoother, longer thrusts, letting his hands move from your sides to find your hands, lacing your fingers together. He arches his chest away from your back so he can slide into you more easily.

His moans blend with your whimpers, and you're so caught up in pleasure. He keeps thrusting, feeling your walls starting to get tighter around his cock each time he slides through you.

"I'm close," you pant. He speeds up his pumping and he hits that spot that makes you go stiff. Your pussy clamping down hard on his cock. "Oh, fuck, I-" It's all you're able to spit out before you're shaking. He's quick to follow, spilling into your pussy.

You pant and shake against one another for a minute, Alex's hips jerking a bit as he continues to empty himself into you. Then, there's the question of the after.

He pulls himself from you with a sigh. "Are you alright?" He asks.

"Yeah."

He heads to the shower and you join him. It's as intimate as you'll ever get. After, he almost heads home, but you convince him to stay that night. In bed, you ask him about the tour.

He says, "It's long. This is my last big break until Christmas."

"And you spent it with me?" You hate the hopefulness in your voice. It betrays you, desperate to not sound desperate.

Alex seems to not know what to say for a while. He grabs your hand and plays with the tips of your fingers. "I feel like a jerk for saying goodbye."

You sigh and for once decide to be honest with him. "You are. I cared about you a lot. More than you did." He nods, staring down at your fingers. He tries not to show your words affecting him but his face betrays him, frowning and hopeless. "But I'm alright with saying goodbye. I'm comfortable just being a footnote in your story."

He shakes his head and finally looks at you. "You were more than a footnote. You'll at least get a chapter in the story of my life."

You share a laugh and it's nice when it's like this. Quiet and just the two of you and your laughter. "Thanks. I think you'll get a page in mine."

He nods. "I'm fine with that. I'm happy you're even allowing me to be included."

You sigh. "Well, you did fly me to Europe so I can't complain."

a/n: not my best work but it's finally something. writing some other things too...

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner #alex turner smut #junedenim

149 notes · View notes

wildrangers · 5 months ago

Note

Matt Smith x Reader

Matt and Reader have been together for a long time and it's time for Matt to take the plunge and ask Reader to marry him

Thank you for the request, anon! I’m rolling this into my ongoing Smith family series of ask’s. This can be read alone or as a prequel to my pregnancy surprise and announcement stories. I also hope you don’t mind this will contain some serious smut.

Tropes & topics: SMUT (oral sex [f&m receiving], dirty talk, impact play, rough, protected sex), lots of fluff before it descends into porn lol, mentions of marriage obvi

Word Count: 3.1K

Matt’s heart feels like it’s going to burst from his chest if he doesn’t throw it up first. You’re seemingly oblivious, happily digging into your dessert, taking in the stunning seaside view.

Your fifth anniversary had been mid-June, but his shooting schedule kept the celebration limited to you visiting him abroad and sharing room service. He knew you hadn’t minded, you’d said countless times that you just were happy to be celebrating together, but he wanted to acknowledge this milestone the right way.

This trip was the best way to celebrate that while also finally pushing him to gather the courage to ask you to marry him. As you enjoyed this final meal of the trip, a ring box has been buried in his pocket and his nerves have frayed. It’s not that he’s worried you’ll say no, he knows what you two have is forever, but it’s still such a monumental moment and he doesn't want to bungle it.

“Honey, dolphins!” Your excited gasp pulls him from his thoughts and while he glances to see the pod swimming just offshore, his gaze quickly returns to your face. Golden hour is almost here and the slowly setting sun makes your skin glow and reflects the joy in your eyes.

“There you have it, your favorite animal bidding you farewell” he replies and you nod, frowning slightly at the end of your getaway rapidly approaching.

“I’ve really had the best time” you say, finally pulling your eyes from the water.

“Me too, darling” he assures you, squeezing your hand as your server cleared the table. Matt pays the tab before standing, pulling you into his side as you two make your way out of the restaurant.

“Can we lay on the beach for a bit when we’re back at the house?” you request and he smiles, envisioning the scene he already has set up for you there.

“Of course, what a brilliant idea.”

A comfortable silence settles as you both take in the beauty around you on the brief walk back to the small beach house you’d rented for the last week. He follows you through the house, pausing as you both remove your shoes at the backdoor.

“Matty!” you gasp as he slides the glass doors open. “It’s beautiful, when did you do this?”

He grins, pleased at your excitement. He places a hand on your back to guide you through the sand before helping you sit on the large blanket he’s laid out for you both that’s surrounded by petals from your favorite flower. “I snuck out while you were getting ready before dinner. Now, champagne?” he asks, lifting the chilled bottle from the ice bucket holding down a corner.

“Yes, please!” you reply eagerly, holding out a glass. He fills it and his own before holding his flute up for the toast he’s prepared.

“My love” he begins, surprised by the emotion clogging his throat. He takes a moment to collect himself and you squeeze his hand encouragingly. “First and foremost, I want to thank you for the last five years. They’ve been the most joyous, love-filled ones of my life. I can hardly believe it’s been half a decade yet at the same time, it’s difficult to remember life without you being by my side. You’re my rock, my biggest cheerleader, and most importantly, my best friend. You’re the love of my life, darling.”

He places his glass carefully in the sand before shifting onto one knee, his shaking hands removing the ring box from his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring he’d spent countless months searching for, “Would you do me the honor of sharing the rest of our lives together as husband and wife?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Oh my god” you burst out, holding out your hand for him to slide the ring on. He grins at the sight, dropping his lips to place a long kiss to the spot where the diamonds meet your soft skin. “Oh honey, it’s perfect, I love it. I love you so fucking much. That’s far less elegant than your speech but it’s true nonetheless. I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

“I had more time to prepare” he laughs and you roll your eyes before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you flush to him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of your skin mixed with the salty sea breeze. You stay like that a moment before he pulls away to look into your eyes.

“My beautiful boy,” you whisper, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He leans down, connecting your lips just as the sun slides beneath the ocean. Your hands quickly tangle in his hair and he gently pushes you onto your back, settling on top of you. His hands find the hem of your dress, fingers lightly brushing where your skin meets the fabric.

He loses himself in the feel of your soft, pliant body beneath him as you greedily suck his tongue into your mouth. He feels himself beginning to harden as you moan, your hands shifting from his hair down to his backside, pulling his hips against yours. He gasps at the friction, desperate for more, pleased to feel you bucking beneath him already. “So impatient” he teases, placing kisses down your neck, leaving small bruises as he goes.

“You're one to talk” you reply, grinding your leg into his erection, drawing a groan from him. “As hot as this would be in theory, can we move this inside? I’d rather not be finding sand in different crevices for the next week.”

He laughs deeply, carefully standing before offering you his hand to draw you up, as well. You lose your footing in the sand and he quickly scoops you into his arms, carrying you bridal style up the beach. “I thought this would wait until the wedding night?” you tease and he nips playfully at your shoulder.

“I’ll put you down if you’d like” he retorts and you tighten your grip on his shoulders, shaking your head. He goes to place you on the bed but you insist on being set on your feet. “Lay down” you command and he tilts his head, curious as to what you have planned for him, but eagerly doing as directed.

Once he’s settled, leaning back on his elbows, you slowly reach around to unzip your dress. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Billy brought me the ring box a month ago.”

“He didn’t” Matt replies, jaw dropping at the thought of your dog eagerly delivering this gift to you. “What a rascal, he ruined the surprise!”

“He did,” you agree, laughing. “But that let me plan a little surprise of my own.”

“Well go on then” he smirks, watching as your dress pools around your feet. “Good god, love” he bites out, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you.

“Do you like it?” you ask cheekily, making your way tantalizingly slowly to him.

“I fucking love it” he breathes out. Your legs are covered in lacy black stockings attached to a garter secured above your sheer black panties. Your torso’s wrapped in a black leather corset and he’s struggling to keep his hands to himself as you crawl up the bed to him. “You remembered.”

“Your obsession with garters even though they’re an absolute pain in the ass to get on? Yes, I remembered” you joke and he chuckles at the mischief in your eyes.

“My sexy fiancée” he breathes out as you hover above him and grin at the compliment before slowly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin. He watches impatiently as you slowly unbuckle his belt, tauntingly taking your time removing it from around his hips. “Be careful, I may have to use that if you tease me much longer.”

“If only I’d be so lucky” you reply, pointedly leaving it on the pillow beside his bed before making quick work of the rest of his clothes. “You’re so hard for me and I haven’t even done anything yet” you goad, wrapping your hand around his already throbbing cock, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure.

“Look at me, Matthew” you demand and his head whips back up at the command in your tone. “Much better” you praise, dipping your head down to lick a stripe from the base of his cock to his tip, eyes boring into his the entire time.

“Fuck” he breaths out, wrapping a fistful of your hair around his hand before resting it on the back of your head. “More, please.”

“Since you asked so politely” you agree, immediately taking all of him into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat as your lips wrap around the base of his dick.

“Holy shit, Y/N” he gasps, hips desperate to buck but not wanting to hurt you. You painstakingly pull back after a few minutes of working him with your mouth, pumping him with your hand as you smirk up at him.

“Do you want to fuck my face, Matty?” you offer and he feels his eyes widen.

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response is to move off the bed and drop to your knees, hands behind your back. He eagerly stands beside you, hands tangling in your hair as you wrap your mouth around him again. He slowly sinks into your mouth, making sure you’re ready before he begins thrusting deep into your throat. “Holy shit, love” he groans, throwing his head back briefly, before gazing down to meet your glossy eyes. Slight movement catches his eyes and he watches as your fingers dip into your underwear, fingers circling your clit in time with each of his thrusts.

Several moments later he feels you pull back slightly and he releases his grip, removing himself from your mouth so you can catch your breath. “Are you okay?” he asks and you nod eagerly, excess spit dripping down your chin. “Jesus Christ, get on the bed” he commands and you smirk, slowly rising to your feet.

“How do you want me, love?”

“On your back, so I can devour you” he replies and you quickly scramble onto the bed, sliding off your panties as you go. “That’s a good girl” he praises once you’re settled, thighs spread wide, pussy already glistening for him.

He places a sloppy kiss to your mouth as he removes your corset, leaving you entirely bare before him except for your garter belt which he has every intention of leaving on. “Beautiful” he breathes out, pulling a nipple into his mouth while he teases the other in his hand. He’s rewarded with your back arching up to meet him.

“Lower, please, Matt” you beg and he smirks, nibbling gently on your breast before settling between your thighs. He traces your hips with his fingers, placing brief kisses to your inner thighs, inching up closer to your core. You’d complain about his teasing but he wanted you desperate for him before he even really began. He shifted his hands to your thighs, tracing circles along them while kissing your hip bones, eyes rising to look up at you.

“Please” you gasp, hips bucking up, before he forcefully pins you back down to the bed.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, love?” he asks and you nod eagerly, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Then be patient.”

You nod again, dropping your head onto the pillow, seemingly trying to get your breathing under control. Just as he feels your body untense below him, he licks a teasing stripe up your center drawing a loud moan from your mouth. He places a hand flat against your belly ensuring you can’t squirm or buck beneath him as he begins working you with his tongue.

As desperately as he wants to be buried inside you, he can’t stop himself from devouring you until you’re panting above him, hands wrapped painfully tight in his hair. His mouth is suctioned around your clit when you breath out, “Matt, fuck, I’m going to cum” and he immediately plunges two fingers inside you, drawing a frantic gasp from your throat as your back arches off the bed. Two pumps later he feels your walls tighten around his fingers as you call out his name, wrapping your thighs around his head as pleasure wracks your body. He gently works you through your orgasm until your twitches settle down and your legs loosen from around his neck. He smirks up at you, licking his lips, and you bite your own at the sight.

“You look so sexy with my cum all over your mouth” you admit, drawing him up so you can taste yourself on his tongue. He opens the nightstand drawer to grab a condom, rolling it onto himself before pulling away from you.

“Get on your knees” he orders and you eagerly flip over, ass in the air. “What a good girl you are for me, so eager to please.”

“Always” you agree, spreading yourself open for him and he groans at the sight.

He lines himself up with your entrance, “Ready, love?” he asks and in response, you sink yourself back onto him. “Jesus” he grounds out, the sensation of being fully buried in you so quickly overwhelming him for a moment.

“Is it too much darling?” you ask, teasingly wiggling your hips back and forth. He shakes his head at you before reaching beside your head to grab his discarded belt.

“Is this what you want?” he asks and you lick your lips, nodding enthusiastically. He wraps the leather around his hand before bringing it down sharply on your ass, drawing a gasp from your mouth. “Is it too much darling?”

“No, more please” you beg and he obliges, bringing the belt down on your other cheek. “Yes, Matt, fuck me now.”

“Such a slut for me” he taunts, driving into you roughly.

“Yes, yes, I’m your little whore” you gasp out and he rewards you with another slap of the belt against your backside.

“Fuck” he mutters, overwhelmed at the sight of you bent before him, ass cheeks red, makeup smeared, mouth open wide in pleasure. “You look so sexy right now.”

You simply whine, driving your hips back, silently demanding more. He tosses the belt aside so he can focus, gripping your hips and pressing your back down more so he can fuck you deeper, setting a ruthless pace.

“Yes, yes just like that” you gasp, hands wrapped tightly around the sheets beneath you.

“Tell me what you want, love” he breathes out shakily. But all you can do is pant for air, your breathing mixed with moans and curses. He feels you tightening around him again and he wraps his hand around your hair, pulling you up so your back is flush to his chest. “Use your words, darling.”

“You’re fucking me so good Matt” you whine, your hand dipping between your thighs to rub your clit as you look back at him. “Please make me cum again” you whimper, the tempo of your fingers increasing as you squeeze around him even more intensely.

“Come on baby, let me have it. I can feel how close you are” he encourages and you whimper, your eyes turning glossy but never leaving his. Your lower lip quivers as your orgasm tears through you, your pussy clamping and twitching around his cock as you whine and moan beneath him. “There you go, I’ve got you, love” he assures, gently releasing you so you can rest your forehead against the pillow. He gently rocks into you until you stop pulsing around him, placing kisses to your shoulder blades.

“Let me flip over, I want to watch you cum for me” you request and he pulls out just long enough for you to resettle on your back before reconnecting your bodies. As his pace picks up again you pull him down to you, placing a deep kiss to his mouth as you wrap your legs around his back. His mind goes pleasantly blank as he loses himself in the pleasure your body gives him.

“Can you feel how soaked you made me?” you whisper and he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulders and nodding, words beyond him now. “I want you to cum inside me, baby, please. I want to watch you come undone for me.”

“I’m so fucking close” he gets out and you tug at his hair lightly, making him gasp in pleasure.

“I know, baby, I know. My cunt’s squeezing you so tight, isn’t it? Show me how good I’m making you feel” you taunt, hands dropping down to squeeze his balls softly. His vision goes white as his orgasm shoots through him, frantically burying himself inside you as wave after wave of pleasure coarse through him. “There you go, I’ve got you, my love” you whisper, running your hands over his back as he catches his breath.

You two stay wrapped together for several moments longer, neither of you wanting to separate, both of you soaking in the afterglow. Eventually he lifts his head from your chest placing a gentle kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You hiss at the loss of him and he agrees softly, already missing the intimacy of your joined bodies. He rises to clean himself up before returning with a warm, damp cloth.

“Holy shit babe” he chuckles, gently wiping between your legs, shocked at how much of your pleasure is still leaking from you.

“I’m not exaggerating when I say that was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had” you laugh, removing your makeup with the wipe he’d brought out for you so you didn’t have to get up.

“I can tell” he grins and you roll your eyes.

“No need to look so fucking smug, Matthew.”

“What?” he laughs, tossing the cloth in the tub before sliding the quilt down, tucking you underneath before settling behind you. “Can’t I be happy I made my fiancée feel incredible?”

“Sure, I bet that’s all it is. No ego swelling involved” you grumble and he pulls you flat against him. He opens his mouth to make a dirty joke but you cut him off with a quick, “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs again, joy filling his chest to the brim as he places a kiss to the back of your neck before settling onto his pillow.

“I love you so much, darling” he whispers a few moments later, your breathing already evening out as sleep approaches.

“And I love you” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I can’t wait to be your wife.” He feels a small smile pull on his lips at the thought before sleep drags him under.

taglist @littlehorrorlover @slayraxes-blogs @decaffeinatedparadisepost

#matt smith #matt smith imagine #matt smith x reader #matt smith smut #matt smith fanfiction #matt smith fic #asked and answered!

183 notes · View notes

cozycottagetarot · 8 months ago

Text

Why Did They Come Into Your Life?

How To Pick A Group:

Typically I recommend going with the image that you find you keep coming back to after giving each of the piles a once over.

Notes:

This reading will probably work best for anyone who you:

Feel a strong bond with and are curious about its significance.

Are seeking clarity on the role of a certain person might be playing in your life journey.

Potentially: Have encountered someone who left a lasting impression.

This reading is for entertainment purposes only. ✨

Content Warning: One of the piles did take on a bit of a heavier tone (not the person's presence, but your background) I've added a content warning explaining a little more at the beginning of it!

LINKS: Dividers | Reading Masterlist | Patreon | Paid Readings- Open

GIVEAWAY: Personal Reading Giveaway (June 2024) — Closed ✨

PILE 1

Cards: Seven of Spring, The Lovers, Ten of Summer, The Moon, Eight of Winter

This person could be...

This feels like you might be thinking of an ex (you’re on good terms with) and may still be a part of your life, a one-sided crush (as in you genuinely don't know if they feel the same), a friend… someone who has you captivated. This person did not break your heart or hurt you intentionally if that's an aspect of the relationship. Someone from in the last two years. If it’s someone current then… they’re very supportive of you— actively supportive. It doesn't feel like someone you’re currently in a relationship with but you think highly of them. If none of these fit then I’d say choose another pile.

I feel like this person came into your life to help you become the radiant version of yourself. They entered your life to help you find yourself, believe in yourself, and stand up for yourself. They came to bring you clarity and show you where your happiness lies. While this reading isn’t necessarily romantic, I'd still get the vibe it is/was even if I removed The Lovers. It feels like they have you under some sort of spell or have left a lasting impression on you. Music could be an important aspect here too... either they brought the music back into your life; maybe music is something you share, or they inspired you to pursue it in some format. This could be someone you thought you'd have a forever connection with (in some cases there's still hope for that), or if you know them now, there’s potential for a lifelong bond. You used to hold yourself back and hide from the world, but with this person's presence, you're now stepping out into it with full force.

They came to show you not to fear the unknown, but also to help you gain direction. The seven of spring (wands) would typically be followed by the eight of wands in the traditional tarot deck, which can signify sudden changes and actions. In this deck, the fairy on the card is in an action pose 🦸, symbolizing boldness and assertiveness. What I get from this is you’re gaining confidence and in turn everything is seemingly going to start happening at once. This person could also prevent you from standing in your own way (eight of winter).

In general, they offer you a lot of emotional support, which I feel you may really need at the moment. They make you feel loved and valued—this is someone you want in your life forever, and it feels like they will be, though this is a general reading. I think they also came to show you how to have a good time. This person might be a fling or short-lived but intense friendship, but even then, it’s the kind of experience where you'll reminisce about what you two had fondly and find yourself giggling about in old age.

PILE 2

This person could be...

Oh my gosh, I’m getting so many different things from this pile but overall I think you’ll like it.

This could be someone you knew as a kid or someone who makes you feel like a kid again. They are warm and loving. I’m getting a Cinderella situation or vibe here. Definitely some kind of monumental change or transformation is occurring or has occurred. The person you’re inquiring about could be someone you’re manifesting, and this reading has a heavily romantic tone. If that’s not what you’re looking for, consider a different pile. They could be with you or support you through a very dark time. There’s an emphasis on emotional connection, so if you don’t feel that bond and know it’s reciprocated in some formt, this might not be the group for you either.

This is someone you’ve been waiting for, or it feels like “your soul” has been waiting for. It’s hard to describe, but this person feels like a heart's wish. Whatever your long-term hopes for the future are, this person plays a role in them. For example, if you want a partner with a significant commitment, kids, and a fancy house (sorry, not the most imaginative at this moment), then this person is going to play a significant role in that.

With the card Release (traditionally Death), I feel like this person has come in when a cycle is over or very Very close to closing out, even if it doesn’t feel that way. I emphasize this because the fairy in the card is in a beautiful setting with shimmering lights above them and their eyes closed. I feel like that is you- you can’t see the transformation taking place… yet. There’s also the nine of summer (cups) following the card, where the images remind me of a coronation coupled with a fairy godmother’s transformation. So I feel like this person symbolises or marks that transition even if you don’t see it yet…. For some of you, I feel like this is still to come. I’m not fully sure how to describe what I’m picking up.

The future is being written out in small steps—steps so small you can’t tell. That’s not meant to scare you! I feel like you might be anxious about that at times. But you’re stepping into a new chapter with lovely rewards. It won’t be all sunshine and rainbows, but when you look back, you’ll remember the good times and how you overcame the bad rather than simply dwell on the bad.

I feel like good things are coming to you with this person. Messages like this can feel short, but there’s not much more to say other than congratulations. This person is loving, nurturing, chivalrous, and has a protective energy. I feel like you’ve lucked out.

I keep wanting to say I’m giving you a hug, but I see you’re already taken care of. ♥️

PILE 3

Cards: Four of Summer, Seven of Summer and King of Summer, Queen of Autumn, Life Experience

CW: I don't read about certain topics but will mention them if they come through strongly. This group briefly mentions substance use (in a sentence). There's also brief language 🙄. It's also a tough-love group...

In this group I talk about the person romantically but it can absolutely be any other kind of relationship. I did my best to include both. But if you pick this pile then you gotta stick with me because there are so many different messages in it— ready?

This reminds me of a tarot reading I watched on YouTube that mentioned being addicted to someone who has something physically or materially going for them but wasn’t emotionally available. Meanwhile, getting bored of the sweet, emotionally available, non-chaotic type of [person] that [you] need to balance you out… yeah... that’s the same vibe I’m picking up here. I was curious to see what cards would follow when the four of summer, seven of summer and king of summer came out, and as soon as I saw life experience (the tower) I immediately thought yup that's the vibe!

So there are two scenarios I’m picking up on here. This person is either the loving, emotionally available partner you need and deserve OR this person has f*ck boy (idk what the neutral term is) energy and can potentially lead you down a bad path. I kind of feel like this person whichever persona they are, they're here to push you to make a decision. In the imagery on the four of summer, there’s this child kind of like looking up pleading to an older person who is looking off into the distance. I feel like your inner child or some part of you might be begging you not to make dumb decisions. Sitting with the cards more, this person feels like they are more the 'king of cups' type mentioned above. But on your end, it's like the universe could be shining a big old spotlight on them with multiple arrows saying this person is good for you and you'd be like 'yeahhh but I want something different 🤪'. My love— don’t. It reminds me of the song Chaos Mode by DEZI. I feel like this person came into your life because you’re meant to elevate yourself and live to a certain standard (again wording, sorry) instead of repeating things that are going to leave you unstable.

I also feel like this person or type of person you go for can potentially lead you down a pathway of poor mental health and substance use and while I don’t read about substances/substance abuse if that resonates with you, please take the steps you need to get help/break out of that pattern.

You might also be overly picky. Especially if you’re into manifesting and adjacent practices. So if someone fits the bill of what you want but let’s say they don’t look like it by one detail— this person could be everything you’ve wished for personality-wise and everything you need. So it becomes a case of 'are you gonna let the good thing go because one detail is off or are you going to consider if it should legitimately be a dealbreaker'? And what I mean by little things is they look how you want minus a specific piercing or hair cut 🤨, that’s essentially what I get. Long story short, this person came in to make you make up your damn mind.

This person might not be forever either, but they may be the start. I think they’re also here to help you regain your focus on what’s important to you. I know I’ve been tearing into you this whole time (all out of love 🥰) but with the queen of autumn I feel like you have such a lovely personality and demeanour but someone or a certain set of people or event/s have distorted how you see yourself.

Overall, don’t be afraid to change and go after something better. I feel like you’ve been through something significant at some point and the person you’re inquiring about is acting as a guide to bring you to something better.

I’m sending you love, pile three 💕

PILE 4

Cards: Ego, Ten of Autumn, The High Priestess, Awakening, Nine of Autumn, Four of Autumn, Princess of Winter

This person kind of feels like they came into your life because they’re a messenger of some kind. They’re here to help aid, guide or set you on the right path to the long-term destination you seek. You’re not seeing yourself clearly right now or you’re not seeing something clearly.

They make you pause and question: Are you really in alignment? Your priorities may be off, but this person helps you get back into the right place to enjoy where you are now and what’s to come. This feels like someone who works in a profession helping others or has a safe energy to them, but at the same time, you feel wary about them. There’s an older energy to this person, or they may have been through something you’re going through and are trying to help. To summarize, they have a mentor energy.

This person has entered your life to help you trust your intuition and clear the lens through which you view life. I feel like your energy is slightly jaded, but at the same time, you may mirror each other, so it’s hard to tell which of you is rough around the edges. They might be slightly impersonal but wise. They help you do the work so you can enjoy the results. They may assist with how you view yourself and help you become more open and receptive to others.

I don’t know why, but I got an image of Scrooge—that’s what comes to mind. This person helps you go within, get clarity on one thing or another, revive you, and gain a new perspective.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a pile reading #pac #free reading tarot #cozycottagetarot #cozycottagetarot readings #tarotblr #pick an image #free tarot

295 notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years ago

Text

The Yandere Student Council

You just needed to get your schedule officialized. Having gained special permissions to take a desired course you needed the student council’s collective stamps of approval to proceed. Normally all you would need to do was slip in the necessary documents. But something seems to keep happening to yours and it just works better for you to do it in person. Thus begins you’re journey of getting the obsessed student council’s approval.

The first one you go to is the one with the easiest access –the Secretary. Gill Hunter has an absolute poker face when his boyfriend isn’t around. So you’re pleasantly surprised when he’s actually willing to hear you out. Keeping his amber eyes on you he listens to your plea for his stamp, seemingly not reacting at all he promises to help you—for a price. You have to step in for him and his boyfriend from time to time. He says it's just a week as he demands you shadow him for the day. Calling to you in his monotone voice to join him in the student council lounge. Don’t bother bringing up you’re friends or your desire to eat your lunch alone. Even as the week comes to an end and you get your stamp he has you working closely with both him and his boyfriend very closely as an honorary assistant.

“Most if not all schedules go through me, you don’t want your schedule being messed up again. Do you?”

The next one is Gill’s beloved–the Historian. June Frimroar is a different kind of person you need to get a stamp from. Where Gill strings you along with his stone-cold face and hardly hidden intentions, June will do the exact opposite. With a smile that flirts with scheming and altruism, he’ll ask for the most innocent kind of help. Only to somehow become something far more intimate and demanding of you in the first place. How else would simply taking notes during student council meetings lead to you smushed in a locker with the historian and his boyfriend? Or how you’ll be forced to help undress June whose hands inexplicably might be sprained? He’s an enigma to loosely associate with trouble, easily put off by how kind he is to you and your friends as you start spending more time with him and the rest of the student council. Certainly, those rumors of him crippling classmates for fun are far from true, right?

“Don’t you trust me, (Y/n)? Just listen to me and I’m sure everything will work out…even if that blackmail situation with your friend is completely separate.”

Like clockwork, you fall into being the student council’s lackey suddenly trusted with helping the seemingly overwhelmed Treasurer. Min Su is an odd fellow who’s been dignified a living legend with his accounting possibilities; rumored to casually be hired by the government a couple of times. So it's odd that he suddenly must have you spending your club hours documenting receipts. He’s so apologetic and jumpy that you don’t feel right questioning him. So it's normal that he has a fierce blush on his face as you take the records from his hand. Or the little noises of excitement pleasure he seems to have when you lean over him to admire his speed as he’s calculating the books. He’s likely to forget that you needed to get his stamp until you off-handedly mention how you’re going to miss him when you get that stamp.

“Oh, you wanted that? I-I’m happy to give it to you, n-no problem! But you’ll still visit me right?”

At this point, your presence is much more normalized in the student council quarters, and naturally, the Sergeant of Arms or more well known as the student council’s hype man is happy to welcome you. Popular beyond belief Roman Ferris arguably has the largest fan and friend base in the entire council. Knowing everything about everyone he already knows what you’re asking for and he’s cheekily telling you he’s already prepared how you’re going to get it. If you thought Gill was forward then you’d be mistaken Roman straight-up demands every weekend that you come with him on a date. Movies, restaurants, ice cream, trips to the park, he’s doing it all with you. Demanding you dress up for these ‘definitely not dates’, hold his hand while you walk, and smile at him only him when you pose for the camera. It's odd how he knows your every like and dislike, always ordering for you and smiling ominously when you ask. But he’s definitely not giving you this stamp if you suddenly stop coming to his dates hangouts, even if he promised he would. It’d be bad if the whole student body considered you a harlot for playing with the golden boy’s feelings. So just smile while you eat your favorites and keep your mouth sealed about your suspicions.

“Don’t worry about it babe, I already know just how you like it! Don’t worry how I know~ You’re so cute when you're well-fed!”

Practically cemented to your unwritten obligation the Vice President is well aware of what you’re after. Spencer Lyle will wait until the end of the day mindlessly stamping your document as he scrambles through his hefty pile of paperwork. Bags under his eyes and his lids dropping dangerously you figure you’ll help him, already familiar with the kind of work he was doing anyway. He thanks you when you eventually wake him up and from then on something sinister a friendship is born. Suddenly he’s coming up to you in your classes, during lunches keeping you talking casually as he leads you to the student council room. You were going there anyway, right? He’s just the perfect friend for you. Great at warding off bullying fans or teachers that get a little too snippy, he becomes your go-to friend. Not too popular but well-respected feared by the student body; totally perfect for relying on him to be relatable. Completely complacent with letting him into your life and it feels so normal now that he rings your dorm bell for an early morning. You know him so well so it's natural he does the same.

“Hey, you ready to go cupcake? Bags under my eyes? Yeah, I was up all night protecting you doing council stuff, you know how I work.”

Last but certainly not least the Student Council President: Lucoa Grander the college’s prodigy cryptid. Known to be a living genius and prominent underground business personality it seems only natural that he gets such a powerful, prestigious position. He is such a celebrity you go to Spencer to deliver your schedule confirmation only to receive a disappointing answer. Apparently, the president’s only willing to stamp yours personally, and thus your witchhunt for the illusive president begins. Searching high and low, stringing on his fan base’s own timeline and the other council members’ accounts you try to find him. But after a while, you give up fully prepared to abandon your desired course to have the blue-haired pierced-up president mysteriously showing up. He greets you so casually, sitting next to you as he asks mundane questions. When you finally ask for his stamp he gives it to you…on a major condition.

“We’ve been looking to widen our ranks and I’ve we’ve been keeping a close eye on you. And we’re thinking of making you an honorary member–it's a new position to diversify our team. You’ll get your stamp this way and we get you our beloved a new member that’s fair enough isn’t it?”

3K notes · View notes

lupinqs · 5 months ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE ━━ Fractured Bonds

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 4.2K

☆ ━ warnings: lots of angst (sorry), pretty dialogue heavy

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: okay i know dani may look like a bad person, but ntm on her yet!!! there is a reason i swear

THE LATE AUGUST sun hangs high in the sky, bathing the Minneapolis airport in a warm, golden light as Paige steps out of the terminal. When her eyes set on her dad and Drew, her face breaks out into a large grin. She hugs them, lets her little brother grip onto her leg, ruffling the boy’s hair. She’s home—and thank God for it. The summer was fun, of course, filled with basketball camps, tournaments, endless travel, and a nice week spent with her friend Azzi Fudd’s family. But it was a little bit exhausting, and, by the end of it, all Paige had longed for was to be home, with her family, with her friends, with Dani. Her heart races with the thought of finally being back in the presence of her best friend—well, she supposes they’re more than that now.

As soon as Paige drops her bags into her dad’s SUV and slides into the passenger seat, she pulls out her phone and eagerly clicks on Dani’s contact, calling her. She can already imagine the smile on Dani’s face when she hears Paige’s voice. The way her eyes would light up and that infectious laugh that Paige adores.

The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time. And then…

“Hey, this is Dani. Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you!”

The voicemail beeps and Paige frowns, the joy and pure excitement she felt moments ago faltering just a bit. She didn’t expect Dani to answer on the first ring—the brunette isn’t one to be glued to her phone—but the voicemail still surprises her. Paige stares at the screen, before pressing the red “End Call” button.

Instead of leaving a message, Paige opts to text her best friend, assuming she’ll probably get a quicker response that way anyways.

Paige ❤️‍🔥

Hey I just got back home do you wanna do something later?

I really wanna see you I’ve missed you sm

Paige sends it, sighing as she drops her phone into her lap. She feels her dad’s gaze on her from the driver’s seat and she turns, seeing his arched brows. He begins to pull out of the parking lot as he asks, “Everything okay, P?”

“Yeah,” Paige replies, sulking a little bit. She knows she’s being a tad dramatic, but she can’t help it—this is the longest she’s ever been away from Dani and all she wants is to see the girl again, talk to her, hug her, kiss her… “Was just tryna get ahold of Dani, is all. I haven’t talked to her since, like, June. Do y’know if she’s back from camp yet?”

Paige remembers when Dani sent her that text about a week after Paige left, telling her that she was going to some summer camp for the next couple months or so and she wouldn’t be able to talk to Paige since they were taking her phone. The blonde had thought it was weird that Dani was even going to a summer camp at all—she’s always hated those things. But Paige had merely accepted it and told her to have a good time, all the while her chest aching at the thought of complete radio silence between her and the Callan girl for the next couple months.

“I’m not sure,” Bob says, rubbing his chin a little as he drives, keeping his eyes on the road. “Haven’t seen her around at all, so I doubt it. You seen her any, Drew?”

In the back seat, Drew perks up at the sound of his name, saying, “No… I wish I have, though. I miss her almost as much as I missed you, Paigey.”

Paige glance to the back, grinning at her younger brother. “Missed you, too, Drewski.” But then the blonde’s mind trails back her best friend, shaking her head as she says, “I thought she’d be back by now, though. School starts in, like, three days.”

“Well, if she is back, I’m sure she’s just getting ready for the school year again. You know, Paige, even though you don’t, she still has to do all of her college applications. That takes up time; she’s probably just focused on that,” Paige’s dad reasons, giving his daughter a reassuring smile. He’s probably not wrong; Dani’s always been the type of person that’s practically manic about her grades and anything that has to do with college, even though Paige knows she’s certainly smart enough to get into most schools that aren’t, like, Ivy’s, of course.

So, Paige nods absently to her father’s words, gazing out the window as the familiar streets pass her by. She knows she shouldn’t be so paranoid and weird about this, but something about Dani not contacting her or answering her call just rubs Paige in the wrong way a little bit. They’ve barely talked since that night back in May—before Paige had left for the summer—and, almost as soon as Paige did leave, things began to seem a bit… weird. Off. But Paige tries to shrug that feeling off, convincing herself that everything is gonna go back to normal once they’re together again.

Eventually, the car pulls into the driveway and the three Bueckers get out, hauling Paige’s bags inside the house. As they’re heading in, Paige sneaks a glance at Dani’s house. The lights are off, there’s no car in the driveway—it looks as if nobody’s home. In a way, that actually relieves Paige a little bit; it probably just means that Dani really is busy and has a valid reason for not answering Paige’s call or text.

When Paige finally has all of her things thrown across her bedroom floor, she collapses onto her bed, glad to finally be home, in her own space. She lays there for a long moment, before her phone pings. Almost immediately—and a little bit pathetically, Paige thinks—Paige jumps up, grabbing her phone, hoping and praying it’s from the girl she’s so longing to talk to.

But, when she sees the contact name, Paige’s face drops in disappointment.

Jalen Suggs

Yo, u were supposed to get back today right?

Thaliah and I are at the park rn getting some shots in if ur around u should come by

And then, another text from a different contact:

Thaliah Sommers ❌❌

p if you are back in town you better come hang with us!!!

we miss youuuuu!!!!!!

Paige smiles a little bit at the idea of seeing her friends after three long months without them. Still, she can’t shake the disappointment that the one person who still hasn’t bothered to contact her is the one person that she really, truly wants to see. Even so, Paige sends Thaliah and Jalen a response each, telling them she’s about to leave and she’ll be there soon.

She makes her way downstairs, calling to her dad in the kitchen, “I’m going to the park to hang out with Jalen and Thaliah!”

Bob just calls back, “Okay, be careful—oh, and be back for dinner! I’m making alfredo!”

“Will do!”

Paige opens the door and leaves her house, her long legs carrying her quickly to the nearby park where she and her friends have spent countless hours together over the years, playing pick-up games until the sun dipped below the trees. As she approaches, she spots Jalen mindlessly dribbling a basketball as he talks with Thaliah, who’s sprawled across a picnic table, legs stretched out.

“P!” Jalen calls as soon as he notices her. He pauses mid-dribble, face breaking out into a wide grin. Thaliah turns, too, standing from the picnic table, eyes alight as she waves to the blonde enthusiastically.

Paige grins back, the familiar sight of her best friends warming some of the ache in her chest. She jogs over, giving Jalen a bro-hug before wrapping her arms around Thaliah in a quick embrace. “Missed you guys,” she says, happy to be home.

“Missed you, too,” Thaliah replies, squeezing her back. “Summer’s treating you well, I see; cause, girl, you are tan! How’s it all been?”

“Exhausting,” Paige admits with a chuckle, pulling away. “But good.”

“Bet you’re glad to be home,” Jalen says, tossing his basketball from hand to hand.

“Yeah,” Paige nods, smile faltering just a little. “It’s good to be back.”

“Wanna shoot around?” Thaliah asks, already bouncing the ball off the backboard and catching it. She doesn’t actually play basketball—volleyball is more her scene, actually. Nevertheless, she’s always enjoyed playing with Jalen and Paige.

“Sure,” the blonde agrees, though her mind still seems to be elsewhere. She steps off the court, trying to push the growing anxiety and utter longing that’s been gnawing at her since she landed.

As they play, Paige finds herself half-listening to Jalen and Thaliah’s banter. Normally, she would have jumped right in, teasing and talking trash. But today, it seems like her brain has the capacity to truly only think about one thing: Dani. She wants to know why she hasn’t called her back yet, why she hasn’t even bothered to reply to Paige’s text. The silence eats at the point guard, tearing its nails into her resolve. Finally, she decides she can’t take it anymore.

“So, hey,” Paige starts, her tone casual, but the slight edge in her voice betrays her. “Do you guys know if Dani’s back from camp yet?”

Almost immediately, Jalen and Thaliah share a surprised glance full of raised brows and slacked jaws. That’s all it takes for Paige’s stomach to drop. Clearly, there’s something they both know.

“P,” Jalen begins, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, almost like he’s about to break bad news. “Dani’s been back for almost a month now.”

Paige’s whole body goes frigid, the basketball slipping through her fingers and bouncing away. She swallows thickly before asking, “What?”

Thaliah nods, expression sympathetic and a little reserved as she adds, “Yeah, she got back a while ago.” She glances at Jalen again before returning her eyes to Paige. “We thought you knew.”

“I—” Paige starts, but her throat seems to dry out. She gulps again, feeling as though there are claws tearing at her vocal chords, her chest, her insides, her everything, because—why hasn’t Dani told Paige? “No, I didn’t,” the blonde finally gets out, voice small, almost lost amidst the sounds of the park. “She didn’t tell me.”

Jalen scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “She’s been kinda… different, since she got back,” he mumbles, shrugging. “Really distant.”

Paige’s heart pounds in her chest almost as if it’s trying to crawl its way out of her rib cage. The shock of her friends’ words slowly begins to melt into confusion and hurt. “Distant?” she asks. “What do you mean?”

Thaliah shrugs, sighing. “Just like, she never asks to hang with us anymore, and if we try to initiate it, she always gives us some shitty excuse why she can’t go. Like, a couple weeks ago, we asked her to hang out and she said she was sick. And then we went to the mall and literally saw her there hanging out with other people.” Thaliah shakes her head in clear irritation, rolling her eyes a little.

“Who’s she been hanging around with if not you guys?” Paige asks, still trying to make sense of the situation.

“Well, I know she’s been with Serena Corren a lot,” Thaliah replies. Paige furrows her brows at the answer. Serena’s a cheerleader and not a very kind person—certainly not the type of person that Dani would willingly want to hang out with. “I mean, I guess it’s not that weird since Serena’s on yearbook, too, but like she’s such a bitch—so, it kinda is.”

Thaliah pauses, her and Jalen sharing another look that makes Paige’s insides squeeze together.

“Is that it?” Paige asks, eyes narrowing as they dart between her two friends.

Thaliah sighs heavily then, running a hand through her hair, not making eye contact with Paige. “Well,” she says slowly, and then she meets the blonde’s gaze. Thaliah’s eyes turn apologetic. “She’s dating Beau Hudson now.”

Suddenly, it feels like the ground beneath Paige has been ripped out from under her. Paige stares at Thaliah, open-mouthed, hoping she’s heard wrong. “What?”

“Beau Hudson,” Jalen repeats, grimacing as he says the name. “P, you know him—Hopkins’ quarterback, a certified dick.”

Of course, Paige knows him. She’s known him since elementary school. She and Dani—and eventually Thaliah and Jalen—have been mocking Beau for years. He’s the type of jock that’s got more muscles than brains, the type of guy that throws himself at girls just because he can. And, the thought of Dani—Paige’s Dani—dating someone like him is completely unfathomable to the blonde.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Paige mumbles, shaking her head. Dani told Paige that she loved her just a couple months ago. She’d told Paige that even with the distance between them, they’d be okay. “Why would she—?”

“We don’t know,” Thaliah says quietly. “She’s just changed, Paige. I mean, the last time I talked to her it felt like she was a completely different girl.”

Paige’s mind spins, trying to piece together the fragments of information. Dani’s back. Dani’s dating Beau Hudson. Dani didn’t even bother telling Paige that she was home. Anger flares up, sharp and hot, but underneath it is something deeper, more painful. Paige feels hurt, deep and bone-crushing.

“She didn’t even tell me,” Paige whispers, more to herself than them.

Jalen takes a hesitant step closer, resting a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “Maybe you should talk to her. Find out what’s going on.”

Paige nods numbly, but inside, she’s a storm of raging emotions. She can’t seem to understand how things changed so drastically, so quickly. The Dani Paige knows—her best friend, the girl she’s loved for as long as she can remember—would never have done any of this. There has to be some kind of explanation, some sort of reason behind it all.

The rest of their time at the park is a blur for Paige. She plays, but neither her heart or head are in it, all too preoccupied with thoughts of Dani. As soon as she can, she makes an excuse to leave. It might make her a little bit of a shitty friend because she hasn’t seen Jalen and Thaliah in months, but she simply can’t help it. The pair offer her sympathetic smiles as she goes, but she doesn’t notice. All she really knows is that she has to talk to Dani.

She has to know why.

The late afternoon sun beats down on Paige as she walks along the sidewalk, staring at the cracks in the cement as she goes. They’re like her emotions right now—all cracked and crooked, a chaotic mess of confusion, hurt, and anger. A desperate need for answers.

She has no idea what she’s gonna say, and her brain doesn’t even bother trying to articulate something. Instead, it runs haywire, bouncing around in her skull as it attempts to make sense of all the information that is so clearly wrong. She’s half in denial, thinking that maybe Thaliah and Jalen merely read into things wrong, that perhaps Dani’s just going through a bit of a rough patch. Maybe Paige can talk some sense into her and maybe, just maybe, everything can go back to normal for their senior year. God, Paige fucking hopes so.

When she finally reaches the end of the street, standing in front of Dani’s house, Paige goes frigid. She stares, gaze flickering between the house before her and her own house right next door. Right here, in the small circumference that surrounds these two homes, holds so many important memories to Paige. She can picture her and Dani as kids, running between the two front yards, laughing and playing without a care in the world. She remembers the slip in slide their parents set up right here, the way she and Dani wore it out until there were holes in the plastic and wet grass sticking to their skin. She remembers playing fetch with Dani’s dog, Maverick, until all three of them had tired out, Dani and Paige laying on the ground with the golden retriever in between them. She remembers sitting on Dani’s front porch, holding her best friend and letting her cry into her shoulder after they found out Dani’s mother died. She remembers kissing Dani by the door in the dark until both of them could barely breathe, swallowing each other’s giggles.

But now, everything feels different. Darker. Dimmer. The house before Paige feels almost foreboding, like it’s guarding the secrets Dani’s been keeping from her.

Paige takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She isn’t sure what to expect, but she knows she has to face whatever’s waiting on the other side of that door, whatever hard truth she’s about to be exposed to.

Her hand trembles as she reaches out to knock. She has so many questions, so much to say, but, now, as she stands here, all of it begins to choke her. She swallows thickly, clearing her throat, before knocking twice.

A few moments later, the door opens. And there she is—Dani Callan, standing in the doorway, looking different yet heartbreakingly familiar. At the sight of her, Paige’s breath catches in her throat. Dani’s hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s dressed in a simple tank top and shorts, but it’s her expression that strikes Paige the most. There’s a hardness in Dani’s eyes, one that the blonde has never been subjected to, a coldness that she’s never seen before.

“Paige,” Dani acknowledges, her voice flat, almost emotionless. She doesn’t step aside to let her in.

Paige swallows, her mouth dry. “Hey, Dan. Can we talk?”

Dani hesitates, glancing over her shoulder as if she’s considering closing the door. Then, she sighs, stepping back to let Paige in. Even so, her demeanor doesn’t hold an invitation—just an odd vexation. “Sure. Come in.”

The house is eerily quiet as Paige follows her best friend inside. It feels all wrong, like the silence is pressing down on her, suffocating. Dani leads her to the living room, before sitting down on the couch, posture stiff. Paige stays standing a few feet away, her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

“What’s going on?” Paige asks, trying to keep her voice firm yet she hears a crack in it. A tremble. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Why didn’t you—”

“Paige,” Dani interrupts, her tone sharp and cutting. It makes the words die on the blonde’s lips. “I don’t want to do this.”

Paige blinks, taken aback by the harshness in the brunette’s voice. “Do what? Talk?” she scoffs, shaking her head, anger creeping up. “You haven’t talked to me in months, Dani! I’ve been worried about you, I’ve been missing you nonstop—and then I find out you’ve been back for weeks and didn’t even bother to let me know?”

Dani looks away, jaw clenching. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” Paige repeats indignantly. If anything, Paige has been busy, traveling from place to place, balancing basketball and everything else. And yet, she’d always, always make time for her best friend. “Really? You’ve been too busy to call me? Too busy to even text?” The blonde’s voice begins to rise steadily, the hurt and confusion she’s been holding back beginning to spill out. “I mean, fuck, Dani! We kissed! And you told me that you loved me. And—and then, what? You just disappear! I mean, what the hell is going on?”

Dani flinches at Paige’s words, but she doesn’t respond right away. She stares at the ground for a long moment, the room going completely silent. And then she finally glances up, eyes meeting Paige’s. There’s a flicker of something there—guilt, maybe?—but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. “That night,” she starts slowly, taking a long breath out, “it was a mistake.”

Paige’s heart stutters in her chest, almost like it’s about to fail. A mistake. For the first time today, the blonde feels her eyes begin to burn. She furiously fights the tears, refusing to cry here. Clearly, she’d only be embarrassing herself. “A mistake?” Paige whispers, shaking her head. “Dani, you’re not serious.”

“I am,” the Callan girl responds, voice flat. “It never should’ve happened. I don’t want that. I don’t want… you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the gut, and she steps back, heart thudding in her chest. “You can’t mean that.” She can’t. Dani told Paige that she loved her, that she was in love with her.

“I do,” Dani insists, her tone growing more resolute with each word. “Paige, I can’t be what you want me to be. I don’t want to be. I have a boyfriend now, and—”

“Beau Hudson? You hate Beau Hudson!” Paige shouts, her anger boiling over. She feels like every inch of her body is being scorned, flames burning through her skin and into her very being. “I mean, we both do! We always have. We’ve made fun of him for years—and for good reason! He’s a dick, Dani! And now, you’re just— you’re dating him? After everything we—”

“Just stop, Paige!” Dani cuts her off, voice louder than Paige has ever heard it. It’s full of emotion—though Paige can’t seem to decipher what emotion exactly—the most feeling the brunette has put into her words the entire conversation. “You need to stop. Whatever you think we had, it’s over. It’s done.”

Paige stares at her. She can feel it—over a decade of friendship, over a decade of Paige and Dani fading away. It’s been them; it’s always been them since they were five years old. And now, Paige feels that being ripped away from her, stolen. She fights for it. She wants it back. “But… why? Why’re you doing this?”

Dani looks away again, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “Because we can’t be friends anymore, Paige. I don’t want to be friends with you. I just want you to leave me alone.”

Paige’s eyes sting again, but she blinks the tears back, letting the salt simmer in her eyes. “Is this because of what happened? Because of the kiss? Because of the I love you’s? Because if it is—”

“It’s not about the kiss,” Dani says, voice cold and final. “Or about the I love you’s. It’s about everything. I grew up—and I think you should, too.”

Paige gapes, and a roar of confusion tears through her again. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re clinging to something that’s never going to happen,” Dani replies, lips turning down into something between a frown and a scowl. “I’m with Beau now. I’m moving on. So. Should. You.” She says the words slowly and firmly as if she’s really trying to cement them in Paige’s brain. Paige blanches at them.

“Moving on?” the blonde repeats, the words shredding through her vocal chords. “You don’t have to move on! I’m right here! I want you!”

“But I don’t!” Dani shouts back. “Can’t you get that? I don’t want you, Paige.”

The point guard opens her mouth to argue, to beg, but the words won’t come. She feels like she’s drowning, like everything she’s ever known is slipping away from her, and there’s not a single thing she can do to stop it.

Dani stands up, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at Paige with a look that’s almost pitying. “Please, Paige. Just go.”

Paige stands there for a long moment, feet planted, staring at the girl she thought she knew, the girl she thought loved her. But this isn’t Dani—not the Dani she remembers, not the one she’s spent her whole life with. This is someone else, someone who’s built walls so high and so thick that Paige can’t even begin to break through.

She turns away slowly, legs feeling like lead. She wants to say more, to continue demanding, to go up to Dani and shake her shoulders until the sense has been come back to her. But Paige doesn’t. Instead, she walks to the door, heart cracking with every step.

When she gets to the doorway, she pauses, turning back to look at her childhood best friend one last time.

“If you ever change your mind…” she mumbles, eyes traveling across Dani before landing on the other side of the room, unable to really look at her. “If you ever want to talk…”

But Dani just shakes her head. “Goodbye, Paige.”

Paige nods, stepping outside, the door closing behind her with a finality that feels like what might as well be the end of everything. She stands on the porch for a long moment, trying to process what just happened, but all she can seem to feel is a crushing sense of loss. Finally, the tears begin to spill over and a harsh sob rips through Paige’s chest. She doesn’t bother wiping the tears away, instead just lets them fall. Lets them carry the pain, the confusion, the heartbreak.

But even as she walks away, over to her own house right next door, there’s one thing Paige can’t let go of—the feeling that the Dani she knows, the Dani she loves, is still in there somewhere. And no matter what Dani says, no matter how much she pushes Paige away, the blonde refuses to give up on her. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #take me to church #hopkins p fic #wlw #paige bueckers x oc

318 notes · View notes

kanmom51 · 7 months ago

Text

Smeraldo garden marching band - JM

Song and MV - My thoughts

Very long post ahead. Seeing that @andy-wm wrote such an amazing post already, I am sending whoever hasn't read it to go read and like it.

I agree with @andy-wm's thoughts and am going to use it as a base to mine, jot down a few points I would like to either add or emphasize. I could have reblogged, but I felt there was just too much I wanted to convey and better I do it in a separate post.

So let's get it.

Where where where do I start?

Maybe from the end, seeing that the song does seem to open and closes with the BTS reference.

I do agree the song is not JM singing his love to Army.

I've seen Army trying to twist and turn it around once again making it all about Army, JM telling us things he couldn't tell us before, the truth he couldn't before - that he loves army? Say what? Since when did he not tell Army he loved us? Since when was that a truth that had to be hidden? Nah. It's funny how people are getting the whole connection to the Smeraldo flower, the connection to The truth untold (will talk about that a little more later on), but are not willing to take that one extra step and see or admit what that thing JM telling us is.

There is a reason this song comes after Set me free Pt. 2!!

This is a different JM. One that decided to live his life as himself, flying away free like a butterfly.

And he connects the dots in the MV.

This is about something that was obviously hidden by him until now, something he is telling us now, a secret he is letting us in on, once he told "all the opps" to fuck off.

These lines here:

All the things we couldn't say before And your hidden feelings too I'll tell you everything now (Just for you) Don't you worry anymore Since we’re together now Let's be a little more honest (Let's go)

Clear as day.

This is about hidden feelings (and not necessarily hidden from the person he loves but from us, as we are the audience and it's time to tell us about it). Same btw with the honesty. Not that he hasn't been honest with that person he loves, but it's time to be honest with us, perhaps practice that same honesty that certain person has been trying to practice throughout 2023.

This is JM's time. JM's secret to tell.

So why, oh why the hell would it be about his love for Army and wanting to hold our flaming hands????? Please make it make sense.

Forget the fact that the lyrics are just not it. Nope. He might love army but he definitley doesn't want army, and spare me any reasoning, JM is a big boy and he KNOWS what it means when he says "I want you babe...", and it ain't him wanting Army. Nope. Nah. No way.

On top of that, by now we know that everything JM does is for a reason, and the 12 June in the lyrics is no different. This is about BTS, not Army, and the idea of the bookending, I love love love that one. This exactly:

That means the events happening in the song, happen within the context of Bangtan. Reading between the lines, the person he is singing to/about is within Bangtan.

Ah, and there is this too:

No special course in reading comprehension needed here.

Not a love song to army. If it wasn't clear from the lyrics then it's said here. A song JM wrote for army to help them express their feelings for a loved one when they are having issues doing so themselves (all part of the layering I will talk about later on).

I'll just say here that JM is the king of layering. One song and MV containing messages within messages.

One more thing about that ending frame from JM though.

When the curtains rise and the lights turn on Everyone is in their places Turn up the music I think we’re ready now Let's begin one, two Put your hands up

These lines.

As I was watching the MV for the first time reading those lines, this is what popped straight into mind (and speaking of popping, I will get to that too, that naughty cutie, sexy, lovely man of ours and his not so innocent innuendos - yes, I do think his mind was going there):

When do you feel your heart connected with another member ?

"...when my eyes naturally meet Jimin's and we high five..."

*Side note: not JK telling us his heart is connected with JM basically all the time...

I guess JK is talking about moments like that.

When I saw/heard those lines in JM's song it felt like the one JM was talking to in that moment wasn't all of the members, but that one person standing on that stage with him, that one person that he just said all his "I love you"s to.

Oh, and a little example of nothing being coincidental and fully thought out by JM:

Ok then.

Just as @andy-wm mentioned, JM gives us hints galore throughout the whole MV as to who that individual is he is speaking to, confessing his love to (again, all while also clearly talking to us letting us in on that secret that he was hiding until now).

We have him hinting to what it ain't.

That the person in question is not of the female variety. The potentially romantic moments are only with the male characters. That "yes sir" add-on.

Ooh, I love you babe I'll come closer to you I love you, babe (Yes, sir) Ooh, I want you, babe I wanna hold your hand I want you, babe

This is no mistake. This is not in the live version only. This is part of the actual lyrics. As is.

We have him giving us hints in the staging, the choreo, the set connecting with Serendipity.

The you are me I am you in the MV choreo

And prey tell, who took ownership of that one, eh?

We have the bubbles.

And specifically JM in a bubble.

Wait, what am I seeing there?

JM in a bubble with sunflowers?

Sun-flowers?

I guess we're in the business of recreating moments then.

Not quite enough, right?

So we have JM literally using Golden hour lighting in his MV. All while the sunflowers (you know, those that grow towards the sun, and usually don't tend to open up and flourish as the sun is going down) are blooming.

Oh, and who are they directed towards if not the recipient of JM's confession? You know, the sun part of the sun and moon duo. Get with it people. You should be reciting this off by heart by now.

Oh, @andy-wm you asked and I will reply. You are not crazy AT ALL. I will say it one more time and clearly:

The sunflowers, that represent the sun as in themselves, are blooming facing towards the camera, in the direction of JM's love confession, all while doing so when the sun is actually supposedly setting, it being Golden hour.

And if it's Golden hour we are talking about, how can we forget this?

Just JK telling us JM is the love of his life during Golden Hour .

See full clip here:

And now we have JM doing just the same.

Who would have thought?

So, basically the flowers are blooming facing (because of) the individual that JM is confessing his love to - you know, the sun to his moon.

Same moon that was doing this:

Every night You spin me up high The moon with you in its arms Let me have a taste Give me a good ride (Oh, I'm fallin', I'm fallin', I'm fallin') It's gon' be a good night (Oh, I'm fallin') Forever you and I

And if we are already drawing the lines between SGMB and Like crazy, then how about this perhaps connecting line:

We know how personal Face was to JM. We know that every single song is him through and through. We know Like crazy is about him struggling during the pandemic.

We saw his breakdown during the MOTS ONE live streamed concert.

This was October 2020, around 6 months into the pandemic. The uncertainty. This is their first performance and from there until Muster another 9 months go by. We know from Festa 2022 that the pandemic screwed up all of their plans. the uncertainty, working on and releasing Be and then Butter and PTD everything leading up to the PTD online concert, a year after MOTS ON:E. For those that performing is their life, standing in front of an audience and giving it their all, it's a hard pill to swallow. The unknown, if they will ever get back to perform on stage in front of a live audience, when this is who they are, their essence, it can be unbearable. JM wasn't the only performer to go through this. It's just that he shared this with us.

And JK was there by his side.

And all he wanted was to make it better.

Just like he did during the concert itself.

So yeah, I do believe it's JK referenced in that song.

And Yeah, like everything JM does, this song too, and it's MV, are layered.

And SMF pt. 2 is him breaking free, flying away like a butterfly and moving on to SGMB. Now he can say what he feels out loud for EVERYONE TO HEAR. And he's telling that someone that was worried about him, that one that stood by JM's side and perhaps JM felt like he was trying to save him, that it's ok, there is nothing to worry about anymore. And unlike in Like crazy, where JM doesn't want to be woken up from that dream, and he is fighting that person that wants to save him, at this point he's eager to wake up and live each day a new with that person he loves blossoming by his side.

Same person he wrote the Letter to?

Yep. Same person.

I do believe that they are all one. Same person by his side in Like crazy, giving him a good ride, in his arms, trying to save JM. Same person he wrote his love letter to. And same person he's telling that he loves in SGMB.

And then there are these lines to consider:

All the things we couldn't say before And your hidden feelings too

Is JM confessing to that person, to us and for that person too? Telling us the feelings are mutual. Hidden until now, from us, and now out in the open.

And yes, although SGMB is JM confessing his love to that person (cough JK cough), he's already done that in a song, right? So what now?

Layering peeps.

JM is telling that person, but more so, I do believe, telling us.

Remember how Letter was hidden? Yes, we got to hear it, but it was hidden on JM's album. Like a secret that isn't to be shared with everyone. Like something that needs to be hidden. And here comes the layering again - it's hidden cause it's a private letter to the one he loves, but also hidden because it's something that cannot be revealed publicly, because he's an idol and 'not allowed' to have such a personal relationship and because the relationship itself is 'not allowed', being with another man.

And now we have SGMB. Not only is the song not hidden away, but it's out there in the open. Loud and proud. The first single released from Muse. How louder or more public can it get than that?

Ok, so feels like a good place to talk about the song's choice of name and its lyrics for a sec.

Much has been said already about the Smeraldo flower, it's meaning and The Truth Untold.

And now we have this:

"The longing to confess and find love on behalf of those unable to articulate their feelings..."

Let's talk about this sentence for a second.

One of the things we get from the MV is cupid or matchmaker JM. Not only is he telling his person how he feels, he is also helping those around him express their love. So, as usual we have a layered message, oh so like JM to do in his well thought out messages. JM 'confessing' to his love, but also to us about his love (first 2 layers) and another layer of JM helping us, his audience, to express our feelings to whomever we wish to and are struggling to do so. Oh and another layer to it all is the one surrounding all three, the one that connects to the Smeraldo flower and it's part in The Truth Untold - that part of allowing to show your true colours, your true feeling, and not be rejected for them, not necessarily by the person you love, but by those that surround you and will not accept your true self or your love for each other.

The connecting lines between the two songs.

And we know who this song meant so much to as well.

"But I still want you"...

So most definitley not a coincidence JM choosing the Smeraldo flower nor calling his band The Smeraldo Garden Marching Band, having them be the ones to deliver this oh so loud and proud message to us all.

One last thing before I leave you for now.

Let's talk for a sec about the new JM dance challenge?

We got cutie sexy lovely JM in this one.

And again, thanks @andy-wm for your lovely post.

Once again, if it wasn't clear already, the one he's paired up with is Loco, sitting there on the sofa, not even dancing with him, just there all googly eyed at JM, struggling to keep a straight face. And the end, omg, that end.

No Loco. That performance was not for you. And fyi, there is only one person JM is accepting flowers from ...

You know...

That one and the same person he was rushing home to pack for their trip to Japan the next day.

Same person he chose to enlist together with less than a month later.

#Jimin #JM #PJM2 #SGMB JM #JM SGMB #Jikook #kookmin #minkook #junkook #jk #sun and moon couple #JK is the sun and JM is the moon period

274 notes · View notes

someonexsomeone · 6 months ago

Text

Suneater

Title: Suneater

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 8.4k (...oh)

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin Pureblood np!reader

Summary: Sirius has another best friend, and James just can't figure out what to do about it.

Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of traditional values and arranged marriages

Authors Note: so uh...i did not expect this to be this long, and also not at all what I thought this would be. originally inspired by Leanna Firestone's song Suneater, this was supposed to be a happier fic, but i couldn't stop thinking about the line "But I am just the one who swallowed the moon // The only light that I have's just a reflection of you" so the original fic was a black cat x golden retriever and then somehow...this? please let me know what you think!

if you or anyone you know needs help, please call 988 (USA) or contact your local hotline. You are loved, you are needed.

Companion piece: Stardrinker

James was completely stumped. As a distinctly Light family, the Potters didn’t have much reason to attend Dark Pureblood gatherings, let alone interact with them beyond the odd time here and there, but he knows of your family, in the same way he knew of the Black’s - speculation, word of mouth, gossip. Neither he nor his family have any personal memories of you, and it seemed like no one else he knew was friends with you. You were a complete mystery to everyone…but his best friend.

When they first started Hogwarts, Sirius made it clear his stance on Slytherin families - keep as far away from them as possible, prank from a distance, target the ones he knew had evil in their hearts. James was more than pleased to go along with this. After all, a whole pool of targets just for the taking, and he didn’t have to feel guilty at all? It seemed so easy.

Sirius was ruthless with his attacks, cackling with glee as he sent stinging hexes in their direction or watching with mirth as they got caught in a trap. But when James launched a dungbomb in your direction, singeing your hair into an uneven mess, Sirius dropped everything to rush over, apology already tumbling out of his mouth despite the fury on your face. He even escorted you to the Matron, and looked incredibly guilty as the two of you walked back into the Great Hall sporting a new hairdo and fear on your faces. You returned to not speaking to each other, just as you always had, but Sirius seemed to glance over at the Slytherin table a little more frequently. Since then, none of the Marauders dared to prank near you, but with the rest of the house being easy pickings, James didn’t spare you another thought.

Then, summer before Fifth year happened. It was going to be their year, full of new pranks, new status, and, even better, a new plan to help Moony with his…time of the month. Sirius, as usual, spent the beginning of summer at the Pottery, spending hours at a time trying to find their animagus form, and, eventually, trying to change species. His parents were good at giving them space to play to their heart's content, and it warmed James’s heart to see them dote on Sirius just as much as they did as him. Especially as June faded into July, and Sirius’ dread to return home increased with every passing day.

Halfway through their break, at the height of the Dark Wanker Gatherings, the very color name Sirius gave the period of summer when the Dark Pureblood’s season of parties came to a head (as the heir to the Noble House of Black, Sirius was expected to attend the biggest ones, meaning James hardly got to see him until the start of the school year), Sirius all but disappeared. The house was far too quiet without him, and his letters were sparse of details, worrying James despite the countless summers they had gone through this previously. Despite Peter and Remus’s best attempts, James just wasn’t the same without his best friend around. Their friendly games of Quidditch lacked the usual competitiveness, their conversations quickly devolved into pooling the little information Sirius gave each of them, and there were only so many Sugar Quills one could eat before their stomach turned in on itself in worry. It was why James was always the first to arrive at the Platform at the start of the year, determined to figure out what happened to his best friend, even though Sirius always managed to change the subject without giving any answers.

So, color him surprised when, instead of rushing onto the train and locating his friends like usual, Sirius lingered after saying goodbye to his parents, the very people he never wanted to be near. When you and your family stepped through, Sirius’s eyes lit up. He made a beeline to you as soon as you finished your goodbye’s, pulling you to a secluded corner, only barely visible from where James was practically hanging out of the compartment window to see. The two of you whispered to one another before you hugged, then parted ways.

And ever since then, Sirius was always looking out for you. Instead of the tense silence you usually kept, James watched as your face lit up (no smile, that was far too obvious, but your eyes seemed to sparkle whenever they landed on him), stepping away from your usual posse of stuck up Purebloods to speak to Sirius. They seemed just as flabbergasted, until it started to happen so frequently they did nothing but offer a silent sneer, knowing better than to wait for you to finish your conversation. But James remained, always standing just close enough to catch snippets, but never the whole story. Instead of sulking in his room or yelling at whoever dared to disturb him on bad days, Sirius disappeared completely, only to be spotted with you within the hour, a more relaxed look on his face. He never missed a full moon, at least he kept that promise to his friends, but you were always one of the first visitors they had in the morning, leaving a get well soon treat for Sirius to eat as soon as he woke up.

All this to say, it wasn’t as if you and Sirius were attached at the hip, but it was hard not to notice the seemingly new affection you had for one another, and the change of priority, leaving James to seek you out in order to find his friend on more than one occasion.

Neither Remus nor Peter knew anything about what caused this shift in your friendship, but all it took was a little comment from Peter (“Maybe…maybe they’re together together.” followed by a scandalized look from Remus), to send them into a spiral.

“Sirius? Keeping a secret from us? Especially one as big as a…No! No way!” James refuted, pout evident on his face.

Because there was absolutely no way Sirius was going to keep something like this to himself. James was the first to know about Sirius’ first kiss, his first make out, his first shag! He was there when Sirius confessed to his first girlfriend, then his first boyfriend, then his first…partner? James forgot the name but either way! He was there! And now…what? Sirius was too ashamed to admit he was dating a Slytherin? Surely he knew there was no way. And, if he was dating, then there was no way he would pick a Slytherin unless they had something really special about them.

Despite Remus and Peter’s fervent arguments against it, James swore himself to a new goal - Mission Impossible: Figure Out Why Sirius Thinks a Slytherin Is Better Choice Than Literally Anyone Else in the School; I Mean Come On There Are Three Other Houses-- (“That’s far too long a name anyway!” Remus shouted indignantly).

He was already spending time lingering when you and Sirius chatted in the halls, so he tried to join in, actually listen instead of grumbling to himself about how long it was taking. You gave him an incredulous look the first time he did it, scampering away much too quickly for Sirius’s liking, if his saddened face was anything to go by. His second and third attempts were met with the same response, so James dropped his attempt, too soft to continue if Sirius was gonna keep giving him that kicked puppy look.

Then, he tried to join you and Sirius for your study sessions, figuring, what could go wrong? The library was a quiet place, and there wasn’t an easy escape if he positioned himself correctly, and you were very dedicated to keeping Sirius’s grades up (from what he’d been told anyway, this was, after all, the first time he ever willingly wanted to spend time with you). Sirius was hesitant to allow him to come when he asked, so he decided to drop by unannounced instead. Sirius’s welcoming smile was more than enough to override your glare, though it was clear this interruption was less than welcome, as no more work got done, and the boys were kicked out almost immediately. You were clear in your instruction to Sirius, whispered quietly but not quiet enough, that James was not welcome if he was going to be so noisy.

So, sneaking had become his last resort. It was hard, what with his friend group practically spending every minute together, but despite Remus’s warning, James scurried off whenever Sirius did. It took several weeks, and several pathetic attempts before James was finally able to catch you and Sirius alone. He didn’t think he was above snooping, especially with all the attempts recently, but there was a tiny bit of guilt that underlined his successful movements as he snuck down the hall, hidden from yours and Sirius’ watchful eyes, all thanks to his Invisibility Cloak. Sirius had that look about him, whipping his head back and forth, something he always did with James when he set up a prank without anyone noticing.

Something big was happening, and it had to be discussed without any prying eyes.

“Sirius, it’s alright,” you spoke lowly, so much so that James had to get a little too close for comfort to hear you. Sirius’ head perked up at the somewhat loud swish of the cloak, but when he didn’t see anything, he turned back to you, pushing you into an alcove of the hallway.

“Alright?! Are you mad?” Though he still had a grip on your arm, James could tell it was gentle, so lightly that you easily could have pulled away at any time. And, to his surprise, you didn’t, instead laying your hand on his with a gentleness he’d never seen from you before.

“This was something we always knew was going to happen,” you squeezed his hand, face stoney, “it was only a matter of time--”

“They’re selling you off like cattle! They don’t care about your life!”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” To this, your face darkened.

“I am not like you, Sirius.” This was the Slytherin attitude James was used to. Poisonous words spouting from your mouth, eyes narrowed to a glare. You didn’t have to push Sirius’s hand away, your now icy stare was enough to have him pull away first. “You and your precious friends can galavant around and do whatever you please, no matter the consequences, but the moment I show weakness, or displeasure towards my family, I will have no one. My friends--”

“Are no real friends if all it takes is standing up for yourself to have them disappear!”

“They know better than anyone that we don’t have any other choice--”

“So, what? You’ll marry the old coot and be the perfect little house--”

“And what would you suggest I do?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times, fury on his face, unwilling to admit that maybe you were right. In a house where betraying those thought to be your friends is commonplace, what option did you have? If James was right in following along, though it was incredibly hard with how quickly the two of you whispered, if you rejected this marriage arrangement, your parents would undoubtedly kick you out. With the friends he’s seen you with, there was no chance any of them would reach out in good will, especially since you’d have lost all the power via your family name.

There had never been a Slytherin in his life that he felt empathy towards, but this…this was something even he could not see a way out of.

“Surely leaving your family to be free is better than being locked in a gilded cage,” Sirius finally settled on.

“Freedom always comes with a cost, and this one is far too great.” Sirius’s eyes lowered to a glare.

“So that’s it.”

Oh no. James could feel the anger radiating from his friend, the same anger that has landed him more than a few detentions over the years. This was the anger that led to the initial discovery of Moony’s condition, the screaming match that had Sirius follow Remus into the woods. This was the anger that almost broke their friendship in third year, and the anger that nearly got him expelled for attacking another student.

This was the anger that made Sirius reckless.

“You give everything up and stay that obedient Pureblood you’ve always been, and be miserable forever. Well, I can’t watch you do that. I can’t watch you stoop so low, so pathetic,” --James nearly reached out, desperate to stop Sirius from saying anything more to destroy what you two had-- “and try to kill yourself again.”

Too late. The most emotion he had ever seen from you flicker across your face, hurt turned to anger turned to resentment in one fluid motion. Sirius, as angry as he was, seemed to notice as well, snapping his mouth shut as soon as the words left his mouth. Almost as if an invisible wall appeared between you, you both stepped back, as far as the small alcove allowed.

“Yes, you’re right. How pathetic of me.” You bowed lowly, despite Sirius’s efforts to stop you. “I’ll take my leave then, so your virtue won’t be sullied by the likes of me. Regards to the most Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

James turned on his heel, too embarrassed in his attempts to snoop to watch any further. Sirius chased you down in the opposite direction, calling your name until his echoes finally stopped. When James returned, it only took a look to stop any questions from his other dormmates. Sirius’s late return, the lethal combination of sadness and anger that had him lashing out at anything he could see, was answer enough.

James tried to keep the facade of innocence for the rest of the term, thanking Merlin that it was just a short month away. It was far easier than he hoped, with everyone immersed with their OWLs, but it didn’t do much to stop the guilt of having witnessed such a private and personal conversation. Sirius continued to look for you whenever he could, desperate to catch your eye, but you were just as stubborn as his friend was it seemed; even though James caught you several times watching Sirius when no one else was looking.

Sirius spent the beginning of summer with him as normal, riding on their brooms and keeping their minds as far away from the drama waiting back at Hogwarts. James tried a couple times to ask about you, but Sirius would clam up immediately, snapping at him or immediately changing the subject. By the time the Dark Wanker Gatherings started up again, Sirius seemed to have calmed down some, resigning his anger into a facade of apathy, the kind James seriously disliked. He only hoped your absence wouldn’t make his disappearing act worse.

Then, in the middle of summer, you appeared.

Or rather, you and Sirius appeared, Flooing into his home in the middle of dinner, fancy clothing covered in blood. Your face was panicked, strained against the weight of his friend, who seemed too out of it to stand properly. His Mother screamed at the intrusion, and both James and his father rushed over to take the weight off of you. It seemed all Pureblood customs flew out the window with the desperate need to help Sirius, as you immediately barked orders to take him to the nearest bathroom with a bathtub. Once situated, you started peeling away Sirius’s clothes, revealing the various cuts across his body.

“Hey! What are you--” But you simply silenced him with a wave of your hand, pushing him out of the room and slamming the door in his face. “What the fu--”

“James!” Euphemia’s glare was enough to have him shutting up. “Why don’t you two go back down and finish dinner. Polly spent a lot of time making it.”

“But Sirius--”

“Is obviously in capable hands.” His Father patted a heavy hand on his shoulder, leading him away without another word. Before they made it back down stairs, James caught the gentle knock she rapped on the bathroom door (of her own house!), quietly entering with a, “Is there anything I can get you, dear?”

“A house elf, the one you trust the most. And my apologies for…” your voice faded as they returned to the dining room.

Sirius was up by the time he woke the following morning. James tried several times to see Sirius throughout the night, but you were as strict as you were terrifying, guarding the room like a loyal watchdog until James was too tired to try again. And here you were again, dressed in borrowed clothes and carefully stroking Sirius’s long hair into a complicated braid, pulling strands away from his face so it wouldn’t fall into the bowl of soup he was nursing. Sirius’s face lit up when he saw James enter the room, clambering to get up. His own injuries stopping him from getting far, wincing and slumping back into his chair.

“You can’t move too quickly,” you chastised quietly, trying off the end of his hair. The easy way Sirius let you touch him, to have his guard down completely, caused a shift in James. A Slytherin providing comfort? It was unheard of to him. But here it was, right in front of him, an easy relationship that existed out of two people caring deeply for one another.

Just like his parents.

James felt a pang of jealousy go through him.

“Sorry, Prongs. Gotta listen to the Medi—,” Sirius stopped, grimaced as you pulled lightly on his hair. “What? I wouldn’t want anyone else helping me back to health.”

“And now that you are back to being your annoying self, I must be off.” Sirius tried to stand, but your gentle hand was enough to have him stop. “Rest. And thank you, for everything.”

As Sirius was out of commission, James was the one to walk you to the Floo, taking his parent’s robe from you at your thanks. You straightened out your hair as best as possible, fixing small details of your outfit to hide what you had been up all night, as James wrung his hands, debating whether he should say anything at all. When you reached for the Floo powder, he finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he managed. Your hand paused midair, but it was the only indication you gave to show you were listening. “Thank you for bringing him here. We’ll take good care of him.”

“He’s too proud to ask for help,” you said in response. “But he’s lucky to have someone like you in his life.”

“And like you.” To this, you scoffed, finally turning to look at him.

“I seem to only bring him trouble.”

“He does that fine on his own.” The small uptick of your lips was easy confirmation to your agreement. “But seriously. I’ve never seen him so happy to talk to someone before, and he talks to a lot of people.” When you didn’t say anything, James flushed. “I mean--”

“I’m lucky to have whatever part he’s willing to give me.” And with a flourish, you disappeared into the fireplace.

James never did find out what happened that caused Sirius’s injuries that summer. After a lengthy conversation (the lengthy conversation in question - Sirius: “I pissed my family off and now I’ve been disowned.”, James: “Oh, perfect. I’ve always wanted you as a brother.”), Sirius was unofficially officially adopted into his family. His parents took Sirius to St.Mungos a couple times to make sure everything was okay, but otherwise, the rest of summer was spent just as blissfully enjoyable as the beginning. Only this time, James didn’t have to worry about Sirius having to return to his awful family every night. They stayed up until the sun began to rise, sneaking into each other's room to spend the night, terrorizing the neighborhood with their loud voices until the sun rose.

And, you were there. Not directly, not with the new disgraced title Sirius proudly bore, but in letters and conversation. Sirius now spoke freely and openly about you, how you had always been there to help him with his horrible upbringing, the way you always seemed to know what to do to help. Sirius admitted to getting into that final fight for you, for your honor, but didn’t elaborate any further. He spent many mornings at James’s desk writing to you, updating you on the new freedom he had, and making sure you were alright. That he’d be there in the drop of a hat if you needed him.

Now that James was included in the conversation, willingly and welcomed this time, he was able to see how witty you were, how you weren’t just the Pureblood Slytherin he thought you were, but a genuinely good person for Sirius to be influenced by. You easily scolded him when needed, and praised him without letting his ego inflate too largely. Though you were only there in writing, it was easy to see the easy affection Sirius had for you, and vice versa. And, with James being let in somewhat on the secret friendship you shared, how deep it actually was, almost all the tension released from between the three of you. He even got to apologize for butting in so often last year, to which you waved him off with a promise not to do it again.

So, when sixth year started, and he got to see you for the first time in person since that fateful morning, it was like he’d never seen you before. And, all the better, it seemed you were determined to talk to Sirius, even if it meant you got some nasty glares from your housemates. James liked that about you.

So, he made the effort. When you or Sirius walked up to one another, James stayed close, engaging in conversation. Though you looked shocked, Sirius always gave him a broad smile, the prospect of two special people in his life becoming friends made him giddier than James ever thought possible. And Sirius was very open about that fact, throwing his arms around you and James mid conversation to squish you into a group hug. It didn’t take much to get the rest of his friends involved.

Your study sessions now involved all the Marauders, Remus sending you a thankful smile whenever you managed to calm the rowdiest of them down, comparing notes for class. Peter trailed after you happily, using you as a type of shield from the rest of the Slytherins when you walked together to class. You joined them on Hogsmeade trips, a quiet companion as they carried you from place to place. You never questioned what got them in so much trouble they ended up in the hospital wing once a month, but you did start to bring all of them a little treat for them to wake up to. Sirius started joking about you replacing him in the Marauders, to which you answered with a smack to the back of the head.

And James? Well James seemed to seek you out more and more without realizing it. If Sirius sat on your right, he would take your left. When needing a partner for class, he and Sirius would fight for the honor of being your partner, despite the fact that you already began working with someone else. He looked for you in the Slytherin crowd during quidditch matches, easily spotting you as the only person not booing at their victories. You and he would walk to class together, then hang out alone before the others joined. Your one on one time only increased as you got closer. You stayed up late to help him with classwork he struggled with, patient as ever, even if you did take every opportunity to poke fun at him with that deviously dry wit. You even helped Sirius with a joint gift, a box the size of his hand that would fit anything inside it and could only be opened by him. It was the first time he hugged you without Sirius’s intervention.

“Woah, woah, woah! Back it up!” Sirius said in his best imitation of an angry tone, but his smile was too contagious.

Yes, you butt heads. James’ lackadaisical attitude got on your nerves, sometimes done on purpose because James just loved to get a rise out of you, and your uptight scholarly nature often rivaled Remus, but at the end of the day, it was clear that there was a deep respect for one another, something that blossomed without either of you knowing. James would steal food from your plate without asking, loudly teasing you when you reprimanded him, but he would always replace it with some of your favorites, an unspoken apology. You would call him names (dimwit, airhead, and bludger brain to name a few), but you were always there for him at the end of the day, quietly praising his ingenuity, genuinely asking his opinion on matters.

It was why the guilt of the knowledge of your arranged marriage was starting to eat at him, a secret you didn’t know he knew. It was especially bad on days when that dreaded silver envelope arrived, since you frequently sought out Sirius. He recognized the crest on the back, an old and very Pureblood house, that no doubt had to belong to your fiance. You would crush the letter in your grip after skimming it, catching Sirius’ eye from across the room. No words needed to be said for him to stand, meeting you at the entrance hall. It was rare to see either of you for several hours after that. It was routine at that point.

But today was different. Sirius was in an early morning detention, cleaning McGonagall’s classroom after a series of pranks rendered the board useless, and you were nearly hyperventilating as the silver envelope fell into your lap. James only noticed because you were out of your seat faster than he’d ever seen you move, eyes glistening. He was following behind you before he realized what he was doing.

“Wait!” Your head whipped around at his voice, wiping your wet cheeks in an attempt to hide any evidence of your sadness. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“He’s in detention--what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” A group of giggling second years passed by, watching their interaction with interest. You instantly clammed up, face slacking into apathy. ”It’s nothing.”

James shook his head before tugging you down the hall. Despite your protests, he led you to one of the many secret passages, pulling you until you were in an unused hallway, rows and rows of empty classrooms creating the perfect hiding place. He didn’t speak until the two of you were in one, locking the door firmly behind him, and covering it with an anti-eavesdropping charm.

“What’s wrong?” Without a word, you held the letter out to him.

My Darling Angel, it read, handwriting barely legible with how shaky it was. Do not fret any longer, for your Father and I have finally come to an agreement. Though your price was a hefty one, I have been assured you are well worth it. In merely a years time---

“You’re getting married?” In a year's time, the summer of your Seventh Year, you were going to be a bride. James’s stomach twisted into knots. Tears piled up to the edges of your lash line.

“I spoke to my Father every summer, showing him my grades and my prospects, anything I could to have him increase his greed for more. I thought if I could keep going, just for a little longer, he would become so unreasonable, no one would want to pay my dowry. After all, why would they?” You sniffed, then furiously rubbed at your face, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I am no one special. Surely there are better prospects--”

“Woah, hey!” Your hands were moving too fast, too erratically, for his liking. As gently as he could, remembering the way Sirius acted, he pulled your hands away from your face. Rubbed raw with nail marks, you didn’t even seem to realize you were hurting yourself.

“James,” his name was said in such sorrow, his very being rattled in sympathy, “what am I going to do?”

So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled you close, cradling you to his body. You seemed to freeze at the contact. This wasn’t the friendly hug from his birthday, or the forced contact Sirius often made you do. This was something more.

“We’ll think of something,” he promised into your hair. With the gentle grip he had you in, it was easy to pull back and gaze upon the sincerity on his face. He gave you a small, crooked smile. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.”

So, for the first time, you latched onto James, holding him tight enough to hurt, and wailed into his chest, mourning the life you tried so hard to protect.

For a moment, James allowed himself to be a little greedy, keeping you close enough to let your smell flood his senses. He allowed his hands to roam your back, feeling, as if for the first time, the way your clothes felt against your body, the heat of your being. He allowed himself to enjoy how you felt against him, how for once, instead of the proud Slytherin you always portrayed yourself to be, you allowed him to take care of you instead of the other way around. You seemed to fit perfectly in his arms, and, as ashamed as he was to think it, there was a part of him that loved how you trusted him to show this vulnerable part of yourself. You only ever show it to…

Then, with startling clarity, James realized he was holding you, Sirius’s person, in his arms, in a locked classroom, hidden away from the rest of the school. That same school who watched you run out of the hall with James following close behind. Those second years watched him pull you away!

Before he could do something stupid, probably throw himself away from you, you pulled away first. Or, really, you yanked yourself away, wand raised with a Tempus spell showing the two of you were about to be very late to your first lesson.

“Thank you, James,” you whispered without looking at him, before you bolted to the door. His heart fluttered--

Oh, crap.

“I need to talk to you.” Sirius shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was at James’s sudden appearance, pulling him away from Marlene and Dorcas. The two, used to the strange way the Marauders always seemed to find one another, turned back to their conversation without another glance. James hauled Sirius up to their dorm by his collar. He had been looking all day for Sirius, with little success. It was just his luck that today, of all days, was filled with classes neither shared, and Sirius had to use his lunch hour to finish McGonagall’s room. And now, when Remus and Peter were meeting up with you to study for your Arithmancy exam, it was probably the best time he’d get.

And there was just one thing Sirius needed to confess to, before James exploded.

“I know your secret. So please just admit it so I can tell you how bad of a friend I am.”

“Woah, woah woah. What?” When Sirius met James’s serious expression, his face turned from jovial to terrified. “...what?”

“I know, okay?” Sirius opened and closed his mouth, and if it was any other conversation, James would have poked fun at him for looking like a fish.

“You…know?” James nodded once firmly. Sirius swore, slumping down onto the nearest bed. “We were so careful!” At this, James raised a brow.

“You weren’t careful at all! Everyone knows!” Sirius paled.

“...everyone?”

“Well, everyone that knows you.” James eyed Sirius’ expression. With a shuddering breath, Sirius dragged a hand down his face. “You seem surprised.”

“Yeah, a little,” Sirius laughed, but it was far too breathy to be sincere. “I’ve only just convinced…Was I so obvious?”

“You always look for each other. And, even though it started off rough, you’ve gotten really close recently.” He clapped a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. The approval, how easy James gave it, had Sirius’ whole body relax, practically curling into himself. “You deserve each other.”

“Tell him for me, won’t you?” Sirius rolled his eyes, far more playful than he had been. “I’ve only been telling him every day for the last year. I mean, I know Moony’s dense, but I didn’t think it’d take this much convincing.”

“...what?”

“You know him as well as I do, mate. He doesn’t handle affection well. Especially mine.” Sirius laughed, this time much more heartily, his shoulders bouncing. James’ hand fell to his side, but Sirius hardly noticed, practically bouncing from giddiness. “Wow, it feels great to say it out loud.”

James continued to stare at him, mouth agape.

“Now that you know, this is perfect!” He jumped up, excess energy pushing him to his desk, rummaging through the pile of papers before pulling one out. “I’ve got so many plans! I’m thinking next full moon, I'll sneak into his hospital bed, bring some strawberries and chocolate, you know, romance stuff. I’ve been planning for months the best way to do it, but you know Moony. Be nice to him and he clams up, so I’ve been thinking--”

When Sirius turned around, James was slumped where Sirius had just been, the only difference being James’ shocked face to Sirius’ dread.

“What?” Sirius laughed. “Didn’t think I’d have a plan? I’m going all the way with this!”

“You--Moony? But I thought…--” Now it was Sirius’ turn to be confused.

“Why do you look like that?”

“You like Moony?!” Sirius dropped the piece of paper, his dread returning.

“You didn’t--” He coughed, like the words were strangling him. “You didn’t know?”

“No!!” James jumped up. “Since when have you liked…?”

“Oh,” SIrius scratched the back of his head, hair falling out of the messy braid that had your signature all over it. “When you said you knew my secret, I thought--” He suddenly narrowed his eyes, and James grew meek, chest and cheeks flushing red. “What secret did you think I had?”

So, what originally was a conversation James was severely dreading, turned into the most honest conversation they’d had in a while. James bared his heart to his best friend, explaining the guilt that had been eating at him since his birthday, worried he was a horrible friend. How he had only fallen for you harder as you hung out more, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, but didn’t want to do anything to upset either you or Sirius by stepping over boundaries. How he was there for you when you heard confirmation of your upcoming marriage (Sirius looked angrier than he had in a while when James revealed that small development), and it only solidified what he already suspected, and how your tears felt like burning lava on his skin.

Sirius, in turn, explained how he and Moony had gotten closer now that Sirius knew you had other people looking after you, namely the other Marauders. His new free time was spent with Moony, who didn’t think anything of it, until their playful wrestling got out of hand and Sirius kissed him. James vaguely remembered Remus acting strange, but attributed it to the upcoming moon, one where he was much more affectionate towards Sirius than his usual transformations. He talked about the way he had been trying to convince Remus ever since that day that his feelings were real, that it wasn’t just a spur of the moment mistake, but a budding of affection ever since Sirius was freed of his family's clutches.

So, when they finally calmed themselves down, after a massive cry fest that ended in them hugging, promising not to ever keep secrets ever again, and a series of firing each other up, they rushed to the very object of their affections.

“Moony!” Sirius practically tackled Remus as he and Peter walked down the hall, hands stained in ink and stomachs rumbling. Remus stood no chance against the delighted dog, books flying from his hands as he landed on the floor, wind knocked out of him.

“Wh--” But Sirius had already crawled atop him, mouth pushed resolutely against his. Remus struggled only for a moment, before returning the kiss desperately, hands clutching anything he could reach, settling on Sirius’ back and hair.

“Great Merlin!” Peter exclaimed, nearly tripping over his feet to get away from the two heavily making out on the floor. James let out a laugh, rushing over to help his…unoccupied…friend. “But he-- and Sirius--”

“Well, there goes all those plans.” James joked. Sirius and Remus finally pulled away after another moment of kissing, both panting, but faces alight in pure happiness as they gazed at each other. “Okay, Loverboys, no public displays of affection while we’re around, okay? At least until we’re used to it.”

“Prongs…,” Remus whined miserably, face flushing a brilliant red, only disrupted by the white of his facial scars. Sirius grinned wolfishly, pressing a loud, wet kiss in the space between Remus’ shoulder and collar, doing nothing to help. “Padfoot!”

Peter was still staring at them, mouth agape, even as the two stood.

“Where’s—“ James started, looking around. It was strange to not see you with the other Marauders, especially since you should have been with them for the last hour or so to study.

“Huh??” Peter shook his head violently, finally having the decency to wipe away his shock. When he noticed James’ wandering eyes, he clarified. “Oh uh, Astronomy Tower, I think? Needed space to think or something?”

“But I thought you guys were studying--”

“Never showed.” Remus’ nonchalance was not eagerly received. James whipped his head to Sirius, who was already looking worried. You hadn’t shown up? But that’s hours where you’re unaccounted for!

“James!” Sirius’ panic was clear. In an instant, the day James eavesdropped came rushing back, a stone forming in his stomach. “It’s high enough—“

“I’m on it!” Later, James would deal with the consequences of the unneeded explanation. Later, he would address the confused looks on Remus and Peter’s faces, address the shock on Sirius’ for not needing an explanation. Later, he would beg and plead on his knees for Sirius to forgive him for spying on a private conversation, and staying long past knowing it was wrong. Later. It would happen later. Now, he needed to see you.

He’d never run faster in his life, using every shortcut he could think of to make it to the Astronomy Tower in record time. He took the stairs two at a time, practically launching himself onto the platform at the top, breath coming out in hot pants.

“James?” There you were. His knees nearly gave out in relief (though climbing stairs that fast may have had something to do with it), especially since it didn’t look like you had a scratch on you.

“Oh, thank Merlin. You’re alright!” You only looked at him, rising slightly from where you were leaning over the railing to stare out into the horizon. The sun was going to set soon, causing the glow to illuminate your silhouette, your expression hard to see.

“Of course I’m alright.” James tried to catch his breath quickly, before walking over to you. As he got closer, your features slowly became clearer. There was no evidence of your earlier conversation (how had it only been that morning that you cried into his chest??), and it didn’t look like you had been crying again. He didn’t know whether to be relieved you seemed okay, or worried that you might be bottling your emotions. “What are you talking about?”

“Sirius said…” The rest of the words died in his throat. You cocked your head. He guiltily looked at you, then the railing. When you didn’t react, he continued, ”He may have mentioned…”

“Oh.” In an instant, you understood, eyes falling into a glare, no doubt upset at having your privacy violated. “I’m not so fragile as to need a bodyguard to care for me all the time.”

“It’s okay if you do.” You rolled your eyes, turning back to look out over the trees. James copied you, resting his elbows on the bar, but angled his body so his sole attention was on the side of your face.

“That’s a sure fire way to get yourself killed in my world,” you grumbled.

“Well in mine,” he cut in, before you could add on, “if a friend is in trouble, you do whatever you can to help them.”

“Even if they don’t need it?”

“Everyone needs help.” He could see the tail end of your eye roll. “But you do it even if they don’t want it.”

With his breathing returning to normal, the space between you fell quiet. When it was clear you weren’t planning to speak anytime soon, he refocused his attention on the skyline, watching as the sky slowly became more and more orange, the sun nearly hiding behind the mountains. It was cooling down, but with summer nearly there, it created the perfect balmy weather to cause mischief late at night. In the distance, he could hear the faint hooting of an owl, from the forest or the school’s owlery, he wasn't sure, and the faint rustling of leaves. It was peaceful up here.

“Did he tell you?” Your voice startled him out of his thoughts, his body jerking.

“What?” If you felt him move, you didn’t show it.

“Sirius. Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not in so many words,” James said, purposefully vague. He felt bad being deceitful, but he had no idea how to explain his predicament, not when you were wringing your hands together like that, body hunching in on itself, like it was trying to hide how vulnerable you were. And, when you took a deep breath, James understood then that you were about to tell him something important, something life changing.

“He was always there. The Ancient and Noble House of Black always needed to be seen, especially at those parties, but I never really interacted with him. Too famous to be seen speaking to my family, or too busy playing the role of a Pureblood Heir to step away from his parents.” You sighed, crossing your arms, leaning your hip against the railing to look at James. His eyes were wide with innocent curiosity. “Sirius was the one who found me on the verge of jumping off the balcony that summer night.”

“Merlin--” He couldn’t believe how nonchalantly you were acting, as if you hadn’t just revealed your most vulnerable moment to him. You plowed on before he could do something embarrassing, like care for you.

“I had just met my soon to be fiance, all leering and wandering hands, and it was too much. The idea of being sold off like cattle, to be a possession instead of my own person, I always knew that’s where my life would end up but…”

It came as no surprise to you that when you started talking, the story seemed to tumble out without you wanting the full truth to be revealed. It came to him suddenly, the realization that this was probably the first time you ever said it out loud, the only person you probably ever felt close enough to tell, Sirius, being there that night meant he already knew everything from his perspective. The hurt in your voice, the emotion you usually kept locked away behind that Slytherin facade, on full display, made it impossible not to react, even though there was a very Sirius-like voice telling him to let you come to him. He couldn’t stop himself, though, when he reached out when you told him about how you screamed that night, brandishing your wand, even as the old coot laughed. He watched as you described the moment they left, your parents doing nothing but laughing along with your dear fiance, leaving you with nothing but the night air, you climbed up, the least graceful thing you had done in who knows however many years, and tipped forward. His hand latched onto yours, the same way he would have that night if he was there.

He tried not to react as you explained how Sirius’ hands clasped around your legs before you could fall, using his momentum to pull you back onto him and the solid ground. You told him how your arms scraped painfully against the stone balcony, but Sirius’ body took most of the brunt of your fall. You could barely hear what Sirius had said at the time over the ringing in your ears, too shocked at the fact that you were alive, that you didn’t fall, didn’t crash into the floor below like you so wanted, too overwhelmed to hear him yelling at you.

James did the only thing he could and held your hand tighter, keeping you with him, instead of getting swept up in the memory.

He could hear how you tried to keep your voice as even as possible as you spoke, not daring to show any more emotion than you had to, but James could tell. He couldn’t stop his face from contorting in disgust as you described the way your fiance spoke. He felt his eyes widened as you spoke about standing on the edge of the balcony, staring at the sky and not daring to look down. He nearly wept as you described Sirius’ warm embrace, the only thing that kept you grounded at the time. And when you finished, telling him you had to return to normal the following day, hiding what almost happened, he pulled you into his warm hug before he could stop himself.

“James, it’s alright,” you reassured, patting his back as if he was the one who just bared his heart and past, soothing him as best you could.

“It’s not alright!” Though his words were firm, they were not unkind. He pulled away, bringing your hand to his chest, willing you to feel the way it was thumping wildly. “You--you…!”

“It’s all in the past now.”

“The thought that I might never have met you…” He felt you starting to shake, eye swimming with doubt and hesitance.

“...what?”

“You mean so much to me.” His words rattled you, he could tell, but it was nothing compared to the pure determination in his face, not a hint of regret or ulterior motive to be seen. He meant every word. He had to show you he meant every word.

“You hardly know me--”

“Don’t do that,” he begged, his voice coming out weaker than he intended, but there was no way he would be harsh to you now, not after you bared your soul, not while you try to return to that apathetic life you had adapted to for survival over the years. Not if he could help it. “I know you know I’m being sincere. And you know I know you far better than you wish.”

“...what do you want me to say?”

“Say you’ll marry me.”

“What?!” He pulled your hand closer, keeping you as close as you’d allow.

“Not now. Not in five years, not even in ten, not if you don’t want to. But be with me, in any way you’re willing.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“If this is some cheap Gryffindor chivalry--”

“Not this. Not with you.” He pulled you closer, willing himself not to get his hopes up as you allowed yourself to be pulled a breath away. “I like you. I like you so much I feel my heart beat faster than any Quidditch game would ever make it feel, like it’ll pop out of my chest and flutter around telling everyone who’ll listen how much it feels for you.” You flush at his blatant confession. “I hate your fiance with every fiber of my being for ever making you feel like you don’t have a choice. For making you feel so trapped that you would rather…die,” —his tongue tripped over the word, too overcome with the implication to say it without flinching— “than go through with your marriage.”

“James…”

“It’s not the way I wanted to confess,” he joked sheepishly, before morphing his expression into the most earnest he could will it. “My heart is yours, in any way you want it.”

“I don’t…--”

“I’m offering myself to you,” he clarified earnestly, even as your expression faltered. He lowered his eyes to look at your clasped hands. “Use me however you like. I know Pureblood customs, and this is the way you can get out of it. Marry me, and do whatever you like. Move across the world, or stay by my side. Godric, we could even marry now and divorce immediately if you want!” He met your eyes again. “I just want you to be happy.”

The silence continued to stretch and stretch. In the last few months of teasing, it was rare you didn’t have some sort of quip to put James back in his place, but now, it seems you didn’t have a single word to say.

He knew it was stupid, the way he said it. But, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Asking you for something simple like puppy love wasn’t going to cut it, not when your very freedom was on the line. As much as James could see himself loving you (he wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t already), you didn’t have the luxury of time, not the kind that James wanted to worship you, to prove his earnest feelings the way he knew his parents had, the way Sirius planned to show Remus. But the one thing he could do was make a promise to himself that you would never have to feel stuck again.

The longer the silence lasted, the more James felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment.

“I’ve just made a fool of myself, haven't I? I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying, and Sirius always said I needed to work on my impulse--”

His knees almost gave out from under him, your clasped hands the only thing keeping him from doing so.

Your lips were softer than he imagined.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist l hogwarts masterlist

#james potter imagine #james potter x reader #james potter angst #james potter x you #james potter imagines #hogwarts imagines #hogwarts one shot #james potter one shot #marauders imagine #marauders one shot #someonexsomeone #harry potter imagine

209 notes · View notes