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zaynessbeloved · 3 months ago

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It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 7.8k

⟢ a/n: This is my very first published fic, and honestly, I wrote it just for fun (and feelings) with my girl Elle. It started as a small idea that slowly turned into something a little bigger (currently at 22k haha and still in progress). This is the first chapter, enjoy!

Chapter 1

You were eight when you first met Zayne.

It was a warm spring afternoon, the kind where time stretched endlessly, filled with the sound of laughter and the scent of blooming flowers. You were at the neighborhood park, caught up in a game of tag with your best friend, Caleb, when you noticed him. A boy, sitting alone beneath the big oak tree. A book in his hands, his gaze locked onto the pages, completely absorbed in whatever world existed between them. He sat apart from the other children, far from the laughter, the playful shouts, and the carefree energy of summer. And you were curious.

At first glance, he looked perfectly content being by himself. Didn’t he want to play? The question lingered in your mind as Caleb grabbed your wrist, dragging you back into the game with a teasing grin, cracking a joke that had you giggling. The boy by the tree faded into the background as you ran across the playground, lost in the warmth of the sun, the breeze tangling in your hair, and the joy of Caleb’s endless companionship.

But the next day, and the day after that, he was still there. Always by the tree. Always alone. It made you wonder. It made you a little sad. Did he not have any friends? Your young mind couldn’t understand why someone would choose to sit alone every day, buried in books instead of playing. You didn’t know then that it wasn’t his choice—that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to play, but that the other kids never invited him. That they had already decided he was different. You never had to think about things like that. Not when you had Caleb. He was always there—beside you, with you, a constant presence. You played together, studied together, did everything together. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip. Where Caleb was, you were too. It was never just you or Caleb. It was always the duo.

As spring stretched on, you lost yourself in the playful atmosphere of endless sunny days and laughter. You loved birthdays, and when June 13th arrived—Caleb’s 10th birthday—you were absolutely ecstatic. You couldn’t sit still for even a second, dragging Caleb from one place to another, determined to make every moment special. You played games, shared ice cream, danced to his favorite songs, and let yourselves get completely lost in the moment.

Caleb always loved spending time with you, but his birthday was different. He loved it because you loved it—because it made you so excited. He let you open some of his presents just to hear your delighted giggles, watching as your happiness filled the air, warm and contagious. Looking back, your childhood was a blur of golden afternoons and endless laughter—days where time stretched endlessly, and every little thing felt like the biggest adventure. You and Caleb were inseparable, running barefoot through the grass, daring each other to climb trees, and turning even the most ordinary days into something magical.

Summers meant racing bikes down the street until your legs ached, sticky fingers from melting popsicles, and late-night stargazing on your front porch, whispering about the future in voices laced with exhaustion. Winters meant snowball fights that ended with him tackling you into the snow, leaving you both breathless with laughter. Your mittens were always too big, and Caleb—ever the big brother figure—would tug them snugly onto your hands before rolling his eyes and calling you hopeless. But his voice was always fond, his teasing always gentle.

And in between those seasons, there was always Zayne. He was there—always sitting under that same tree, book in hand, silently observing. You didn’t understand him, not yet, but there was something about the way his eyes followed you and Caleb, something unreadable in his expression. One day, when autumn painted the leaves in shades of gold, you’d finally worked up the courage to approach him. Caleb, ever by your side, followed suit, though he wasn’t nearly as curious as you.

“What are you always reading?” you had asked, tilting your head at him.

Zayne had looked up, blinking as if pulled from another world. He hesitated, glancing between you and Caleb before finally mumbling, “Stories.”

His voice was soft, quieter than you expected.

“What kind of stories?”

Zayne stared at you for a long moment before slowly turning the book around, showing you the pages. The words didn’t mean much to you at the time, but he let you and Caleb sit beside him that day, reading in silence. It was the first time the three of you ever shared a moment together. You didn’t know it then, but it wouldn’t be the last.

The first time Zayne ever truly laughed in front of you, it caught you off guard. It was a late summer afternoon, the golden light filtering through the leaves as the three of you sat under the big oak tree. You had managed to coax Zayne into putting his book down—an achievement in itself—and convinced him to listen as you and Caleb attempted to build a tiny "house" out of sticks and leaves.

“See?” you grinned, placing one last twig on top. “It’s perfect.”

Caleb squinted at it, tilting his head. “Looks like a pile of sticks.”

“It’s a house,” you insisted.

“A sad, broken house,” Caleb countered, lips twitching. “It’s gonna fall apart if the wind so much as sneezes.”

You huffed and turned to Zayne. “What do you think?”

He had been silent up until now, sitting cross-legged beside you, watching. But then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile, but close.

“…It’s a pile of sticks,” he murmured.

Your jaw dropped. Caleb lost it. He threw his head back, laughing, and you couldn’t help but gape at Zayne, stunned.

“Wait—you’re taking his side?” you accused, pointing dramatically.

Zayne shrugged, but there was something different this time. The smallest hint of amusement sparkled in his usually quiet eyes. Then, as Caleb continued to wheeze with laughter, Zayne made a sound. A small, barely-there chuckle. But it was real. And it was his. And for some reason, that tiny, fleeting laugh felt like the biggest victory in the world. From that day forward, you made it your mission to hear it again.

The first time Zayne willingly joined you and Caleb in a game, it happened so naturally you barely noticed it was happening at all. It was a chilly autumn afternoon, the leaves crunching underfoot as you and Caleb played a made-up game that involved jumping between patches of grass, pretending the ground was lava.

“You can’t step on the dirt!” you called, arms stretched for balance as you leaped from one patch to another.

Caleb scoffed. “Obviously.”

Zayne, who had been sitting on his usual spot under the tree, was watching. He always did. But today, something was different.

You paused mid-game, turning to him with a grin. “Come play!”

He blinked at you, then at Caleb, then back at you. His fingers curled slightly against the pages of his book.

“…I don’t know the rules,” he admitted after a long pause.

“That’s okay! You just can’t touch the dirt,” you explained, waving your arms excitedly.

For a moment, you thought he’d say no. But then—without a word—Zayne closed his book and stood up. And just like that, he was part of the game. He was surprisingly good at it, too.

Winter came, bringing with it a blanket of snow that turned the park into a world of white. You had made it your personal goal to get Zayne in a snowball fight.

“You can’t just sit under your tree forever,” you pouted, kicking at the snow near his boots.

“I don’t—”

Thud. A snowball hit the side of his coat. Zayne turned slowly, his expression unreadable as he looked at Caleb, who was already packing another snowball.

“You’re dead,” Zayne said flatly.

And then—to your utter shock—he bent down, gathered a handful of snow, and launched it straight at Caleb. The fight that followed was nothing short of legendary. You were laughing so hard your stomach ached, and when Zayne finally hit you with a snowball, you caught the briefest glimpse of something incredible— A smirk. Not just any smirk, but one laced with the tiniest hint of amusement. You were making progress. And it was so worth it.

Spring arrived with its gentle breezes and blooming flowers, and by now, you had fully decided that hearing Zayne laugh was your favorite thing in the world. It was rare, still. But you had your ways of getting it. Like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing while running to show him something, falling face-first into the grass.

“Are you okay?” Caleb had asked, trying to suppress his laughter.

You had grumbled into the dirt. And then—so quietly you almost missed it—you heard it. A small, breathy chuckle. When you lifted your head, Zayne was covering his mouth, shaking his head as if trying to stop himself from laughing.

You gasped dramatically, pointing. “You laughed!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!”

Caleb looked between the two of you, then smirked. “I think we should make her trip more often.”

Zayne actually snorted at that. You were so winning.

And then—sometime in the summer, when the sun hung lazily in the sky and the air smelled of warm grass—you finally asked him. You didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.

“Why do you always sit by yourself?”

Zayne, who had been idly flipping through a book beside you, stilled. The silence stretched. For a second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then—without looking at you—he murmured, “They didn’t want to play with me.”

Something ached in your chest.

“They—” You hesitated, brows furrowing. “The other kids?”

He didn’t nod. He didn’t shake his head. But he didn’t have to. You stared at him, processing his quiet confession, and suddenly, all those moments flashed in your mind—the way he always sat alone, the way the other kids never called for him, the way he had never been part of the laughter in the playground. That wasn’t his choice, and that realization made something burn inside you. Before you could even think about it, you reached out and wrapped your arms around him. Zayne tensed immediately, his body stiff against yours. But you didn’t let go.

“You can always play with us,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Always.”

Slowly—so slowly it almost broke your heart—Zayne exhaled.

“…Okay.”

It was barely a whisper. But you heard it. And that was enough.

At first, it was always you and Caleb. The duo, the inseparable pair. But then came Zayne, and slowly, without anyone realizing it, two became three.

It wasn’t immediate. It happened in the small, quiet moments—the times you would grab Zayne’s wrist and pull him into whatever game you and Caleb were playing, the times he stopped hesitating before sitting beside you under the tree, the times Caleb would roll his eyes but still wait for him to catch up. And before anyone could pinpoint exactly when it changed, it just did. You weren’t just a duo anymore, you were a trio.

The change didn’t bother Caleb. Not really. It was just… different. For as long as he could remember, it had been just the two of you—his best friend, his partner-in-crime, the only person who could keep up with him. And then one day, suddenly, there was someone else. Someone else you were laughing with. Someone else you were looking for whenever you got excited about something. And he didn’t know how that made him feel.

He never said anything about it. Never brought it up, never let it slip. Because, deep down, he liked Zayne too. Zayne was… different. He was quiet, but he listened. He was serious, but his humor was sharp when he let it out. And even though Caleb would never admit it, he liked the challenge of dragging Zayne into his chaos. So he didn’t hate it. He didn’t push Zayne away. But he felt it, that small, nagging feeling in his chest.

If Zayne noticed the shift, he never said anything. Then again, Zayne rarely said much about anything. But his presence changed, he wasn’t just the quiet boy sitting under the tree anymore—he was there, fully part of everything you and Caleb did. When you and Caleb raced each other? Zayne was suddenly in the race. When Caleb got too confident in his tree-climbing skills? Zayne was the one to raise an eyebrow and call him out. When you dragged Caleb into some ridiculous made-up adventure? Zayne was following—sometimes reluctantly, sometimes willingly, but always there.

And, most importantly—when you needed him? He always showed up. Even if he didn’t understand why you cared so much, even if he was used to being on his own, even if a part of him still hesitated—he let you in. Because you never let him feel like he was an afterthought. You always made sure he belonged.

One day, after spending hours outside, the three of you collapsed onto the grass, panting, exhausted from running.

“I win,” Caleb announced dramatically, throwing an arm over his forehead.

“You cheated,” you accused, poking his side.

Zayne, still catching his breath, smirked. “Yeah, you totally cheated.”

Caleb gasped, sitting up. “Excuse me?! Since when are you taking her side?”

“Since you cheated.”

“I—I did not!”

You giggled, rolling onto your stomach, resting your chin on your hands. The summer sun was setting, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, and in that moment, you realized something. This felt… right. The three of you, together. Zayne wasn’t an outsider anymore. He wasn’t just the boy under the tree. He was your friend, and that? That was never going to change.

Zayne was the first to go. The day he started high school, you and Caleb watched as he walked ahead of you, disappearing beyond the gates of a world you weren’t part of yet. It felt… weird. For the past few years, it had always been the three of you. And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, it was just you and Caleb again.

You kicked a rock as you walked to middle school, glancing at Caleb. “Think he’s gonna forget about us?”

Caleb snorted. “Doubt it. We’re too awesome for that.”

Still, the day felt different without him. But Zayne didn’t disappear. Even in high school, he still waited for you and Caleb after school, still walked home with you, still sat on the porch steps of your house when Caleb dragged you outside to play. The only difference now was that… he talked more. Not a lot. Not the way you and Caleb did. But enough.

Like when he offhandedly mentioned how boring his math class was. Or when he grumbled about an upperclassman being annoying. Or when he, for the first time ever, actually complained about homework—which shocked you both, considering he was the biggest bookworm of the three. Little things, but they mattered. Because it meant that, even though he was in high school now, he was still Zayne.

Caleb never remembered what life was like before he lived with you. He knew—logically—that there was a time before. A time when his parents’ voices filled the house, when their hands ruffled his hair, when they tucked him into bed at night. But that time had been brief. Too brief.And then they were gone. And suddenly, he wasn’t in that house anymore. Suddenly, he was standing in the doorway of a place that smelled different, with a lady who hugged him tight and spoke softly, and a little girl who blinked up at him with big, curious eyes.

You had been four when he moved in. He had been five. He didn’t remember a lot from that time. Just small things. Like how, on the first night, he had been too scared to sleep. And how you had peeked into his room, a stuffed animal clutched in your little hands, and wordlessly climbed into the bed beside him. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask if he was sad, or if he missed his parents, or if he was scared. You just curled up next to him, close enough that he could feel your warmth. And for the first time since his parents were gone, he didn’t feel so alone. Even if he hadn’t understood it back then, Caleb knew one thing. You were special. And he was never leaving your side.

You were scared of thunderstorms.

The kind that shook the house, rattled the windows, and made the sky split open with jagged streaks of lightning. The kind that made you burrow under the covers, heart pounding, waiting for it to pass. And maybe that’s why, on nights when his nightmares took hold—when the weight of missing his parents became too heavy—he would creep into your room, pulling the blanket over himself without a word.

Maybe he thought that if you were scared too, neither of you had to be alone. Your bed became his safe space, just as his presence became yours. By the time you were old enough to truly remember, it had already become a habit. Whenever the rain started pounding against the windows and thunder rolled through the sky, it was just understood—Caleb would slip into your bed, or you would crawl into his, until the storm passed. Neither of you ever talked about it, because neither of you needed to.

The treehouse was your world.

You and Caleb had built it together—or, well, mostly Caleb and your grandma’s neighbor, who happened to also be Zayne’s dad, while you helped with the “important” parts, like picking the fairy lights and carving little drawings into the wooden beams. It was your little escape.

Your names were scrawled into the wall in messy handwriting, surrounded by doodles and marks of all the summers you had spent there. There were blankets tossed over the wooden floor, fairy lights draped across the ceiling, and a stack of books that mostly belonged to Zayne now. The three of you had spent entire summers there—sneaking snacks inside, telling stories, and falling asleep under the soft glow of the lights. Some nights, Caleb and you slept there instead of inside—wrapped up in blankets, listening to the crickets sing. Zayne rarely stayed overnight, but sometimes, when the night was quiet and the sky was clear, he stayed just a little longer.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was late. The fairy lights in the treehouse flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the walls, while the summer breeze filtered in through the open window. Caleb had basketball practice after school, and for once, it was just you and Zayne. He was leaning against the wall, flipping through one of his books, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. And then, before you even thought about the question, it just… slipped out.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Zayne froze. His fingers stilled on the page, his body going rigid—not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. You blinked at him expectantly, waiting.

“…No.”

The answer was simple. Direct. But there was something about the way he said it—something unreadable in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why you were asking.

You hummed, kicking your legs idly where you sat. “I don’t think I’d want my first kiss to be random. It should be with someone special, right?”

Zayne’s gaze flickered to you then—just for a second, just long enough to feel like he was studying you. Then he looked away, flipping the page in his book.

“…Yeah.”

And for some reason, the moment lingered. The air inside the treehouse felt warm—not because of the summer night, but because of the conversation. Zayne had gone back to flipping through his book, but something about his posture felt… different. Like he wasn’t really reading anymore. You were still thinking about what you’d said. He finally looked up, really looked at you this time. Neither of you noticed when you started leaning in closer. It was slow, unintentional—just a shift in the space between you, an instinctive pull. Your faces weren’t far apart anymore. It wasn’t weird, not exactly. You weren’t even really thinking about it. You were just… there. Close enough that you could count the darker flecks in his hazel eyes, close enough to feel the quiet in-between the words. And then—

“Hey! You guys up there?”

Caleb’s loud, laughing voice shattered the moment, along with the distant thud of his shoes hitting the wooden steps as he climbed. You and Zayne jerked apart immediately. The space that had disappeared between you suddenly existed again, like a wall had been placed there, forcing you both back into place. Zayne cleared his throat, too quickly. You looked away, too fast.

Caleb swung himself inside, still slightly breathless from practice, tossing his basketball onto the floor with a smirk. “Did you guys start without me?”

You forced a laugh. “Obviously. You’re late.”

Zayne didn’t say anything, but his hand gripped the book a little tighter. And just like that, the moment—whatever it had been—was gone. Neither of you ever mentioned it again.

It wasn’t fair.

For as long as you could remember, you and Caleb had always gone through everything together. School, summers, childhood—all of it. But now, things were different. Zayne had already been in high school for a year, and now Caleb was joining him, leaving you behind in middle school for one more endless year. You tried not to let it bother you. Tried. But the first morning of the new school year, standing at the sidewalk where you always met up, watching as both of them headed off in a different direction without you… Yeah. It stung. You kicked a rock with your shoe, crossing your arms.

“Cheer up, Pipsqueak,” Caleb smirked, nudging your head playfully. “It’s just one year. You’ll survive.”

You scowled up at him. “I hope you trip on the stairs.”

He threw his head back with a dramatic gasp. “How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Zayne, standing a few steps away, rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Caleb.”

“Oh? What, so you get to be mean to me, but she doesn’t?”

“Yes,” Zayne deadpanned.

You huffed, adjusting your backpack. “Whatever. Just don’t forget about me while you two are off having fun.”

The words were meant to be a joke, but for some reason, they didn’t feel like one. Neither of them said anything at first.

Then, Caleb slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning. “As if we could forget this little menace.”

Zayne didn’t say anything. But when Caleb let go and started walking ahead, Zayne lingered for a moment. His eyes flickered to you, thoughtful, unreadable.

“…See you later.”

And then he left, walking alongside Caleb, disappearing into the high school crowd. And just like that, they were gone.

Zayne never thought about things like this. Things like… whatever had happened that summer night in the treehouse. Because it wasn’t a thing. It wasn’t. And yet… Sometimes, when you spoke—when you tilted your head, or laughed a little too loudly, or smiled that particular way you did—he would remember.

Not clearly. Not in a way that made sense. Just in flashes. The space between you, the way you leaned in, the way it didn’t feel strange at all. And you had forgotten. He knew you had. Because you never brought it up, never acted any differently. And Zayne… didn’t know why that irritated him. Didn’t know why he couldn’t forget, even when he wanted to.

Caleb was thriving in high school.

He was made for this kind of social environment—laughing with new people, jumping into clubs and activities like he had been waiting his whole life for them. And you? You felt… a little lost. Lunch breaks weren’t the same. Walks home weren’t the same. Caleb still texted you constantly, but it wasn’t like before. Because before, it had been a trio. And now, for most of the day, it was just you. But the worst part? Zayne wasn’t answering your texts as often. And maybe you were being dramatic, maybe you were just overthinking it, but for the first time in years…

You felt like you were losing something.

One evening, after a particularly bad day, Caleb showed up in your room.

“Alright, Pipsqueak,” he announced, flopping onto your bed like he owned it. “I hear you’re being emo. Explain.”

You groaned, burying your face into your pillow. “Go away.”

“Nope.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Incorrect. I’m charming.”

Despite yourself, you let out a muffled laugh into the pillow.

Caleb poked your shoulder. “You know you’re not actually alone, right?”

You hesitated. “…It feels like it.”

He didn’t laugh this time.

Instead, he sat up, tilting his head at you, his voice unusually soft. “You still have me.”

You sighed, rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “And Zayne?”

“…Zayne’s an idiot,” Caleb said, stretching out dramatically. “Don’t take it personally.”

You turned your head to look at him. “…But why does it feel like he’s avoiding me?”

Caleb blinked. Then shrugged. “Dunno. But whatever it is, you know he wouldn’t just ditch you, right?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe Caleb. But because, for the first time in years, you weren’t entirely sure.

Zayne wasn’t avoiding you. Not really. He still walked home with you and Caleb most days. Still sat at your kitchen table, half-listening to Caleb’s endless rambling while flipping through a book. Still showed up when you needed him. But something was… different.

You felt it in the way his replies to your texts came slower than before. The way he didn’t linger as long after school. The way, sometimes, when you reached out—when you wanted to talk—he seemed like he was just out of reach. And it wasn’t like he was disappearing. But it also wasn’t like before.

If anyone was enjoying high school, it was Caleb. Because, of course, he was.

“Did you see that shot?” Caleb grinned, spinning his basketball in his hands as you walked home together. “Full-court, perfect aim—Coach actually looked impressed this time.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You mean the shot you almost missed?”

Caleb gasped dramatically. “You wound me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m happy for you, though. You really love this, huh?”

Caleb’s face lit up in a way that made something warm bloom in your chest.

“Yeah,” he admitted, spinning the ball again. “Feels like I belong there, you know?”

And you did know. Because Caleb was the kind of person who needed to move, needed people, needed energy. Basketball gave him all of that.

You smiled at him. “You better not forget about me when you become a big basketball star.”

Caleb threw an arm around you, grinning. “Please. Like I’d ever forget my Pipsqueak.”

Zayne wasn’t at lunch again. You weren’t even surprised anymore. You sighed, resting your chin on your hand as Caleb shoveled food into his mouth across from you.

“Does he even eat anymore?” you muttered.

Caleb snorted. “Nah, he just absorbs knowledge and survives off of it.”

You huffed. “It’s not fun without him.”

Caleb gave you a look. “Pipsqueak. He’s taking college classes. You really think he has time to sit around and listen to me talk about basketball for an hour?”

You scowled. “I do.”

And maybe that was selfish. But… Zayne had always been there. And now? Now, he was in a world you couldn’t reach. A world of professors and college students, textbooks and assignments that weren’t high school-level anymore. And maybe you weren’t supposed to feel left behind, but you did. Just a little. The worst part? Zayne noticed.

One evening, as you sat on your porch, staring at your phone, debating whether or not to text him first—he showed up. Not Caleb. Not anyone else. Zayne. He stepped onto the porch, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, unreadable.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “I—yeah. I’m fine.”

Zayne didn’t look convinced.

He leaned against the porch railing, watching you for a moment. Then, quietly, “You’re bad at lying.”

Your lips pressed together. “…Maybe.”

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sound of cars passing by.

Then, without looking at you, Zayne murmured, “You know I’m still here, right?”

Your heart stuttered. Because he knew. You hadn’t even said anything, but he knew. And just like that, the ache in your chest wasn’t so heavy anymore.

High school felt different. Not just because you were finally there, not just because you weren’t the one being left behind anymore—but because, after what felt like forever, things between you, Zayne, and Caleb started feeling right again. The first day had been overwhelming, with crowded hallways and unfamiliar faces, but before you could get too lost in it—

Caleb slung an arm around your shoulder, grinning. “Welcome to the big leagues, Pipsqueak.”

And just like that, everything felt normal again. You weren’t expecting to share any classes with either of them. But then, one day, there he was. Sitting by the window, leaning back in his chair, eyes half-lidded in boredom—Zayne.

You almost did a double take when you walked in and saw him sitting there. A class with him? This was so unfair. Because how were you supposed to focus when he sat there, barely paying attention, yet still somehow absorbing everything? You found yourself staring more than you should, watching the way he absentmindedly twirled a pen between his fingers, the way his jaw tensed slightly when he was thinking, the way he always knew the answer even when it seemed like he wasn’t listening. He probably noticed, but he never said anything. And for some reason, you couldn’t stop watching him.

Caleb made it his mission to drag you and Zayne to every single game.

“You have no choice in the matter,” he had announced one day, spinning his basketball on his finger. “You two are my biggest fans. Right?”

Zayne, deadpan, “No.”

You, grinning, “Obviously.”

And so, you went. At first, Zayne only tagged along because Caleb pestered him into it, but over time, something changed. The late-night games. The adrenaline-filled wins. The way you and Zayne would sit together in the stands, watching Caleb sprint across the court, laughing whenever he got too cocky. You didn’t realize how much you missed this. How much you missed him.

Zayne wasn’t nervous about the driving test. Not that he’d ever admit if he was. But still, something in him had tensed as he sat through it—hands gripping the wheel just a little too tight, jaw set a little too firm. And then, when he aced it, when the test was over and he had the license in his hand—

Caleb cheered first, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible!”

You grinned, stepping closer. “I knew you’d pass.”

And before he could react, before he could even think about it— You pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t long, wasn’t dramatic. Just a quick, warm squeeze. But for some reason, Zayne froze. For some reason, when you pulled away, he felt the warmth lingering longer than it should. For some reason, as Caleb kept talking, Zayne wasn’t listening— Because he was thinking about you. And he wasn’t sure why.

It was past midnight, and you couldn’t sleep. Not because you weren’t tired—but because Caleb was in your room, lying across your bed like he owned it, rambling about absolutely nothing.

“Dude,” you groaned, rolling onto your side, “go to sleep.”

“I can’t,” Caleb whined, stretching dramatically. “I’ve got too much energy.”

You shoved a pillow at his face. “Then go do push-ups or something.”

He gasped, snatching the pillow away. “Rude.”

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Caleb sat up suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Zayne has his license now.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

Caleb grinned.

“Let’s wake his ass up and make him drive us to get snacks.”

Sneaking out of the house was easy. Finding a rock small enough to throw at Zayne’s window? That took a second.

“Not that one,” you whispered as Caleb picked up a suspiciously large rock.

He scoffed. “Relax, I wasn’t gonna break his window. Probably.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a tiny pebble and chucked it. Tap. Silence. Then— The window creaked open, and Zayne’s very unimpressed face appeared.

“…Why.”

Caleb grinned. “Late-night snack run.”

Zayne blinked slowly, then rubbed his face. “…You’re idiots.”

You put your hands together, pleading. “Please?”

Zayne exhaled, long and suffering. Then, finally—

“…Get in the car.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were in Zayne’s car, heading to the store. And because life was unfair, you had been bullied into sitting in the backseat.

Caleb smirked at you through the mirror. “Sorry, Pipsqueak. Seniority rules.”

You scowled, kicking the back of his seat. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

You crossed your arms, grumbling. But then, your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. Zayne wasn’t looking at the road. He was looking at you. It was brief—so brief you almost missed it. But his gaze met yours for just a second before he looked away, his fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. And for some reason, your stomach flipped.

Grocery stores at 1 AM felt different. Everything was too quiet, too empty—except for you three, laughing as you grabbed way too many snacks.

“Put the Oreos back,” Zayne sighed, rubbing his temple.

“No,” Caleb and you said at the same time.

Zayne exhaled. “Why do I even try?”

You convinced Zayne to stay longer and join you and Caleb for the snacks. Or, well—Caleb did, but you definitely helped. So now, the three of you were curled up on your bed, laptop open, blankets everywhere.You were in the middle.Which was fine. Totally fine. Except Zayne’s arm was really close. And at some point, beneath the blanket—Your pinky brushed against his. You froze. He didn’t move. And then—slowly, barely noticeable—his pinky almost intertwined with yours. Not completely. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to make your heart pound. And then—

Caleb shifted beside you, muttering in his sleep. The moment shattered. Zayne pulled his hand away. You stared at the screen, pretending like nothing happened. Neither of you said a word. But you felt it. And so did he.

Studying with Caleb and Zayne was a gamble. Because one of them took it too seriously – Zayne, and the other one barely took it seriously at all – Caleb.

“I don’t need to study,” Caleb announced one night, stretching his arms behind his head. “I absorb knowledge through pure, natural talent.”

Zayne didn’t even look up from his textbook. “That explains your grades.”

You snorted, while Caleb gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m a scholar!”

“You misspelled your own name on a quiz last week,” you reminded him.

Caleb scowled. “...That’s not important.”

Zayne sighed, flipping a page. “You’re actually hopeless.”

But still, despite the chaos, you always ended up spending hours together—Zayne dragging Caleb through assignments, Caleb making you both laugh until your stomach hurt, and you somehow keeping the peace between them. And in those quiet moments, when Caleb finally passed out with his head on his books and Zayne was still scribbling notes in the dim glow of the desk lamp—you realized something. You liked this.

The three of you, together.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Zayne,” you whined, dramatically throwing yourself onto Caleb’s bed.

Caleb smirked. “Yeah, what’s the problem? You scared?”

Zayne gave him the flattest look imaginable. “Of what?”

“I dunno. Sleepovers. Fun. Emotions.”

Zayne sighed. “I just—”

“Dude.” Caleb clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve literally known us your entire life. Just stay. One night won’t kill you.”

Zayne hesitated. Then, after what felt like forever—

“…Fine.”

You and Caleb immediately high-fived in victory.

Zayne groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Caleb grinned. “Love you too, buddy.”

It was way too late when the three of you finally crashed onto the bed, blankets and pillows everywhere, laptop propped up playing a movie no one was actually paying attention to. Caleb had long since passed out, one arm hanging off the bed, breathing deep and even. You, however, were still awake. And so was Zayne. The laptop screen flickered softly, casting faint light across the room. You turned your head slightly, finding him lying beside you, eyes still open, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re not sleeping?” you whispered.

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “I don’t sleep much.”

You hummed in understanding, shifting under the blanket. “Do you regret staying over?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, his voice—low, but honest—

“…No.”

Something in your chest warmed. And in the silence that followed, neither of you said anything else, but somehow, nothing needed to be said.

Spring had always been your favorite time of year. The air was warmer, the days stretched longer, and everything felt alive. But this year, something felt different. Not in a way you could explain—not in a way you could name—but in the small things. Like how Zayne’s eyes lingered on you longer than before. Or how, sometimes, when you laughed a little too loudly, his jaw would tense like he was trying to ignore something. Or how he always looked away first. Not that you noticed.

Not that he understood. But it was there. Somewhere.

The buzz around school had been nonstop. Whispers of an upcoming beach party floated through the hallways, carried by excited voices and knowing smirks. Someone’s older sibling had planned it—a night of bonfires, music, and, supposedly, sneaked-in alcohol. It was all anyone could talk about.

“A bonfire on the beach?” Caleb had said, throwing an arm around your shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows. “C’mon, Pipsqueak, we have to go.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there going to be alcohol?”

Caleb grinned. “Probably. But that’s part of the fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re minors.”

“Technically, only you and I are minors.” He pointed at Zayne. “He’s practically an adult.”

Zayne, who had been leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, immediately shook his head. “No.”

Caleb gasped dramatically. “We haven’t even asked yet.”

Zayne sighed. “You don’t need to.”

“But—”

“No.”

Caleb turned to you with a look. “Help me.”

You smirked. “C’mon, Zayne. It’ll be fun.”

Zayne didn’t even look at you. “Still no.”

“Think about it,” Caleb pressed, grinning. “Bonfire, the ocean, people sneaking in drinks, questionable life choices.”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying no.”

“Okay, but imagine—”

“I’d rather not.”

You sighed, clasping your hands together. “Please?”

Zayne hesitated. And for a moment—just a moment—he glanced at you. You smiled at him. Something shifted in his expression.

“…Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Caleb fist-pumped the air. “Victory!”

You grinned. “Took you long enough.”

Zayne exhaled, shaking his head. “I hate both of you.”

Caleb slung an arm around him. “Yeah, yeah, we love you too.”

But Zayne wasn’t looking at Caleb. He was looking at you. And for some reason, he didn’t know why that mattered.

The bonfire flickered against the night sky, casting golden light over the shifting sand and the chaos of high schoolers experiencing their first taste of reckless freedom. Loud music blasted from a portable speaker, blending into the sounds of crashing waves. Some people were dancing barefoot in the sand, others were sitting on old blankets, laughing, talking, shouting over the music. And then, of course, there were the red plastic cups. Which definitely held the sneaked-in alcohol.

“This is insane,” Caleb breathed, looking around, eyes lit with excitement. “Our first real party.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “It’s kinda cool, right?”

Caleb grinned. “Are you kidding? It’s legendary.”

Zayne, standing slightly behind you both, crossed his arms, deadpan.

“…It’s a nightmare.”

You turned to Zayne, stifling a laugh. He looked so out of place. His arms were crossed, his usual brooding expression even more intense, his eyes scanning the chaos like he was already planning an escape.

“I hate it here,” he muttered.

Caleb slung an arm around him. “C’mon, lighten up, grandpa. We’re here now—might as well make the most of it.”

Zayne scowled. “You forced me to come.”

Caleb ignored him.

Somehow—someway—Caleb got his hands on drinks. You didn’t even question how.

“Here,” he said, shoving a red cup into your hands.

You blinked. “Wait—”

“Bottoms up!” Caleb downed his drink immediately, tipping his head back without hesitation.

You sniffed yours hesitantly. The smell of alcohol hit you instantly.

“…I don’t know if I should—”

“Pipsqueak,” Caleb cut in, grinning, “I’ll literally never let you live it down if you chicken out.”

You scowled. “You’re so annoying.”

But—fine. You tipped the cup and took a sip. It burned.

You coughed. “What the hell?”

Caleb laughed. “Not so bad, huh?”

You glared at him. “It tastes like actual poison.”

Then, almost as if it was fate, you turned to Zayne. He was watching you, arms still crossed, expression unreadable.

“…No,” he said flatly.

Caleb gasped dramatically. “You haven’t even heard what I was gonna say!”

“You were going to tell me to drink that,” Zayne said, eyeing the cup Caleb was now shoving toward him.

Caleb grinned. “And?”

“No.”

“C’mon, just one sip.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fair, but—”

“Fine.”

And just like that, Zayne grabbed the cup and took a single, slow sip. You and Caleb watched intensely. He swallowed. Expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause—

“…This is disgusting.”

You burst into laughter. After the drinks, the atmosphere felt different. Looser. Warmer. The bonfire crackled, sending embers into the dark sky. The waves lapped against the shore, a gentle hum beneath the music. And then—Caleb grabbed your hand.

“Let’s dance.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Dance with me!”

You hesitated, but only for a second before laughing and letting him pull you into the crowd. The sand shifted beneath your feet as you moved to the beat of the music, Caleb spinning you dramatically, making you laugh even harder. It was easy. Carefree. And Zayne was watching.

Standing just outside the crowd, eyes slightly narrowed, his jaw set, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure why he was even paying attention. And then—for the first time— He saw it. The way your hair had grown longer, the way you carried yourself, the way your laugh sounded different now. For the first time, you didn’t just look like his childhood friend anymore. You looked like a teenager. Slowly growing into a beautiful young lady. And maybe he would’ve brushed it off. Maybe he would’ve ignored it completely.

But when he glanced at Caleb— Caleb was watching too. Noticing too. And for some reason, that realization made something unsettle in Zayne’s chest. He turned away before he could think about it too much. But the thought lingered.

Caleb was in his element. You were giggling breathlessly, twirling under his arm, the music thrumming beneath your feet as the sand shifted with every movement. But Zayne? Zayne was standing there, arms crossed, watching with his usual broody expression, very much not dancing. You caught sight of him just as Caleb spun you again, your heart pounding with the rush of movement and laughter. And in that carefree, giddy moment— You grabbed his wrist. Zayne stiffened immediately.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” you grinned, tugging him forward. “C’mon.”

“I don’t—”

“You have to dance with me at least once.”

He exhaled sharply, already regretting his life choices. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

And somehow, someway— You won.

At first, he barely moved. You and Caleb did most of the work, laughing as you tried to get him to at least step to the beat. But then—You laughed. Not just any laugh. That carefree, childlike giggle—the kind that had always been impossible to ignore. And for some reason— Zayne sighed. And gave in. It wasn’t much. Just a shift in his stance, a half-smirk as Caleb exaggerated his movements, a barely-there sway in time with the music. But it was something. And it felt… nice. The three of you, laughing under the night sky, the bonfire flickering in the background, the waves crashing in the distance. Like nothing had changed. Like everything was exactly the way it was meant to be.

Later, after the music had died down a little, the three of you collapsed around the bonfire, warm from the heat of the flames and the lingering buzz of the night.

You were leaning against Caleb’s shoulder, eyes flickering between the flames and the dark ocean beyond. “What do you think we’ll be doing in ten years?”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. “Hopefully not flipping burgers.”

You laughed. “That’s a low bar.”

He grinned. “Hey, I have goals, okay?”

You turned to Zayne. “What about you?”

Zayne, who had been idly staring at the fire, barely hesitated before answering.

“Medicine.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Cardiac surgery.”

Caleb whistled. “Damn. So you’re gonna be, like, the best surgeon ever?”

“That’s the plan.”

You smiled softly. “That’s really cool, Zayne.”

His eyes flickered to you for just a second. Then he looked away. “…Thanks.”

Caleb stretched, grinning. “I, for one, will be flying fighter jets.”

You and Zayne turned to him.

“…Fighter jets?” you repeated.

“Yep.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “You barely passed physics last semester.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “I have other skills, okay? I love planes. And I will fly them.”

You laughed. “So, you’re gonna be in the sky, Zayne’s gonna be in an operating room… and me?”

You paused. The realization hit you mid-sentence.

“…I have no idea.”

They both turned to you.

“You’ll figure it out,” Caleb said confidently.

Zayne nodded once. “You don’t have to know yet.”

You exhaled, staring at the fire. “I guess.”

And for some reason, at that moment—It felt like time was slipping too fast. Like this—the three of you, sitting together under the stars, laughing, dreaming about the future—Wouldn’t last forever. But maybe, for now, that was okay. Because tonight, everything was exactly where it should be.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

#love and deepspace #lads zayne #lads caleb #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #zayne x you #caleb x you #lads #zayne lads #caleb lads #doctor zayne #zayne x non mc #caleb x non mc

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skiesuconn · 3 months ago

Text

every single morning with you

paige bueckers & azzi fudd യ word count: 15k യ notes: i’ve been thinking a lot about whether this was worth posting, but i feel like i’ve finally settled on the right direction. i just hope it resonates—whether it makes you laugh, relate, or just pause for a moment to think. i appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to read my work. it truly means a lot. if you feel like sharing your thoughts, i’d love to hear them—anything at all. there’s a song at the end of the chapter, and if you want, you can play it as you read. it adds something, i think, a way to really sink into the moment. thank you for being here. it means everything. i love you.

okay so, first off, aubrey? certified menace. absolute villain origin story in the making. because paige is waking up—no, being violently resurrected—by the sun punching her directly in the face. no warning, no warm-up, just straight-up ultraviolet betrayal. and aubrey? nowhere to be found, because aubrey is never here for the consequences of her crimes.

paige groans. shifts. and immediately, warmth—memory—clings to her skin. azzi. the ghost of her touch still lingers, a sunburn without the burn, just golden and soft and everywhere. she would stay in this hazy post-sleep fog forever if the sun wasn’t currently committing war crimes against her retinas.

still squinting, she gropes blindly for her purple glasses, knocking over what is possibly a water bottle, possibly a rogue phone charger, and possibly her own dignity. finally, she finds them, shoves them onto her face, and the world sharpens into something less aggressively blurry.

and then she sees it.

a note. small. slightly crinkled. sitting there on the nightstand like it knows it holds meaning. and it does. because there’s a kiss print on the corner, smudged just a little, like azzi pressed her lips to the paper and thought about something else for a second before pulling away. paige thinks she might die. just a little. in, like, a poetic way.

she picks it up, reads:

“nika really needs to get checked out with that snoring issue, i went to stretch my knees by the shore. i love you x, also i stole your slides.”

paige lets out the kind of laugh that’s mostly air, because her chest is full of something she refuses to name before 8:30 a.m. she kisses the lip print because what else is she supposed to do? not kiss it? like a fool?

somewhere in the background, nika is absolutely violating the peace treaty of the morning by blasting “price tag” by jessie j. paige had momentarily forgotten. it is now, unfortunately, very remembered.

she sighs. dramatically. folds the note neatly and tucks it into the pocket of her hoodie, where it will probably stay for the next five to seven business days before she finally admits she’s keeping it forever.

she swings her legs over the bed, feet meeting the floor. reaches for her slides before—

right. azzi stole them.

that little thief.

paige grins.

if she wasn’t already in love, she would be now.

paige stares at the ceiling for a solid thirty seconds, blinking slow, like that’ll somehow reset reality. spoiler: it does not. then, from the depths of her soul, she yells, “nika, it’s four in the morning.”

she pauses. glances at her phone. squints. “…oh. it’s eight actually. but whatever. it’s like one a.m. in connecticut, right?”

aubrey, still very much unconscious, does not react. which is suspicious. because aubrey is a light sleeper, unless—paige squints harder. leans over. where the fuck did she get earplugs from? is she stockpiling them? does she have a secret stash? is aubrey actually five steps ahead of them all?

aaliyah, notably, is no longer in the room. probably fed up with nika’s way-too-morning-person energy. and honestly? valid.

paige sighs again, this time with the energy of a woman who has already lost the battle but refuses to surrender the war.

paige stumbles into the bathroom, half-blind, half-grumpy, and fully prepared to throw hands with whoever is responsible for the morning’s chaos. spoiler: it’s nika. it’s always nika.

nika is standing at the mirror, combing her hair like she’s in a coming-of-age movie, silently lip-syncing to the song blasting from her phone. except she’s not actually silent. her mouth is moving, but the words? barely syncing. honestly, it’s impressive how bad she is at it.

paige watches this disaster unfold for a second, then flicks the lights off and back on like she’s a ghost in a bad horror movie. nika blinks. pauses. then just keeps singing.

“are you insane?” paige deadpans.

nika, unwavering, dramatically points at herself in the mirror, mouthing along to whatever lyrics she’s currently butchering.

paige sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “now, mind you,” she says, adopting the tone of someone giving a ted talk on basic human decency, “i need to brush my teeth. and there are people sleeping in here.”

nika waves a hand, dismissive. “this isn’t even that bad,” she argues. “kk wanted to bring in the big ass jbl speaker.”

paige freezes mid-motion, toothbrush in hand. “how did kk even wake up that early? she missed breakfast last time.”

nika shrugs, because of course she does.

paige sighs again, but this time, it’s the resigned sigh of someone who has already lost the battle but will still fight for moral victory. she washes her face, lets the cold water wake her up properly, then grabs a towel. she changes into a grey uconn tank top and some plaid beige shorts—ones azzi got her.

and yeah. okay. they’re kind of her favorite. but no one needs to know that.

paige brushes her teeth, staring at her own reflection like she’s in the middle of an existential crisis, but really, she’s just wondering if she has the energy to survive another day of nika’s antics. after rinsing, she downs a glass of cold water like it’s life-saving medicine, lets the chill wake her up properly.

nika, meanwhile, is still at the mirror, now meticulously applying her lashes like she’s about to hit the red carpet. paige watches for a second, then leans against the counter with the judgment of someone who’s been up for ten minutes and already seen too much.

“you know you don’t need allat, right?” she says, lazily gesturing at nika’s fully stocked beauty station. “matter of fact, where are you even going?”

nika, unbothered, dabs at her eyeliner. “i signed up for yoga classes.”

paige blinks. processes. stares like nika just told her she’s moving to mars. “...yoga?”

nika nods, focused on making sure her lashes are even.

paige keeps staring. “okay, well, good luck. but you still don’t need allat.”

nika scoffs, flicking paige’s arm. “and where are you going?”

paige stretches, rolling out her shoulders like she’s preparing for a fake excuse. “az is by the beach. she needs help with, you know… knees.”

nika side-eyes her so hard it might as well be a personal attack. “sure. knees.”

paige groans, already regretting every word.

nika smirks, grabbing her lip gloss. “just keep in mind what i told you about the sand. it’s really not comfortable.”

paige barely glances over, rolling her eyes like she’s done with this whole thing before it even starts. "i ain't having this convo with you right now," she mutters, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off a bug she doesn’t want to deal with, and straight up glides over to aubrey who’s got this mix of confusion and mild annoyance all over her face. aubrey's staring at the speakers like they just insulted her, hands on her hips like she’s trying to figure out the meaning of life but it’s just loud, garish music blaring from the corner of the room.

"yo, what type of moron is playing this loud ass music?" aubrey says, hands still in the air, gesturing like it’s a crime scene and the speakers are the culprits.

paige, who’s somehow managing to look unbothered and annoyed at the same time, cracks a smile like she’s in on some private joke with the universe. "that would be niks," she says, shrugging. "but good luck. i ain't staying here."

aubrey doesn’t even wait a second. she flops onto the bed like she’s in mourning, burying her face in the pillow with the dramatic flair of someone who's had enough. "nika, i swear to god," she yells, voice muffled but still cutting through the noise like a razor. "please turn that off or at least put on some good music. like, this is the type of stuff coach would listen to."

from the other side of the room, niks's voice floats back, too chill for someone causing all this chaos. "i can’t hear you, aubs," she calls out, completely unfazed. "but good for you." like it’s a compliment, or maybe a warning. who knows?

and aubrey just screams into the pillow like she's trying to communicate with the universe, but the universe is deaf, and it’s wearing noise-canceling headphones.

paige's hand was already on the door when it hit her—azzi had taken her slides. not even a thought, just straight up swiped them. she blinked, standing still for a moment, weighing her options like she was about to make a life-altering decision. should she go barefoot? but then she remembered the last time she had to jump across that stupid patch of sand by the beach, the way people gave her side-eye like she was committing a crime by being barefoot in public. not that it bothered her, really. it was more the idea of a crab getting real bold and just, like, eating her whole ass foot. what if that happened? she could practically hear the crabs snickering.

not today, she thought.

so, she took aubrey’s slides instead. yeah, aubrey’s. the ones with the weird cupcake prints on them. cupcakes. on slides. like, seriously? paige stared at them, one of those moments where you almost feel like you should say something to the universe, but instead you just shrug and go, “whatever,” because it wasn’t even worth getting into.

she grabbed her phone, keycard, and a tiny pocket-sized bottle of sun cream—just in case azzi forgot to bring hers. though, she probably didn’t. azzi was always so together, so perfectly azzi with her little routines. but paige, of course, never passed up the chance to carry extra backup stuff, just in case. because who knew when a little sunburn might sneak up on you? and better safe than sorry when you're dealing with, like, crab-foot disaster potential.

paige was strolling through the hotel, sipping in the sun, when she saw a street vendor with ice-cold lemonade. her brain did a little happy dance. lemonade, on a hot day? yes, please. but then the realization hit her like a ton of bricks: her spanish? not great. it’s like, a solid "hi" and "thank you" and the rest was just a bunch of hopeful grunting. but screw it, she went for it anyway.

the vendor was super sweet, like, the kind of sweet that made you wonder if he gave free hugs with every order. she tried to say the flavor she wanted, but her pronunciation was like a toddler trying to read Shakespeare. somehow, though, it worked. "naranja," he said with a smile, handing her the cup. orange. paige smiled back, feeling victorious like she had just won a gold medal for the "not-so-perfect-but-still-gets-it-right" Olympics.

now, with her prize in hand, paige turned the corner and spotted azzi, of course, reading a book. was there any other scenario? seriously. azzi was laying flat on her stomach, legs swinging lazily in the air like she had all the time in the world. her curls were in a neat bun, but a few rebellious strands were playing with the wind, getting blown backwards like they had a mind of their own. azzi was rocking an open maxi dress in this perfect almond color. paige swore, if azzi wore a garbage bag, she’d still somehow be hotter than the entire sun. no lie.

paige took a slow breath, she set her drink on the sand next to her and then, in a move that could only be described as questionable at best, she grabbed a handful of sand. yep. sand. carefully—if that’s even a thing—she sprinkled some on azzi's legs, thinking she'd just add a little "sandy surprise." of course, azzi didn’t notice. not a flinch. not a twitch.

so, paige decided to take it to the next level: tickling. she lightly poked azzi’s foot, waiting for her reaction like a kid with a new toy.

BAM. azzi jerked up like she had just been zapped with electricity, screeching, "what the hell?!!" like someone had stolen her last fry. she whipped around, face a mix of confusion and irritation, before rolling her eyes at paige, who was cracking up like a five-year-old. she knew, right then and there, she was definitely not a trusted adult.

paige flops down next to azzi, their shoulders brushing, a casual kind of closeness that’s more comfortable than it probably should be. her hand slides around azzi’s lower back, like she’s just staking a claim, and azzi’s still recovering from whatever just happened—because, yeah, whatever just happened, it’s written all over her face. paige grins. “hey mama.”

azzi rolls her eyes like she’s done a million times before but still cracks a smile. “hi, firecracker.”

“woah?” paige says, raising an eyebrow. “that’s a new one.”

azzi laughs and yanks paige closer by the hem of her tank top, pulling her into a kiss that’s just long enough to make paige forget where they are, but not long enough to be too dramatic. when they pull away, azzi smirks. “that morning breath, paige.”

paige scrunches her nose. “excuse me? i literally brushed my teeth.”

“have you been flossing or not?” azzi asks, completely deadpan.

paige stares at her, unblinking. “no, sparky.”

azzi snorts, clearly amused. paige rolls her eyes, already moving on, because she can’t help herself. “so how’d you sleep? knee still acting up?”

“it’s fine,” azzi says, dismissive, though she doesn’t meet paige’s gaze. “just that little pain in the curve of my left knee. colleen sent me some videos on how to deal with it.”

paige's face goes from casual to concerned in half a second. “you should’ve told me sooner. i’ll get you to a doctor. don’t even think about not going.”

“paige, relax,” azzi says, but paige can tell she’s just a little uncomfortable with the attention.

paige keeps going, relentless. “i mean, is it just like a dull pain, or does it—”

“forget it,” azzi cuts in, frustration leaking into her tone. “i shouldn’t have told you.”

paige’s face hardens in determination, and before azzi can protest, paige turns her onto her back and lifts the hem of her dress to inspect the knee. azzi’s eyes widen, but she’s too slow to stop paige. “so, you’re just gonna figure it out by looking at it?”

paige shrugs, utterly unfazed. “what? i’ve got a charm. i once taught a dog how to do a backflip. don’t doubt me.”

azzi bursts out laughing, shaking her head. “you’re impossible.”

“c’mon, what’s funny about that? that dog was amazing,” paige says, grinning.

azzi finally rolls her eyes, still smiling. “you’re ridiculous.”

paige doesn’t let up. “also, did you put on sun cream today, or are we just throwing caution to the wind?”

paige barely has time to react before azzi fixes her with a look, all smug and effortless, like she’s already won some unspoken game. “of course i put on sunscreen. i’m not you.”

paige clutches her chest like she’s just taken a fatal hit. “wow. that’s crazy. i take one little sunburn—”

“one?” azzi scoffs. “paige, you turned the color of a cooked lobster last time. i was concerned.”

paige ignores that. instead, she pulls out her bottle of sunscreen with the enthusiasm of someone revealing a magic trick. “oh no,” she gasps, twisting it in her hands like she’s never seen such a thing before. “how ever will i apply this?”

azzi stares at her. unimpressed.

paige stares back. Innocent.

azzi sighs, already regretting every life choice that led her here. “you are such a big baby.” but she takes the bottle anyway, because paige is insufferable and annoying and maybe a little bit cute when she does this. just a little.

paige beams, her grin almost blinding as she flops onto her back like she’s just booked a full spa day. azzi, shaking her head, straddles her waist, warming up the sunscreen between her palms before smoothing it over paige’s neck. her hands move slow, careful. fingers pressing into warm skin, trailing down to paige’s shoulders, working out knots that paige probably doesn’t even know she has.

paige hums, tipping her head back. “damn. should’ve pulled this trick sooner.”

“oh, shut up.” azzi’s hands pause, then—just because she can—she drags a cold streak of sunscreen across paige’s cheek.

paige gasps, all wide-eyed and scandalized. “oh, so that’s how it is?” she swipes at her own face, scooping up excess sunscreen, and without warning—smushes it directly onto azzi’s face.

azzi freezes. blinks. “you did not just—”

paige is already grinning like an idiot, so damn pleased with herself. azzi doesn’t even think—she just moves, shoving paige off her, flipping them with ease so paige is the one on her back now, laughing so hard her whole body shakes.

“oh, you think you’re funny?” azzi leans over her, pressing paige into the sand, hands bracketing her face.

“no,” paige breathes, still grinning. “i know i’m funny.”

azzi rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. instead, she shifts, settling herself onto paige’s lap, letting her full weight sink in, like she belongs there. her hands find paige’s face—thumbs tracing over sharp cheekbones, fingers tangling in sun-warmed hair.

paige just looks up at her, eyes soft, hands resting easy on azzi’s waist. her touch is light, but her grip is steady, like she’s ready to pull azzi closer if she wants.

azzi wants.

she leans in, brushing a kiss to paige’s cheek. then another. then another. paige exhales against her skin, something quiet, something almost reverent.

“you have sand in your hair, silly,” azzi murmurs, fingers brushing through sun-bleached strands, picking out tiny grains.

paige doesn’t move, just watches her, like this is the best part of her day. “well, take it off then.”

so azzi does, fingers lingering.

and maybe it’s the heat, or the way paige is looking at her, or maybe it’s just them, but before she can second-guess it, she’s pressing in again, slower this time. deeper. paige meets her halfway, arms locking around azzi’s back, pulling them together until they’re so close azzi can feel paige’s heartbeat against her own.

when they finally pull back, paige’s face is unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes—something big, something unspoken.

azzi swallows. breathes. then, quietly, honestly—“i love these mornings with you.” her hands slip under paige’s tank top, fingertips pressing into warm skin. “every single morning with you.”

paige just smiles, something soft and certain. “yeah,” she murmurs. “me too.”

paige just looks at her, because how could she not? azzi’s dimples are deep, her face still soft with sleep, lips curling around words that paige barely registers because, honestly, she’s too busy staring. lavender clings to azzi’s skin, to her curls, and maybe it’s the shampoo or maybe it’s just her, but it makes paige feel something warm and slow in her chest.

"so,” paige drawls, tilting her head, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth. "did the best book on the planet finally start to get boring?"

azzi scoffs, dropping the book onto the blanket beside them, fingers still lingering over the worn edges. her other hand—traitorous thing that it is—stays exactly where it shouldn’t, playing with the frayed hem of paige’s shorts, fingertips brushing against bare skin.

paige swallows. shifts. but she doesn’t move away.

"just because you can’t finish a book without quitting after ten pages," azzi teases, "doesn’t mean it’s boring."

paige hums, pretending to consider that, but really, she’s considering the way azzi is looking at her—eyes still a little sleepy, lips parted just enough to make paige’s pulse trip over itself.

she shrugs, like her heart isn’t currently doing gymnastics. "or maybe," she murmurs, "you just got distracted."

azzi doesn’t deny it. she just quirks an eyebrow, fingers brushing paige’s thigh again—higher this time. deliberate.

"maybe," azzi says, all casual, all effortless.

paige bites the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her cool, but then azzi moves, shifting so they’re fully face to face, so close that paige could count every freckle dusting azzi’s nose if she wasn’t too busy looking at her mouth.

"but i do finish books," azzi says, smug. "unlike you, firecracker."

paige grins at that, because she lives for the way azzi says it—soft, teasing, like it’s theirs and only theirs.

"oh, so you do get distracted," paige murmurs, voice lower now, rougher, and azzi doesn’t answer. not with words.

instead, she just leans in.

paige actually groans, throwing her head back into the sand. “you cannot keep doing this to me,” she whines, hands gripping azzi’s waist, thumbs brushing over warm skin. “like, i’m gonna actually rip out all of my hair.”

azzi, clearly enjoying this way too much, tilts her head, feigning innocence. “i didn’t even do anything yet.”

paige just looks at her, deadpan, and azzi smirks, and then suddenly—

paige yelps as she’s shoved back fully, the world tilting as azzi shifts, climbing over her, her ass absolutely taking over paige’s lap.

paige is gone. obliterated.

azzi leans in, voice all sweet and smug. “so,” she murmurs, “are you gonna rip your hair out now?”

paige grins, all teeth, hands slipping up into azzi’s curls. “i hate you.”

“mmm.” azzi tilts her head, like she’s listening. “your heart’s beating so fast. i can hear it.”

paige just stares at her, swallowing. “and why do you think that is?”

azzi hums, fake thoughtful, then flicks her gaze toward some random dude sunbathing nearby. “must be him.”

paige outright gasps, shoving at azzi’s shoulder. “you’re so rude.”

azzi shrugs, smug. “just calling it like i see it.”

paige is already planning revenge. the second the idea pops into her head, she grins.

"hey," she says, casual. “wanna go refresh your feet?”

azzi’s eyes immediately narrow. “paige. we’re not doing this again.”

paige, all innocence, tugs at azzi’s hands. “c’mon. just feet.”

azzi scoffs. “i literally wore this twice already.”

paige shrugs. “well, maybe you shouldn’t wear a dress to the beach.”

azzi raises a brow, then pointedly glances down—to where paige’s hands are still very much on her ass.

paige freezes.

azzi smirks. “you don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

paige clears her throat. “okay. let’s go. just feet. i promise.”

azzi looks at her for a second, then sighs, slipping her fingers between paige’s, tugging her along toward the shore. paige follows, but not without a dramatic groan, like she’s being dragged to her doom instead of, y’know, the literal ocean.

when the waves roll in, azzi steps forward effortlessly, letting the water lap at her ankles. paige, however, hesitates.

"wait," paige blurts, yanking them both back slightly. "what if there are, like, crabs? or some bullshit?"

azzi blinks at her. "are you serious?"

paige just stares out at the water, wary, like a crab might suddenly leap out and start beef.

azzi sighs, exasperated but fond, and tugs paige in, her grip tightening, making sure she feels steady, safe. she lets them sink their feet in just enough so the cold fizzles up to their ankles, nothing more.

paige visibly relaxes.

"see?" azzi murmurs, squeezing her hand. "not such a bad idea."

paige huffs, flicking wet sand off her foot. "i told you. no sharks."

azzi stares at her, deadpan.

paige blinks, confused.

azzi finally speaks, voice flat. "you—" she gestures vaguely, "literally just freaked out over crabs eating your feet. and now you're acting like you knew it was safe all along?"

paige shrugs, grinning. "personal growth."

as they make their way back to the sand, paige notices the way azzi’s movements slow, her skin glistening under the sun, her cheeks a little more flushed than usual. she was always hot—obviously—but now it was the temperature getting to her.

paige nudges her elbow. “you good?”

azzi nods, brushing damp curls out of her face. “yeah.”

paige squints. not buying it. she turns to the so-called slushie she thought would be refreshing, only to find it’s now just… syrupy, warm liquid. useless. she dumps it in the sand, turns back to azzi.

"you want a drink?"

azzi lifts a brow. “from where?”

paige blinks, deadpan. “uh. not the ocean, genius.”

“hmm.” azzi tilts her head, playful. “but you did say it has sharks in it. adds flavor.”

paige just stares at her. “okay. i clearly meant the bar, but remind me to never let you cook.”

azzi grins, amused, and finally nods. paige hops up immediately, offering a hand to pull azzi up with her, then—without a word—picks up all their stuff, shouldering the weight so azzi doesn’t have to.

the bar is a little further down the beach, shaded under wide white canopies. they settle onto the stools, both a little surprised that, for once, their height isn’t an issue.

as soon as paige approaches the bartender, he immediately clocks her. “well, look who’s back,” he teases, resting an elbow on the counter. “no trouble yet, i assume?”

paige smirks. “who, me? never.”

he eyes azzi, then raises a brow at paige. “and i see you brought someone way out of your league this time.”

paige just grins, but before she can say something cocky, azzi—without missing a beat—goes, “i know, right?”

the bartender wheezes, actually leans on the counter for support, and paige throws an arm over azzi’s shoulders, shaking her lightly. “you’re supposed to back me up.”

“oh, i am,” azzi hums, smug.

paige orders a shirley temple (duh), and for azzi, a cold water and a lemonade, because azzi doesn’t drink, and especially not in the morning.

when paige slides the drinks over, she asks, “these good?”

azzi hums in approval, then kisses her—soft, simple, just a small gesture, but it sends a quiet warmth straight to paige’s chest.

as they sip their drinks, paige casually mentions, “so, the team wants to check out the farmers’ market later. little shopping, all that.”

azzi perks up immediately. “oh, that sounds fun. yeah, i’m down.”

they sit there in comfortable silence, just enjoying the quiet—the shade, the slow-moving waves, the soft hum of music drifting from the bar’s speakers. paige rests a hand on azzi’s thigh, thumb tracing absentminded circles.

the world feels still, for a moment. just theirs.

as they walk back to the hotel, paige’s slides slap lightly against the pavement with each step, and azzi—who just now notices the design—snorts.

“okay, i know you have… unique taste,” she starts, eyeing the bright pastel cupcake pattern, “but cupcakes? seriously?”

paige side-eyes her. “first of all, those aren’t mine. they’re aubrey’s. you took mine. literally.”

azzi blinks, looking down at the slides on her feet. they’re huge on her, but somehow, that makes them funnier. she wiggles her toes a little, then shrugs. “hmm. they’re kinda cute, though.”

paige just shakes her head, but she doesn’t fight it when azzi leans in and kisses her.

when they get to the elevator, they hear it before they see it—nika’s voice, singing some dramatic ballad way too passionately for this hour.

azzi notices her first. “hi niks.”

paige, without missing a beat, throws a hand to her forehead and groans, “nurse, she’s out again.”

nika stops mid-lyric to side-eye paige, but she still gives them both a quick hug. “you’re just mad because i can sing.”

paige scoffs. “who said that?”

nika ignores her. “anyway, i’m off to yoga. some of us have inner peace.” she glances down at paige’s slides and just bursts out laughing before heading out.

when the elevator dings, azzi steps in first, then glances at paige. “do you think anyone’s in the room?”

paige slides in next to her, voice dropping just a bit. “i hope not.”

they both know what’s on each other’s minds.

the second the elevator doors open, paige reaches back and slaps azzi’s ass—quick, casual, like it’s routine—and azzi barely reacts, just rolls her eyes as she unlocks the door.

inside, it’s quiet.

paige calls out, just in case. “yo, anyone out there?”

nothing.

she checks the bathroom for good measure, then slaps the i’m sleeping, do not disturb sticker on the door handle.

azzi watches, laughing. “you’re so dramatic.”

paige flops onto the bed. “finally, someone who hates the sun during the early hours.”

“you’re so stupid.” azzi shakes her head, but she’s grinning as she climbs on top of paige, pressing her into the mattress.

paige just smirks up at her. “uh-huh. and yet…”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss.

they must’ve dozed off at some point, bodies tangled under the sheets, skin warm against skin. the room is quiet, save for the occasional distant sound of waves outside and—of course—paige snoring.

azzi blinks awake, her head still resting on paige’s chest, the steady rise and fall of it lulling her into a daze. it’s 10 a.m. now—she knows because the light creeping through the edges of the curtains is brighter, more persistent. the team’s probably already at breakfast, laughing about something stupid, while she and paige are still here, wrapped up in each other, barely existing outside of this bed.

she shifts slowly, carefully, like she’s moving through water. her eyes roam over paige’s face—soft, peaceful, a little ridiculous with the way her mouth is slightly open. azzi leans in and presses a kiss to her neck. then her ear. then her temple. then her forehead.

she smiles into the last one, her fingers brushing over paige’s cheek.

paige groans, voice thick with sleep. “five more minutes.”

she barely opens her eyes, just reaches up and blindly runs her fingers through azzi’s curls, messing them up even more—not that they weren’t already a disaster.

azzi hums, her touch featherlight as she starts tracing slow circles over paige’s bare stomach.

“five more minutes,” she echoes.

as they stir awake, azzi groans, stretching against paige’s warmth before sighing, “we have to shower.”

paige, still half-asleep, mumbles, “i know,” dragging the word out like it physically pains her.

azzi reaches for her phone, squinting at the screen. “ice texted me like fifteen times asking where we were,” she says, scrolling. “i told her to save us some breakfast, but she probably didn’t.”

paige cracks one eye open, then shrugs. “we’ll grab something from the market, don’t worry.”

azzi nods, then leans in, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to paige’s lips before pulling her out of bed. they move fast—hoping praying—that nobody barges in while they’re still very much naked.

in the bathroom, paige turns on the shower, letting the water heat up, while she grabs a fresh pair of boxers for herself. azzi rummages through her bag, pulling out a pair of panties and those ridiculous jean shorts—so impractical, but she’s committed now. she tosses a grey tank top onto the counter, the soft fabric hugging her fingers as she runs a thumb over it. her belly button piercing sits next to it, not on yet, but waiting.

paige catches sight of it and smirks. “you planning on making someone pass out today, or is that just a bonus?”

azzi just rolls her eyes, stepping into the shower first. “you talk too much.”

“and yet, you love me.”

azzi tilts her head, glancing back at paige. “unfortunately.”

azzi sits there, still, watching paige move—towel in hand, completely unaware of the way azzi’s eyes drink her in. it’s not a wandering gaze, not fleeting or absentminded. it’s deliberate, intentional. the kind of look azzi only ever gives paige. okay, maybe stewie too, but that’s different.

paige feels it before she sees it. that weight of attention pressing against her skin. she turns, voice soft. “you good? everything alright?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t shift or blink, just keeps looking at her with that quiet intensity that makes paige’s breath hitch. paige frowns a little, sets the towel down, and crouches in front of her, leveling their eyes. no walls. “what’s wrong?”

azzi blinks, then exhales. “remember that kitten we kinda…rescued? in the middle of—” she pauses, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

paige grins immediately, laughing. “oh, yeah. you mean the one who almost walked in on us?”

azzi nods, gaze softer now, thumb tracing over her own knee absentmindedly. “i wanna take her home. with us.”

us.

paige doesn’t miss it, the weight of that word. it settles in her chest, warm, grounding. she smiles, presses a slow kiss to azzi’s forehead, lingers just a second longer than necessary. when she pulls back, azzi bites her lip, eyes flicking between paige’s lips, her eyes, back to her lips—before she leans in.

the kiss is slow, deep, their tongues moving in sync, a silent promise exchanged between them. when they pull apart, azzi doesn’t say a word. just smirks, grips paige’s wrist, and shoves her into the shower.

paige barely has time to react before warm water spills over them both, azzi stepping in after her.

“you could’ve just asked,” paige says, laughing as she wipes water from her face.

azzi hums, stepping closer, hands finding paige’s waist. “yeah, but this is more fun.”

hand in hand, paige and azzi move through the buzz of the team, a quiet kind of connection only they can understand. there's a rhythm to their movements, like they're woven together, stitched at the edges. aubrey’s sharp laugh pierces the air as she pulls paige away, tossing her a look that says, we need to talk, while caroline sweeps in to start some random conversation with azzi about food at the market. paige, now distracted, glances at her for a moment before letting aubrey drag her off.

ice leans in with a grin, her voice low, "so, azzi hasn’t noticed the guitar yet," she says with a teasing flick of her head. "honestly, she’s kinda clueless, but that’s not the real problem." her smirk is impossible to miss.

paige frowns, her gaze narrowing at ice’s nonchalant attitude. "do you even know the notes properly?" she asks, a tinge of doubt creeping in. "i think sarah could fly out to argentina just to help you with this, you know?"

ice scoffs, rolling her eyes like it’s nothing. "dude, relax. it's gonna be fine, okay? we’ve got it under control." her confidence radiates, but there's something in her eyes—her own little spark of excitement hidden under the tough exterior.

aubrey, standing nearby with a mischievous grin, chimes in, "i’ll know when to slam the drums. trust me, i’ve got the rhythm, i know the song inside out." her fingers tap lightly against her thighs as if she’s already feeling the beat.

paige sighs in relief, a small smile tugging at her lips. "thanks, guys," she says, her voice quieter now, a flicker of seriousness cutting through her usual light tone. "but we can’t tell anyone. only coach, and the staff. oh, and maybe let’s dress it up a bit? some of our teammates are, like, rolling up in pajamas or sports bras, and that’s cool and all, but... i don’t know, we should stand out a bit."

ice and aubrey nod in unison, a silent agreement between them. "yeah, yeah, got it," aubrey says, dapping paige up before turning her attention back to the rest of the team.

paige glances over her shoulder, eyes flicking to see if caroline’s keeping azzi occupied. it seems like she is—good. paige doesn’t need any distractions right now. they’re so close to pulling this off.

the team begins to quiet as geno steps forward, his presence demanding attention even if his appearance doesn’t. paige's gaze flicks down to his feet, and she can’t help but feel a laugh bubbling up inside her. geno, the team's usually gruff and intimidating coach, is wearing clogs—but not just any clogs. these are built like logs, thick and bulky, like something you’d find in a lumberjack’s wardrobe. wooden. and to top it all off? he’s wearing socks. the image is so absurd that paige has to fight to keep from bursting out laughing.

"alright," geno growls, attempting to sound serious despite the ridiculousness of his shoes. "stop talking and listen up." he pauses, scanning the team with narrowed eyes. "we need to be civil here. no acting like you’re above anyone else. this is about the team. you got that?"

paige can feel the laughter still tugging at the corners of her mouth. she fights to keep it contained, glancing at aubrey and ice. both of them are stifling grins, too, trying not to crack under the sheer ridiculousness of geno’s ensemble. aubrey raises an eyebrow, muttering under her breath, "dude, how does he take himself seriously in those? like, honestly, those are like... furniture."

paige can’t help it. she lets out a quiet snicker, and aubrey’s face lights up with an amused grin. "seriously," paige whispers, eyes glinting with mischief. "how does he not fall over in those things? they look like they belong in a museum."

"god, i don’t know," aubrey mutters back, trying to hide her smile. "but i’m definitely not wearing socks with them."

as geno continues to talk about the need for unity and respect, it’s hard to keep a straight face. the team, though clearly amused, nods along like they’re taking the most serious lecture of their lives. paige just watches, her thoughts flickering between the ridiculousness of the moment and the plan she’s orchestrating. azzi deserves this. it’s gonna be worth it. no wooden clogs or coach’s weird socks can ruin the excitement buzzing through her veins.

paige exchanges one last look with aubrey and ice, then turns back to geno, who is still droning on about team unity and respect. she’s not sure how anyone’s supposed to take him seriously when he looks like he’s about to chop wood with those things, but she suppresses a grin and nods along. soon. it’ll all come together soon.

the sun hangs low but heavy, its heat stretching across the cobblestone street like a lazy cat. it's only 11 a.m., but summer doesn’t care for schedules. their teammates naturally split off into little groups, laughter and chatter bouncing between sun-bleached buildings. paige and azzi stick together, like they always do.

paige’s arm drapes over azzi’s shoulder, loose and easy, while azzi’s hand slips into the back pocket of paige’s shorts, like it belongs there. and maybe it does. the denim is soft, worn from too many washes, the color faded in places that paige's distracted gaze keeps drifting to. she shakes herself out of it, refocusing on the market—baskets overflowing with fruit, the scent of something buttery and rich curling through the air.

they stop at a cart where a man grins at them, speaking rapid spanish, his words warm and musical. neither of them have a clue what he’s saying, but his hands move with practiced ease as he spears two golden, bubbling squares of cheese on a toothpick. provoleta.

before azzi can react, paige, with her usual lack of personal space awareness, presses the sample straight to azzi’s lips. caught off guard, azzi’s mouth opens automatically—right as the vendor hands her another piece. now both squares are in her mouth, and she blinks at paige in mild betrayal.

paige, grinning like she just won something, watches as azzi struggles to chew. “good?” she asks, as if she doesn’t already know the answer.

azzi glares. swallows. “i hate you.”

paige just nudges her side, still smiling. “nah, you love me.”

azzi laughs, head tilting back just enough for the sunlight to catch in her eyes, and paige forgets how to do basic things—like blink. or breathe. the man at the cart watches them, shifting awkwardly, the universal look of a guy realizing he might be third-wheeling. then again, most people feel like that around azzi and paige. it’s not their fault. it’s just the way they are, orbiting each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

azzi, still chewing, sticks out a thumbs up and attempts a very solid, very confident “bueno.” the man grins, nods, and—before they can protest—packs them a whole bag of the cheese. just hands it over like it’s obvious they should have it. paige accepts immediately, saluting him before dragging azzi to the next stall.

the churro stand. because paige has a one-track mind when it comes to sugar.

the line is ridiculous, snaking around the corner, but paige doesn’t care. “worth it.” azzi sighs but stays, because paige’s excitement is weirdly contagious. when they finally get to the front, the vendor, an older guy with laugh lines that could tell stories, eyes them playfully and goes, “that’ll be fifty-five dollars.”

paige, without hesitation, starts pulling out her wallet. azzi just stares. at paige. then at the man. then back at paige.

the vendor cracks up. “nah, it’s on me.”

paige laughs too, shoving her wallet back like she totally knew that. azzi, still shaking her head, grabs her wrist and drags her away before she causes another scene, muttering something about “literally, stop talking, i’m begging.”

paige takes a bite first, humming in approval, then—with absolutely no warning—leans in and kisses azzi, soft and slow, like the world doesn’t exist beyond them. she makes sure to smear a little chocolate on azzi’s lips just so she can kiss it off, grinning against her mouth like a menace.

literally get a room, man.

kk, naturally, is on a mission. a sugar mission. she’s standing there, somehow balancing two churros, extra sprinkles dusting her fingers like she just fist-fought a birthday cake, and—because she refuses to do anything halfway—a marshmallow. on top. of the churro. impaled on a tiny stick like it’s some kind of dessert trophy.

paige squints at it. “was that… an option?”

“no,” azzi answers before kk can, because of course not. kk just made it happen.

kk grins like a kid on christmas morning and takes an absolutely obnoxious bite, rainbow sprinkles cascading to the ground in slow motion. “this is peak innovation,” she says, through a mouthful of churro and marshmallow.

meanwhile, caroline and ayanna are standing a few feet away, looking down at a plate of… something. something suspiciously not dessert.

“so, uh.” caroline pokes at it with a fork. “alligator, huh?”

ayanna, ever the adventurer, already has a bite halfway to her mouth. “yep.”

paige, nosy by nature, leans in. “why?”

“why not?” ayanna pops the piece in her mouth, chews thoughtfully, then shrugs. “tastes like chicken.”

caroline eyes hers warily. “i dunno. this one looks like it’s still plotting against me.”

azzi, from her safe distance, grimaces. “i don’t know why you guys do this to yourselves.”

paige nudges her. “for the plot.”

kk, licking marshmallow off her fingers, gestures at the alligator plate. “can i dip this in there?”

“absolutely not,” everyone says in unison.

ice, living up to her name in the most literal way possible, strolls back with two cups of ice cream—one yogurt, one berry. she lifts them like a bartender showing off a fancy cocktail. “refreshing, no?”

paige snorts. “ice got ice cream. comedy gold.”

azzi, already melting from the heat, nods approvingly. “solid choice.”

as they settle onto a bench under the shade, nika plops down next to them, a bag in one hand, a watermelon slice in the other. because of course she has watermelon. she probably smuggled it into the country.

“so,” nika starts, casual as ever, “y’all wanna buy some vegetables?”

paige blinks at her. once. twice. “dude. you gotta be shitting me.”

nika blinks back, all innocence. “what?”

“nika, we’re in a hotel. what are we supposed to do, set up a lil’ farmers market in the mini-fridge? cook zucchini on a—on a hair straightener?”

nika scoffs, waving her watermelon slice around like a professor proving a point. “first of all, it’s not even a bad idea.”

“it is, actually.”

“second of all, i brought a whole-ass watermelon to the beach, and y’all loved it.”

azzi laughs, reaching over to steal a piece right out of nika’s hand. she takes a bite, sighing dramatically. “mm. can’t lie. refreshing.”

nika gestures, triumphant. “exactly. because it’s literally water. like, who the hell doesn’t like watermelon?”

paige, never one to waste a good moment, leans in with a smirk. “a little birdie told me kamorea’s not a fan.”

nika gasps. audibly. like someone just insulted her entire bloodline. “oh. hell. no.”

before anyone can stop her, she’s already on her feet, marching. beelining straight for kk like she’s about to stage an intervention.

paige and azzi watch her go, then turn to each other, wheezing.

azzi, completely deadpan: “well, it was nice knowing kk.”

with the last bite of their churro still sweet on their tongues, paige and azzi wander back to the group—only to find kk in full showtime mode.

somehow, in the span of five minutes, she’s acquired a bow and arrow and an audience. a real one. strangers standing around, watching her like she’s the main event at some medieval festival.

“why is she—” azzi starts.

“don’t ask,” paige says, already invested.

kk’s on her third and final shot. two tries down. one left. her stance is serious, locked in, ridiculously dramatic.

the team is gathered behind her, watching like it’s the olympics. paige steps up, slaps her back—the same way she always does before a game, before a huddle, before anything big. kk gives her a side-eye, but they both know what it means.

thanks. i got this.

the arrow flies. time slows.

BULLSEYE.

the whole crowd erupts, like kk just won a championship. and of course, jana is the loudest, damn near jumping out of her shoes.

nika? a close second. she might actually be louder, but jana’s got the vertical.

kk, grinning, turns back to the team, arms out like she’s waiting for the applause to wash over her.

paige shakes her head, laughing. “all this for a free keychain.”

the market hums with life—stalls overflowing with handcrafted treasures, the air thick with the scent of spices, fresh bread, and something sweet sizzling on a grill.

the team is scattered, each person caught up in their own little adventure.

somehow, a few ended up at a stall selling handmade soap bars. because why not? now, there’s a whole debate over which scent is the best. jasmine? vanilla? something called “midnight storm,” which paige insists just smells like soap?

a few players wander off and come back with mate cups—beautifully carved, each one unique. nika’s already talking about how she’s gonna “get into mate culture” like it’s a personality trait.

coach geno? oh, he’s set. ever since he discovered argentina’s wine scene a few nights ago, he’s been on a mission. now, he’s walking around with not one, not two, but three bottles tucked under his arm, looking like a man with zero regrets.

cd, though? she’s in her element.

she stands at a small stall filled with delicate handmade jewelry, running her fingers over the pieces like she’s reading a love letter in another language.

“timeless,” she murmurs, picking up a pair of gold earrings. “you can feel when something was made with love.”

the vendor, an older woman with kind eyes, just smiles. “that’s the best kind.”

the sun hangs lower now, casting a golden glow over the streets as the team makes their way back to the hotel, bags heavier, wallets lighter.

azzi, as always, grabs extra coconut water.

paige, as always, grimaces. “bro, how do you drink that? it tastes like someone wrung out a wet sock.”

azzi just pops the cap and takes a slow, exaggerated sip. “mmm. refreshing.”

paige gags dramatically. “you’re actually disgusting.”

azzi hums. “says the girl who ate an entire empanada in one bite.”

paige opens her mouth to argue—but yeah. fair.

by the time they step into the hotel room, it’s a whole scene.

aubrey’s sprawled out on the bed, looking like she just worked a double shift at a hospital.

aaliyah’s sitting on the floor, carefully braiding nika’s hair, her hands moving with practiced ease.

ice? she’s got the entire couch to herself, feet up, locked into a golf match on tv like it’s the nba finals.

paige barely makes it to the bed before remembering something. “oh, wait. i gotta talk to yanna, aubs, and ice.”

azzi narrows her eyes. suspicious. “be careful.”

paige grins. “what, you think i’m gonna get kidnapped?”

azzi rolls her eyes but still kisses her before letting her go.

paige, aubrey, and ice make their way down the hall to caroline’s room, making extra sure to lock the doors behind them.

inside, kk’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, completely locked in on her duolingo lesson.

paige daps her up. kk, deep in spanish mode, doesn’t even flinch.

classic.

back in the room, aaliyah’s fingers move with expert precision, parting and twisting nika’s hair while azzi, completely distracted, watches.

“yo,” aaliyah says, voice full of mischief, “we should play uno.”

nika, without missing a beat, “bet.”

azzi blinks. “wait, what—”

too late. aaliyah’s already shuffling the deck, and azzi’s about to find out just how ruthless this game is about to get.

meanwhile, in caroline’s room—

yanna bursts in, breathless. “shit, did i miss it?”

paige, lounging on the carpet, shakes her head. “nope, you’re just in time.”

everyone settles into a circle. aubrey cracks her knuckles. “alright, i got the drums. i already mastered the opening beat.”

ice nods. “nice. i got the guitar down, so we’re chilling.”

paige leans in, serious. “love that. but who’s playing piano? we got some guys who kinda know their way around a keyboard, but do they know the song?”

silence.

paige sighs. “aubs, i’m gonna need you on tambourine. it’s a crucial part.”

aubrey squints. “...is it though?”

paige nods, dead serious. “absolutely.”

ayanna stretches her arms behind her head, all casual. “i can play the piano.”

paige squints. “wait, like—actually? like, real-life, two hands, melody and all?”

yanna gives her a look. “yes, paige. i took classes in school.”

paige, still suspicious. “and you’re sure you can play this song?”

yanna raises a brow. “paige. yes. lock in.”

caroline, who’s been deep in thought, suddenly perks up. “hold on, do we need strings too? ’cause that’s a huge part. or can we, like, use an audio track for that?”

the room goes silent. paige tilts her head. “...how exactly would we do that?”

caroline just smirks. “let’s just say the guys at the bar know me well.”

paige bursts out laughing, shaking her head. “okay, fine. i’m trusting you on this.”

once the music part is locked in, paige claps her hands together. “okay, next—outfits. we gotta synchronize.”

ice groans. “paige. it’s 500 degrees. we can’t be out here melting.”

aubrey nods. “yeah, what’s the fit?”

paige thinks for a second, then snaps her fingers. “alright. y’all in dresses—simple, stylish, white. me, aubs, and yanna? formal shorts, sneakers, button-ups. clean, effortless. we pull up looking put together.”

caroline grins. “so basically, we’re looking like a rich friend group that decided to start a band for the vibes.”

paige smirks. “exactly.”

the hallway hums with quiet footsteps as paige, aubrey, and ice make their way back to the room, a lazy, sun-drenched afternoon spreading around them. aubrey’s voice breaks the calm, teasing paige about how cute she’s been all day, and ice can’t help but agree. paige just shrugs, a little grin curling up at the edges of her mouth, "i don’t care if it’s cheesy. it’s just me." her words hang there, soft and sure, as the trio shares a laugh before they push open the door.

inside, the room is a soft mess of cards, laughter, and easy familiarity. nika, aaliyah, and azzi are hunched over a game of uno, the stakes too high for a tuesday afternoon. nika grins like a cat who just ate the canary as she slams down a +4 card, making azzi groan in defeat. azzi’s already drowning in cards, a good twenty or so, and she scoffs, rolling her eyes, "this is bullshit," before flopping her cards down on the bed with a little more force than necessary.

paige’s laugh is soft, sweet, and she leans in to plant a kiss on azzi’s temple, her fingers brushing over the scattered cards. “you could block that one, you know,” she teases, tapping one of azzi’s cards gently. azzi shoots her a look that could melt steel. “that’s not how it works, dumbass.”

paige puts her hands up, mock surrender. “okay, i was just trynna help.” azzi’s eyes soften a little, the edge in her voice disappearing. “sorry. i just... hate uno,” she mutters, but the words are warm, not harsh.

paige just laughs, grinning down at her, “i for sure didn’t notice.” azzi gives her another look, this time with a little more fondness, a little less annoyance.

“UNO! UNO! UNOOO!” nika suddenly yells, flinging her arms up like she’s just won the lottery. "let’s fucking go!" everyone laughs at her enthusiasm, but when aaliyah groans, looking defeated, nika’s victory is complete.

aaliyah gets up with a sigh, stretching her arms over her head. “i’m gonna go eat something, take care, y’all.” she gives a quick wave and heads out, leaving the rest of them behind in their easy laughter and familiar chaos. "bye Li" they call out in unison, the sound lingering in the air like the last notes of a song they’ll never get tired of.

the room is full of soft chatter, easy laughter, and the occasional mention of a basketball play or two, as the team lounges around in their own little world. there’s talk of food, and a debate over the best kind of pizza that goes on longer than anyone planned. the conversation floats in and out, like the ebb and flow of a lazy river, until—knock knock.

the door swings open, and a hotel staff member peeks in, carrying a tray full of good news. “food service,” he says, glancing around. “nika, you ordered?”

they all pause, eyes flicking between nika and the door. nika just grins like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “yup, that’s me. thanks, miguel? right, miguel?”

he gives a short nod, and with the grace of a seasoned waiter, he wheels in the motherload. a full table—wheeled in like a king’s feast—stacked with steaming plates, fresh fruit, chilled water bottles, and snacks that seem to multiply the moment they hit the table. it’s absurd. it’s glorious.

miguel sets it all down, looking like he knows exactly what he’s done for these people. as he leaves, the door clicks shut behind him, and the team is left staring at the spread in awe.

“nika, are you for real?” aaliyah says, laughing as she grabs a piece of fruit. “this is beyond ridiculous.”

but even as they mock her, each of them is reaching for something—grabbing a sandwich here, a bowl of fresh berries there.

ice, eyes wide and a grin plastered across her face, is the first to speak. “i could live like this all day, every day.”

everyone cracks up at that, and nika just shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “hey, you’ve gotta treat yourself sometimes.”

just then, the door swings open again, and in walks kk with her usual energy. “hey y’all!” she says, a grin on her face, dapping everyone up before she plops down to join the feast.

they all dig in, the silence settling into a comfortable rhythm as food disappears and conversation continues in between bites. it’s like the room’s filled with this warm, content buzz, the kind that only comes when you're with people who get you, who make everything feel easy.

eventually, the table empties, and one by one, people start drifting off. kk, ayyana, and aubrey head off for a nap, stretching out on the beds, while azzi, tired from the day, doesn’t even make it to the bed before her eyes flutter shut. soon, the whole room is still.

some are sprawled out on the carpet in the most ridiculous sleeping positions, legs tangled in a way that defies human anatomy. others are snoring softly, their mouths slightly open. it’s chaos, but it’s the kind of chaos that feels like home. and, as the afternoon sun dips lower, the quiet hum of deep sleep fills the room—a peaceful, comfortable, beautifully messy moment shared by everyone.

nika stirs awake, the heavy warmth of kk’s leg resting on her stomach. she gives it a gentle shove, making sure to do it as quietly as possible. “dude,” kk mumbles, all tangled in sleep, blinking up at nika like she’s been robbed of her dreams. nika can’t help but laugh softly, and then her phone buzzes, breaking the moment.

it's carol, flooding her screen with messages, all the same urgency. she scrolls through the texts, her eyes catching a few key words—"get your ass up" and a "okay". there’s no way nika’s letting azzi catch wind of this.

she nudges paige’s arm, trying to be subtle, and carefully peels herself away from azzi’s warm embrace. it takes a moment before everyone else is awake, their groggy faces slowly coming to life. two hours till the karaoke bar, paige had said, reminding them that everything had to be on point—no slip-ups, no letting azzi know anything. and the outfits? synchronized white. very synchronized.

they all nod, agreeing with the plan, before slipping out of the room. paige gives azzi one last look, knowing she’ll have to work her magic on the sleepyhead in the bed. she leans over, pressing a soft kiss to azzi’s shoulder, the coolness of the room contrasting with the warmth of the touch. "hi, pretty girl," she whispers.

azzi shifts, not quite awake but aware enough to mumble, "one more minute."

paige smiles, the softest of laughs slipping from her lips. “okay, one more minute,” she agrees, then heads for her socks. she slips them on, then grabs a silver cross necklace from her bag, the little symbol glinting in the light as she carefully drapes it around her neck. her hair falls into place as she scrunches it into a messy bun, and then, with soft footsteps, she returns to azzi.

“baby, that was like, five minutes,” she says, brushing a lock of hair from azzi’s face. “we need to get some dinner.”

azzi groans, shifting under the covers. "i don't wanna go."

paige crouches down next to her, gently taking azzi’s hand in hers. “okay, well, how about i bring you something up here? you wanna sleep in a little longer?”

with a lazy blink, azzi cracks one eye open, peering up at paige. “you’d really do that?” she says, her voice a mix of disbelief and warmth.

paige grins, kissing the knuckles of her hand, the action soft and tender. "i just asked you. of course i would."

azzi flashes a sleepy smile, her eyes still soft from the comfort of the bed. “okay, can you bring me some fish, veggies?" she pauses, then glances at paige, who’s already grinning like she knows what’s next.

“coconut water?” paige adds with a teasing raise of her eyebrow.

“yeah, of course,” azzi says, her voice a little groggy but fond.

"i love you," azzi whispers, her hand reaching out to brush against paige's, the words as simple as breathing but loaded with all the quiet affection between them.

paige smiles back, a little brighter, a little softer. “i love you more.”

paige heads down to get dinner with the team, but when they walk into the dining area, something feels off. they all pause, scanning the room for azzi. “where’s she at?” ice asks, the confusion clear in her tone.

paige shrugs casually. “she’s tired. her knees aren’t doing her any favors.” she says it like it’s no big deal, but there's a tenderness in her voice that makes it obvious she’s just looking out for azzi, even in the smallest ways.

as the team takes their seats and their orders start arriving, it’s like magic. the waiters know exactly what they want, like they’ve been studying their preferences. paige’s heart gives a little squeeze when she notices that their spanish has leveled up in ways that feel so...natural, even if it’s just in a small, hotel restaurant kind of way.

after the last bite of dinner, ice looks over at paige, grinning wide. “so we’re going with ‘can’t take my eyes off of you,’ right?”

paige nods, her smile spreading like it’s stuck there. she’s so ridiculously in love, it’s embarrassing, but she doesn't care. she’s wearing it like a badge of honor, even if it means looking like an idiot.

aubrey rolls her eyes with a chuckle. “dude, you’re such a sap. azzi’s gonna think you’re an idiot, an idiot in love.”

nika jumps in with a playful smirk, leaning back in her chair. “well, she’s actually a moron, a moron in love.”

they all burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that makes everything lighter, makes the whole room feel like it’s theirs, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the easy camaraderie and the knowledge that no matter how ridiculous they are, it all works because of how much they care about each other.

paige walks back to the hotel room, carefully balancing the tray with coconut water, salmon, shrimp, and a side of roasted veggies. she knew exactly what azzi would want. she’s got a little smile dancing on her lips as she nudges the door open, setting the tray down in front of azzi, who’s still tucked under the covers, looking like she could sleep for another hour.

“hey, baby,” paige says softly, leaning in to kiss azzi’s temple before setting the food down on the bed. azzi stirs, her eyes blinking open, and when she sees paige, she lets out a little groan of protest.

"good morning," paige teases, her voice light, as she brushes some stray hair out of azzi's face. azzi squints at her, fully waking up now, and then looks around at the rest of the room.

everyone’s grinning, some of them trying to hide it, others just barely managing to contain their smiles. azzi narrows her eyes playfully at them. “what’d they put in y’all’s food that has you all looking so smiley? are you guys on the same level of ‘paige’ right now?” she asks, half-laughing.

the room goes silent for a split second, like everyone just got caught in the act. then, without missing a beat, the smiles instantly vanish, and they all glance at paige, who’s staring them down with an exaggerated deadpan expression, her arms crossed over her chest. azzi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“you guys are a bunch of dorks,” azzi laughs, reaching for the coconut water. paige doesn’t break her gaze, but a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

they all start chatting, the conversation flowing easily as they unwind for a bit. some of them head to the bathroom to shower, others linger, trying to soak in a few last minutes of downtime before the madness of the karaoke bar.

paige keeps an eye on the clock, noting that there’s only about 40 minutes left until they have to leave. just as she’s making sure everything is set, her phone buzzes with a new message. it’s caroline, but it’s just for paige, separate from the group chat. because, if it were in the group chat, azzi would definitely catch on. caroline knows how to keep things under wraps.

"hey, don't forget to make sure everyone’s synced up with the outfits," the message reads. paige looks at it for a second, her smile returning. this is going to be one hell of a night.

the room hums quietly, everyone’s fingers glued to their screens for a second too long, faces lit by the glow of their phones. azzi notices it, the way everyone seems to check their messages at the exact same time, their heads bent low. it’s strange, but she shrugs it off, thinking maybe she’s just overthinking things. finishing her meal with a small sigh, she stands up, her legs feeling a little tired. “i’ll shower,” she mutters softly, half to herself.

as she steps into the bathroom, the others exchange a glance, their quiet buzz turning into a muffled hush. nika can barely hold back a grin, fighting the urge to whisper something that’s clearly itching at her. but she fails. “ahh, come on, i was just gonna—” she starts, but the door slams open, and she’s ushered out with a playful shove. “you’re such a troublemaker, nika,” ice teases, laughing.

as nika mumbles something under her breath in croatian, the others lean in, pulling their heads together, speaking in hushed tones. “okay, so here’s the deal,” aubrey starts, her voice barely above a whisper. “caroline has to keep azzi distracted. we can’t let her know we’re not going to the bar. paige, ice, and i—”

“wait, wait, we’re all doing this in sync, right? everything in white, so it’s a surprise for azzi?” paige interrupts, her eyebrows raised in question.

they all nod, the plan coming together. “yeah,” ice grins. “it’s gonna be great.”

as the plan settles in, some of them slip away to change, while paige stays behind, her focus already back on the karaoke lyrics. she hums the words under her breath, hoping she’s not butchering them in her head. she’s not paying attention to anything else, lost in the song.

but then, azzi steps out of the bathroom, her curls wild, free, and her dress… wow. paige’s heart stalls for a moment, her words escaping her. it’s like the world shifted on its axis for a second. azzi, in that white, back-exposed maxi dress, is absolutely stunning. paige can’t breathe.

azzi doesn’t notice her right away, but when she turns, she sees paige standing there, frozen, staring at her like she’s just seen a ghost. and then, paige’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. she’s the talkative one, the one who always has something to say. yet now? now she’s speechless.

paige steps toward azzi, the distance between them feeling like nothing at all. her hands instinctively find azzi’s waist, pulling her in close. she looks down at her, eyes wide, voice soft. “you’re… you’re just perfect. i—” paige laughs, a little nervous now. “you literally take my breath away, az. it’s insane. how do you do that?”

azzi smiles, a warm, knowing smile that makes paige feel like the only person in the world. “you’re ridiculous,” azzi teases, her voice low and affectionate, the words laced with something that feels like home.

paige laughs softly, brushing her thumb across azzi’s cheek. “i’m not sorry about it,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss her, the world disappearing in that quiet, intimate moment.

when they pull apart, there’s a soft moment of silence, like they’re both trying to hold onto the magic of the moment. azzi’s eyes flicker, amused. “you’re definitely a sap,” she teases again, but there’s no hiding the tenderness in her voice.

“guilty,” paige admits, her lips curving into a smile. “but i think you secretly love it.”

azzí rolls her eyes playfully, but there’s that spark in her gaze, something that tells paige just how much she truly loves it. “maybe,” azzi murmurs, her voice soft and teasing, and paige can’t help but lean in for another kiss.

paige watches the door close behind azzi, and for a second, she just stands there, letting the silence of the room fill her up. it’s like a quiet kind of excitement, the kind that bubbles under your skin without asking permission. azzi’s words still echo in her head—caroline said i need to be there now—and paige can’t help but smile. she loves the way azzi always seems to have that effortless urgency in everything she does.

“okay,” paige mutters to herself, almost out loud. she gives her reflection one last glance in the mirror, then grabs her phone, half-expecting to see something from carol. instead, it’s just a little text thread—one from yanna, one from aubrey, one from ice. she knows they’re all on the same wavelength, even when the whole thing feels a little like a secret mission.

she throws the phone on the bed and heads straight for the shower. the water hits her skin like it’s supposed to reset her, wash away any doubt. but all she can think about is azzi—how she walks, how she talks, the way she smiles like she’s got the world figured out but doesn’t quite realize it. paige's hands work quickly, almost without thought, scrubbing off the remnants of sleep.

after a couple minutes, she’s out, towel wrapped around her, thinking about how this whole thing is just... perfect. she doesn’t even have to try. it all just works. that feeling comes again, the kind where you know you’re exactly where you need to be. no second guessing.

paige pulls on a white button-up shirt. it’s soft, the kind that feels like it belongs to her, even though it’s new. the white knitted shorts follow, comfy but giving her a little more pep in her step than she’s willing to admit. her sneakers—too clean, a little too polished for the vibe she’s going for—but she doesn’t mind. the crispness of the whole outfit feels like it belongs in a scene she can’t quite place yet, but she’s sure it’s coming.

she checks herself out in the mirror for just a second, maybe a little longer than she should. but there’s something about the way she looks tonight—like she’s finally getting it right. no mirrors, no nothing. just her and the fact that it feels good.

her hand moves almost instinctively to the perfume on the dresser, that perfect spray of valentino born in uomo. it’s a little spicy, a little sweet, and something about it always feels like it’s made for the moments she wants to remember. she wonders if azzi will notice the scent, the way it fills the room when she walks in. probably. azzi notices everything.

the little details start to matter more as paige grabs her purple glasses from the dresser and puts them on. they make her feel... something. maybe a little more herself. wallet? check. hotel keycard? check. she texts aubrey and ice, her fingers a little quicker than usual: "ready?" their reply is simple, "yuhh," but it’s enough.

paige takes a second, standing there in the middle of the room, just feeling right. the kind of right where everything is in sync, even if no one else can see it. her phone buzzes again, and she knows it’s time. she slides it into her pocket, takes one last look at the room—the quiet of it, the small pieces of her scattered across the space—and smiles to herself.

this is it. this is her night. and somehow, everything is falling exactly where it’s supposed to.

the air in the hotel lobby felt electric, buzzing with the kind of tension that makes your skin tingle in anticipation. ice broke the silence first, her voice smooth like silk, but with a touch of mischief. “ yanna’s got the piano all set up. you know she’s not gonna let that intro be anything less than fire.” paige’s grin stretched, a glint of excitement in her eyes. it was like she had a secret tucked away in her pocket that only they knew. aubrey was already in position for the drums, a confident beat thumping in her chest, and ice was practically itching to make that guitar sing.

paige’s eyes flicked over to them, her smile widening. “alright, y’all, big fish on three,” she said, like it was the opening line of a whispered secret. aubrey shot a side-eye, clearly trying to figure out if this was one of paige’s usual antics, but shrugged. “one, two, three,” paige counted, and the words "big fish" left their lips with the kind of rhythm that felt like they were ready for a wave to crash over them. it was silly, sure, but there was something about it that made it feel like a secret handshake—a bond only they shared.

they moved through the bar with the stealth of shadows, careful not to draw attention to themselves, though the air seemed to swirl around them in an unspoken kind of choreography. the place was alive with chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft hum of voices that faded into the background like a forgotten melody. they slipped through, unnoticed, until they found themselves backstage. ayanna was already there, standing tall next to the piano like she owned it, her fingers dancing across the keys in a way that made the instrument hum back at her. each movement was deliberate, effortless, like she was coaxing the notes into submission.

their outfits were on point—white, cream, and soft as fresh snowfall, each piece working in harmony like the notes of a well-played symphony. paige, always the planner, had put it together with the precision of an artist creating a masterpiece. it wasn’t just clothes, it was the uniform of something bigger, something special. caroline, of course, had the backing track locked down, the rhythm of their performance already cued up, like the gears of a well-oiled machine that was about to spring to life.

as they took their positions, the air seemed to hum louder, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. it was almost like the bar had become a different space, one that held its breath, waiting for what was about to unfold. the staff member approached them, his eyes flickering with curiosity. “ready?” he asked, and they nodded, as if the entire universe had whispered the answer in perfect harmony.

the lights flickered.

azzi, sitting at a table with caroline, kk, and nika, froze. her eyes scanned the darkened room like a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “bro, are you joking?” she muttered, her voice a mixture of disbelief and a touch of amusement.

they all tried to play it cool, chuckling softly, but something electric sparked in the air. the moment was building, and they could all feel it. then, the bar staff member’s voice rang out, thick with that unmistakable spanish accent. “ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your one and only... big fish.”

and just like that, the lights stayed out, but they were already in place. the darkness only heightened the anticipation, like the calm before a storm, and they knew—when those lights flickered back on, everything would change. it was chaos, it was perfect, and it was exactly what they needed. the waiting had never felt so sweet.

aubrey was behind the drums, tambourine hanging around her neck like it was part of her dna, that jingle following her every move. ice, all laid-back energy, had her guitar slung low, fingers gliding over the strings like she was born to do this. paige, front and center, holding a dirty shirley like it was the most casual thing in the world, her foot tapping to the beat—she was a whole vibe, like the crowd was her stage and she was just inviting them into her world. ayanna, lost in her own universe at the piano, fingers dancing over the keys, completely locked into the music. it was one of those moments where the world could stop turning and they wouldn’t even notice.

the rest of the team, though? they hadn’t fully grasped what was happening. they were still in the pre-game buzz, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the magic happening just a few feet away. and then, the lights hit—soft, pulsing, teasing. first, a hint of paige’s silhouette, standing there at the mic.

“wait... is that paige?” azzi’s voice was a little incredulous, like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening in front of her. her eyes were locked on the stage, and she couldn’t help but squint, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before her.

kk, always the spark to any fire, was the first to ignite. “P boogers!!” she shouted, her voice cracking the stillness like the first strike of thunder before a storm. her hands shot up, fingers almost trembling with anticipation, her energy filling the space like an invisible pulse. everything around them shifted—like the air itself was changing course. the crowd, once just background noise, suddenly felt alive, drawing in and expanding like a ripple on a pond. a few tipsy souls, some just trying to keep up, but all swept into the moment’s electric pull.

nika, standing just a breath away from her, narrowed her eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “did you... take something? ‘cause you’re, like, otherworldly right now.” she asked, voice a mix of concern and pure amusement, her gaze flicking between kk and the chaos she’d just stirred.

the bar? it wasn’t just a bar anymore. it was an entity unto itself, humming with the rhythm of life, the music weaving between people like it had its own pulse. the air thickened with laughter, clapping, the occasional whistle—a living, breathing organism made of bodies, of voices, of people finding themselves lost in the collective chaos. time felt like it didn’t exist here. the energy wasn’t just felt; it was seen in the way people moved, the way the lights seemed to swirl a little faster, the way the floor almost moved beneath them, like it was in sync with their every breath. it spilled over, bled out into the night like a flood, too much to contain within these walls, too real to be anything but electric.

as the lights flickered and revealed the full band, azzi couldn’t hold back a scream. “oh my god” she almost couldn’t process it, but the excitement in her voice was undeniable. the realization hit her all at once, and she couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.

kk, always ready to document every moment, whipped out her phone, snapping pictures as the strangers around them clapped in approval. it was like the room had become one big, living thing—buzzing, vibrating with every note.

the light shifted again, and paige was standing there, taking it all in. her foot tapping, her dirty shirley almost like a prop in her hand, and azzi couldn’t help but ask, “how many of those has she had?” she chuckled, but caroline just smiled and whispered, “just watch.”

and oh, they did.

the melody kicked in, smooth and effortless, like it had always been meant to be this way. aubrey’s drums were keeping the heartbeat alive, ice was in her own world with that guitar, and ayanna was so focused, you could see her pouring every ounce of her into each key. it was like they had all practiced for years, yet it felt brand new, fresh in the way only real chemistry could create.

paige turned to the crowd, and out came the pink heart-shaped sunglasses. she slid them on with the kind of casual confidence that made everyone in the room lean in. the crowd went wild—some were drunk, some were just swept up in the magic. and paige? she was in her element, completely at home. she turned to the mic, the first notes leaving her lips like they were the only thing that mattered.

"you're just too good to be true..."

paige’s gaze meets azzi’s, and everything else fades—just for a second, the whole bar could’ve frozen, like time itself took a breath. azzi’s cheeks heat up, a playful glare shooting paige’s way. “i hate you,” she mouths, but it’s the kind of “i hate you” that feels like a secret they’re both in on. paige grins, eyes sparkling, knowing exactly what’s going on, like she’s unraveling azzi one small moment at a time.

"can't take my eyes off of you..."

the bar explodes in a wave of sound—laughter, clapping, voices rising in sync. it’s like the whole room is tangled up in the rhythm, but it’s paige who’s holding the thread, pulling everyone along with her. even coach, who’s probably only ever heard this track at some distant cousin’s wedding, can’t help but crack a smile. there’s something about the way paige owns it, like she knew this song would crack open the night in just the right way. and it’s working. perfectly..

"you'd be like heaven to touch..."

paige’s finger jabs toward azzi, and with a wink that’s got all the charm of a rom-com hero, she belts it like she owns the world. her voice isn’t smooth, no—it’s rough-edged and real, like it’s been pulled straight from her chest, jagged and raw, but with this fire that makes everything else burn brighter. the crowd leans in, the buzz of anticipation hanging heavy, thick enough to taste. it’s like the air itself is holding its breath, just waiting for what comes next.

"i wanna hold you so much..."

and here’s where the line between teasing and too real gets blurry—azzi’s eyes practically roll out of her skull, like her body’s trying to escape the grin creeping up on her. "god, stop," she whispers, but it’s like trying to hold back the tide with her hands—too late. the grin’s already a runaway train, and there’s no stopping it now. it’s like every bit of control just slipped right through her fingers.

"at long last, love has arrived..."

paige throws her arms up like she’s unlocked the universe itself, the whole bar exploding in a chorus of screams, as if the air itself is buzzing with electricity. she’s caught in the moment, but not fully—there’s a pull in her chest, something deeper than the lights or the music. it’s azzi. always azzi. she’s the real song here, the one paige is singing to in a way no one else can hear.

"and I thank God I’m alive..."

"you're just too good to be true..."

azzi breathes out, “i can tell…” and the words drift between them, like a secret no one else is meant to hear, soft but loaded with something only paige can decode. paige’s grin shifts—sly, effortless, like she owns every inch of this moment. it’s the kind of smile that says, “this is mine, but i’m letting you have a glimpse.” her voice unfurls, soaring into the air, and aubrey’s tambourine keeps time, but it’s not just the rhythm of the song—it’s the pulse of the room, like the heartbeat of something bigger than the music, than the crowd. the energy’s so thick now, it’s contagious, slipping into the bartenders who start clapping without even thinking about it. the whole bar feels it, drawn in, caught in the pull of something that’s more than just sound—it’s a force, vibrating between them all.

"can't take my eyes off of you..."

the music swells, growing like it’s about to snap. ayanna’s fingers are pressed into the piano keys like she’s pulling every ounce of emotion from them. ice and aubrey are in their element, moving effortlessly, like the stage was built for them. and in that split second, everything just falls into place. there’s no struggle, no second-guessing—just pure, unfiltered flow. it’s the kind of right that makes everything else fade, leaving only the sound of this perfect moment that could never be recreated.

"pardon the way that i stare..."

paige sings it like she’s auditioning for the role of “the most dramatic lover ever,” her voice rising and falling, pulling every ounce of emotion into the words. she’s got the crowd wrapped around her finger, and it feels like the whole place is living in her melody.

"there's nothin' else to compare..."

paige, with her mic in one hand and her dirty shirley in the other, throws in this little exaggerated sway of her hips like she’s turning a casual song into a Broadway performance. people in the bar laugh and cheer, but it’s obvious—this girl’s got all the attention she needs.

"the sight of you leaves me weak..."

the lights catch paige at just the right moment—her hand lifts, and she looks over at azzi with this look that could melt glass. "there are no words left to speak..." the crowd’s gone wild now, lost in the vibe. but paige? she’s focused, eyes locked onto azzi, drawing strength from her like it’s the last drop of water in a desert.

"but if you feel like I feel..."

"please let me know that it’s real..."

paige’s voice is a low murmur now, something between a whisper and a prayer. it’s real. in the pause, the whole bar is holding its breath, waiting for something more—waiting for her to pull the rest of the world into the song.

"you're just too good to be true..."

paige’s hips move, the mic in one hand and the dirty shirley still resting in the other. she’s doing the thing—completely in the moment, completely alive. the band’s in sync, the music intensifies, and paige, for a second, just pauses, looking at the band, soaking it all in. it’s a moment for her to breathe, and maybe a moment to remind herself that this—this feels like home.

just as she takes a sip from her shirley, she’s ready for the next verse. the music swells, and everything around her feels like it’s just beginning, like they’ve crossed into another world entirely.

"can't take my eyes off of you..."

paige was practically gliding across the bar floor, one hand holding the mic like it was her lifeline, the other cradling her dirty shirley, the ice cubes clinking like they were keeping time with the beat. she was doing this thing now, making moves like it was a private concert just for azzi, the mic swinging in time with her hips, and the crowd? the crowd was losing it.

she didn't need the spotlight to feel like she was the center of the universe. she had azzi’s eyes on her, and that was all she needed.

just as she took a sip from the shirley, the next line hit her like it was written just for this moment.

"i love you, baby!" paige belts out, her voice cracking just enough to make it real, and she points directly at azzi, whose face immediately disappears behind her hands like she could hide from the world. but paige wasn’t letting her get away that easily.

"and if it’s quite all right!" paige’s voice goes soft, like she’s making a secret confession just for azzi, but her eyes? they stay locked onto her like a magnet. like this was her stage, and nothing else mattered. the crowd? yeah, they were there, sure. but to paige, it was just azzi.

the vibe in the bar shifted, like someone flipped a switch. in the back, someone waved their phone flashlight around like they were at a concert, and kk? she was losing it, snapping pictures like she was at a red carpet event, her laugh loud enough to shake the walls. nika’s whoop cut through the air as she banged on the table, hitting the beat with paige like she was the only one in the room who knew what mattered. she wasn’t just hyping paige up—she was living for it, like this was the moment that could change everything.

azzi, though? she was practically melting under the attention, trying to will herself invisible. her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking from the laughter she couldn't hold back.

"i need you, baby!" paige sings it like a promise, a vow. and then she does this thing, this bold, ridiculous, beautiful thing—she presses a hand to her chest, the kind of move that screams cheesy rom-com hero. then, she reaches for azzi’s hand, and of course, azzi pulls back like the touch is a hot stove. but paige? she’s not having any of it. she steps even closer, her voice dropping into that soft, sultry register, "to warm a lonely night."

paige wasn’t backing down. she never did.

azzi, meanwhile, was a mess. a laughing, blushing, absolutely done mess. how could she not be, when paige was out here, one knee on the sticky floor of the bar, singing like her whole soul was poured into it? paige was the kind of crazy that made you love her for it.

"i love you, baby... trust in me when i saaaay—!"

and that’s when paige snapped, flinging both arms out like she was the queen of this moment, aubrey’s tambourine shaking wildly. and in perfect harmony with her, the entire bar—teammates, strangers, even the bartender—shouted it back at her:

"OH, PRETTY BABY!"

azz groaned, dragging her hands down her face in this exaggerated, perfectly azzi way, but it didn’t matter. paige had already won. the way paige grinned, moving in closer, the challenge in her gaze—it was almost daring azzi to run, to hide. but no. no one could outrun this energy.

"don’t bring me down I pray"

"oh, pretty baby," paige sang, her voice dropping a little lower, leaning in like she was about to whisper something only azzi was meant to hear. the kind of secret you want to keep but can’t help sharing because it's too good not to. "now that i’ve found you, stay." the words hung in the air, sticky sweet, like honey dripping off a spoon, but that smirk—god, it wasn’t helping azzi.

azzi, trying so hard to keep her composure, just blinked, but paige wasn’t done.

"and let me love you, baby," she added, her voice soft and full of promise, the wink she threw next practically a VIP pass to every wild, spontaneous, chaotic thing she’d ever dreamed up. azzi felt her chest tighten, a little flutter in her stomach, and that’s when she knew she was way too gone for this girl.

"let me love you," paige finished, and that grin—that grin. it was so wide azzi swore she could see it in her sleep..

azz rolled her eyes, but it was so half-hearted. because, really, who was she kidding? she was done for. completely and totally.

the music surged on, a steady rhythm that was alive and pulsing through the bar, and paige set the mic down with a casual flick of her wrist, like it wasn’t even a big deal. like she wasn’t causing azzi to short-circuit with every word she said. with a laugh, paige grabbed her dirty shirley, chugging it like it was just another tuesday.

“yo, get loud for the band!” she shouted to the crowd, her voice cutting through the dim hum of the bar. aubrey’s tambourine was ringing, a sharp jingle-jangle that felt like it was rattling straight through azzi’s chest. ayanna was doing her thing on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like she was born for it, and ice? ice was shivering the air with her guitar, smooth and sweet, like every note was just a little kiss to the soul.

it wasn’t just a song now—it was a whole damn show, and paige was at the center of it, pulling everyone in with the kind of raw, messy energy that had azzi completely wrapped around her finger.

“are those dirty shirleys?” azzi mutters to carol, eyebrows raised. paige, somewhere across the bar, is swaying a little too much, lips buzzing with the kind of energy that only comes when you’re wasted. her laugh, loud and unapologetic, echoes over the buzz of the crowd. yup, she’s gone.

carol, not even looking at her, just nods. “yup, go up to her. go. what’s stopping you?”

"you serious?" azzi shoots back, giving her a look that says: no way.

but carol’s grinning now, hands in the air like she's setting azzi free for the night. “go, girl.”

oh god, azzi thinks. of course you’d say that.

and yet—something pulls her in. the chaos of the bar, the loud voices, the music, the sloshing of drinks—everything fades as azzi watches paige turn, back to the crowd, clapping along to the beat. paige’s movements are too natural, like she’s built for this, built for the spotlight. and maybe she is, because it feels like the whole room is just watching her.

stop staring, azzi tells herself, but it’s no use. she can’t help it. not when she’s got that look.

with a sigh, azzi pushes herself forward, her steps automatic, like she’s done this a thousand times. she’s right there, the crowd around her buzzing, but it’s all background noise to her. she’s looking at paige now—paige, all glowing skin and messy hair, like she doesn’t even realize how much she’s pulling everyone in.

when azzi gets close, she doesn’t think, she just does. hands on paige’s shoulders, spinning her around. the whole world stops for a second.

paige’s eyes widen in that too-sweet, too-innocent way, and without thinking, azzi’s lips are on hers. and it's everything—too much, but in the best way. the feel of paige’s lips soft but demanding, that familiar heat, the smell of alcohol mixed with something else—something addictive. paige doesn’t hold back, not for a second. she pulls azzi closer, squeezes her ass, the pressure of it like an electric shock.

“you smell like vodka,” azzi breathes out, laughing, half-dazed from the kiss, but also feeling like her entire body’s on fire. she doesn’t care if it’s messy, if it’s a little chaotic.

paige pulls away just enough to grin that wild grin of hers. “you love it,” she slurs, her voice thick and slow, pulling azzi back in for a kiss to her neck that makes her heart skip. it’s so her. so paige.

and then, without warning, paige picks her up like it’s nothing, and the crowd goes crazy. it’s like a concert now, everyone screaming, cheering, their voices lifting into something loud, something tangible. paige doesn’t even flinch. she just shouts, “get loud, everyone!” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

and azzi? azzi can’t even breathe. she’s lost. her eyes are locked on paige, on the way she’s holding her, how her muscles flex beneath her skin, the sweat on her neck, the strength in her arms. she can feel it—everything. the rawness. she couldn’t keep her eyes off her.

in a whisper, barely audible over the noise, azzi murmurs, “wanna go back?” but she already knows the answer.

paige grins, the kind of grin that makes azzi’s chest tighten. “baby, i got fans here. don’t you see them?” she gestures, still playing it cool, and azzi? she just rolls her eyes. of course she does.

but she doesn’t hesitate. she takes paige’s hand, pulling her off the stage and into the sea of noise, leading her out the door. it’s almost like they—them—are the only thing that matters right now.

the teammates? they’re dying laughing, of course. they know exactly what’s coming, already screaming because they know what’s going down. no one’s even pretending to be shocked anymore.

and azzi? she just keeps pulling paige, a smile creeping up on her face. there’s something about this—about her—that makes everything else fade. the world’s still spinning, the night still young, but nothing matters. because it’s just them.

and god, it’s going to be a long night.

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dunzella · 5 months ago

Note

I really loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee your yandere series and absolutely need more! Can you please do The Little Mermaid next? And the yandere could be a Merman or something to add a twist to the story! : D

Tyyy, and coming up ♥︎

Poor Unfortunate Soul

Yandere! Dark FairyTale

The Little Mermaid

He just wants to be part of your world

contains: teratophilia, forced captivity, manipulation, brainwashing, non-con, to dub-con, sadistic behavior, abduction, dacryphilia, nsfw themes

"You're crying again, love," he murmured, voice soft but dripping with sick amusement.

His comment only made the tears come faster, tears of frustration and unbridled fury. Who could have known that the "merman" who saved you from the wreckage of your ship would turn out to be a monster?

He hummed as though enjoying your anguish, his cold, slightly webbed fingers tracing your tear-streaked cheeks. When his tongue darted out to lap at your tears, you recoiled, disgust evident on your face.

A low, guttural moan rumbled from his throat as he savored the taste, his icy blue eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. "Mmm… such bitterness. Such despair," he sighed, his lips curving into a contented smile. "I could live off this forever."

You tried to pull away, pressing yourself further into the corner of the cavern, but there was no escaping him. His tail flicked in the water, sending faint ripples across the pool beneath you as he leaned closer, caging you in.

"Get the hell away from me," you spoke, attempting to shove him off you, but he was way too heavy and strong.

"Do you know how beautiful you are when you cry?" he purred, his lips pressing kisses alongside your neck as his hips pressed against you, the slick, cool surface of his skin grinding against your clothed crotch.

"Do you know how revolting you are when you—" you hissed, raising your knee in a desperate attempt to push him away. Before you could finish, he caught your leg with ease, his grip firm but not painful, as if he were humoring your resistance.

“Such defiance,” he tutted, shaking his head as though scolding a child. “So ungrateful…”

Before you had a chance to throw another insult, he cupped your face firmly, his touch deceptively gentle. Just as you were about to scream, His lips crashed into yours, stealing not just a kiss, but something far more precious.

A searing coldness spread through your throat, and a golden light flared between you. When he finally pulled away, you gasped, clutching at your neck. But no sound came.

Eyes wide with horror, you tried to scream, to curse him, but nothing emerged. Your voice was gone.

Grasping your throat, you looked back up at him with fury in your eyes, tears beginning to gather again. "Ah," he said, his smile stretching unnaturally, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. "Much better. Now, you’ll listen."

Your heart raced as he pressed closer, his hands roaming your body with unsettling ease. His slick, scaled tail shifted, revealing something long and throbbing sliding out between you. The sight made your stomach churn.

"You have no idea how much I crave you," he growled, his voice deep and reverent, as though speaking to a deity. "Every tear, every shudder, every inch of your body. I need you, little one. I need to feel you under me, to keep you here where you’ll never leave."

His haunting song began to fill the air, wrapping around your mind like a fog. The sound was beautiful and maddening, eroding your thoughts until your limbs felt heavy, feeling yourself becoming docile.

"Don’t worry," he cooed, scoffing as his fingers slipped under your waistband, tracing the now sensitive skin below. "You’ll get your voice back when you learn to love me. And you will, my dear. In time, you will."

A twisted smile spread across his face leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You poor unfortunate soul," he whispered, his tone dripping with mock pity. "But don’t fret. I’m here. All you need is a little... help."

#yandere x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere tendencies #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere fairytales #dark fairytales #yandere oc #yandere asks

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writers-potion · 8 months ago

Note

Latin Phrases of love

Latin: Words/Phrases of Love ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Thank you all for the attention that my Latin words/phrases lists are getting! (interesting latin phrases, soft-souning latin phrases)

Here are some Latin phrases regarding love:

aeger amore: love sick

aegra amans: [lover's disease] love sick

amo: I love

amor sui: self-love

amor habendi: love of possessing

animo fractus: heartbroken

caritas: love or charity

cupido: longing or desire

cum corde: with the heart

digitulus: [little finger] the touch of a finger

digitus auricularis: the ring finger

imo pectore: from the bottom of the heart

in saecula saeculorum: [for ages of ages] forever and ever

philtrum: a love potion

potentia amoris: the power of love

vinculum matrimonii: th bond of marriage

vis amoris: the force of love

amo et pax: love and peace

amo ut ivenio: love as I find

amor et honor: love and honor

amor gignit amorem: ove begins as love

amor amnibus idem: love is the ame in all (Virgil)

amor tussisque non celantur: love and a cough are not concealed (Ovid)

amor vincit omnia: love conquers all things

amore sitis uniti: be united in love

cedamus amori: let us yield to love

cor ad cor loquitor: heart speaks to heart

cor et manus: heart and hand

cras amet qui numquam amavit: let those love now, who never loved before (Catullus)

dulce periculum: sweet danger

fide et amore: by faith and love

fortis est ut mors dilectio: love is strong as death (Song of Solomon 8:6)

in omnibus caritas: in all things love

meminerunt omnia amantes: lovers remember everything (Ovid)

nihil amori injuriam est: there is no wrong that love will not forgive

nihil amanti durum: nothing is hard for one who loves

nihil esta more veritatis celsus: nothing is loftier than the lover of truth (Propertius)

non mihi, non tibi, sed nobis: not for you, not for me, but for us

redintegratio amoris: the renewal of love

serva jugum: [preserve the yoke] preserve the bond of love

si vis amari ama: if you ant to be loved, then love (Seneca)

ut ameris, amabilis esto: to receive love, be lovable (Ovid)

...and because ruined love is also love:

a vinculo matrimonii: [from the bonds of marriage] an absolute divorce

aurear compedes: golden shackles

corpus inane: body without a soul

succubus: a female spirit or demon believed to prey sexually on young men while they sleep

zelotypus: jealousy

expertus dico, nemo est in amore fidelis: I say as an expert, no one is faithful in love (Propertius - I wonder what this man had to go through to say this?)

neno in amore videt: no one in love sees (Propertius - seriously, what happened, Propertius?)

omnis amans amens: every lover is demented

res est solliciti plena timoris amor: love is full of axious fears (Ovid)

As always, happy writing.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2

Reference: Latin for the Illiterati: a modern guide to an ancient language by Jon R. Stone, second edition 2009.

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sacr1ficialang3l · 2 months ago

Text

The Rain Song

WARNINGS: angst. canon-typical violence (and a little more because it is nyx). blood-drinking. fluff. getting together. dean learns to love the supernatural (or maybe just nyx). 3.6k

NOTES: third part of little miss scare-all. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

“You are the sunlight in my growing So little warmth I've felt before”

A month has gone by since you knocked on Sam and Dean’s motel room door.

You hadn’t planned to stay for so long, but there was always something. You would have left, but they needed help with an ancient creature they were clueless about—and you knew it personally. You would pack your bags after that, but then the Winchesters were heading to New York City, and you loved New York City, so you jumped into the Impala after Sam’s first offer. You would’ve said your final goodbye once you got to the motel near Times Square, but you just… didn’t want to.

So this is how you end up here, lying in the back seat of the Impala, head bopping to the beat of Paranoid by Black Sabbath. You’ve been on the road for hours, and it’s been awkward.

Sam and Dean take turns driving and napping in the passenger seat, but you stay awake. The time alone with Sam is mostly filled with him nerding out, asking you all kinds of questions about the historical moments you’ve lived through, but it’s nice.

When it’s just you and Dean? It’s all charged glances and jokes that toe the line you’ve both been dancing around since you met.

But now both brothers are awake—Sam behind the wheel, and Dean playing air guitar next to him.

You hate how fucking adorable the hunter can be.

The music is loud and rumbling, Dean’s favorite cassette blasting through the speakers. You stare up at the roof of the car, silently taking a trip down memory lane.

“Ozzy was a weird motherfucker.” you think out loud.

Silence. Motionless and palpable.

Sam and Dean don’t move, don’t even breathe. A second goes by, and then—

“You met Ozzy Osbourne?”

Dean’s uncharacteristically high-pitched tone snaps you back to the moment. You sit up in the back seat, leaning against the backrest of the front seats.

“Yeah, we hung out,” you say casually, not noticing how Dean is absolutely losing his mind. “Met at a party. He invited me to a few of his shows.”

More silence. Dean turns to look at you, jaw dropped, while Sam stares at you through the rearview mirror with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry—what?”

You start laughing, trying to calm yourself down before speaking again. “Oh, gods. One time I found him in a green room, he was overdosing. I got him breathing again quickly, before anyone noticed.” Another giggle, like it’s nothing. “He called me his dark angel for a week. Sharon was not amused.”

“You—” Only then do you actually notice how close Dean is. With your arms draped over the backrest and his face turned to the side, you get a perfect view of every single freckle adorning the bridge of his nose and the olive flecks in his otherwise forest-green eyes.

Eyes full of life, full of mortality. Eyes that, in a few years—which for you will feel like minutes—will close forever.

You look away.

“You’re just now casually mentioning you met one of the biggest rockstars ever?” Dean sounds so offended you have to chuckle. So dramatic.

“I’ve met a million rockstars, darling.” You smirk, velvety and infuriating. “I went to every party, saw the rise of every new talent. Got a few songs written about me.” You shrug, and it makes Dean’s eye twitch.

You bite your lip. Oh, how you love teasing him.

That look he gets in his eyes—the way they hood and burn with fire, not ice. It’s addictive.

“Did you know I was there when Jimmy came up with the last solo at the end of Stairway to Heaven?”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

⋆♱✮♱⋆

A couple more months pass. More hunts. More car rides. More tension.

Every day, you fight the feelings slowly hatching from your frozen heart. Every time your eyes linger on his golden-brown hair, or the blood still drying on his skin; every time you catch yourself scribbling lyrics about calloused hands and worn leather jackets; every time your gaze softens a little too much when he tilts his head, confused by some old, fancy word you use—you force yourself to snap out of it.

Dean is mortal, you remind yourself. Don’t be stupid.

But Dean Winchester is someone you can’t stop from growing on you. Him, with his cocky grins and overconfident strut. Him, with his inclination for self-sacrifice and self-deprecating jokes.

Dean Winchester—who finally lets you start patching him up after hunts, after refusing for weeks. When he’s convinced you won’t lose control at the sight of blood, and knowing that you know more about medicine (and everything, really) than Sam or him, he lets you stitch him up.

Dean Winchester—who hisses lowly at the pain but grits his teeth through the worst of it. Whose warm, rough skin melts under your careful touch. Who thanks you in a quiet voice, then stares into your eyes in the dim light of the motel bathroom, yellow bulb flickering above.

Dean Winchester—who takes you by surprise when he whispers to you about regret. About fear. Who opens up in the dark of the night.

Dean Winchester—who, slowly but steadily, builds himself a place so deep in your chest that the thought of leaving him now feels poisonous. Who ignites a fire in you that once only music could. Who becomes someone you could die for.

You just never thought he might be the one dying for you.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

It was supposed to be another normal hunt. Maybe a werewolf. Maybe a poltergeist. Something simple enough.

But now, you’re tied to a column, blindfolded and drowsy.

Someone injected you with dead man’s blood. Usually, what would knock a normal vamp flat might only give you a migraine. But whoever took you must’ve pumped you with liters.

You smell them before you hear them. Vampires.

Your blindfold is yanked away, and you have to blink a few times for your extra-sharp vision to adjust to the light.

When you finally focus on the girl in front of you, you groan.

“Why can’t you pesky nests leave me alone?”

After the New Orleans incident, rumors started spreading through the supernatural world. Stories of you killing fledglings with your bare hands. Murmurs about you targeting nests just for fun. Whispers about you siding with hunters.

Now, you’re public immortal enemy No. 1.

“Because we’re tired of you,” the girl—red-haired, crazed-eyed—spits. She smells like dog. An animal feeder, maybe. Ugh.

“You think you’re so much better than us. It’s time someone puts you in your place.”

I just wanted to play music, you think. But you have a feeling that wouldn’t help.

I am quite literally better than all of you. You keep that to yourself, too.

You roll your eyes, unfazed, already trying to plan your escape—how to break out of these silver chains and walk out of here.

“You think you’re so unpunishable.” Red grabs a dagger. You snort. Yeah, like that’s going to do anything to you.

“You’re so arrogant,” says another vamp, this time a guy. Crooked smirk, eyes like a psychopath.

Great. I got kidnapped by the immortal version of the Manson Family.

“See, we know we can’t really hurt you,” Red says, backing away. “But we found a part of you we can hurt. Your humanity.”

Your mind scrambles.

What the hell does that mean?

Then you see it: a chair in front of you. Someone tied to it. Sack over their head.

But even under the stench of decay and dust, you’d recognize that scent anywhere.

Oh no. No.

Red cackles and signals to her goons. They rip the sack away.

Dean.

There’s a gag in his mouth, and dirt is smudged on his cheeks, but he looks otherwise unharmed.

“You fucking bitch.” You snarl at the vamp.

She hisses at you—and you hiss back.

All the vampires in the room freeze at the sight.

Your fangs—just two, but a lot bigger, sharper, and more imposing than theirs—are an aspect highly exploited in the myths about you. The Dark Heiress, with fangs as sharp as knives. Two small punctures on the necks of her victims. Different. Better.

Red composes herself quickly, but there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes now—a sharp twinkle of mistrust, like she’s not so sure about her little plan anymore.

“Stories are told about your lethality,” she sneers, slowly circling toward Dean. “And yet here you are, all infatuated with a hunter of all creatures.”

She stops behind him, fists a hand in his hair, and yanks his head back. Dean groans. Red glares at you over his shoulder, eyes wicked.

“Little miss scare-all got herself a boyfriend.”

You struggle against your restraints as the room erupts with laughter. Your eyes stay locked on Red—you’re not brave enough to meet Dean’s. Your chest heaves with fury, hands trembling when he groans in pain.

“You hurt him,” you whisper. Somehow, your voice echoes through the room like thunder. “And whatever myths you’ve heard about me? They’ll look like bedtime stories.”

“Oh, really?” Psycho-eyes says, eyebrows raised. “You’re trapped, bitch. And you’re gonna sit there and watch us bleed your boy-toy dry.”

Red steps in, pressing the blade to Dean’s cheek—flat at first, just the cold kiss of steel against his skin.

A wave of fear rises to meet the fury in your chest. You finally meet Dean’s eyes.

He’s already looking at you.

He looks annoyed by the situation—because of course he does. Only Dean Winchester would be irritated instead of afraid while tied to a chair.

But there’s something else in his eyes, too. Just a flicker. A whisper of something deeper.

Dean mumbles something under his gag. A joke, probably. Of course it’s a joke.

If you didn’t know better, you’d swear your heart just started beating again.

Oh, Winchester. What have you done to me?

That’s when Red makes the first cut.

She slashes across his cheek, warm crimson dripping down his face. Dean hisses, eyes squeezing shut in pain.

The scent of his blood hits you instantly—sweet, richer than anything you’ve ever smelled. It calls to you. Tempts you. But there are more important things than hunger.

The bloodlust fades the second Psycho-eyes yanks the gag from Dean’s mouth.

“I want you to hear him scream.”

“Like that’s gonna happen,” Dean spits, throwing his head back. “Do you get your inspiration from shitty horror blockbusters? Because your lines suck, man.”

“Give them a break, Dean.” You click your tongue, tone condescending. You shoot him a mischievous look. “Must be all the dog blood rotting their brains. They’re trying their best.”

Dean laughs—the kind of laugh you’ve learned to recognize as performance. Low. Gravelly. Hot. But fake.

His real laugh is nothing like that. It’s squeaky, messy, too-loud. Your favorite by far.

“So, you’re such failures you can’t even feed from humans, and you think you can take her down?”

He doesn’t say it with fear. Or disgust. He says it with pride.

Like he knows you’re better than the rest of them. Like he’s proud you are. Proud to have you on his side. Like you’re something worth bragging about.

Your stomach flutters.

Then the punch lands.

A fist cracks across his jaw, blood flying from his mouth. And this time, Dean actually looks like he’s in pain.

They start to cut away at him. Small gashes everywhere, bleeding steadily.

It erases any trace of amusement from your face. You keep trying to fight against the silver chains, panic rising in your throat.

But Dean keeps his promise. His mouth stays shut, not a sound coming out of him.

When the vamps notice that their method isn’t working, Red signals for Psycho-eyes to grab something else.

You feel sick with anticipation, dread building in your chest.

And then you see it: a machete.

It confuses you—why would they switch to a weapon that would do the same job?

The nauseating realization hits when Red slices into her own arm.

“Since the famous Dean Winchester feels like fraternizing with vamps lately,” she says, eyes locked on you, “why don’t we give him a taste of it?”

She doesn’t even glance at Dean.

And just like that—You see red.

Dean had been built as a killing machine, trained from childhood to be the perfect little soldier. What could be more devastating than being forced to become the thing he hates the most?

Being forced to become like you, and have him hate himself as much as he inherently hates you.

You couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to see Dean go through the transformation—the pain, the burning thirst, the cold. To see him forced to attack the very people he’s spent his life trying to save. To hear him beg Sam to kill him. To watch him get himself killed by another hunter when Sam can’t.

The sheer of panic in Dean’s eyes is your last straw.

You yank on your restraints so hard, the entire column shakes. Actually fucking shakes.

Concrete dust rains from the ceiling. The floor trembles. Everyone in the room looks up as the whole structure begins to hum.

You pull again. The column cracks.

You don’t feel the chains biting into your skin. You don’t feel the strain in your muscles. All you see is the blood running down Red’s arms— and the way it’s meant for Dean’s mouth.

“Stop!” Psycho-eyes yells as the cracks crawl up the ceiling. “W-we’ll let him go!”

“Like hell we will!” Red snarls, turning toward Dean, ready to feed him the blood.

That’s when you break free.

The silver chains rip clean through the column.

Your vision narrows, and all you can think about is that you want them dead. All of them, every single creature that has ever made Dean Winchester bleed, anyone who even dreamed of getting their claws around his neck. You would destroy them all.

Two vamps lunge at you. They’re quick, but you’re quicker.

You dodge their attack, then get a grip on their hair and smack their heads together. There’s a gruesome crunch of skull breaking skull, but you ignore it.

More vamps come at you, and you pull them apart piece by piece. Your head is underwater, the look in Dean’s eyes flashing in your mind as you sink your teeth into a vamp's jugular and yank.

You move like lightning, striking and deadly, covered in blood—their blood—and leaving a trail of dead bodies behind you.

The walls crack even more as you smash a young vamp’s head against them. Again, and again, and again. Until his brain spills out onto the peeling paint, and the ceiling feels like it’s about to fall on you.

Another three vamps are ripped into bloody piles on the floor, and then only Red and Psycho-Eyes are left.

You walk slowly toward them, a vamp’s jaw still hanging from the tip of your fingers. Blood drips behind you, your hair wild and floating around you like smoke, your eyes glowing with red, murderous rage.

Ten vamps killed, not a weapon in your hand.

Your steps are heavy, pieces of the building falling down behind you. You look like you belong in a slasher—not as the final girl, but as the killer.

Psycho-eyes stares at you with a panicked expression before turning and trying to run.

How cute.

You’re behind him in seconds, both hands wrapping around his neck.

“N-no! Please, it was all her plan!” His pleas fall on deaf ears, your mind not even processing the words. The venom running through your veins burned, your fangs ached, your hands trembled with the need to destroy. To protect. To save.

With unnatural speed, you drag Psycho-eyes until you reach the silver chains meant to restrain you. You wrap them around his neck like a noose and start to pull.

“Please,” the vamp begs again, turning to Red for help. But Red just stares, unmoving, not helping.

For a moment, you feel a fleeting pity for him. Oh, silly boy, trusting the wrong bloodsucker.

You soften your grip on the chains, a moment of hesitation, and then Dean screams.

Psycho-eyes’ head hits the floor with a loud thud, his body following soon after.

Red has her dagger pressed against Dean’s neck, the steel just grazing the skin. But there's an expanding stain of blood on Dean’s thigh—his scream, you assume, is from that.

“Get the fuck away from him.” Your voice is unrecognizable, deeper than usual, darker, almost ancient. There’s still a melodic edge to it, but now it sounds less like a song on the radio and more like the chant of a long-forgotten coven.

Red looks around, staring with wild eyes at the lifeless, scattered bodies of her nest, slaughtered like prey.

She seems to realize she won’t win this fight.

She'd sealed her obituary the moment her blade first nicked Dean’s skin.

You continue to walk towards her at the same slow pace, savoring the way her face falls, the hopelessness drowning the anger in her eyes.

But then her eyes harden again, and her hand twitches. You react before she moves, but you're still not fast enough.

Red’s dagger slices through the soft flesh of Dean’s neck, and she looks ready to cut his throat open from side to side.

You jump her before she gets the chance to.

Your bodies hit the floor, your knees scraping but healing just as fast. Your fist drives down into her face, and her cheekbone shatters under your knuckles. You've never been one for unnecessary violence. When you have to kill, you like to make it quick. You could have grabbed her dagger and decapitated her, you could have used your fangs to tear her throat open, you could have ripped her head off—messy, but efficient.

Instead, you keep punching her. Your fist collides with her face again and again and again, until her face is nothing but mush. And you don’t stop.

Because they had taken everything from you. Your music, your town, your freedom. They had stripped you of everything that had ever made you happy, and you shook it off and kept going.

But him? You won’t let them take him.

Not when he has woken up feelings inside you that you’ve been considered dead to. Not when he makes you burn, makes you feel alive, drives you insane with something you dare not name.

A gurgly, choking sound makes you snap out of it.

Red is immobile under you, her head almost blended into the asphalt of the floor.

So the sound doesn’t come from her.

You turn around frantically, searching for the only other living person in the room.

Dean is on the floor now, bleeding from the nick on his neck. His hands are wrapped around it, but blood slips through his fingers.

You’re next to him in the blink of an eye.

“Dean,” you whisper desperately, eyes burning with something wet—a sensation you haven’t felt since you were a little fledgling, and Father took away the maid you were feeding on.

Dean tries to say something, but his voice gets stuck in the back of his throat, and more blood gurgles out of the wound.

“Shhhhh. Don’t talk, Dean.” You try to calm him, but your voice is too shaky, your breathing too ragged. “Let me see, darling. Please.”

You have to peel his hands from his neck, but you finally get a clear view of the gash. It isn’t too deep, to your relief. You took Red away just in time.

But it’s still deadly, and Dean would be gone before you could get him to a hospital.

There’s no way to do a tourniquet, no way to temporarily bandage the wound, no way to save him by any human means.

But there is something you can do. Something so unnatural it will disgust Dean to his core, something he would never allow. Something he will hate you for.

But you can live with that. You can’t live without him.

“Dean! Look at me, darling.” You grasp his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. He’s scared, and you would endure every single torture ever created if it meant never seeing him like that again. “I need to close this wound, okay? I’m gonna help you, but you need to trust me.”

His eyes flutter shut, and panic rises in your throat like bile, burning and sickening.

“No, no, no. Stay with me. Dean, please.”

Clear, salty drops fall from your eyes onto his bloody cheeks, and he slowly blinks his eyes open.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper before latching your mouth to the wound in his neck.

Dean makes a strangled sound, his hand coming up to grip your shoulder, trying to pull you away.

But you’re stronger, and you don’t budge.

Dean’s blood is even better than you could’ve ever imagined. You had forgotten what real warm blood tasted like. It’s thick, rich, sweet. It tastes like heaven and hell all at once. Like darkness and light. Like whiskey and pie. Like love.

Your fangs ache to sink into the tender skin, but you don’t. You just run your tongue over the small slit made by the dagger, letting your saliva coat the area.

As a creature designed to feed—and to rule—rather than just to kill, your anatomy is smart. You needed a way to drink from people and stop the bleeding before they died. Or else there would be rumors. Or else you’d run out of servants too fast.

So, your saliva can heal the punctures made by your fangs in seconds.

It takes longer when the wound’s origin is external, but it’s all you have.

Dean’s grasp relaxes when he doesn’t feel the sharp point of your teeth, and you place a hand over his heart, just to be sure.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

With the steady reassurance of his heartbeat, you let yourself focus on the healing.

But it’s a bit hard, with the way Dean’s blood coats your tongue and fills your nose. It slides down your throat like bourbon, makes you feel high on ecstasy, makes you want to never stop.

But you do, eventually. A few minutes later, the metallic taste fades, leaving only the salty flavor of skin. Fighting all your instincts, you detach your mouth from Dean’s neck.

Now, only a tiny little scratch mars the skin.

Dean lets out a tiny sound, something between a groan and a whimper, that makes you turn to him.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, the stab on his leg is still open, and he is still bleeding from all the other places they cut him.

Oh, you could kill them all over again.

“You’re terrifyingly hot.” Is the first thing Dean whispers, and it takes you out for a second.

But then a piece of the ceiling falls right next to his head, almost turning him into a pancake.

That’s when you notice the building collapsing around you.

Cracks line the walls. The column you had cut in half has crumbled, now just blocks of concrete scattered across the room. The ceiling is slowly caving in.

“We need to get out of here.” You turn back to Dean, his blood still all over your mouth. You grab his arm and pull him up, ready to flee as more and more chunks of the building break apart around you.

To Dean’s credit, he lasts a whole three steps. His arm is around your shoulder, but even with you supporting half his weight, the wound in his leg makes it too painful to move with the necessary speed.

“Goddamn it, just come here.” You tug Dean’s arm, and in less than a second—without breaking a sweat—you pick him up bridal style.

“What the—?” Dean yelps, limbs flailing and eyes wide. He ends up wrapping his arms around your neck tightly, scared you’ll drop him. He’s taller and broader than you—there’s no way you won’t drop him.

You don’t.

“Stay still,” you grunt, adjusting your grip under his knees as you move expertly through the collapsing building, dodging falling chunks of roof and broken beams that rain down around you.

Dean is heavy in your arms, but not too heavy. His grip around your neck is tight, but not too tight. The bite of his nails in your skin hurts, but just enough to keep you alert. It’s as if he fits perfectly in your arms, like that’s where he belongs.

Good concept for a song.

You make it out of the front door just in time to cross paths with Sam, whose desperate expression melts into utter disbelief and confusion when he catches sight of you sprinting out of the crumbling building. You walk right past him, laser-focused on getting Dean to safety.

“What the actual—”

He doesn’t get to finish. The front door implodes right behind you.

Immediately, Sam spins around and follows.

Even with his impossibly long legs, Sam struggles to catch up with you.

You reach the Impala in seconds. Your muscles begin to relax, your mind clearing now that you’re sure—truly sure—that you’re safe. That he’s safe.

Something dark and possessive curls low in your chest, begging you not to let go. To keep him pressed against you forever. But you force your arms to release him.

Gently, carefully, you help Dean stand. You guide him to lean against the Impala. He groans when his weight settles on the wounded leg, but there’s more clarity in his eyes now.

“Can someone—” Sam finally reaches you, wheezing and wide-eyed. “Explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

Neither you nor Dean answer.

You’re too busy avoiding each other’s eyes. Dean shifts against the Impala, a fresh blush rising on his cheeks—probably from the sheer mortification of being carried like a bride.

You don’t let yourself think of any other reason.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The ride back to the motel is uncomfortable. Sam is behind the wheel as Dean and you slowly fill him in on the ordeal you just had to live.

None of you mention the cut on his neck.

But Dean can’t stop thinking about it. About your tongue on his skin, about the way your hand had pressed down on his chest, about how you had tasted his blood, about how you had stopped.

Dean knows he should be terrified of you right now. He should be throwing you out of the car, he should be yelling to Sam about what a monster you are. Instead, he can’t get rid of the heat simmering in his stomach.

You had destroyed a building to save him. You had literally made a whole infrastructure fall apart with your bare hands for him.

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

The whole way to the motel, he just stares out of the window, muttering distantly when Sam asks something.

He’s used to having pretty women hanging on his every word. He knows how to work his way through sweet, mean, violent, sensitive. He knows how to dodge "I love you’s" and how to reach their beds. He knows how to not get attached, and he knows how to leave.

But what he doesn’t know is the pressure on his chest. He doesn’t know the skip of his heart, or the softness in his eyes, or the need to hold that chokes him whenever she’s near. He isn’t used to not having to protect; he isn’t used to being the one protected. And he definitely isn’t used to being picked up like a ragdoll.

He’s familiar with wanting, but not with having. He doesn’t let himself indulge in useless fantasies. But now, he isn’t so sure he can keep his distance anymore. He isn’t sure he wants to.

He isn’t used to loving, but he could grow to be.

With you.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You’re sitting outside the motel room, smoking a cigarette while Sam treats Dean’s leg.

The thick smoke from your Marlboro Black Gold slowly makes its way down to your lungs. You keep it in until it burns, the sensation pulling you away from everything else. You blow the smoke out, lazily making rings with it.

“Nice party trick,” a deep voice says from behind you. You don’t get startled; you heard his steps approaching the door and the small squeak of it opening. “I could never quite get them right.”

“Well, I’ve got a few extra years of practice.”

The wood of the small stairs leading to the motel creaks when Dean sits beside you. There’s gauze wrapped around his thigh, small bandages scattered across his body, and your eyes quickly move to his neck. There’s only a thin, pale line now. It almost looks like he nicked himself while shaving, but you know better. Both of you do.

You offer Dean a cigarette, but he just shakes his head, eyes darting to the dark sky.

You take another drag and turn to face the night too. Your eyes find the moon, the only friend still with you after all this time, and they stay there.

The silence wraps around the two of you for a long moment, as asphyxiating as it is comforting. You continue to savor the dark taste of tobacco as your ears pick up the sound of cars driving down the interstate and the cicadas hiding in the greenery.

“You stopped.” It’s not often that you are taken aback, but Dean always manages to do it. You turn around, blowing the smoke away from his face before raising an eyebrow, confused. “You—your mouth was on my neck, on an open wound, but you stopped drinking.”

Oh. You two are talking about it, it seems.

You turn to look at the moon again, trying to find wisdom in her. She seems to glow brighter, almost as if encouraging you.

“I did,” you whisper, taking one last drag from the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stepping on it with your chunky boots.

“You also saved my life.” You open your mouth to argue. “No. You did.” Dean takes in a deep breath, as if considering exactly what to say. “People around me, especially people I care about, usually end up dying.”

The sudden change in topic makes you face him again, noticing his lowered eyes and clenched jaw. He’s nervous.

“The life Sam and I lead, it isn’t easy, nor safe. Though you probably noticed that already.” He chuckles, head hanging low. You tilt your head, observing him, taking in all the little details. The way his skin wrinkles when he smiles, the way his hands shake slightly, the way his eyelashes flutter. All the signs of his humanity, of his aliveness. “I’ve lost many people, pushed away even more. I accepted that I would never be able to get close to someone, not without them dying. But—”

He pauses, finally turning to look at you.

“But maybe you can survive me.”

A shiver runs up your spine violently, and that prickling sensation in your eyes returns. You try to find your voice, but for the first time in your existence, it fails you.

“I’m not sure you can survive me.” you whisper, barely audible over the cicadas.

Dean chuckles again, but this time it's more genuine, his eyes sparkling, and your stomach flips so intensely at the sight that you think you might just vomit.

“Believe me, sweetheart, I’ve survived worse things.” That makes you chuckle, but there’s still hesitation in your eyes, still a tremble in your hands that ache to wrap back around him. “With the amount of times I’ve come back to life, I might be as immortal as you.”

The laugh that you choke out is bitter, scared. “You don’t care that I’m a monster?”

“No. I’ve met humans who could be considered more of a monster than you ever could.” He says it with such conviction that it washes down your spine, circles back into your chest, and wraps around your lungs, making it hard to breathe. “You don’t care that I’m mortal?”

So, he knew. Dean wasn’t half as bad at feelings as he pretended to be.

“I did.” You mutter, looking down at your hand as you fidget with one of your rings, the one that resembles the head of a dragon. “It still terrifies me, but after today—” your voice cracks, something that had never happened before. “After I almost saw you die, I realized that… it doesn’t matter if I act on my feelings or not. Losing you will be hell either way.” There’s a dense silence, even the cicadas stop singing and listen in. Dean’s hand wraps around yours, and it makes you look up. “I might as well do the most with what we have.”

Dean leans forward, and your lips meet in a perfect collision of desperation and yearning. You fit like you're made for each other. There had always been a hole in your chest, a gaping void that longed for something, someone. You had tried to fill it up with booze, drugs, sex, music. But it was never satisfied.

Now you know why. It’s because what you were missing is Dean.

You think back to that one Greek myth, the one you witnessed being written, about how humans once had four arms, four legs, and two faces before being split in half by a fearful Zeus. And you think he was right to be afraid, because with Dean’s hands on your waist and your hand cupping his cheek, you’ve never felt more fucking powerful.

What rhymes with Zeus

Your tongues meet, and you taste beer, tobacco, and just a hint of metal. It’s perfect. Your hands roam all over each other’s bodies in an almost choreographed manner, with the expertise only years of experience could bring.

Dean is a good kisser, an excellent kisser even, but just like in everything else, you are better.

With the agility of a cat, you slide into his lap smoothly. You bury your hand in his hair, pulling with enough force to send a tingle down his spine but not enough to actually hurt. You lick behind his teeth so sultrily it renders him useless for a second. You bite his lip just hard enough, your fang digging into the skin but not breaking it.

Dean’s groan is so deep and loud that it reminds you that you’re outside.

It wouldn’t be your first time doing something outdoors, but Greeks were more chill about that than modern Americans.

You pull back from the kiss, laughing when Dean chases your lips. You use the grip on his hair to keep him in place, making his breath hitch and his pupils explode.

“You better go pay for a new room.” Sam’s voice makes both of you turn around. He’s leaning in the doorway, trying to look annoyed but looking so fucking proud. “Because I’m not sharing with you two freaks.”

The door slams shut, and you hear at least three different locks clicking.

“My pajamas are in there,” Dean grumbles, his upper body still twisted as he glances at the closed door.

You lean forward, your mouth hovering over his ear.

“Oh, you won’t need them, darling.” You whisper, smiling wickedly when he turns to you. “Remember that I don’t sleep?”

“Goddamn it.” Dean shuts his eyes tightly, almost looking like he’s in pain. It makes your smirk grow.

“Why don’t I show you what unfaltering stamina looks like, hm?” With the same effortless motion you used to move into his lap, you slide away and stand up. You pull on his hand until he’s standing too, looking down at you with dark eyes and a twitch at the corner of his mouth, pure and repressed desire bleeding from his pores.

You try to walk away, but he uses the grasp on your hand to pull you against his chest. You let him, your arms circling his shoulders, and the giggle is swallowed by his mouth when he leans in for another kiss. His hands travel down, past your waist and over your hips. They find your ass, sliding under the tiny fabric of your black jean shorts.

He grunts, squeezing hard, and you almost wish you could bruise, just to have the imprint of his hand on your flesh, marking you, claiming you.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since—” Dean breaks the kiss, his lips shiny and his eyes hooded. “Since I first saw you on that stage, twirling around like a little demon.”

You laugh, velvety like the smoke of your cigarette and sharp like a knife. You lick your teeth, watching Dean follow the movement carefully.

“Me too, since I saw you sitting at that bar.” You hesitate for just a second, eyes shifting nervously. “I wrote a song about you that night we danced in the bar.”

You force yourself to watch Dean’s reaction, studying the way his eyebrows raise and his breath catches.

“You wrote a song about me?” You nod, chewing on your lower lip. “Have you—written more?”

He sounds hopeful, excited, like a little kid who just got told they're going to Disney. It makes you melt inside.

“Maybe I have a few verses I've written here and there,” you murmur, like it’s nothing. But Dean’s eyes brighten, and he almost bounces with contained happiness. Adorable. “I may or may not have even recorded a demo.”

“Now you gotta show me,” he demands, pulling you even closer.

“No way. Never,” you refuse, thinking about all the sappy and mushy stuff you’ve written in the past months that makes you cringe.

“Come on,” he says your name, and he says it with such affection that it makes your knees weak. “You can’t drop something like that and then not show me.”

“Let’s see if you live up to the expectations first.” He raises an eyebrow, but his chest puffs at the insinuation of a challenge. “There’s a lot of talk about how good Dean Winchester is in bed. How about we test that first, and then we can talk about that demo?”

Dean’s grin widens, sharpening into something almost dangerous.

“Oh, you got it, sweetheart.”

And he proves himself, alright, if the noise complaints from the other guests are anything to go by.

“I cursed the gloom that set upon us But I know that I love you so”

NOTES: If I have to be honest, this is my favorite part so far. Part 4 might just dethrone it, but I doubt it. nyx is such a badass I wish I was her. Anyway pls pls pls let me know what you guys think and I hope you liked it! part four coming out any time soon (spoiler alert: feeding happens).

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 6 months ago

Note

Can you write something with Alastor and the song won’t say i’m in love from Hercules? he didn’t want to like the reader but does?! 💗💗

A/N: This is definitely his song, and I love this so much so thank you for this request!! I know it took me forever to write this but at last my brain is working and I am finishing requests :)) I hope you enjoy!!

Navigation!!

Warnings: Alastor on a high horse, mentions of losing control, hell, Alastor in himself because wtf ?!?!?!

Won’t say I’m in love

The fiery glow of the neon lights of Hell never seemed to dim. It was a place of chaos, energy, and control, and no one embodied that more than Alastor, the Radio Demon. His power was unmatched, his control over the world of Hell absolute, and he was content in that dominion. He preferred it that way—structured, perfect, with no room for vulnerability. Emotions were for the weak. Love, especially, was something that had no place in his heart. At least, that’s what he told himself every day.

But that was before you.

You had entered his life as an unexplainable force—a puzzle he couldn’t solve. You were strong, independent, and you had a charm that disarmed even his most guarded walls. The way you carried yourself, a perfect mix of grace and defiance, made him twitch with both admiration and frustration. And worst of all, you were unbothered by him. You didn’t quake at his power like so many others did. You didn’t cower when he spoke. Instead, you stood your ground, and that intrigued him. It unsettled him, too.

He never asked for any of it. Alastor liked his life clean, his emotions compartmentalized, and his relationships dictated by his terms. But you? You made him feel something—something he wasn’t prepared to face.

It started with small things, things he tried to ignore, but couldn’t quite dismiss. There was the way his thoughts lingered on you when he found himself alone in his lavishly decorated, soundproof room. The soft smile you gave him after every conversation, the way your eyes twinkled with mischief. And then, there was that infernal feeling in his chest whenever you entered the room. A tightness he couldn’t explain. The Radio Demon wasn’t supposed to feel these things. He was a creature of control, after all.

One evening, while working at his desk in his broadcast station, Alastor heard your voice coming from the hallway. He frowned, fingers stiffing for a moment as your laughter wafted through the walls, an innocent sound that rattled him. He took in a sharp breath, trying to refocus on the task at hand. But you always had a way of getting under his skin, your carefree nature filling every corner of his mind.

“Alastor,” you called, voice light and teasing, yet there was a warmth to it that made his chest feel tight. “You’ve been busy again, haven’t you?”

He straightened up in his chair, forcing his usual, confident smile. “Of course, darling. There is always work to be done when you’re as… influential as I am.” His voice was smooth, controlled—his mask firmly in place. He wouldn’t let his heart betray him now. He wouldn’t let his emotions control him. Not again.

You stepped into the room, standing in front of him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The soft golden light from the room framed your silhouette perfectly, and for a moment, Alastor was lost in the sight of you. He immediately shook himself out of it, tightening his grip on his cane.

“You’re always so serious,” you remarked with a playful glint in your eyes. “You know, sometimes you look so… tense. It’s like you’re afraid of something.” There it was—the gentle teasing, the ease with which you could slip under his armor.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, but his voice softened. “And what, pray tell, should I be afraid of, darling?”

You shrugged, but there was something knowing in your gaze, something that made Alastor’s heart skip a beat. “Maybe you’re afraid of letting someone in. You’re always so careful, like you’re hiding something.”

The Radio Demon stilled, every muscle in his body tense. He had expected many things from you—curiosity, defiance, maybe even annoyance—but not this. You had hit a nerve. He couldn’t let you see that, though. He couldn’t let you see that he was vulnerable. Not to you. Not ever.

“Ha,” he scoffed, though it came out more strained than he intended. “Fear is a human emotion. Something I don’t concern myself with.” He stood abruptly, moving toward the window, his back turned to you. “I control this world. There is nothing to fear. Nothing at all.”

You didn’t reply right away, and that alone threw Alastor off-balance. He could feel your gaze on his back, and for a moment, he hated how much your presence made him feel out of control. He wanted you to leave, to stop probing into the parts of him he had buried so deeply. But when you spoke again, your voice was softer, gentler.

“I don’t think it’s fear,” you said, almost as if speaking to yourself. “I think you’re afraid of caring. Of letting someone in because you’ve been hurt before, and you’re not sure how to handle it.

Alastor froze. His heart pounded in his chest, a harsh rhythm that made his blood run cold. How dare you? How dare you see through him with such ease? He whipped around, his usually smooth demeanor replaced with a rare intensity.

“Enough!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Do not presume to know me, darling. You know nothing about me.”

For a moment, the room was tense with the weight of his words. His gaze was cold, and his body was rigid with anger—he couldn’t let you break through his shell. But to his surprise, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t cower. Instead, you just watched him, an unreadable expression on your face.

“Then why does it bother you so much when I talk about it?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady. “Why does it bother you when I point out what’s right in front of you?”

Alastor’s breath hitched, but he quickly masked it with a forced chuckle. “You’re foolish, my dear. I have no time for emotions. They’re irrelevant in my world.”

You smiled then, but there was something bittersweet about it. “If they’re so irrelevant, why do you care so much when I leave? Why do you get upset when I don’t come to see you for a while? Why does it hurt you when I don’t call?”

The words hit him like a thunderbolt. Alastor’s smile faltered, the mask slipping just slightly. His mind raced, and for the first time in ages, he didn’t know what to say. He had no control over the thoughts swirling inside him, and that terrified him more than anything. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable.

“Get out,” he said softly, his voice colder than ice. “Leave.”

You nodded, and without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his turbulent thoughts.

Later that night, Alastor sat alone in his private room. The darkness around him was suffocating, but it was the only thing that kept his emotions at bay. The walls shook in the room, crackling to life, playing an old, familiar tune—a soft, slow ballad he hadn’t heard in years. It was a song you loved from your favorite movie. Hercules.

His fingers clenched around the armrest of his chair. No. I’m not in love. I can’t be.

But the more the song played, the more Alastor realized how much it mirrored his own feelings—how much he had been lying to himself. He had tried to keep his heart locked away, tried to convince himself that he was in control, that he didn’t care. But the truth was undeniable. Every time you smiled at him, every time your voice lingered in his ear, something inside him had shifted. He cared. He cared deeply, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

He closed his eyes, the song pulling him into a haze of emotion he wasn’t sure how to escape. He had spent so long maintaining control, ruling Hell with an iron fist, but with you—with you—he was powerless. Every wall he built up was torn down with a single glance from you. And it terrified him.

“I won’t say I’m in love…”

Alastor let the music wash over him, his chest tightening with every word. Maybe he was in love. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it, but he was. And as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to lose you. Not ever.

And so, Alastor sat in the quiet of his room, his heart aching with a truth he couldn’t deny any longer.

The next day, you found yourself once again in front of the Radio Demon. You didn’t know what to expect—whether he’d pretend yesterday never happened or if he’d try to distance himself even more. But when you walked in, you saw him standing there, just as imposing and powerful as ever, but this time, there was something different. His eyes softened when they met yours, and for the briefest of moments, you saw a flicker of vulnerability.

“I was wrong,” Alastor said quietly, the words heavier than you expected. “I… care. And I won’t deny it any longer.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden confession. But as his usual confidence returned, you saw the sincerity in his eyes. Despite all his control, despite all his bravado, Alastor cared for you. And, in a strange way, that made him more real than he had ever been before.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I knew that all along.”

And for the first time, Alastor didn’t feel like he had to hide behind his mask. The truth was out, and for once, he was okay with it.

He was in love.

With that realization, Alastor’s world began to shift, just as his heart had. No longer the Radio Demon solely driven by control, he had found something far more complicated—and far more precious. Something he had never expected, but had always secretly desired.

And as he stood in the same room with you, he realized that maybe, just maybe, letting go of control wasn’t so bad after all.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin demon #alastor

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pankowcrumbs · 3 months ago

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Whiskey kisses X Tom Hardy

MasterList

The first time I met Tom Hardy, I thought he was a bit of a menace. Charming as hell, of course, but entirely too much fun for his own good. We were co-stars in an upcoming action film, spending our days throwing punches, dodging explosions, and trading sarcastic remarks between takes. And, apparently, our nights getting into trouble.

Tonight was one of those nights.

After a gruelling few weeks of shooting, some of the cast decided to let loose at a nearby pub. Tom had been the ringleader, naturally, convincing me and a few others that a bit of whiskey and some dodgy karaoke were exactly what we needed.

“You never say no to a good time, love,” he had grinned at me, eyes gleaming. “Come on. You’re not scared, are you?”

That had been enough to get me out of my trailer and into his car, a reckless challenge I hadn’t been able to resist.

Now, three drinks deep, I was comfortably wedged into a booth next to him, the warmth of his arm brushing against mine every time he shifted. The dim lighting of the pub cast everything in a golden glow, the buzz of conversation mixing with the distant warbling of someone butchering an old rock song on stage.

“You’re up next,” Tom announced suddenly, pointing a finger at me.

I scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

He smirked, leaning in. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t come to a karaoke bar and not sing.”

“I can, actually.”

He cocked his head, clearly enjoying the battle. “Tell you what I’ll go up with you. Duet. You pick the song.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Any song?”

“Any song.”

A slow grin spread across my lips. “Fine.”

Two minutes later, we were up on stage, and the opening chords of Total Eclipse of the Heart started playing. Tom groaned dramatically beside me, shaking his head as I laughed.

“You are evil,” he muttered, but the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

By the time the chorus hit, we were both belting it out, entirely out of tune, arms around each other, giggling into the microphone. The crowd loved it, cheering and hollering as Tom dramatically dropped to one knee, singing the words as if he were in a tragic love scene. I doubled over laughing, barely able to get my own lines out.

By the end of it, we were breathless, clinging to each other as we stumbled off the stage. Tom’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me back to our booth as the next brave soul took the mic.

“I think we should go on tour,” he joked, pouring us another round from the bottle on the table.

“Right,” I snorted, accepting my drink. “Because Hollywood isn’t enough for you. You want a music career now?”

He shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Gotta have a backup plan, love.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey. We were flirting. We had been all night. Maybe even longer than that.

Tom, of course, had been himself from day one charismatic, effortlessly cheeky, making comments that were just inappropriate enough to make me laugh but never quite enough to make me tell him off. But tonight felt different. The touches lingered a little longer. The looks held a little more meaning.

And then his hand was on my thigh.

I barely had time to react before he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Fancy some fresh air?”

I swallowed, my pulse quickening “Yeah.”

We slid out of the booth, mumbling something about needing air to our co-stars. No one was paying much attention anyway too many drinks, too much noise.

The cold night air hit me as we stepped outside, but Tom’s body was warm beside me. He glanced over, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, without warning, he pulled me against him.

His mouth was on mine before I could think, before I could question. And bloody hell, he tasted like whiskey and heat and something entirely addictive.

I gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down my waist, gripping my hips as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned into my mouth, pressing me back against the wall of the pub.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his lips trailing down to my jaw.

I laughed breathlessly. “You could’ve done it sooner.”

He grinned, teeth grazing my skin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His hands wandered, gripping, teasing, exploring. I felt like I was on fire, like I had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against my throat, his breath hot.

I pulled his mouth back to mine instead.

The rest of the world faded away the noise of the pub, the cold air, everything. There was only Tom, pressing me up against the wall like he couldn’t get enough, like he didn’t care who saw.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was reckless. Messy. Complicated.

But I didn’t care.

And judging by the way he kissed me like he was drowning, neither did he.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #tom hardy #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you #tom #hardy

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silentnights-stuff · 3 months ago

Text

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Author's note:

This is my first time sharing my writing here! My professor usually has a lot to say about my writing style (mostly complaints), but honestly—who cares? If you all enjoy it, that’s what matters. Let me know if you want a part two!

⌗ Across the Fence𓂃 ࣪˖ ᥫ᭡.

Pedri gonzalez × fem!reader

Part-1

Masterlist

Summary: Growing up side by side, Gabi and Pedri were inseparable—their childhoods stitched together with backyard adventures, late-night whispered secrets, and a crayon-signed "friendship contract" that promised forever. But forever gets complicated when high school hits.

Gabi, once just Pedri’s partner-in-crime, is suddenly the girl everyone wants. Love letters, confessions, and one very persistent Frederick start making things… weird. And Pedri? He’s realizing a little too late that maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t just see her as his best friend anymore.

Between misread signals, accidental jealousy, and a whole lot of what the hell are we? Moments, their friendship is teetering on the edge of something more. But crossing that line means risking everything they’ve ever known.

Warnings: Slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, jealousy, major secondhand embarrassment, nicknames and & Inside Jokes, Mild Angst, Football References, High School Drama, lots of dumb teenage feelings, misunderstandings, Fluff Overload, Pedri is an absolute golden retriever boy,

Word count: 3327

Tagged: @moonvr If anyone wants to be added to the tag list, let me know!

By the way, here’s a list of songs that kept me inspired while writing this!

Gabira was still adjusting to the change. Back in Manila, life felt like a song stuck on the highest volume—jeepneys weaving through traffic, street vendors shouting over each other, the scent of sizzling isaw and freshly brewed kapeng barako drifting through the humid air. In Barcelona, everything moved to a different rhythm. The city hummed with elegance—narrow Gothic alleys leading to grand, sunlit plazas, the sound of flamenco guitar mixing with the salty breeze from the sea. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t home. Not yet.

The first few months felt like walking on a tightrope—every word in Spanish felt unfamiliar on her tongue, every new street a puzzle she hadn’t solved yet. The place was overwhelming, and no matter how many times her parents told her it was an exciting adventure, she still missed home. But not everything felt strange. The only thing that made settling in easier was the family living right next door.

The first real sign of comfort came when her mother, Rosalinda, and their neighbor, María, found common ground over something as simple as grocery shopping. What started as a casual walk to the store turned into shared recipes, cooking competitions, and late afternoons in each other’s kitchens, laughing over kneading dough and failed cakes. Their fathers, Andres and Fernando, weren’t far behind—morning jogs, backyard barbecues, and football matches soon became traditions.

But it was Pedri who made Barcelona feel a little less foreign.

That happened the same day after her mother went grocery shopping with their neighbor in the morning.

Gabira sat alone in the backyard, pulling at the blades of grass, her fingers absently weaving them together. She was thinking about home—about the best friend she had left behind in Manila, the one she used to race through the streets with, the one who always shared their lunch even when they had the same thing. The memory felt both warm and distant, like trying to hold onto sunlight before it fades.

She sighed, tearing apart the grass chain she had just made.

On the other side of the low fence that divided their backyards, Pedri was perched on the wooden edge, balancing on his toes. He had just overheard his mom, María, talking to his dad in the kitchen.

"That new family from the Philippines? I went grocery shopping with the mother today—Rosalinda, such a sweet woman! And they have a daughter your age, Pedri."

A new kid? Right next door? Pedri’s curiosity sparked instantly. Without thinking twice, he climbed up the fence, his sneakers scraping against the old wood as he pulled himself over.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Hola!”

Gabira looked up just in time to see a boy suddenly appear, hanging over the fence like a stray cat. His dark curls were messy from the wind, and his wide grin showed the small gap between his front teeth.

He greeted, balancing on the fence like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I heard my mom went shopping with your mom. So… you live here now?”

Gabira blinked at him, momentarily startled. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Yeah.”

Pedri’s grin widened. “Cool. Wanna play?”

And just like that, the quiet backyard didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

_____________

On a Sunday afternoon in Pedri's backyard, while both of their fathers watched Atlético Madrid vs Barcelona on a projector—arguing about how bad the UCL season was going and why FC Barcelona should be playing against Real Madrid instead—Pedri was full of energy, running around nonstop. He ran back and forth between the kitchen, where their mums were cooking, and the backyard, where the game played on the big screen. Every time Barcelona scored, he ran back, cheering loudly, arms waving in excitement.

Meanwhile, Gabi sat quietly by the sliding window that opened into the backyard, tapping her pencil against her drawing book. She wasn’t paying attention to the game or to Pedri running around. Instead, she was watching a long line of ants moving in a straight path, one after the other, carrying tiny crumbs. To her, they were far more interesting than all the noise around her.

Suddenly, Gabi’s mom called out from the kitchen, "Kids, brunch is ready!"

Pedri, already excited, sprinted toward the house, shouting, "Yes! I’m starving!"

Pedri ran past her again, nearly bumping into the table. As he did, the breeze from his movement distracted her from the ants, but she didn’t move right away, still watching them.

Gabi, lost in her world, quickly stood up. In her hurry, her shoelace came undone. She took a step forward, almost tripping, when Pedri suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Here, let me do it," Pedri said before she could decide. He knelt down and tied her shoelace quickly, his hands moving fast like he had done it a hundred times before.

Gabi looked at him, surprised but without saying a word. She let him help, watching quietly as he pulled the lace tight.

At that moment—just like the ants working together, just like their fathers arguing over football but still laughing together—something small but special connected them.

Pedri stood up, grinning. "Now, let’s eat!" he said, grabbing Gabi’s hand as they ran inside together.

_________

As summer arrived, their friendship bloomed like the Yellow Jasmine in Gabi's backyard. They spent afternoons running through the sprinklers in Pedri’s backyard, screaming at the cold water, and then huddling under the same towel, teeth chattering.

Bath time was never boring when they stayed over at each other’s houses. They would fill the bathtub with bubbles, giggling as they made beards out of foam. They had their ritual of splashing water three times, which meant they were officially "bath buddies for life."

At night, sleepovers were filled with whispers under blanket forts, drawing silly moustaches on each other’s faces and daring each other to sneak into the kitchen for extra cookies. Their parents often found them asleep in the same bed, tangled together like puppies, completely inseparable.

The days grew colder, but their bond only grew warmer. They walked to school every morning, hands tucked into the same oversized jacket, sharing stories about their dreams and made-up adventures.

They built a "friendship contract," a silly paper signed in crayon that stated:

1. We are best friends forever.

2. No secrets between us.

3. If one of us gets in trouble, the other must take the blame too.

And they followed it like an unbreakable oath. When Pedri accidentally broke a classroom window with a soccer ball, Gabi stood beside him as the teacher scolded them both. When Gabi got scared of the dark during a school camping trip, Pedri held her hand all night.

Their group of friends expanded, but they always stayed a duo, finding each other in crowded rooms, always knowing where the other was without even looking.

But then puberty came into the picture. High school kids became more confident, and Gabi made a complete 360-degree flip look-wise. Suddenly, all those goons who had ignored her before started approaching her like she had just appeared out of nowhere. It was almost laughable—these were the same people who, back in fifth grade, couldn’t even pronounce her name properly.

Pedri remembered that day like it was yesterday. The day when Gabi had gone missing during recess. He had spent the entire break running around the school, checking every hallway, every classroom, every hidden corner. Only to find her later at his house, curled up in her usual spot by the sliding window—her safe place. The same spot where she used to draw for hours, feed the ants, absentmindedly watch Barcelona matches with him, or quietly observe him play football.

The moment he saw her, he ran straight to her, wrapping her in a tight hug. She was crying her eyes out, barely able to speak between sobs.

“I hate my name,” she had whispered, her voice cracking. “Why did my parents name me that?”

Pedri hated seeing her like this. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t her name’s fault. It was those stupid kids who didn’t even try to learn it. But no matter how much he tried to convince her, she just wouldn’t believe it.

So he had to think of something else.

“Okay, okay,” he had said, wiping her tears with his sleeve. “If you don’t like your name, we’ll fix it.”

She sniffled, looking up at him. “How?”

“I’ll give you a nickname. Something cool. Something just for us.”

And that’s how she became Gabi.

___________

It was that time of the year when everyone was getting roses—Gabi did too, a lot of them. But she didn’t really care, not until Frederick asked her out on a date and confessed that he liked her. The problem? She didn’t feel the same way.

That "Frederick incident" was like opening the floodgates. The following week, she found two love letters stuffed in her locker—one sweetly asking her to be someone's Valentina, and another, from some overconfident idiot, straight-up proposing a one-night stand.

Like, what the fuck? Aren’t we too young for this?

But none of it mattered. Because the only person she wanted to ask her out was Pedri.

Gabi sat in the café area during recess, absentmindedly stirring her drink while venting to Sofía about everything.

"...And I don’t know, Sofía. I think—no, I know—I have feelings for Pedri."

This wasn’t news to Sofía. She had been hearing this same I-think-I-like-him speech for nearly two years now. So, this time, she didn’t even pretend to be surprised. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and gave Gabi a straight-up suggestion.

"Then tell him."

Gabi nearly choked on her drink. "What?"

"Tell him." Sofía shrugged. "And while you're at it, mention all the heartfelt gifts you've been getting this Valentine's Week. If he gets jealous—boom, that’s your answer."

Gabi blinked. "...That's kinda evil."

"And?"

"...I like it."

It wasn’t a bad idea. At the very least, she’d finally figure out if Pedri had feelings for her. Or at least, what he really thought of her.

It had been two years since she first realized she had a big, fat, ridiculous crush on him. At first, she dismissed it—thought maybe it was just her hormones acting up, something that would go away in a week or two.

But then, summer betrayed her.

That was the summer she went to his regional finals with Sofía, cheering for him like always. But this time, things were different.

This time, she realized she wasn’t the only one who had a little crush on Pedri.

Girls from their school—and others—were holding banners with his name and jersey number scribbled across them. Some were literally chanting his name.

Gabi felt… weird. Like she had been cheering for him all these years, showing up to almost all of his matches, and now there were hundreds of other girls doing the same. But she pushed that feeling aside, telling herself it wasn’t a big deal.

She followed Sofía up the crowded stands and found a seat. Gabi pulled the plastic chair down with the back of her knee, letting it drop with a soft clunk. She settled into it, feeling the slight wobble beneath her. The hard plastic pressed against her back—not exactly comfortable, but familiar.

Sofía plopped down beside her, and the row creaked slightly from the movement.

Then, the match began.

Pedri was everywhere, running across the field, assisting wherever he could. But the opposing team's defence was tough. The scoreboard stayed stuck at 0-0, no matter how hard they pushed.

Gabi was screaming her lungs out, pretty sure she wouldn't be able to speak tomorrow. With only five minutes left, the tension was unbearable.

Then, Pedri got the ball.

She thought he’d pass it to one of the strikers—he was a midfielder, after all. But he didn’t. He kept moving forward, cutting past defenders, pushing ahead.

And then—

GOAL.

Gabi jumped up, nearly toppling off her seat in excitement. The whole stadium erupted. Their school won.

The players rushed into a group hug on the field. The crowd went wild. Gabi was hugging Sofía, jumping up and down. But in the middle of all the chaos, she noticed something—

Pedri was looking for someone.

His eyes scanned the stands, searching, until—

Their gazes met.

Gabi froze.

For a second, everything else faded. The screams, the cheers, the celebrations—it all blurred away, leaving just him.

She panicked, breaking the intense eye contact, forcing herself to play it cool. She raised her hand and gave him a casual thumbs-up.

Pedri smiled—and then, to her absolute horror, he gestured for her to come down to the field.

Wait, was this dummy seriously calling her down? In front of everyone?

Her thoughts spiralled, but before she could react, Sofía shoved her forward.

“Go, idiot!” she laughed.

And so, with her heart hammering, Gabi made her way down the stands.

Before she even reached the bottom, Pedri was already running toward her.

And then—

He hugged her.

Sweaty, gross, out of breath—but she didn’t care.

When he finally pulled back, he reached for the medal around his neck, slipping it over her head instead.

"Thank you for coming, Gabi."

And just like that, he ran back to his team, leaving her standing there—completely, utterly baffled.

____________

“Mom, Dad, I’m going over to Gabi’s. We have this history assignment due tomorrow, and I don’t know when I’ll be back, so—goodnight, love you!”

His mom sighed from the kitchen. “Oh my god, this kid never does his work on time unless it’s football we’re talking about.”

His dad chuckled. “Good luck with that, but don’t stay up too late.”

Pedri could’ve just walked up to the porch and knocked like a normal person. But where’s the fun in that? Instead, he did what he always did—scaled the fence. He tossed his books, notebook, and pencil pouch over first, then hoisted himself up like a professional fence climber. At this point, he had probably broken some kind of record.

After gathering his stuff, he made his way to the front door and knocked. To his surprise, Gabi’s dad answered.

“Oh, look who’s here—our little Pedri.”

Pedri huffed, crossing his arms. “Not so little anymore, Uncle.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, still looks pretty small to me,” her dad teased. “Did you have dinner, kiddo?”

“Yup, just finished.”

“So, how’s our little champion doing these days?”

“Pretty good—if it weren’t for this boring history assignment that’s due tomorrow. Other than that, life’s great.”

Her dad laughed. “Ahh, so that’s what’s been keeping my daughter locked up in her room all day. No wonder she kicked me out when I tried calling her for ice cream.” He disappeared into the kitchen for a second before coming back with a tub of ice cream. “Here, take this. If you’re going to cry all night over some dead guy’s achievements, at least do it with ice cream.”

Pedri grinned. “Uncle, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now go, and tell Gabi not to stress too much—she’s already getting gray hairs.”

Pedri snorted. “Will do!”

He took the stairs two at a time, heading to Gabi’s room. As expected, One Direction was playing in the background. The sign on her door, which usually read Civilized people knock, now said:

I’m busy. Don’t call me. Even if something happens, call 092 instead.

Pedri shook his head. He didn’t know why she even bothered printing these signs, but it was kind of cute.

Not that it mattered.

Because neither was he civilized, nor did he follow instructions.

Instead of knocking, he swung his leg and kicked the door open with a loud bang!

Inside, Gabi sat on the floor, surrounded by a hurricane of papers, textbooks, and her laptop. Her brows furrowed in concentration, her hair a mess, and her hoodie half off her shoulder. She looked like a cute little hamster drowning in historical tragedies.

She turned, glaring at him.

“Pedriiiii!” she shrieked.

“Hola to you too.”

“I have been waiting for your dumb ass! What took you so long?!”

Pedri raised a brow. “Let me stop you right there, missy. Some of us are actual humans who need food to function.” He glanced at her untouched water bottle. “Unlike you, who seems to be surviving on hydration alone.”

“And?”

“And that’s not normal. Now sit, but eat something first. I don’t need you passing out in the middle of the night.”

She huffed. “Fine, fine. Now shut up and sit. We have a lot to work on.”

Pedri handed her the ice cream. “Here, Uncle said if we’re going to suffer, we might as well do it with sugar.”

What felt like hours passed as they buried themselves in the fall of the Roman Empire, Constantine shifting the capital to Byzantium, renaming it Constantinople—blah, blah, blah. Half the ice cream was gone, and their assignment was almost finished.

At this point, they had shifted topics completely—celebrity drama, new shows, school gossip, and of course, football.

“I hope Barça wins against Osasuna,” Pedri said, stretching his arms.

“They better,” Gabi muttered.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Oh! You know, I found these love letters in my locker.”

Pedri, who had been lazily flipping through his notes, immediately sat up straighter.

“What?”

“One of them was really sweet,” she continued. “Then this guy asked me to be his Valentina and take me on a date.”

Pedri’s stomach twisted.

Oh, hell no.

She went on. “I really like handwritten letters, you know? But I don’t know… And then there’s also Frederick.”

Pedri clenched his jaw.

Frederick.

This dude again?

Lately, this guy had been popping up way too much. Pedri wanted to grab the love letter (which he was sure was hidden in that Converse box under her bed), shred it into tiny pieces, burn it, and then flush it out of her life forever.

But he couldn’t do that.

Because Gabi didn’t know that he liked her.

And on top of that, she was his best friend.

So he had to play it cool.

“…Pedri?”

He snapped out of his murderous thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.”

“Well?”

“Well, don’t you think you should be focusing on exams instead of Frederick?”

Oh, shit.

He immediately regretted saying that.

Gabi blinked. Then her expression turned stormy.

“Excuse me?”

Think, Pedri. Think.

He coughed. “I mean—uh, maybe you should give it a try with the letter guy instead. Who was it again?”

Gabi scoffed. “Shut up, you don’t know anything. Keep your advice to yourself, idiot.”

Now she was mad?

Wasn’t she the one going on and on about these guys?

Pedri groaned, rubbing his temples. “Hamster, I swear, your tiny brain is going to short-circuit. One second, you’re happy, the next, you’re screaming.”

She threw a crumpled paper at him. “You need sleep, Gabi.”

“I don’t need sleep. I need a break from you.”

“Too bad, I’m helping you clean this mess before we sleep.”

“Whatever, dummy.”

“Hey! Stop calling me that.”

“Or what?” She smirked.

“I will tickle you to death.”

Her eyes widened. “If you even try—”

Pedri lunged.

“PEDRI!”

She shrieked as he grabbed her waist, fingers digging into her sides, laughter bubbling out of her. She kicked at him, but he was stronger, trapping her in a merciless tickle attack.

“STOP! YOU LITTLE—”

“Say I’m the best.”

“NEVER!”

“Okay, then you leave me no choice.”

“PEDRI, I SWEAR TO GOD—”

Just then, she kicked him off.

He tumbled onto the floor with a thud.

She huffed, pointing at the clock. “It’s 3:40 AM. My parents definitely locked the doors, assuming you’d be sleeping over. So if you don’t want to sleep on the pavement, you better start cleaning.”

Pedri groaned. “You’re such a witch.”

She smirked. “You say it like it’s an insult.”

“…I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Yeah. That was the problem.

He really didn’t.

──── ୨୧ ────　

Part 2

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