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lanf1an · 6 months ago

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SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.1 - january 5 2025 The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

hope people will find this, made a sideblog for this, havent used tumblr in a while, feel free to send any suggestions to improve the lay-out/blog etc. Also let me know if you think this chapter is too long. I've already written many parts so will update regularly if people like it.

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 2322

The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

You hadn’t seen your twin brother and Pietra in weeks, since they had decided to spent the holidays in Brazil, and you were itching to catch up. You also hadn’t seen the whole Norris family since Abu Dhabi, which had been an absolute blast. You’d meet up with Flo and Cisca regularly in London, having spent Christmas and New Years together, but the whole family being together was a rarity. This year felt extra special, though—it was the first time Dylan was coming along.

Your boyfriend of nearly a year had fit seamlessly into your life back home, and now he was finally meeting the entire crew. Max already got along with him like a house on fire, and you couldn’t wait for him to meet everyone else.

“Stil the same old place. Can’t wait to hit the slopes” Max said looking around with a grin. “You better teach me some sick board tricks this trip Dyl” he continued. “Only if you’re ready to fall on your ass,” Dylan shot back with a laugh. “Careful, Max is competitive,” you teased, they all laughed, Dylan was actually a professional snowboarder, making it that much funnier.

The Fewtrells had arrived at the lodge first, giving you a chance to show Dylan around before everyone else got there. The house was as you remembered—wood-paneled walls, mismatched furniture, and warm fires crackling in every hearth.

“This is where you grew up skiing?” Dylan asked as you led him upstairs, his snowboard bag slung casually over his shoulder.

“Pretty much. Max and I used to share this room—” you pushed open a door, looking at him slyly, excited to share the room with him this time. The room smelled faintly of cedar, its twin beds still adorned with the same plaid comforters you’d had as kids.

“It’s nice,” Dylan said, setting his bag down and pulling you into his arms. “Cozy. Definitely feels like you.”

Before you could reply, his lips brushed yours, a warm and familiar kiss that made your heart flutter as his hands brushed through your hair, leading you towards the bed. Before things could go further, a loud voice broke the moment. “Fewtrell!” Cisca called from downstairs, followed by Flo’s laughter.

You turned, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Let’s go. You’ll love this chaos.”

Downstairs, the Norris family was filing in, luggage and snow-dusted boots piling up in the entryway. Lando appeared last, hauling a duffel bag with one hand and ski equipment in the other.

“Landooo!” you and Max called out in unison, both running to greet him.“Can’t even drop my stuff first?” Lando teased, dropping the bag with an exaggerated groan as you pulled him into a hug.“Ah, our world champion has arrived,” your dad said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Welcome back, Lando. Well-deserved break, eh?” “Something like that,” Lando said, grinning as he accepted the handshake. “Nothing beats this place, though.”

“Lando, this is Dylan,” you said, gesturing between them. Dylan extended a hand. “Good to finally meet you. She’s told me a lot about you.” “All good things, I hope,” Lando replied with a polite smile, shaking his hand.“Mostly,” Dylan teased, earning a laugh from everyone. Max threw an arm around Dylan’s shoulders. “You’re in for it now, Lando. Dylan’s a beast on the slopes. Red Bull-sponsored and everything.” “Oh, so I’m not the only sponsored athlete here?” Lando said, his tone light but with a playful edge. It was a miracle Max and Lando hadn’t killed each other yet, being as competitive as they are. Dylan grinned. “Guess not. Maybe we should race to see who’s faster.” “Careful what you wish for, even beat Red Bull this year” Lando shot back.

That night, as wine flowed and the parents went to bed early, the kids stayed up playing cards, laughing over inside jokes, and planning the next day’s ski routes.

—

The next morning, you woke to the sound of muffled voices drifting up from the kitchen and the faint smell of coffee brewing. Dylan was still sound asleep, his arm draped over your waist. Careful not to wake him, you slid out of bed, threw on a sweater, and made your way downstairs.

Max and Lando were already up, bundled in their ski gear, arguing over who would get to claim the fastest run of the day.

"Morning," Lando said, looking up from lacing his boots. His grin was warm and easy, the kind of smile that had been the same since he was a kid.

"Morning," you replied, grabbing a mug of coffee and leaning against the counter. "You two sound like you're gearing up for a war, not a ski day."

"It is a war," Max declared dramatically, waving a spatula he’d been using to flip pancakes. "Do you remember the incident of 2016?"

"How could I forget?" you said, laughing. "Lando sulking for hours after you beat his time."

"Exactly. Redemption arc starts today," Lando shot back, a playful glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. It was moments like these—carefree and full of banter—that reminded you why these trips meant so much.

After breakfast, you, Dylan, and the rest of the group gathered outside, ready to hit the slopes. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the snow pristine under the morning sun. The energy was contagious, with everyone laughing and joking as they strapped into their skis or boards.

You and Lando split from the main group, both opting for skis while the others took their boards, eager to get tips from Dylan.

“Still as bad at snowboarding as you were at 12?” you teased as the two of you rode the lift up the mountain.

“Not everyone can be a prodigy like you,” Lando quipped, pretending to be offended. “Besides, I’d rather stick to what I’m good at—like beating you down this run.”

“You wish,” you shot back, nudging his arm as the lift slowed.

When you reached the top, it was as if no time had passed at all. Skiing with Lando had always been your thing, a tradition as old as the ski trips themselves. You raced down the slope, weaving between trees and laughing like kids again. At the bottom, you both collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning.

“Still got it,” Lando said, brushing snow off his jacket.

“I let you win,” you replied, but your smile gave you away.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, lying back in the snow.

“What, losing to me?” Lando teased, throwing a handful of snow in your direction.

You took a break at a skilodge for drinks, glad it wasn’t crowded, texting the rest of the group to join them if they were close.

“It’s so weird how we haven’t actually caught up properly since Abu Dhabi,” you said, getting comfortable and sipping your drink.

— Abu Dhabi december 8 2024

The club was electric—music pulsing through the air, bodies packed tight, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks mingling with the faint scent of expensive cologne. It was the kind of night where everything felt larger than life, McLaren world championship, even as it blurred at the edges.

Lando wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he’d had. Enough that the world tilted slightly, enough that his usual sharp instincts were dulled to a pleasant fuzziness. He wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just letting himself float with the energy of the room.

That’s when he saw her.

She was by the bar, her hair catching the lights in a way that felt achingly familiar. Without even realizing it, his feet carried him toward her. The closer he got, the more the resemblance struck him.

“Hey” he called softly as he approached.

The girl turned, and for a moment, he was convinced it was her. But then she smiled—wide, flirtatious, not the kind of smile she would have given him—and he blinked, the illusion shattering.

It wasn't her. Not exactly. But the resemblance was uncanny enough to send a strange shiver through him.

Still, they started talking. She was funny in a way that felt effortless, her voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music. It wasn’t long before they moved to the dance floor, their movements fluid, fueled by alcohol and the frenetic energy of the night.

Somewhere in the haze of music and lights, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but intoxicating, her lips soft and eager. For a moment, Lando let himself sink into it, into the rush of the night, the distraction she provided. But something far away tugged at the edge of his drunken consciousness.

“Lando!”

He pulled back sharply, turning to see Max weaving through the crowd toward him. His expression was one of mild exasperation but mostly confusion.

“Mate,” Max said, his voice slightly slurred, though his amusement was clear. He looked from Lando to the girl, then back again, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, putting his hands up in the air, suddenly self-defensive.

Max gestured at the girl, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you were kissing my sister! She looks like my sister. Like, exactly like my sister. But—” He looked at her again, his grin faltering. “Also not. It’s weird, mate.”

The girl frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, rude.”

“No offense,” Max said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re gorgeous, but I mean, come on.” He turned to Lando, shaking his head. “How drunk are you right now?”

Lando blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. He looked at the girl again, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Now that Max had pointed it out, the similarities felt too stark, too deliberate, explaining why it had felt weird.

“I wasn’t—” he started, but Max cut him off.

“Relax, mate,” Max said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I get it. Long season, wild night. Just...you know, maybe cool it before you confuse yourself more.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting a drink.” She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing there.

Max watched her go, then turned back to Lando, his grin softening into something more understanding. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando said quickly, still in a confused haze.

Max tilted his head, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “Let’s go find my real sister,” he said, steering Lando toward the other side of the club. “She’s way better company than, uh...that.”

Lando didn’t argue, but as they walked, his thoughts remained tangled. Max was right—the resemblance had been unsettling, bothering him for a moment until Max handed him another tequila shot.

—

Lando smirked. “Well, whose fault is that? You disappeared halfway through the after-party. Left me stranded with Max and his endless tequila shots.”

You laughed, holding your drink in both hands. “I didn’t disappear! I was there—you just didn’t see me because you were busy being... you know, Lando.”

“Excuse me,” he said, mock-offended. “What does that mean?”

“It means you were too busy making rounds like the social butterfly you are. Max told me you didn’t even remember half the night.”

Lando groaned, tipping his head back. “That’s fair. I think I blanked out the moment Christian Horner started karaoke.”

You grinned. “See? That’s why I disappeared. I had better things to do, like chatting with some of the Red Bull team.”

“Ah, fraternizing with the enemy,” Lando teased. “You’re lucky Max didn’t disown you.”

“Oh, Max was fine. But you know what?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was this moment… when I was talking to a certain very famous actor.”

“Who?” Lando asked, curious.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. “Not telling. But for just a second, I thought, Wow, if I weren’t with Dylan, this would be my chance.”

Lando froze mid-sip, raising a brow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Totally kidding,” you said quickly, though the grin didn’t falter. “Kind of. I mean, it’s not every day you get hit on by a Hollywood A-lister.”

Lando set his glass down, leaning forward. “Okay, now you have to tell me who it was.”

“Never,” you said, laughing. “I’ll take that secret to my grave. But don’t worry, Dylan has nothing to worry about. Besides, you were the one getting up to trouble that night.”

“Trouble?” he asked innocently.

You gave him a knowing look. “You know, with that girl who looked like me.”

Lando’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, come on. Max won’t let me live that down. And for the record, I wasn’t the one who said she looked like you. He did.”

“Still, Lando,” you said, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “That’s a bit weird, even for you.”

“Hey, I was drunk,” he defended, running a hand through his hair. “And she didn’t look that much like you.”

“She could’ve been my long-lost triplet!”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I wasn’t exactly seeing straight. You can blame Max and his tequila shots for the whole situation.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. But if Max thinks you’re weird, you know it’s bad.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “Remind me why I put up with you again?”

“Because you love me,” you quipped, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clinking his glass with yours. You settled back into your seats, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, both of you enjoyed, relaxed, content and tired after skiing.

—

Let me know what you think!!

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fixyourwritinghabits · 1 year ago

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How to Tell If That Post of Advice Is AI Bullshit

Right, I wasn't going to write more on this, but every time I block an obvious AI-driven blog, five more clutter up the tags. So this is my current (April 2024) advice on how to spot AI posts passing themselves off as useful writing advice.

No Personality - Look up a long-running writing blog, you'll notice most people try to make their posts engaging and coming from a personal perspective. We do this because we're writers and, well, we want to convey a sense of ourselves to our readers. A lot of AI posts are straight-forward - no sense of an actual person writing them, no variation in tone or text.

No Examples - No attempts to show how pieces of advice would work in a story, or cite a work where you could see it in action. An AI post might tell you to describe a person by highlighting two or three features, and that's great, but it's hard to figure out how that works without an example.

Short, Unhelpful Definitions - A lot of what I've seen amount to two or three-sentence listicles. 'When you want to write foreshadowing, include a hint of what you want foreshadowed in an earlier chapter.' Cool beans, could've figured that out myself.

SEO/AI Prompt Language Included - I've seen way too many posts start with "this post is about..." or "now we will discuss..." or "in this post we will..." in every single blog. This language is meant to catch a search engine or is ChatGPT reframing the prompt question. It's not a natural way of writing a post for the average tumblr user.

Oddly Clinical Language - Right, I'm calling out that post that tried to give advice on writing gay characters that called us "homosexuals" the entire time. That's a generative machine trying to stay within certain parameters, not an actual person who knows that's not a word you'd use unless you were trying to be insulting or dunking on your own gay ass in the funniest way possible.

Too Perfect - Most generative AI does not make mistakes (this is how many a student gets caught trying to use it to cheat). You can find ways to make it sound more natural and have it make mistakes, but that takes time and effort, and neither of those are really a factor in these posts. They also tend to have really polished graphics and use the same format every time.

Maximized Tags (That Are Pointless) - Anyone who uses more than 10 one-word tags is a cop. Okay, fine, I'm joking, but there's a minimal amount of tags that are actually useful when promoting a post. More tags are not going to get a post noticed by the algorithm, there is no algorithm. Not everyone has to use their tags to make snarky comments, but if your tags look like a spambot, I'm gonna assume you're a spambot.

No Reblogs From The Rest of Writblr - I'm always finding new Writblr folks who have been around for awhile, but every real person I've seen reblogs posts from other people. We've all got other stuff to do, I'm writing this blog to help others and so are they, the whole point of tumblr is to pass along something you think is great.

While you'll probably see some variation in the future - as people get wise to obviously generated text, they'll try to make it look less generated - but overall, there's still going to be tells to when something is fake.

I don't have any real advice for what to do about this (other than block those blogs, which is what I do). Like most AI bullshit, I suspect most of these blogs are just another grift, attempting to build large follower counts to leverage or sell something to in the future. They may progress past these tattletale features, but I'm still going to block them when I see them. I don't see any value in writing advice compiled from the work of better writers who put the effort in when I can just go find those writers myself.

#writblr #AI Bullshit #The State of Things These Days

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imaginespazzi · 10 months ago

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Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance.

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away.

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night.

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily.

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved.

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else.

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone.

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?”

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around.

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet.

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late.

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard.

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave.

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay.

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months.

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question.

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away.

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter.

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart.

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine.

Until she’s not.

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine.

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck.

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down.

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out.

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers.

“What?”

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home.

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind.

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight.

April 2033

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age.

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word.

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her.

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen.

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother.

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes.

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room.

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it.

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse.

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too.

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever.

“Why would this be about Clémence?”

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again.

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown.

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen.

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks.

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?”

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave.

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off.

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had.

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There��s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years.

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown.

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again.

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it.

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp.

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could, “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze.

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever.

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too.

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back.

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk.

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug.

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face.

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs.

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests.

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women.

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins.

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking.

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world.

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette.

“Clém-” Azzi sighs.

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home.

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand.

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence.

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip.

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless.

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up.

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly.

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently.

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns.

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door.

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles.

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand.

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally.

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously.

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much.

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound.

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells.

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right.

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi.

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first.

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs.

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice.

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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undertalethingems · 2 years ago

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Unexpected Guests Chapter 10: Page 17

First / Previous / Next

Someone let Undyne get a driver's license, and she's made that Gaster's problem. And just in time too--Toriel's car won't be going anywhere except maybe through the map anytime soon. How do you even write an insurance claim for graphics errors...?

Oh man, finally got to some things I've been looking forward to drawing for a long time! Toriel's glitched-out car and Undyne's arrival have been pretty clear images in my head for ages, and at last! I could deliver. I hope it was worth the wait :>

Help has arrived at last, but the story continues July 20th! Stay tuned!

#undertale #undertale comic #unexpected guests comic #toriel (undertale)#w.d. gaster #frisk (undertale)#undyne (undertale)#alphys (undertale)#gaster is a non-newtonian fluid #among other more anomalous [non]substances

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pmdobt · 5 months ago

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... And with that, that's the end of Part 1 of Chapter 10! Info about return date and other thangs below the cut.

That's right, if you're out of the loop, Chapter 10 of OBT is long enough that it'll be getting 3 parts total! This chapter is segmented to separate main plot beats from one another, and to give myself a break between each part as I would in a normal length chapter. And as such, it's break time!

I've mentioned in a few places, but OBT will be going on a longer hiatus than the usual 2 weeks. At this point in time, I don't have a specific return date. I do, however, have a rough goal in mind- I'd like to complete the entirety of Part 2 before I return (don't worry, it's considerably shorter than Part 1), so I have buffer to fall back on! I've been slightly burned out working without a buffer these past few months, and I want the chance to rest and work at my own pace without looming deadlines. While I can't offer a specific return date, I can point y'all in the direction of the chapter progress tracker at the top of any page on Comic Fury. Once that tracker hits 100%, you can keep your eyes peeled for a return announcement! (Or I may end the hiatus sooner than that if I'm feeling comfortable with my pace. I hope it'll be before April, but time will tell!)

In the meantime, OBT's ask blog will come back from hiatus with regular posting, so you can still get some juicy OBT content! If you've got a hankering for comics, my original comic Nothing Gold Can Stay will still be updating even with OBT on hiatus. Or if you didn't already know, OBT has another comic site dedicated to shorter one-off stories! In the next few weeks I plan to sprinkle in the yonkomas from book 1 in there.

Can't wait for the hiatus to end? Updates will be continuing on Patreon, where I'll post pages as they're completed! $5+ patrons get access to 15 pages ahead of schedule, while $15+ patrons will get whatever full buffer I have available. But as always, I appreciate all support, monetary or not! Things are gonna get juicy, and I hope you all are looking forward to it.

#on borrowed time comic #pmd #nuzlocke #alolan vulpix #vulpix #shinx #luxio #meowth #nidorina #champion interlude #champion interlude i

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rafesbabyg1rl · 8 months ago

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The Watcher ~ Part Two

Part One, Part Three

Summary: Rafe Cameron x Reader, Stalker!Rafe x Pogue!Reader Your parents work late on Friday nights, which you spend alone. Except you haven't been alone in a long time, not that you know of at least. Rafe has watched for years, he's very good at it. His idea of staying an anonymous stalker is ruined when you catch him in your bedroom one Friday night. Rafe has to figure out how to fix his mistake before he loses the only thing that makes his life worth living. After you find the surprise he had left for you, you choose to believe that his threats were empty and try to turn him in. But, your plans are interrupted and you take an unexpected visit to Tannyhill.

Warnings: Rafe stalks reader...that's literally the plot. Strong & descriptive language, suggestive themes, death threat(?), manipulation, kidnapping (?). If I missed anything from this part that I should include in the warnings, please let me know!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Part Two is here!! I know this chapter is shorter than the previous, but I figured it's better to get what I had out. Also...I'm not sure if I like where this is going, so please share your thoughts about this part and ideas for future parts. Thank you all for the support on the first part of this story. Especially with this being my first work I've published on tumblr, I am very pleasantly surprised with how everyone has reacted to it. So, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!!

CREDITS: The foundation of this fic was heavily inspired by/ based off of one of @faiszt 's bots on character ai. So, if you like this and you like character ai, I greatly suggest that you check out the bot!

The blinding morning light shines into your room through your curtains. You sit up and rub your eyes. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand which currently reads: 10:34 am. Those sleeping pills really worked, you think. Your parents are already at the restaurant, probably just getting over with the morning rush.

Your eyes begin to focus, your brows furrow as your eyes land on one of the posts of your footboard. You lean forward to grab the pair of panties you had just worn yesterday which are hanging from your bedpost. You’re pretty sure you had put these in your hamper last night and wait, why are they sticky…? You wonder, you examine them and come to the realization of what it is. Immediately you toss them away, that was not from you. It was your stalker, it had to be. Of course, the first night you spend alone since four weeks ago and he already breaks in. And he does this? You think about his words, “tell anyone and I’ll come back and fuckin’ kill you”, shivers roll down your spine.

You hadn’t even had time to realize how horny you had been when you had woken up; and now that you have you feel so wrong. But your dream…oh god your dream. You can still remember it vividly, even more so the longer you think about it; you can see the face of the man who fucked you stupid in your dream. You know who it was, who your subconscious mind let you fuck while you slept. It was your stalker.

Without another thought, you’re in the shower scrubbing the shame and disgust from your skin—or at least attempting to. When you feel somewhat satisfied, which also happens to be when the water begins to run cold, you finally get out. Wrapping a plush towel around your freshly clean body, you lean over the bathroom sink and wipe the condensation from the mirror leaving just enough space to see yourself. Before the glass fogs back up you’re able to see a small part of what appears to be a bruise poking out from underneath the towel wrapped around your chest. You lean in closer using one hand to re-wipe the mirror and using the other to pull your towel down past your boobs. Looking back at the bruised area on your chest, you can see that the closer you look at it, the more it looks like a hickey. You just about stumble backwards at the realization.

You’ve had enough. After you quickly toss on some clothes, you grab your keys off your dresser with a shaky hand. You rush out towards your car and get inside, pulling out of your driveway carelessly and speeding off. When you arrive at your destination, you take a few moments to rethink this plan. You have to do this. You can’t keep living with some creep sneaking in your bedroom and touching you as you sleep. You twist the keys in the ignition and pull them out, you confidently strut towards the entrance of the building. When you feel the vibration of your phone in your pocket you pause, sighing as you reach back to take it out. When you read the random number, with the same Outer Banks area code as you, your brows furrow. Typically you wouldn’t answer a call from an unknown number, but something in you is telling you to answer. As you press the green button and bring your phone to your ear, you glance up at the building you were about to enter which reads, ‘Kildare County Sheriff’s Office’.

“Hello?” You ask warily.

After a few long seconds, the person on the other side of the line answers you. “Stop.” The man’s voice sends familiar chills down your spine.

“Excuse me?” You respond, your voice audibly shaky. “Who…who is this?”

“C’mon pup, you already forgot what I sound like? It’s already been that long?” Your eyes widen at the realization of who this voice belongs to. You’ve heard it one other time, well one time that you remember.

As your head darts around the parking lot looking for your stalker, your voice comes out in a tone that easily betrays you, revealing your fear, “No…no…what the hell do you want?”

Rafe smirks from his truck as he watches you from afar. “I want you to turn around and get back in your car, m’kay princess? And I highly suggest you do what I want.”

“Or what? What’s stopping me from walking in? Or from yelling for help?” You take a step closer to the building’s entrance.

“Stubborn, stubborn girl…” the man chuckles, “If you don’t get back into your fucking car right now, you’re gonna really fuckin’ wish you had just listened to me. I’m gonna get what I want no matter what, baby. You’re mine.” And with that, Rafe hangs up the phone, still watching you from a distance.

As much as you want to just run into the building and beg for help, you know that unfortunately since you’re a pogue, the cops aren’t going to believe a single word that comes from your mouth. In their minds, all pogues are liars and thieves. And since you don’t have the slightest clue on who the man you saw in your bedroom is, you figure there’s not much they’d be able to do even if they did believe you. So you reluctantly turn back to your car and get inside. The moment your door shuts you inside, your phone buzzes yet again with another call. It’s coming from the same number, but this time you don’t answer. This was your second mistake.

Rafe’s already pissed off. You went against his rules, you didn’t listen to him, none of this will work if you don’t listen. He thought he had been threatening enough that you’d behave, but clearly you need another scare. You need to be taught that disobeying him does nothing but hurt you more. When you don’t answer the phone when you definitely know it’s him calling, this is just the cherry on top; the icing on the cake. Rafe is fuming.

You drive out of the parking lot, breath heavy as you stay on high alert–searching for him. A truck suddenly pulls behind you, tailing right on your ass. You can’t see through the truck's front windshield due to the dark tint. You being paranoid, step on the gas and speed up a bit, well exceeding the speed limit. A few quick seconds pass by and you jump at the sound of sirens. It doesn’t take long for you to check your rearview mirror and realize that the sirens are coming from the truck behind you, which is flashing its red and blue lights. You let out a breath of relief. You’re being pulled over yet you’re relieved because it means you aren’t being trailed by your stalker. The feeling is short lived as you flick your signal on and pull off to the side of the road. You roll your window down and shut off the engine.

The officer approaches you and goes through the typical routine and you try to calm your nerves. All sound is drowned out as you get lost in your thoughts.

“Ma’am?”, the officer repeats. “Do you know why I’ve pulled you over today?”

The sharp and unintentionally threatening voice of the deputy snaps you out of wherever the hell it was that your mind had taken you to. “Yes, sorry sir, I…I was going over the speed limit.” You submit, wanting to get this over with. You can’t help but worry what your stalker would think if he saw this, he’d probably think you’re turning him in. But, you’re not. Really this whole thing was a misunderstanding, but you can’t explain that to the cop.

“And why is that?” He questions you ever further, his gaze staring at you intensely. You get nervous and want to look away, but you worry that might make you look guilty of something. You’ve been pulled over before, it’s not usually a big deal for you. However you’re just so goddamn nervous and need this moment to be over. You feel like you’ve done something wrong; like you’re hiding something. But you aren’t.

“I–I thought…I just got distracted sir, wasn't thinking about speed. I apologize for the inconvenience.” You catch yourself, technically you aren’t lying; you just aren’t explaining why you were distracted. The threatening words of your stalker still echo around your head. The deputy gives a small lecture as he writes up a ticket for you. Once he gets back into his truck and drives off, you rest your head back against the seat and let out the breath you’ve been holding. When you start your car back up and finally open your eyes, you look straight out across the road. You can see a tall man leaning against a truck parked across the road, staring right at you. The familiar grin on his face has you sick to your stomach.

After making direct eye contact with him, you pull off the side of the road and do an illegal U-turn so that you’re heading in the opposite direction, leaving the man behind. You know that he’s following you, so you drive around aimlessly until you get another call from the same unknown number. You want to decline, but you’re too afraid to face the consequences that might follow.

“What do you want?” You ask, voice full of faux confidence. The only thing you hear on the other side of the line is a heavy breath that causes your skin to become full of goosebumps.

After you’ve had a few moments to panic, he finally speaks, “Keep driving”. His words are not said lightly. This is undoubtedly a command, not an option.

“Keep driving to where?” You stammer with nervousness.

“Tannyhill.” He replies strictly.

“Tannyhill?” You question before being able to stop yourself. You can’t help the attitude that slips into your voice. When a few more moments of silence pass, you get more and more anxious for his response. “Hello…?” You ask quietly, wondering if you lost connection. Still nothing. “Hello?” You ask again with more volume. After another minute or two, you hear the phone beep; the call disconnects.

Why the hell does he want you to go to Tannyhill? It doesn’t make any sense. But you don’t exactly have a choice. He’s following you either way and it’s not like he doesn’t know where you live…and just about everything about your life. So, it’s probably best to just play along and obey his commands.

When you get close to the general destination, your phone rings with yet another call. You answer, already knowing who it's from. This time you don’t speak first, you wait to hear what he has to say. It takes a few moments, almost like he’s trying to wait long enough that you’ll talk. The silence starts to get unbearably awkward, but your mind is set on waiting for him to speak and Rafe doesn’t have the time to wait; having to give you directions and all. When he finally talks he doesn’t greet you. His voice breaking the silence startles you as he instructs you with the directions to get wherever it was he was forcing you to go.

“Wait…turn left h-here?” You ask, confused at his directions. You had missed the beginning of what he said since you had to collect yourself after being frightened.

He sighs in impatience, “No dammit, the next one. Were you not listening?”

“I…no I-I was listening–” you stumble over your words as you turn onto the street he wanted you to.

“Bullshit. You need to learn how to fucking listen to me, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, trying to focus on remembering the directions he gave you, it only serves to piss him off even further. “Huh?! Don’t you?!” He shouts into the phone as he follows behind you.

You whine in fear, “No..I can listen. I promise I can listen to you.” You practically beg. “J-just tell me where to go?”

Rafe directs you to his house, which you of course recognize as the Cameron’s mansion. You’ve heard about the Cameron��s, but you wouldn’t be able to point them out in a crowd or anything. Besides from the father, Ward Cameron, whom you’ve seen on the news several times. Is he a Cameron? As you park in the large driveway, you rack your brain trying to recall the name of the Cameron son.

His truck parks behind you, blocking your car in. He quickly kills the engine and exits his vehicle. You don’t notice him walking up to you until he’s yanking your car door open and pulling you out by the arm.

“R-rafe?” You mumble insecurely. He pauses to look at you, chuckling at your words. He mutters a quick ‘smart girl’ before retightening his grip on your arm and continuing to pull you into the large mansion. You start to cry, getting overwhelmed as you imagine the many possible scenarios that may occur. “P-please,” you manage to choke out. “What do you want?”

Unlike the last time you cried to him, this time he doesn’t stop. He drags you up one level of the large, spiral staircase; pulling you into his bedroom. As soon as you see the bed, you’re already feeling it beneath your back when he shoves you down just a few seconds later. As if you hadn’t already embarrassed yourself enough, you can’t help the tears that begin to stream down your flushed cheeks at a flooding rate.

“Wait…no, please, please!” The way you keep shouting and choking back sobs causes you to gag from how worked up you’ve gotten yourself. All the Cameron son does in response is lean back to get a full view of you as a smug grin spreads across his face. “Please, I—oh god, I’m gonna be sick…” You mumble, which is quickly followed by another gag that interrupts your constant sobs.

Rafe snakes his hand up from your arm to your hair, wrapping his first tightly around a large section of it. He tugs on your hair to force your head to look up at him, causing a small whine to escape your lips. “Shhh…baby, shhh…” He mumbles, his ‘worried’ tone working to oppose his previous amused expression. “Calm down, alright? Calm down. Ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want, m’kay pretty girl?” The way he says that last part…you’ve never heard his voice sound like that before. You didn’t even think he was capable of talking in that tone. He sounds like he might actually truly care about you. You’re relieved; maybe even a bit…comforted by the fact that he might be telling the truth about not doing anything you don’t want. Well, besides having you basically held captive in his home.

“What…what are you gonna do?” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to catch your breath so you can calm down.

“I just wanna talk to you baby. Alright?” Rafe mumbles your name into your ear, allowing you to feel his hot breath against the side of your face. Immediately you’re taken back to the first time you had met him, in your bedroom a few weeks back. You try to push that aside and bring yourself back to the present; the memory only brings back the feelings of complete and utter fear you experienced at that time. Not that the present was any better, hell, it was worse.

Hesitantly, you nod. He waits a few minutes to speak; waiting for you to catch your breath. Once you’re calmer, at least on the outside, he finally starts to talk. “I wanted to talk about my proposition…” He looks down at you, bringing his hand up to cautiously run through your hair. “Last time I got cut short…remember that?”

You nod. “I…I tried to warn you my parents would come home. I-I swear I didn’t tell them anything.” You say frantically, trying to prove your innocence.

“Hey, shh…it’s okay babe. I know. I know.” Rafe speaks slowly, his eyes never leaving your lips. He pauses to momentarily dart his tongue out to wet his parted lips. “I know. You haven’t told…you’ve been a good girl and listened to me, hm? Haven’t you baby? Haven't you been a good girl?”

You nod frantically. “I…I’d never turn you in…” The false seductiveness in your voice turns him off, if that’s even possible.

He pulls back from you and sighs, “Shut up.” He runs a rough hand over his buzzed head and begins to quickly pace across his bedroom.

“B-but you wanted to talk…” You remind him. The way his attitude was constantly shifting in great amounts had you furrowing your brows as you tried to figure him out.

“Yeah, I do. But not to a goddamn filthy, lying whore.” He retorts, a large grin appearing on his face while he watches your beautiful features move on your face, displaying your thoughts as you take in his words. “Just be yourself alright? I can always tell when you’re not you.” He says almost sincerely. “I want…I need you to want this. Don’t try to pull that fake crap on me ever again, yeah?”

Immediately you nod. “I…yes-”, you stammer, instantly regretting even trying to talk in the first place. Rafe chuckles, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He stops pacing and lets out a long sigh, turning to face you again. His steps pause when he’s standing just before you.

He leans down to whisper in your ear. “I really need this to work, okay…? This is good, this can be good for the both of us. I can help you; we can help each other, baby.” A silent tear rolls down your cheek from the fear of what’s to come. “I know…I know I messed up, alright? I know. But, you don’t have to be scared, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.” He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Please…I just wanna go home, let me go home!” Your cries are ugly, and very, very real. The fear in your voice only worries him. Worries him that you may never get past this. But you have to. You don’t have another option. And he really, really doesn’t want to have to hurt you. That was never his intention.

“But you are home, baby. You are home.” He mutters as his fingers brush over your cheeks, smearing your tears. Your breath hitches at his words and your eyes slowly move up to meet his. This cannot be happening. Why is this happening? You think.

“No…please I…just let me go home. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t. I’ll…I’ll never tell anyone about any of this okay, I’ll never say anything about you.”

“I can’t do that, baby…you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I swear, I’ll never ever breathe a word of this to anyone.” You say enticingly.

Rafe sits down besides you, causing the mattress to dip and make you lean towards him. He puts an arm around you and his hand lands on the back of your head, pulling it into his chest.

He leans down to speak into your ear while his hand pets over your hair as you cry into his chest. “Because I need you baby, I need you. And I need you to let me take care of you, yeah? I know…I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Just trust me okay…we’re gonna be so good together baby.” He tugs at your hair, gently guiding your face to look up at him. “Just listen to me and nothing will happen, I don’t wanna have to…do anything. I just need to know that you’ll listen to what I say.” Immediately you nod, going along with what he says. He tugs on your hair harder, eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips. “Ah ah, I know you can talk. You’re a big girl, now fucking act like it.” He says forcefully.

“I-I’m gonna listen, I’ll listen to you, just please, please don’t hurt me.”

He smiles softly as his eyes dart across your face, unable to pick a feature to focus on, everything about you is just too damn perfect. “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you, not as long as you listen.” His grip loosens on your hair again. “But you’ll be begging for it soon enough.” Rafe’s whispers are enough to make your sobs start again; in which he pulls your head back into his chest. Your tears soak into his shirt as you have no choice but to cry into him.

To be continued...

Thank you for reading! I hope this was enjoyable. This part took quite a bit for me to finish, since life has been a bit busy and I haven't had much time to plan or write. I apologize for the short chapter, I'll try my best to make up for it with the next part! I never really feel done with anything and as I said before I'm not sure if I'm a fan of this part or not. So, if you have literally ANY feedback, questions, or suggestions, PLEASE feel free to let me know! I don't really have any solid plans for this fic so if you have any ideas I just might include them in future parts. And there's not much I won't write!

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cakesunflower · 18 days ago

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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 23

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

A/N: oh my good lord i am sooo sorry for how long it's taken for me to update this i've been down the pitt/mohabbot rabbit hole and im still there but i got out long enough to write this chapter oh boy oh boy im sorry

When Rafe feels someone come stand next to him at the bar, the last person he expects for it to be is John B.

Rafe leans against the bar on his elbow, waiting for one of the bartenders to get their drinks, when John B joins his side. But while Rafe’s pose remains at ease, he can just sense the tension in John B’s body as he leans forward with his arms crossed on the bar. Rafe arches an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything, easily noticing the tic in John B’s jaw, his gaze ahead since he doesn’t look at Rafe just yet.

Things felt civil enough when he and Isla had arrived; he and John B hadn’t shook hands or anything, but it was still progress, in Rafe’s opinion. The fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give a shit about the old Kook versus Pogue mentality that he had lived in for years, not when having that kind of thought process would mean he would lose Isla. She’s far more important to him than old rivalries, and he’s more than ready to move past them and make nice with her—and, in turn, his sister’s—friends if it meant the stress would fall off Isla.

So, instead of running his mouth and antagonizing the situation like his old self would, Rafe simply quietly, and patiently, waits for John B to speak first.

It doesn’t take him long.

“You get it, right, why it’s been hard for us to accept Isla and. . . You,” John B says, speaking haltingly like he was trying to find the right words as he drags his gaze to Rafe’s.

Briefly pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Rafe exhales sharply through his nose. “I get why you guys have a hard time looking past our shit history. I don’t get how it was easy for you to ice Isla out like that,” Rafe replies. He’s trying to be civil, he really is. But then he thinks of how heartbroken Isla has been, how many tears she has shed, and Rafe is filled with the primal, visceral urge to protect her from anything and anyone that could even potentially hurt her. And whatever his history with the Pogues, he hates that her own friends had been the ones to inflict that kind of pain on her.

Though, it’s not surprising. It’s the people you love the most that have the greatest potential to hurt you.

John B’s jaw works and Rafe can tell he’s frustrated. “It wasn’t easy,” John B argues, and when Rafe’s expression remains unconvinced, John B lets out a huff. “It wasn’t,” he insists, his spine straightening. Rafe still has a few inches on him. On all of them, really. “I—Look, it’s not right how we reacted. I know that. But we all just felt. . . Blindsided by your relationship, alright? With everything in our past, none of us really understood why you of all people.”

If Rafe had thinner skin, he’d be more insulted by John B’s words. He won’t lie to himself—it does sting a bit that her friends took one look at his relationship with Isla and immediately wrote it off simply because of him. He gets it and, not for the first time, he regrets all of the shit that has gone down between him and Isla’s friends. The unnecessary fights, provocations, the put-downs. Sure, it was all mutual, each side dishing an equal amount, but it certainly doesn’t gain Rafe any brownie points with the Pogues.

“But—” John B continues, pulling Rafe out of his thoughts as he takes a look at the other guy. John B fiddles the sleeve of his suit jacket, his jaw working. “I miss Isla. We all do. We’re not us without her.”

Rafe shakes his head, releasing an almost disbelieving chuckle. “She’s right there, man,” he says, vaguely gesturing in the direction where she sits with Sarah. “She’s been waiting for you all to get over it, or at the very least, fucking talk to her instead of shutting her out.” He thanks the bartender who places their drinks in front of them, and Rafe pushes one of the glasses towards John B, who looks at the glass briefly before lifting his gaze to meet Rafe’s pointed one. “If you all miss her as much as you’re saying, then do something about it.” Rafe grabs two of the glasses, while John B also takes the one for Sarah. “And, for shit’s sake, get JJ to take back that stupid ultimatum. Get through to him, will you?”

It pisses him off just thinking about it and based on the radio silence Isla has been facing from JJ, Rafe has no doubt he was serious about giving Isla those choices. He has seen the way it weighs on Isla even if she tries to push it away with smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes always. Rafe knows all of her smiles, each of them beautiful in their own way, but it hurts to see the sadness in that specific smile—the one she forces because the pain of her strained relationship with her friends makes her hold back.

“Yeah,” John B responds with a sigh, nodding when Rafe eyes him. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. All of ’em.”

Rafe nods stiffly. While he’s glad that John B will finally get their group to get their heads out of their asses, he’s still a little annoyed that John B didn’t do it already—that it took a conversation with Rafe to kick his ass into gear. Maybe he just needed to see Rafe and Isla together to realize they aren’t fucking around, that their relationship has nothing to do with her friends, and make John B see the truth of it. Whatever. He wishes they just listened to Isla, took her word for it.

He and John B return to the table and Rafe isn’t surprised that Isla and Sarah are eyeing them both curiously, a touch of worry in Isla’s green eyes. Rafe gives her a reassuring smile as they approach them, setting the glasses down on the table as he returns to his seat next to her.

Isla’s hand finds his knee, leaning closer as she whispers, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he tells her truthfully with a smile. “All good, baby.” He takes her hand that’s on his knee and laces their fingers together, feeling her relax under his touch. Rafe presses a kiss to the back of her hand and is relieved to see the smile that curves at her lips, leaning into him more as Rafe mirrors her smile.

From behind her, he sees John B watching them. Rafe sees the smile on the other man’s face and he takes it as a sign that things between Isla and her friends will be looking up.

Cocktail hour passes uneventfully, with Rafe and sometimes Sarah having to make the rounds as Ward’s kids—plus, there are plenty of people here Rafe works with, too. He doesn’t drag Isla around with him and often catches sight of her talking to John B, the two of them far more relaxed with one another as the night progresses. They all have dinner together once the welcoming and keynote speeches are done, and as the tables are being cleared away, John B excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Sarah is pulled into a conversation with someone Rafe vaguely recognizes and Isla turns in her seat to face him. Rafe mirrors her position to face her as well, legs parted to make space for her, his arms resting on his thighs as his back hunches forward a bit, looking up at her. Not for the first time, he’s struck by how stunning she is, effortlessly so. The dress brings out her green eyes, fitting her perfectly, and his blood thrums with the desperate need to peel it off of her, run his fingers along every dip and curve of her body that he already knows intimately well.

“It’s going well, I’d say,” Isla quips with a smile dancing at the edge of her lips as she looks down at him, as she sits with perfect posture and he’s leaned down, weight on his arms resting on his thighs.

“What is?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Her smile widens a bit, showing off dimples he’s brushed his fingers along countless times already. It’s a breath of fresh air, every time he sees her smile. Drives him crazy. “You and John B being in the same room,” she tells him quietly, like it’s a secret between the two of them. “I’m glad you two decided not to give me and Sarah heart burn.”

“Anythin’ for our ladies, I guess,” Rafe replies with a teasing grin, fingers idly running up and down the length of her calves, one of them exposed thanks to the delicious slit of her dress.

Isla huffs out a laugh, her jewelry glimmering under the lights. “What were you two talking about? At the bar?” she asks curiously, fingers idly playing with his tie.

“He told me how he missed you,” Rafe tells her truthfully, watching as Isla’s eyes widen slightly. It kills him, a little, at the idea that that’s so surprising to her. “They all miss you. And I told him there’s a very easy way to fix this, and that he should just talk to the rest of your friends because everything about this is stupid.”

Her lips tremble with the effort of suppressing her laugh, shaking her head as her gaze softens, fond and warm. “I appreciate it,” she says and the way her eyes shine, Rafe knows she means it.

Rafe smiles, giving into the urge to kiss her as he leans towards her, only to be interrupted by Sarah coming to stand next to their chairs. “Hey, sorry,” Sarah says, getting both of their attention as they look up at her. Sarah shoots Rafe a concerned look, and it has his back straightening. “I—John B went to the bathroom a while ago and hasn’t come back. Can you go check?”

Rafe blinks. “You want me to check in on your boyfriend. . . In the bathroom?” he asks slowly, face scrunching up.

Sarah bounces from one leg to another. “I saw Topper head in that direction and I—just—can you please?”

Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, suddenly understanding Sarah’s apprehension. He wouldn’t put it past Topper to corner John B in the bathroom and, frankly, Rafe is pretty sure John B can hold his own. But then he sees Sarah’s, and now Isla’s, worried expressions, and he’s on his feet without much thought. “I’ll check,” he tells them, earning grateful smiles from them both before he turns to walk out of the hall.

He smooths down his tie as he strides out of the room, leaving the party behind as he heads towards the bathrooms. Rafe’s jaw works at the idea of what he might be walking into, though he has a pretty good idea if Topper did, in fact, go to the bathrooms to confront John B, what Rafe is about to see. Topper, it seems, doesn’t know when to quit, and while Rafe didn’t bat an eye when they were friends, it pisses him off now.

Especially when he opens the door to the men's room and sees, unsurprisingly, Topper getting up in John B’s face.

Rafe’s voice is casual as he says, “Any closer and you’ll be kissin’ him, Top.” John B’s gaze meets his around Topper as the bathroom door swings shut behind Rafe. “What the hell are you doing?”

Topper doesn’t turn to look at him. “Nothing we haven’t done before, man,” he answers, his gaze no doubt fixed on John B. It’d be a bet Rafe wins, he knows, as he stares at the back of Topper’s blond head. “What, you here to defend your new friend?” he asks with a sneer that has Rafe rolling his eyes.

Rafe tilts his head slightly. There’s no one else in the bathroom, as far as he can tell. “No. I’m here to make sure you don’t get your ass kicked which, honestly, I don’t really give much of a shit about. But if I were you, I’d back up.”

He notes the tension lining Topper’s shoulders under his suit jacket before he takes a step away from John B and turns to face Rafe. “What, are you two besties now? You’re gonna defend him?” Topper tilts his head. “Weren’t you the one who said he wasn’t good enough for your sister or your family?”

Rafe doesn’t wince or flinch at the words he had spoken in the past being thrown back in his face. Frankly, he has said worse things to John B’s face. Behind Topper, John B doesn’t look upset, either. Whatever Topper’s goal was, he misses it as Rafe levels a flat stare at him. “Yeah, and I also said I’d prefer Sarah dating you over him.” Rafe shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Clearly, I said a lot of shit I was wrong about.”

That, he notices, takes John B by surprise a bit, his eyebrows rising behind Topper. But Rafe is being honest—now that he knows how much Sarah loves John B, and how much that love is returned, he regrets ever questioning their relationship. Now that he has Isla in his life and has gotten a taste of the kind of happiness that comes from being with someone you know, deep in your bones, you are meant to be with, Rafe would never want that to be taken away from his sister.

He thinks he might go crazy if it was taken away from him.

“Unbelievable,” Topper laughs as he gapes at Rafe, bewildered and mocking as he walks over to him. “You’ve become one of them now, is that it? You fuck a Pogue long enough and you turn into one?” His smile is more of a sneer. “Just like your sister, huh?”

Ice freezes over Rafe’s blood as his temper simmers, a protective sort of rage seeping through him. His voice stays eerily steady as he says, “Better watch your mouth, Top. I don’t think John B or I take it too well when people talk about our girls like that.”

He sees how that triggers, so to speak, Topper. The idea of Rafe accepting John B as Sarah’s boyfriend, even though they’ve been together for a year, pisses Topper off, clearly. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing with fists curling at his sides. And maybe the guy is stupider than Rafe could see before, because he steps up to Rafe, obviously trying to be intimidating and falling short. Rafe would laugh, if it weren’t for Topper musing, “Maybe I should get myself a Pogue.” He flicks the front of Rafe’s tie, widening his eyes in feigned wonder. “Hey, you think Isla would be interested in taking turns? Maybe I can see what the hype’s about, since Sarah’s been pretty used throu—”

It was Topper’s own fault, really, for thinking he’d be able to finish that sentence without taking a hit.

The adrenaline numbs Rafe to the pain in his knuckles right after it collides with Topper’s jaw. The blond stumbles back and John B locks his arms around him, pinning Topper’s own arms to the side as he struggles and thrashes against John B’s grip, but it’s tight and unrelenting. John B’s expression is hard, lips curled in a sneer as he prevents Topper from swinging back at Rafe.

Topper’s lip is bleeding, his teeth having cut it upon Rafe’s fist’s impact, and Rafe steps towards him, flexing his fingers and feeling the tension and sting as he grips the lapels of Topper’s suit jacket. He sees the anger in Topper’s blue eyes, the curl of his bleeding lip as he’s forced to still in his struggle. Rafe easily towers over him and a primal sort of satisfaction rushes through him at the flicker of fear in Topper’s eyes, rearing back as far as he can, but John B is right there, not giving him much room to cower.

Rafe’s voice is dangerously low, the intent to put Topper’s head through a wall loudly clear in his tone. “Let’s get one thing clear, Thornton—I’m sick of you actin’ as if you’re owed something by everyone. You walk around picking fights with people you think have fucked you over, but you’re only embarrassing yourself.” Rafe’s grip on Topper’s jacket tightens, his blood boiling and pulse rapidly firing. “If you ever think about Isla and Sarah again, I’m going to ruin your fucking life. You won’t be able to show your face in the entire state if you keep this bullshit up. Not even your judge grandpa will be able to save you. You fucking get me?”

Indignation swims in Topper’s eyes, staring at Rafe as if he’s never seen him before. “You’re throwing away seventeen years of friendship for—”

“Yeah,” Rafe says tightly, not bothering to let Topper finish. “I am.”

He lets go of him then, his gaze meeting John B’s behind Topper, who waits a beat before he lets Topper go. Topper shoves away, straightening himself and his suit jacket out, his gaze never straying from Rafe. A trickle of blood leaks from the corner of Topper’s mouth, his perfectly styled hair in slight disarray, which makes Rafe feel more satisfied than it should.

He stares at Topper, though, and Rafe can feel their near two decade long friendship crumbling between them. Topper’s been his longest, oldest friend; they’ve known each other since pre-school, have made countless memories together, raised plenty of hell. Rafe knows that things have been shifting between them as he was becoming more familiar with his feelings for Isla, as the two of them started going out. The whole Kooks versus Pogues mentality seems so far away to him now, and he wishes that the same could be said for Topper.

But it’s abundantly clear that while Rafe has started a new chapter in his life, Topper has fallen far behind.

And it hurts, if he’s being honest, to see their friendship implode. But Rafe also isn’t going to let Topper get away with the shit he spews about his girlfriend and sister. The friendship, despite its longevity, isn’t worth that.

Topper pulls out his handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket, glaring at Rafe as he wipes at the blood on his face. “You’ve lost your damn mind,” he mutters with a shake of his head, moving to walk past him. He throws him and John B another dirty look, sharper towards John B and—more hurt towards Rafe, who swallows down the tightness in his throat. “Fuck this.”

He storms out, the door falling shut behind him, and the bathroom is left in a tense silence. Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, fingers once again flexing at his side as he looks down at them, taking in the harsh redness already forming where the skin broke a bit. Slowly, the tension seeps out of his muscles—very slowly, and the silence of the bathroom is broken when John B speaks up.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he says idly, straightening the front of his shirt and suit jacket as well.

Rafe exhales roughly through his nose. “It was a long time coming,” he corrects with a mutter as he looks at him. He looks fine, but Rafe still asks, “You good, man?”

There’s a flicker of surprise in John B’s dark eyes before it disappears and he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright.” His gaze dips to Rafe’s hand. “What about you? Might need to ice that hand.”

“I’ll live,” Rafe says with a short chuckle before he lifts his chin. The air shifts, not as tense, but he still looks John B in the eye and asks meaningfully, “We good?”

John B stares at him for a beat before he lets out a breath as well, the corners of his lips tipping up in an accepting smile. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

Rafe nods, feeling more relieved than he anticipated, and he and John B leave the bathroom to head back to the party. He doesn’t look to see where Topper scurried off to as he and John B head back to the table. Rafe’s knuckles aren’t bleeding, but they are a bit raw, and he doesn’t have a hope in hiding it because the second they near the table where Isla and Sarah are sitting, his girlfriend immediately clocks the injury.

“What happened?” she asks, alarmed but hushed as she gets to her feet, her hands immediately grasping his—gingerly, her fingers holding his as she looks at the raw knuckles with concern creasing her forehead.

Even Sarah stands up, coming over to them with her eyebrows furrowing together. “It’s not a big deal,” Rafe assures them and despite the tension from earlier, he feels a smile ease onto his face as he gets crowded by his girlfriend and sister.

Sarah shakes her head. “You punched Topper?” she asks, disbelief coloring her tone. And a hint of laughter, if he listens for it.

Isla looks up at him, eyes slightly wide in surprise. He shoots her a flat look that has the corners of her mouth curving up. Before either of them can say anything, a hand appears holding a bag of ice, wrapped in one of the white cloth napkins. All three of their heads follow the hand that leads to John B, who raises his eyebrows at a surprised looking Rafe.

“It’ll help with the swelling,” he says, gaze unwavering, and when Rafe takes it with his uninjured hand, it feels like accepting an olive branch.

“Thanks,” Rafe says genuinely with a dip of his chin, which John B returns, as Rafe places it on his knuckles. His gaze flickers, then, and he catches Isla and Sarah looking between the two of them as if they both grew a second head. When he looks back at John B, the brunette is clearly fighting back a smile, and Rafe finds himself huffing out a laugh as he looks back at a bewildered Isla and Sarah. “You two are gonna dry your eyes out if you don’t blink soon.”

“What is going on.” Sarah asks, though it comes out more as a statement, a demand.

John B drops an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, grinning. “We kissed and made up,” he says with a casual shrug.

It has Rafe snorting out a laugh, surprisingly enough, even as he sucks in a quiet breath when he adjusts the ice on his knuckles. Isla grimaces, still holding his hand from the bottom, as Sarah shakes her head, blinking at Rafe and John B. “I’m so confused.”

Isla cracks a smile in her direction. “Don’t question it.” She looks back at Rafe, her voice quieting, just for him as she looks up at him through long eyelashes and asks, “Are you okay?”

Rafe meets her gaze, the world around them slipping away as he sees the way she searches his eyes. He knows, right then, she doesn’t mean just physically. That she knows what it’s like to be on opposite sides of a friendship, and that something fundamentally has broken between him and Topper. But right now, Rafe can’t make sense of it all.

So he gives her a gentle smile and responds, “Ask me again later?” and, to his relief, she nods after a beat of hesitation.

“Uh, should we leave before Dad finds out you punched someone at this party?” Sarah pipes up, brown eyes darting around the room.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. “If Dad knew what Topper was saying, he wouldn’t be upset.” He blows out a breath through his nose. “But I’m ready to head out,” he adds, glancing at Isla in question, who nods in agreement.

John B smiles. “I know a place we can go.”

*****

If anyone had told Rafe, months ago, that he would be having a beer in John B’s backyard—in the backyard of the Chateau—Rafe would’ve laughed in your face. Maybe said something rude and condescending for even suggesting such a thing.

Yet here he sits, in one of the hammocks even, with a cold beer in his hand and legs spread so Isla could slot hers in the space in between. Through the leaves of the trees around them, Rafe sees the clear dark sky, stars winking in and out of existence as the hammock gently sways under their weight. John B and Sarah are in the next one, their positions mirroring his and Isla’s, and it all feels a little surreal to Rafe.

Inside the Chateau, a few of the lights are on where Big John hangs out. Rafe hadn’t missed the surprise in his eyes from behind his wiry sunglasses when he realized Rafe was accompanying the group of them, but the man had greeted and welcomed him with the same kind of friendliness he always did whenever Rafe happened to see him. Which is a little more than often, given that Big John and Rafe’s dad are friends.

“I’m thinking another boneyard party,” John B muses thoughtfully, his head resting back as he, too, gazes up.

Sarah snorts. “Yeah, because the last one definitely wasn’t broken up by the cops.”

But Isla hums with a smile. “But the last one did have a hand in us getting together,” she says, meeting his gaze.

Rafe grins, remembering that night well. John B looks between them. “Wait, really?”

Isla nods, chuckling. “Remember I said some touron gave me a ride home after we all split up when the cops came?” John B nods and Isla jerks her chin at Rafe. “My knight on a shining motorcycle.”

Sarah feigns a sniff, one hand to her chest and the other wiping a fake tear. “He does have a heart.”

“You’re so funny,” Rafe says sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, but Sarah’s responding laughter has him shaking his head with a small smile of his own. His eyes land on Isla opposite of him and she’s watching him with that gentle smile, one that hints at her dimples, and Rafe’s chest tightens at the sight of her.

Still in her dress, though this time his suit jacket is draped over her shoulders to shield her from the night chill. “It was very sweet,” Isla tells Sarah and John B with a smile before her gaze flicks back to Rafe. She’s looking at him as she tells the couple in the next hammock, “He didn’t have to save my ass, but I’m glad he did.” Rafe’s pulse thumps happily as she nudges her painted toes against his hip where her legs are stretched out next to him. “Who knows if we’d be here if he hadn’t?”

Rafe watches her, unable to see anything or anyone else. “I would’ve found a way,” he replies, the words wrapped in a vow.

Isla’s smile widens, dimple deepening. He loves the sight of them. To his right, he hears John B groan. “Ugh, you were right. They are cute together.”

Both Rafe and Isla look over at them, catching Sarah’s grin and John B’s head shake, though he seems to be hiding his own smile in his next sip of beer. Hearing John B say that clearly delights Isla, green eyes shining in the dark, and Rafe finds himself appreciative of John B’s words, too.

Sarah just grins smugly, triumphantly. “I love being right.”

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rentenier3148 · 3 months ago

Text

Held Together By Memory

Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You both were torn from 1940s Brooklyn and remade into killers. But when memories begin to bleed through, a second chance is ignited.

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: Fluff. Some smut. Angst. Slow burn (?). Some canon divergence for the plot. No use of y/n. Language (sorry Steve)

A.N: I've written fanfics before but that was a long time ago and not on here (wattpad was definitely something in the early 2010s...). I've been feeling inspired lately so I wanted to give it a go again, so this'll be my first time writing in over 10 years!

Chapter 2

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York - 1943

The morning sun slants over the rooftops, catching pavement and lending a glow to even the greyest parts of the city. The neighborhood is already alive with noise—kids playing stickball, radios blaring Benny Goodman, and somewhere down the block, Mrs. Caputo is yelling at her cat.

You're walking fast, your skirt fluttering with every step as you chase after the two silhouettes ahead of you.

"Bucky!" you call out, a little out of breath.

He turns, grinning—his hair slicked back just enough to look cocky, his uniform jacket slung over one shoulder. Steve, thin as a twig beside him, gives you a tired smile.

" Are you followin' us, sweetheart?" Bucky teases, slowing down so you can catch up. Bucky raises his eyebrow, his smirk widening as he tosses his jacket over his other shoulder.

"I'm not following, I'm supervisin'," you say with a sweet, mock-serious tone, reaching out to take his hand.

His fingers Curl around yours like it's the most natural thing in the world. That warmth—rough palms, familiar weight—it sends butterflies through your chest.

Steve chuckles behind you. "She's not wrong. If anyone can keep Buck from flirting with the recruiting nurse, it's you."

Bucky shoots him a look "Hey! I was just bein' polite last time okay?" Then he leans down toward you, voice a little softer. "But... you supervisin' me now? That official?"

The street starts to open up ahead. Just down the block, you can already see the line forming outside the enlistment center. The building looms like a symbol of everything that's about to change.

Bucky's hand tightens around yours—just for a second. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head like you've just knocked the wind out of him—in the best way.

"It is now, Sergeant Barnes," you say with a cheeky little grin, bumping your shoulder into his arm.

He gives you that look—the one he only ever gives you. the one that softens the edge of his cocky smirk and lingers a little too long, like he's memorizing your face even as he laughs.

"You know," he murmurs, lowering his voice so Steve doesn't hear, "if I'm goin' off to war with that in my head... might be the only reason I survive it."

Ahead, the line's moving slowly. Posters flap against the brick walls: "I Want YOU for U.S. Army", "Loose Lips Sink Ships". Every few seconds, the door cracks open and another hopeful soldier walks in—some proud, some scared stiff.

Steve exhales deeply. He looks pale but determines. Bucky squeezes your hand, then lets go as they step up next in line.

Just as Bucky takes that first step forward toward the door, you reach out—fingers brushing over the fabric of his sleeve. He stops instantly, turning back to you like your touch alone carries more weight than the sergeant waiting inside.

His eyes scan your face, and for a second, Brooklyn noise fades. You don't know what to say. there's so much in your chest it's hard to untangle a single sentence.

but before you can get the words out—

"Careful, Buck," Steve pipes up behind him, his voice dry, laced with that quiet Brooklyn humor. "She might be tryin' to get you outta this with those puppy eyes again."

Bucky glances over his shoulder, grinning. "Wouldn't blame her. Look at me—how could she not?"

Steve groans. "If I throw up, I'm blaming both of you."

You laugh through the tightness in your chest. Then you life your gaze to Bucky's, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Promise me you'll come back. I don't care how tired, how bruised, how broken—just come back."

Bucky's smile fades into something real. Something raw. He leans in just slightly, his forehead brushing yours.

"I will. I swear, doll. For you? Always."

The door creaks again. It's their turn.

Bucky lets go. Steve offers you a small, kind nod before stepping through the doorway.

And then—They're gone inside.

✪──────•••──────✪

You lean against the brick wall, sliding down slowly until you're perched on the edge of the curb. You open up your top handle bag and see your cigarette box. You quit a couple days ago and with the anxiety building up inside you, you're tempted.

You close the bag the same time the door behind you shuts again. Another boy walks in. Another maybe never coming out the same.

A presence leans over you, "psst!"

You glance behind you.

It's Virginia "Ginny" Russo—short curls tucked under a scarf, wearing a too-thin coat and scuffed boots. Her eyeliner's smudged like maybe she cried earlier, but her chin's lifted like she's daring the world to say something about it.

She flops down beside you without waiting for an invitation.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks, already lighting it. "Tommy just went in."

You nod, offering a soft smile. "Bucky and Steve too."

Ginny leans her head against the brick. "They all act like it's no big deal. Like they're walking into a bar and not the army."

You give a big sigh, wishing you didn't quit smoking so that you can calm down. "Bucky swore he'd come back."

Ginny didn't quit however, she flicks her cigarette box open and lights up one. She exhales smoke, "Mine did too. Ain't it funny how promises sound easier when you're not on the battlefield yet?"

You glance sideways at Ginny, flicking ash into the gutter.

"Didn't expect Tommy to enlist," you say, genuinely surprised. "He always seemed more like the jukebox-and-pool-hall type. Not exactly the... you know. Rifle and foxhole kind."

Ginny laughs—short and breathy, like it caught her off guard. "You and every damn person on the block." She shakes her head, eyes fixed ahead. "he said it hit him when that telegram came for his cousin. Said he couldn't sit around playin' poker while other people were dying."

You nod slowly, letting the words settle in the space between you.

She glances at you then, eyes narrowing just slightly. "And what about you, sweetheart?" Her voice softens. "How're you holdin' up with Bucky goin' in?"

You hesitate for a moment.

"I'm scared." The words came out before you can overthink them. "Not just for him getting hurt. I'm scared he won't come back the same. That he'll see things that'll change the way he looks at me. Or... that maybe one day he'll stop writing, and I'll be stuck memorizing the last letter like it's gospel."

Ginny's quiet for a beat, then she nudges your arm with her. "Bucky Barnes? Forget it. That boy'd take on the whole war just to keep your name on his tongue."

You try to laugh, but your throat feels tight.

"He held my hand," you murmur, your voice a little distant now. "Right before he went in. And he said he'd come back for me. Swore it."

Ginny looks at you long, like she's weighing your words with her heart.

"Then he will. That's the kinda man he is."

Behind you, the door to the enlistment building creaks again. You both freeze, heads turning. It's not Bucky, Steve or Tommy. Just another boy with shaking hands and a fresh set of papers.

The wait stretches on.

✪──────•••──────✪

After a long while, the door to the enlistment building creaks again.

This time—two figures step out, blinking into the sunlight.

It's them.

You and Ginny lock eyes the moment you spot them—and just like that, you're giggling like schoolgirls caught passing notes in church.

"Quick, act like we weren't just planning weddings and naming future babies," Ginny says, stubbing out her cigarette on the pavement.

"Too late," you grin. "Pretty sure Bucky can smell my heart beating from across the street while Stevie is puking somewhere."

You both straighten your skirts, smooth your hair like it matter, then fall into step together with practiced ease—the kind of walk that says we're calm, composed, not at all the mess we were two minutes ago.

Steve spots you first and gives you a sheepish wave, already loosening the collar of his shirt. He looks pale but proud.

Bucky... his eyes find yours before anything else.

And there it is again—that look. The one where the whole world falls away and it's just the two of you in the middle of a Brooklyn street like something out of a movie reel. The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly.

He's trying to act casual. But his eyes are loud with relief.

"So?" Ginny pipes up, folding her arms as you reach them. "Are we gettin' our army husbands or what?"

Steve chuckles, "they said we passed. We ship out soon."

Your breath catches—just for a second. But you don't let it show.

Bucky slips his hand into yours like he never wants to let go.

"Didn't think they'd take ol' Stevie here," he jokes, but his thumb is tracing little circles against your palm. "But we're in. Both of us."

Ginny whistles low. "Well, look at you two, all drafted and dangerous."

Steve grins. Bucky looks at you.

"You alright, doll?" he asks softly.

You swallow the ache in your throat and press a soft smile to your lips—one just for him.

"I'm proud of you," you say, steady despite the tremble trying to creep into your voice. "Both of you."

Bucky looks like he's trying to memorize that exact expression. "You sure?" he murmurs.

You nod. "Doesn't mean I'm not gonna miss you like hell, but... yeah. I'm sure."

He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles like you're something precious. And for a second, Brooklyn fades again.

Then—the door creaks behind you.

Tommy Delaney steps steps out, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders squared with a new kind of weight. He stops Ginny and gives a two-fingered wave, that goofy grin plastered across his face like he didn't just sign his whole life over to Uncle Sam.

Ginny stares for a beat—then sighs, a half-laugh, half-exhale of disbelief.

"Well," she mutters to you, brushing her curls back and fixing her scarf, "there goes my last nerve."

She turns to you and wraps you in a tight hug, her voice soft in your ear. "I'll see you soon. Real soon. We'll keep each other sane, yeah?"

You nod, hugging her tighter. "Yeah. We'll need it."

She pulls back with a wink. "Tell Bucky to write, or I'll come knockin'. And if he doesn't marry you the second he gets back, I swear-"

You laugh through the lump in your throat. "Go get your soldier, Gin."

She turns and walks toward Tommy, Her hand slipping easily into his.

And just like that—you're alone again with Bucky and Steve, the wind tugging gently at your skirt, the sun already starting to dip.

you glance up at Buck, your fingers still laced with his, and your voice drops to something small and almost fragile.

"When do you leave?"

His smile falters just a little. Like he was hoping you wouldn't ask—at least not yet.

Steve looks away, giving you both a bit of space as he pretends to study a bus schedule that hasn't changed in months.

Bucky sighs through his nose, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist.

"They gave us a week," he says softly. "Seven days, then we ship out."

Seven days.

It sounds both like a blessing and a curse. Enough time to hold him tight and make memories—but also just long enough to feel it when he's gone.

"I was hoping for more," he admits. "But... I'll take every second i can get if it means I'm with you."

The wind picks up again, carrying the scent of hot pretzels and cold iron. Somewhere, a kid shouts in the distance. Life keeps moving—oblivious.

You take a small step closer, your hand is still warm in his.

"Then let's make them count," you whisper, eyes searching his like you're trying to carve this moment into memory. "All seven of them."

Bucky stares at you a beat, like he's fighting the urge to fall into you right then and there. Then he smiles—soft and real—and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight.

"Yeah," he says. "Let's make 'em count."

Steve clears his throat gently behind you, rocking a little on his heels.

"Hey," he says, with that boyish smile that never quite hides the gentleness behind it. "I should be headin' home. Can't wait to tell Ma the news. I'll catch you two tomorrow?"

You both nod. Bucky gives him a friendly clap on the shoulder.

"We'll find you, punk," he says with a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes but smiles wider, gives you a small wave, and disappears into the crowd with that familiar, careful gait.

And just like that—

It's just you and Bucky again.

Bucky glances at you with that crooked grin that always makes your stomach flutter, like mischief and affection were stitched into the same smile.

"Wanna go to the diner?" he asks, voice light, but there's something soft behind it. "Your usual booth, your favorite milkshake—on me."

Your eyes light up. "Like you even need to ask."

✪──────•••──────✪

The bell over the door jingles as you step inside. The smell of grilled cheese and malted shakes wraps you like a memory. the lighting's soft, warm. Your booth's still open—like it waited for you.

You slide in, and Bucky follows, sitting close enough that your knees brush under the table. He orders before you can—"One strawberry milkshake, extra whipped cream, and a black coffee."

The waitress smirks like she's seen it all before. Probably has.

There's a lull between the clinking of plates and the low hum of a radio playing softly in the background. You glance at Bucky, noticing the way his brow together slightly, like he's chewing on something.

He finally speaks.

"I got to tell you something," he says, voice quieter now. "About Steve."

You sit up straighter.

He shifts, his fingers toying with a sugar packet. "They didn't accept him. Again. Said it was the asthma, and he's too small. He tried to brush it off, and I know him. He's breakin' on the inside."

Your heart aches. Steve—so brave, so full of fire, and still always being told he's not enough.

Bucky leans closer, lowering his voice.

"But today, I saw him talkin' to some guy. German I think. I overheard him sayin' somethin' about a 'super soldier serum program.' Said Steve was perfect for it."

You blink. "Perfect?"

Bucky nods, clearly still shaken. "Apparently, they're lookin' for someone with guts. Not muscle. Heart. And you know Steve... He's got more of that than any of us."

You're still trying to process it when he leans back with a sigh, shaking his head.

"Still don't trust it. Feels shaky. Government pokin' around with science like that? And with Nazis in the mix? Fuckin' Nazis, always lookin' for some unnatural way to win a war."

He glances at you again, this time a little more protective.

"If anything happens to Steve... I swear to God..." He trails off, clenching his jaw.

Your milkshake arrives—bright pink, extra whipped cream—and the weight of the conversation hangs between you both. You pick it up, taking a long, thoughtful sip—extra whipped cream brushing your lip—and then glance sideways at Bucky with a smirk curling at the corner of your mouth.

"Well..." you start, voice lilting with just enough mischief to catch his attention, "if Steve turns into a super soldier, he better not get taller than you. I'm already the short one here, Buck. I refuse to be the shrimp in the middle."

Bucky snorts mid-sip of his coffee, nearly choking. He sets the mug down with a grin, eyes crinkling. "You? Shrimp? Please. You've got more spine than either of us."

You shrug with mock modesty. "Spine, maybe. Height? I'm workin' with dollhouse dimensions here."

He laughs fully now, that soft, real kind of laugh that makes his eye light up and his whole face soften. He reaches over, thumb swiping a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth.

"God, I love you," he murmurs, like it slipped out without warning—natural and inevitable.

He freezes the moment he says it.

You feel your breath catch. The silence around the booth is so sudden, so complete, that even the radio's gentle hum seems miles away.

Bucky blinks, realizing what he said, and clears his throat.

"I mean... I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. I just..." He looks up at you again, eyes steady. "I do. I really love you."

You laugh—softly, gently—as if the weight of his words settled right into your chest like they'd always belonged there. You smile is full of warmth and wonder, eyes shining as you set your milkshake down with care.

"You know," you murmur, tilting your head slightly, "I always knew."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, caught somewhere between surprise and bashful defensiveness. "Knew what?"

You reach across the table, lacing your fingers with his. "how madly in love with me you are, Sergeant Barnes."

He exhales a half-laugh, eyes flicking down your joined hands, cheeks flushed just enough to make your heart flutter all over again.

"I'm not exactly subtle am I?"

"Not even a little," you tease, but then your voice softens as you add, "and I love you too, Bucky. with everything I got."

He looks at you then—really look at you—and it's like the world narrows down to his booth, your fingers tangled in his, and the strawberry milkshake slowly melting between you.

"You're gonna wreck me, doll," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, reverent and unhurried. "I ain't even gone yet, and I already miss you."

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling and breaking all at once.

Outside, the sky's gone deep blue. Streetlights flicker on. You glance outside—the diner window blurred slightly with condensation, the street glowing gold under the streetlamps—and then back at Bucky.

"Walk me home?' you ask softly, already knowing the answer.

Bucky doesn't say anything right away—he nods, rising from the booth and reaching for your handlike it's instinct. You take it, of course, fingers fitting perfectly in his like they were made to. Like they always have.

he holds the door open for you as the bell chimes overhead, and you both step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now. Most of the kids have gone inside. Shops closing. But Brooklyn still hums, low and familiar.

your heels click gently against the pavement. Bucky slows his pace to match yours—not that he ever really had to.

For a long stretch, neither of you speak. His thumb rubs slow circles into the back of your hand. You pass old stoops and shuttering stores, streetlights causing your shadows long across the sidewalk.

finally he speaks, his voice low and close.

"You know, if the world was different... I'd marry you right now."

"the words stop you in your tracks. You look at him, eyes wide, heart thudding so hard you swear he can hear it.

bucky smiles, soft and sincere.

"No ring, no priest, just you and me and the moonlight. And I'd mean every damn word."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear again like he always does when he wants to say I adore you without actually saying it.

You look up at him, the streetlight painting golden halos around his dark hair, and for a moment, all the noise in the world goes still. Your voice is a whisper, but it carries everything you've been holding in your chest.

"Then promise me—" your fingers tighten gently around his, "when you come back, you'll ask me for real."

Bucky steps in closer, both hands now cradling your face like you're made of something unbreakable and holy all at once. His forehead leans into yours, and for a second, you feel his breath as he speaks.

"I promise," he whispers, firm, unshaking. "When I come back—first thing I do is ask you to be mine forever."

He presses a kiss to your forehead—slow, reverent—like it's the only thing anchoring him to the world.

✪──────•••──────✪

You and Bucky slow as you reach the stoop, his hand still wrapped in yours like he's reluctant to let go. The porch light casts a soft glow over the doorway, the quiet hum of the city buzzing low in the background.

You turn to face him, still holding his hand, your heart full to the brim with everything you couldn't say in words tonight.

And then—without hesitation and fanfare—you rise up on your toes, cup his jaw gently, and kiss him.

It's not rushed. It's not shy. It's the kind of kiss that says I love you, come back to me, and you're already mine all at once.

Bucky stills for a heartbeat before leaning into it fully, one hand at your waist, the other resting over yours like he's afraid to break the spell. His lips are soft, warm, tasting faintly of coffee and promise.

When you finally pull back, he's looking at you like you hung the stars above Brooklyn.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

His voice is rough, full of everything he's feeling. " 'Night, doll. Sweet dreams alright?"

You nod once, stepping back toward the door slowly.

He waits until you're inside before he turns to leave. And even as the door clicks shut behind you...

You can feel him still.

✪──────•••──────✪

I had to edit and cut out so many parts from my original document because I'm so worried about it being too long and redundant but I think it's fine 😩

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #bucky smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky fluff #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky x female yn #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst

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floridecuts · 6 months ago

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Epilogue Bonus

Yay, it's my favorite time of the week again! I'm always looking forward to read your reactions in the tag comments! They keep me motivated! A big thank you again for all people who have commented so far on this project!! <3

I actually didn't know what to draw for this part's "chapter art" so, have a Mashita with a frog on his shoulder! xD We're about halfway through the comic now and slowly making our way to the finale. (It's gonna be a long finale). So this part is again a bit more explanatory in nature before it will get more serious again.

This part also contains one of my favorite little moments of this comic - Daimon insinsting on taking care of Mashita's scratches, and not taking "no" for an answer! I really enjoyed drawing that part. ^w^ We learn more about Yashiki's powers, or theories about his powers from Yasuoka. I've always wondered why Yashiki thinks so lowly about his own spiritual powers. I've discussed this with a friend and the idea came to mind that he might have been belittled by his family, seen as a "disappointment" because his powers seem so much weaker than others. Consequently he'd think little of what he can do. But I like to think that there's actually some undiscovered powers still sleeping inside him. He might have unconsciously suppressed them because of that treatment and constant stress of expectations from his family.

Yasuoka gives Yashiki an O-mamori. It might become important later. And then there's a guilt ridden Shou. I'm not sure if it fits to his character but I thought be might feel guilty because he initially wanted to accompany Yashiki, because he knew it could be dangerous alone, but didn't after Yashiki's reassurance. Since he sees Mashita a little like his older brother it made sense to me that he would open up to him about his feelings, indirectly asking for advise. I admit Mashita's last words on the last page are heavily inspired by Fullmetal Alchemist (the scene of Edward's last talk to Rose before they part ways, in case anybody knows it). Well, I hope you liked it!!

Thanks for taking a look! :)

#death mark #spirit hunter #shiin #死印 #kazuo yashiki #satoru mashita #towako yasuoka #shuuji daimon #madoka hiroo #death mark art #death mark comic #only human

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neptuneiris · 1 year ago

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could you pretend to be in love? (04/10)

The Evolution

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: the time comes for you to step out of your comfort zone a bit, so the party begins and you and Aemond must pretend in a new environment.

word count: 7.3k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

new chapter!🥳

before you start reading, I want to thank you for all the support I've received with this fic, it's the best and it means a lot to me that you're liking it so much🥺 there's still a lot to come and I can't wait for you to join me in the future chapters, so look forward to it!❤

and now yes, read and enjoy!

warnings: smoking, mention of weed, alcohol.

It's not like you're an alien, you've been to parties before, it's just not your favorite way to have fun.

And as you enter the huge house with DJ, colored lights pointing in all directions, beer pong tables, people dancing in the middle of it all with the music blasting in your ears and the smell of beer in the air, along with cigarettes and weed, you don't let go of Aemond's hand at any moment.

Fortunately not everyone notices you when you enter the house together, mostly because everyone is immersed in the big party, but some heads do turn to look at you and Aemond.

And together, you walk through all the bodies moving to the rhythm of the music, where Aemond has the purpose of looking for a less overwhelming place for you.

He skillfully guides you through the whole place, greeting some guys he meets on the way and congratulating him for tonight's victory, without him letting go of your hand for a second.

Until they finally find a less crowded and a little quieter corner on the back terrace, having in view the kitchen of the house where there are people smoking and drinking and in the background are all the people dancing.

Although the music is still blaring in the background, at least you can talk to Aemond without having to yell and he will hear you. And when you lean against the railing of the terrace, he looks at you with a knowing smile while you try to adapt to the environment.

"You don't really like this, do you?" he says, knowing the answer before you can say anything.

"Do I show it a lot?" you say, letting out a nervous laugh, "And I don't dislike it," you clarify, "It's just not my favorite place to be."

He nods sympathetically.

"I know, but we won't stay long, I promise," he assures you, "Do you want something to drink? A soda or water?"

You smile as you lower your gaze, a little shyly.

"Actually... I think I can handle a beer. It's a party after all."

You don't normally drink alcohol but considering you're at a party, you don't want to look like a party pooper. And you're sure that if you don't relax a little, you'll never make it through the night.

"Are you sure?" he watches you completely attentively, "If you don't want to—

"I'm sure, don't worry," you say, nodding.

"Good," he smiles softly at you, "I'll be right here," he points to the kitchen in front of you, serious and wanting to make it clear, "I'm not going anywhere else and I'll be back very soon."

You let out a small laugh.

"Yes, I know. Now go," you nod to him, smiling.

Aemond nods and walks away towards the kitchen, leaving you momentarily alone but not quite, as you can see him from where you are, moving back and forth with the two plastic cups. And then you focus around you, watching people dancing, laughing and playing party games.

The smell of cigarettes and weed reaches your nostrils, but you don't take much notice, as Aemond's company makes it all seem more bearable.

The music continues to echo in the atmosphere and after a few seconds, Aemond returns with the two cups in both hands, offering you your beer and you accept it with a grateful expression.

"Thank you," you say, feeling more relaxed to have him by your side again.

"I really didn't expect you to be up for a beer," he tells you with a playful smile.

"Please, it's just a beer," you reply with a laugh, taking a small sip.

"Careful or you might become the queen of the party."

"Don't overdo it," you tell him, laughing. "And what are you drinking?" you observe him curiously.

"Just beer," he says with a shrug, "But I drive, remember? So this will be the first and last of the night."

Aemond raises his cup in a casual toast in your direction, you smile and clink your cup lightly with his, then both of you drink in sync.

"Hey, what do you say we take a selfie?" he says animatedly, grabbing his phone, flipping open the camera, "I want to get a picture of you with my initials on your cheeks."

"As long as you don't put it as your wallpaper, it's fine," you joke.

"That's exactly what I want it for. Now smile."

That's what you do, you place your face close to his and you both smile. He takes a few more, where you make funny faces and also where he insists that you give him a kiss on his cheek, taking the selfie.

He then also insists that they take pictures from your phone as well, reminding you that you have to post them to your Instagram later and you rolling your eyes amusedly nod.

And once that's enough, Aemond looks at the photos with satisfaction.

"I'll definitely set this one as my wallpaper."

"Which one?" you ask him curiously.

He smiles and proudly shows you his screen, which features the picture of you with his initials painted on both of your cheeks, smiling and with the colored party lights uniquely illuminating your face.

"I look like an idiot," you say slightly embarrassed.

"A pretty idiot."

He says back, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, careful not to ruin his initials.

"Now, what's your background going to be?" he asks you intently, watching your phone screen.

"Hum," you also focus on your screen, looking at the selfies, "This one."

You point to the picture of you kissing his cheek and he nods with his little grin. He is about to speak when a third voice makes itself heard between the two of you.

"Aemond!" exclaims Aegon, heading towards you both from a distance with a huge grin and a drink in hand, with Helaena behind him, "There's the star of the night!"

Aemond suddenly tenses up and indeed so do you. You both exchange a quick, discreet glance, where he warns you and gives you a reassuring look at the same time.

And you mentally prepare yourself to pretend and look as in love with him as possible, telling yourself that you can't fuck this up.

"Congratulations, brother!" exclaims Aegon happily, coming towards you both and giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder, "You kicked all those fucker's' asses," he says proudly, then focusing on you, "And you must be Y/N," he adds, grinning at you.

"Hi," you smile, trying to look relaxed and not at all nervous at the sudden appearance of Aemond's siblings.

"I'm Aegon, the older brother who always leaves everyone impressed, the most handsome and intelligent of the family. Pleasure," he introduces himself, extending his hand to you and you shake it almost instantly, laughing softly.

"So he says," Aemond says next to you with an amused smile.

"A pleasure."

"He's just envious and he's already told us so much about you," he lets you know, "Oh and this is our sister, Helaena," he points behind him.

"Hi," you smile at her too.

"Hi, I finally meet you!" she says with a smile bigger than yours, extending her hand in a friendly gesture, "And honestly the handsomest of my brothers is Daeron and the smart one in the family is me."

"See?" points out Aegon to Helaena seriously and incredulously, "Another envious one."

But Helaena pays him no attention and continues to focus on you.

After the introductions, you continue talking to them, who show great interest in getting to know you without losing their friendly and playful touch towards you, they ask you questions and share some comical stories about Aemond, where the conversation flows easily, wich surprises you.

But that's exactly what makes them create a relaxed and fun atmosphere for you, making the party more bearable. Besides Aegon is extremely funny and Helaena conveys a calmness to you that totally goes with your personality, pleasing you.

"I'm excited to have someone new in the family," she says excitedly, "And if you want, we can sit together sometimes on break," she offers, getting your attention more, "I've sat with Aemond and his friends before and I know what it's like, they're frustrating."

"Hey," Aemond reproaches her hurt.

"Am I wrong?" Helaena observes you expectantly.

"Hum," you look at Aemond and then back at his sister, a little nervously, "They are frustrating but fun."

"Want one?" says Aegon to Aemond, offering him a cigarette.

"Sure."

"But yes, sure, we can eat together, I'd love to," you smile at Hel, honest.

"Great."

Aemond lights his cigarette and lets the smoke escape between his lips, then places his other arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him confidently, wanting to clearly demonstrate his supposed connection to you.

When suddenly, Aegon takes his leave, watching a group of girls walking past you with great interest.

"I'm going to get something to drink, see you in a bit," he says without even looking at you, already walking away, following the girls and disappearing into the crowd.

Aemond and Helaena roll their eyes before sharing a knowing look between them, this being so typical of Aegon, then she too takes her leave for the moment with a smile.

"I think I'll leave you two alone for now too," she says starting to walk away, "Have fun!" she exclaims before getting lost in the crowd just like Aegon.

And once you and Aemond are alone again, you both can finally relax.

"They loved you," he tells you with a small smile, taking a puff on his cigarette, "You did very well."

"Not that they were hard to be with, but now we can relax a little more," you say with a soft smile, "I really liked them. They're very nice.

Aemond nods, agreeing.

"Aegon is a idiot. He loves to have fun and all he cares about is girls, but he's still funny," you nod, "And Hel, well, sometimes she's weird... but she's really sweet and fun too."

"Yeah, I noticed," you say nodding, "And do you have another brother? Daeron?" you ask, remembering how Helaena mentioned him.

"Ah yes, he's the youngest of all," he tells you and you listen carefully, still feeling his hand around your waist, "He's at Honeyholt on exchange in high school. All of a sudden he had the idea of wanting to see another place and Mom supported him. We have family there, so they are taking care of him until he gets into college."

"Oh," you nod, now understanding, "And is he really the best looking of the three of you?" you ask amused and he smiles.

"Of course not, obviously I'm the handsomest," he says condescendingly, smugly and you laugh, "I also have a half-sister, Rhaenyra," he adds, "But she's older than all of us. She's already married, with children and focused on her own family."

You nod again, attentive and interested, keeping that information, since you had no idea.

In fact about the families is something you haven't talked to him about, well, except that you know Aegon and Helaena, but you don't know anything else like for example his father and mother.

And he doesn't know anything about yours either. You suppose it's just a matter of time to build more trust between the two of you as this goes on.

"You don't have any brothers or sisters?" he asks you curiously, watching you intently and you shake your head.

"I'm an only child."

He is about to speak when, again, a third voice interrupts him.

"Aemond!"

You both turn your heads and see one of his lacrosse friends calling from the kitchen.

"Want to play beer pong with us?"

Aemond doesn't answer him right away, as he turns his attention back to you.

"Do you want to play or do you want to talk about it?"

"Hum... the truth is I've never played beer pong," you say a little nervous and embarrassed, "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Then I'll teach you, come on, it's really easy," he says excitedly, taking you by the hand, "It'll be fun, you'll see," he tells you as he guides you towards the kitchen.

You let him guide you, and you too enter the lively atmosphere of the kitchen, where the sound of music and laughter mixes with the aroma of drinks and cigarettes. And Aemond leads you towards the beer pong table where his friends you already know are, setting everything up.

"First, you need a ball."

Aemond says, taking one from the pile on the table and placing it in your hand. And before he can speak further, you do.

"Actually I do know how to play but I've never played," you clarify, "Besides, I have really bad aim."

"No matter, just have fun," he tells you with a reassuring gaze, "And forget about everyone, the stares, the talking, Alys, everything. Let's just have a good time, okay?"

You nod, watching him a little nervously but attentively and he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead, making you feel a strange sensation in your body that you haven't felt before.

But you know that he has done it because you are now among his friends and other people at school, so you have to pretend very well.

Music blares in the kitchen as you and Aemond join the beer pong game and take up position at one end of the table, facing your first opponent.

Aemond still repeats the rules to you once again, but his focus is more on enjoying the moment.

You hold the ball in your hands with a mixture of nervousness, not knowing exactly why, and excitement. And Aemond next to you gives you an encouraging look.

And finally you throw the ball and to your surprise, and also delight, it lands perfectly in one of the cups on the other side of the table.

"Yes!" exclaims Aemond excitedly, with a huge smile, instantly making a high five with you, being his turn.

This definitely makes you feel more relaxed and encourages you to forget about everyone and focus on this moment with Aemond, immersing yourself in these party games you've never tried before.

Aemond continues to hug you and celebrate each successful release, accentuating your complicity so you both keep pretending. That moment of the night progresses with laughter, exchange of complicit glances and impromptu pretending moments.

And every time you suddenly feel Aemond's hands on your waist hugging you and pulling you closer to him, it makes you feel strange and weird sensations through your body, which you try not to give much importance to.

Both Aemond and you immerse yourself in the illusion of the fake relationship, taking every opportunity to enjoy each other's company.

The party continues and as you share laughter and affectionate gestures in the midst of it all, you realize that although the relationship is fake, the connection you now have with Aemond and the fun you share is real.

And when the round of beer pong is over, Aemond introduces you to more of his friends, like Qyle Martell and Cregan Stark. Martell is like Aegon, you can tell and Stark is friendlier and also very nice.

"Are you friends with Alysanne?"

He asks you curiously in the middle of the conversation, as Aemond has one arm around your waist, leaning against the kitchen island, his other hand smoking a new cigarette and you find yourself in the middle of his legs, your hands on top of his arm and hand.

"Yes," you nod to him, "We recently became close."

"I assumed so because I saw her at the game with you," he tells you with a small smile, "But, do you know if she has a boyfriend?" he asks you more curious than before, getting your attention.

You're about to speak when Aemond steps forward.

"Cregan has had a crush on her forever," he says over your head and you turn your attention back to Cregan.

"Well, she hasn't," you let him know, "She told me she recently broke up with a guy from another school."

"Really?" he looks at you hopefully, "And could you talk to her about me? You know, see what she thinks."

You smile, nodding.

"Sure."

"I wouldn't ask you but I thought she was coming to the party."

"Oh no, no, it's fine," you assure him, "I'll talk to her."

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," Aemond announces suddenly, catching your attention.

He gently removes you from between his legs, standing up straight and leaving the rest of his now non-existent cigarette on the kitchen island, then watching you completely attentively.

"You can stay and talk to Cregan. I'll be back soon."

"Sure," you nod to him.

Aemond wanders off towards the second floor bathroom, already knowing that the bathroom down here always has huge lines for wanting to get in, and so you stand around talking animatedly with Cregan, mostly about Alysanne.

As Aemond slips through the crowd, up the stairs and disappears down the second floor hallway, heading for the bathroom.

Actually he doesn't take long at all and soon enough he finishes washing his hands and exits the bathroom, walking back down the hallway to return to the big party downstairs.

But just as he turns down the hallway, Alys appears in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

Aemond watches her without expression really, feeling a little surprised inside, but only ignores her and tries to walk past her, but of course, Alys immediately blocks his path.

He watches her confused and she places a small grin on her perfectly painted red lips.

"What?" he asks her, disinterested.

"Can't I talk to you? Your girlfriend already so soon set rules for you?" she inquires him too, with a look of superiority, crossing her arms.

He certainly decides to ignore most of her comment and looks at her seriously.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Once again he tries to walk past her but she blocks his path again, irritating him and making him let out a sigh.

"What do you want?" he watches her in exasperation.

"Y/N? Really?" she inquires again pouting and with disdain, making Aemond again let out another sigh, "She's your new girlfriend?"

"Yes, she is," he tells her seriously and firmly, "Do you have a problem with that?

"At least you could be able to get something halfway better than that," she says with a mixture of mockery and seriousness, "I can't believe you dated me and now you're dating her, literally a nobody," she says confused, furrowing her brow.

Aemond frowns, definitely starting to get annoyed by her attitude and the way she's talking about you.

"First, it's none of your business who I'm dating now nor do you even have the right to reproach me for that. And second, Y/N is not a 'nothing.' She is an amazing person and I will not allow you to speak of her like that."

Alys further demonstrates her mockery.

"She's amazing?" she repeats, "Please, no one here even knew her from before she started dating you. She's just another one of those pathetic boring girls who sits in the background and can't say more than three words."

Aemond clenches his jaw, watching her seriously and sternly.

"Watch your mouth."

"Or what?" she teases him, watching him defiantly, "Am I telling lies?"

"Stop talking about her like that," he warns her with determination, "And before you judge her, first see yourself in a mirror, maybe you can fully surprise yourself."

She lets out a cynical laugh.

"Oh, look at you," she coos, "You have become the advocate for shy and invisible girls. No one would have expected it from you, not even me. But I'm sure you're only dating her to annoy me."

Aemond takes a deep breath, having enough of this.

"What I do or don't do doesn't matter to you. And don't get ideas in your head either, you're the last thing on my mind. Don't think you're important, because you're not," he tells her seriously and honestly, "Now, if you don't have anything important to say to me, leave me alone and let me enjoy the night."

Alys grits her teeth, obviously frustrated at not getting the reaction she was looking for from him. And finally Aemond is able to walk past her, away from her. But before he turns and starts down the stairs, Alys stops him with her next words.

"We'll see if the shy girl still likes you that much when you see if she can fuck you well, which I doubt," she says seriously and teasingly.

Aemond purses his lips, taking a deep breath to try to keep his composure. He feels a knot in his stomach, with a mixture of disgust and frustration throughout his body.

"You're completely insane, Alys, insane."

He spits the words at her completely seriously and finally walks away from her, leaving that unpleasant conversation behind.

As he returns to the bustle of the party, he struggles to clear his mind of Alys' words, which are still present and the unpleasant feeling still lingers. And it makes him angry to know that he allowed her to manage to ruin the party for him.

Finally he enters the kitchen and you are still there, talking to Cregan and before heading towards you, he tries to put on his best possible face so that his annoyance and bitterness is not noticeable.

And after a few seconds he turns to you.

"Hey," he says with a forced smile, placing himself back next to you.

Your smile fades a little and this immediately catches your attention.

Fortunately at that moment Cregan leaves you both alone, saying he'll fix himself a new drink, so you give him your full attention, noticing the seriousness on his face that he's trying to hide.

"Everything okay?" you ask him, slightly concerned.

"Yeah," he says softly, taking your hand to entwine his fingers with yours.

"Are you sure?" you ask him, not entirely convinced, "Did something happen?"

"No, no, I'm just a little tired," he lies, "Maybe in a little longer we should go."

Aemond, despite the feeling in him that still lingers, feels that he shouldn't overwhelm you with what happened with Alys. Being here, in the middle of the party with everyone watching them, is enough for you.

He doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable when everything has been going too well so far.

"Sure but... are you sure you're okay?" you insist in a soft voice, running your hand gently across his forehead, gently brushing his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry," he smiles softly at you.

He holds you against his body, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you between his body, while you look around and realize that there are still, at this point in the party, people watching you.

When then Aemond's gaze falls on all the people dancing, an idea crosses his mind.

He puts on a small amused smile and lowers his face to look you in the eyes, tracing gentle circles with his thumb on your lower back.

"Do you wanna dance?" he asks you with his smile, instantly catching your attention.

You watch him with your eyes slightly wide open and your lips parted, but not because of surprise, but because you were dreading exactly this proposal.

He points with his gaze to where everyone is dancing and you follow, seeing how there are some girls dancing alone and shaking their butts in a fantastic way, there are also couples dancing together and people in groups dancing and singing along to the songs of the moment without a care in the world.

But that's not what catches your attention.

It's the way some girls, not to say most of them, dance in a sensual, sexy way, moving their body and waist in a magnetic way, also their buttocks as if it was as easy as breathing, attracting the attention of boys and girls.

There is no way you can move your butt and body like that. You would like to, but you don't know how.

There are also couples who dance very close to each other, in a very intimate way, chest to chest. Even the guy runs his hands all over the girl's body while they dance to the music and touches her butt in front of everyone.

And that definitely horrifies you.

You know Aemond would never try to touch you like that. Doing something like that didn't enter into any part of the contract.

But you still grimace involuntarily and feel embarrassed. You immediately turn your gaze to Aemond and with a flash of sincerity, you confess.

"I don't know how to do it," you say in complete embarrassment.

You think he's going to make fun of you and you're only going to feel more embarrassed than you already are, but instead, he smiles at you with understanding gently and begins to try to convince you enthusiastically.

"Come on, don't worry about anything, it's easy," he assures you, "Just follow my lead, okay?"

He takes you by the hand gently and guides you towards the center of the house, where everyone is dancing and music is enveloping everything.

Your heart starts pounding, feeling nervous, but you still follow with a certain heaviness.

The music, the colors of the lights and the energy of all these people become a kind of bubble around you. And as you walk, you feel the gaze of some people on you, but Aemond deliberately ignores them, focused on making you feel comfortable.

And once you're both in the center of it all, surrounded by more people, you watch him with some trepidation but he confidently places his arms around your waist, hugging you but leaning back slightly so he can look you in the eye.

"Is this okay or are you uncomfortable?" he asks you attentively leaning down to speak in your ear so you can hear him over the music.

"It's fine," you nod to him, but you lick your lips and really don't even know what to do with yourself.

He glues your body to his, still watching you intently, mostly because his lips brush against the bridge of your nose and it sends an electric current inexplicably through you.

And you feel like your heart will leap out of your chest at any moment from such closeness.

"And this is okay?"

You swallow hard and nod, unable to speak for all the sensations overwhelming you in that instant.

"Now you put your hands around my neck," he tells you as he takes your hands and places them himself where he directs you, then puts his hands back on your waist.

Again you bite your lips, while avoiding looking him too much in the eye, nervous and still not having the slightest idea what to do, but you stay like that, already feeling more the sorrow that maybe he can feel your accelerated heart rate.

"And now we dance, no choreography or specific moves... we just move," he says in your ear softly but loud enough for you to hear.

And just then you turn your attention to the song; One Of The Girls by Lily-Rose Deep, Jennie and The Weeknd.

Oh Gods.

"It's very simple, just sway your hips back and forth to the beat of the song."

You avert your gaze, feeling the awkwardness grow inside you, because you really don't know how to do this. Yet you force yourself to stay in the moment and do this, because it's no big deal, it's just dancing.

"Like this," he says, moving your hips with his hands gently from side to side, guiding your movements patiently, just as he moves his body slowly in sync with yours.

The song swells loudly in the background, creating an intimate atmosphere between him and you. And carefully, you begin to follow the rhythm, letting your hips sway to the music.

And honestly... you just get uncomfortable and barely more so, feeling completely awkward.

"Am I doing this right?" you ask fearfully, already knowing the answer.

"Easy, you're doing excellent," he assures you, "Just let yourself go," he says in your ear, his voice soft and encouraging.

Hearing his comforting words, you strain to relax, letting the melody envelop your senses, as Aemond looks at you with a reassuring smile, encouraging you.

And with his confidence and also his comforting presence, he makes you start to forget about everyone around you and focus on this moment, on him.

And with every movement you let yourself go with the rhythm of the music, as you both move in sync and the tension you felt before seems to dissipate with every second. Especially since some funny gestures from him during the dance make you relax more.

"See? It's not hard."

He tells you as he makes you both move with more rhythm, keeping his hand on your waist and the other on your lower back, not going any further, where every movement makes your body rub against his.

"You're even better at this than me," he mentions amused and you laugh softly.

"Don't be a liar," you tell him watching intently between your body and his, afraid of getting it wrong and missing a beat.

He maintains his grin and your eyes meet his, sharing complicity and amusement. And he encouraging you to let loose even more.

And only then do you start to really enjoy the dance, because you realize that you're probably not the only one who feels a little out of place, besides no one is even paying attention to you.

All the people here are enjoying the music in their own ways. So with each step, you become more immersed in the moment, forgetting the stares of others and remembering that you're also pretending with Aemond, so you stick a little more towards him, if possible.

"Yes, just like that," he says in your ear, his voice soft and soothing, "Alys is watching us."

He says as he glances out of the corner of his eye toward the entrance to the kitchen, where Alys is leaning against the wall.

And you discreetly look around for her, finding her and seeing the surprise and disbelief in her gaze as she watches the two of you, pursing her lips, looking clearly annoyed and even... indignant.

Immediately the look on Alys' face makes you feel uncomfortable and embarrassed, but you decide that won't distract you and don't pay too much attention to her, preferring to focus on the moment.

With each movement, you feel more in tune with the music and with Aemond next to you, who brings his forehead together with yours, sharing a moment of complicity as they continue to move to the rhythm of the music.

"I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

He says suddenly and you instantly feel tense and nervous again. But you understand why he wants to do it, clearly because she's watching right now.

"Okay," you say swallowing hard, having no idea if he even heard you over the music.

When he separates a little, just a little from you, still keeping one of his hands on your waist while with the other he gently places it on your right cheek, sliding his fingers across your soft skin.

Your gaze meets his, where there is a new lightness of silent complicity but in a more intense way that you can't quite describe.

His gaze is totally determined and even makes you feel nervous immediately, where not only his eye inspects your face, but also your parted lips just centimeters below his, this drawing more than anything else his attention.

This does not go unnoticed by you and you feel more nerves in your stomach, but when he leans forward, closing the short distance between the two of you, you tell yourself that you must be pretending just as well as he is.

You both close your eyes and the brushing of lips is soft and hesitant, where a barely audible sigh escapes your lips as you too let the overwhelming feeling of having to kiss Aemond in front of all these people.

The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears as his lips finally catch yours in a soft kiss.

You think it will be like the first time, just the contact of lips against lips, but Aemond literally moves his mouth, really starts kissing you, caressing his lips with yours... and you unexpectedly and instantly follow him.

Surprised and completely unsure, you feel Aemond take a firmer hold of your waist and deepen the kiss, while you try not to gasp into his lips and let yourself be carried along by his movements.

For you, each movement of his lips is like a new melody, awakening a surge of emotions that take your breath away.

This is completely new to you.

It is completely different from the first time you both kissed.

Your hands instinctively cling to his shoulders, seeking support amidst the whirlwind of sensations that engulf you, unable to help but feel a pang of surprise as you feel the softness of his lips against yours.

And though you are both pretending, both you and he let your own emotions mix with it.

Aemond continues to tenderly caress your soft skin with his thumb as he tilts his head and latches onto your lips once more, slow and deep, letting you feel everything.

His hand slides deftly down your neck and tangles in your hair, drawing you closer to him in an intimate, passionate gesture. And though you can't help it, everything about him envelops you.

You feel every detail, his comforting closeness, the smell of his cologne, so manly, the cigarette taste in his mouth that somehow you don't dislike at all and the way he is holding you against his body.

And finally when you are both out of breath, you separate and silence fills the space between you, broken only by the distant sound of music and the racing beat of your hearts.

Your gaze again meets his and strangely you find yourself lost in him, with an unspoken question hanging in the air as you both process what has just happened.

When he smiles softly, as if he is complicit in a secret shared between the two of you, which he is and leaves another soft kiss on your lips before continuing to dance with you, wrapping his arms around you confidently and firmly.

You again let yourself be carried away by the music, wrapping your arms around his neck again, with a question in mind:

What the fuck just happened?

Then, in the middle of the dance, Aemond again whispers in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

"I think that went very well," he murmurs knowingly, "Alys keeps looking at us."

And then reality comes back into your mind.

Oh... right.

Reality comes back to you like a sudden blow, reminding you of Alys' presence and why you made out with Aemond like that, leaving the magic or spell of the moment.

You try to keep your composure, as if the kiss hadn't affected you in the slightest, but deep inside you know that's not true.

You try in vain to ignore the feeling of discomfort and surprise that creeps up inside you as you continue to dance with Aemond. Each movement seems stiffer, the music sounds louder and the weight of the kiss suddenly weighs on your shoulders.

Although you try to maintain the appearance of normalcy, Aemond seems to notice your change in attitude and looks at you intently, his brow slightly furrowed.

And despite your attempt to keep your face serene and completely unconcerned, he can still see the tension building up in your expression.

So finally, Aemond breaks the silence that hangs in the tension-laden air.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

The question instantly catches your attention, but first you focus entirely on him.

"Don't you want to stay a while longer?"

"We've done enough and besides... I'd like to go get some rest."

"Okay, yeah, sure," you say in a soft voice, starting to pull away from him.

Aemond offers you a comforting smile before taking you by the hand and leading you towards the door, but not before saying goodbye to his friends and warning his siblings, who he asks if they will go home with him, but Aegon is still enjoying himself and so is Helaena.

The cool night air envelops you as you leave the house, bringing with it a feeling of relief and release. And as you walk away along with Aemond, you feel the tension slowly dissipate, giving way to a feeling of peace and tranquility.

But there is still that uneasiness and uncertainty within you.

The sunlight enters through the kitchen windows, while you finish placing your breakfast on the table and your father's too, starting a new week.

Normally on Mondays your father comes in a little later to work and taking advantage of his free time, he always drives you to school, so early in the morning you text Aemond that you don't need him to pick you up and that you'll see him at school.

At first you and your father talk about anything between scrambled eggs and sips of coffee, when suddenly the conversation takes a serious turn when your father mentions college, your future.

"Have you applied for college entrance exams yet?" he asks you, with a look of slight concern on his face, "I understand the application season is almost over."

Instantly you feel a knot in your stomach and involuntarily tense up, nervous.

"Yes, Dad," you reply in your slightly shaky voice, trying to hide it," I already have."

"Very good," he nods at you with a small smile, "Just make sure you're aware of all the deadlines and requirements. This is important and who knows...maybe you can get into Oldtown."

God.

This makes you even more nervous, but you tell yourself that you trust Aemond completely and that he is handling your direct application to Oldtown.

You haven't talked to him about it but that's what he's surely been doing, he has to. He promised to deliver on this if you fulfill your role as a girlfriend in love so he must already be doing it.

So you feel confident that everything will work out.

Again you nod in your father's direction and both of you resume breakfast, while you think that you have Aemond totally on your side in this.

Breakfast doesn't last any longer and soon your father is already dropping you off at the school parking lot. You kiss each other on the cheek, wish each other good day and finally get out of the car.

Both the hallways and the parking lot are flooded with students as you try to weave your way through them to get to your locker, hoping to run into Alysanne soon.

But instead you see Aemond who is engaged in a lively conversation with his friends at the lockers. And you don't know exactly why but seeing him immediately makes your nerves explode.

Since that kiss on Friday, neither you nor he has talked about it. He only drove you home after the party was over for him and you, where neither of you made a comment about it.

And honestly... you still feel a little weird about it.

You mean, you've never made out with him like that before, or with anyone else. And that's why you haven't stopped thinking about it, but you don't want to talk about it either, you feel it will be awkward.

And you don't need to turn to him and talk to him for him to notice you, as unconsciously his gaze meets yours as he laughs at a comment from one of his friends.

And he instantly says goodbye to his friends to head towards you with a small grin on his lips, which you return to him from a distance, until you both close the distance.

"Hi."

"Hey," he says to then unexpectedly drop a soft, quick kiss on your lips.

You remain static for a moment, as you're never really going to get used to this.

"Everyone's watching us," he says quietly to you in a discreet manner as he places one of his arms around your shoulder and begins to walk together with you down the hallway, "So, your dad drove you today?"

You nod as you both walk down the hallway together, where admittedly, you notice how some people are still watching you as you pass, but with Aemond's closeness, you are comforted.

"Yes, he did."

And as the two of them approach your locker, a nervousness begins to grow in your chest and stomach.

You hesitate for a moment before you renew enough courage to ask Aemond what you want to know, with the question hovering constantly in the back of your mind, ever since breakfast.

And releasing a long breath, you dare to speak.

"Are you already working on my college application?"

You immediately regret it, but what can you really do? He's already heard you.

Aemond's eye reflects surprise for a moment before a more serene expression settles on his face.

"Why do you ask?" he asks with genuine curiosity.

You bite down on your lower lip, feeling a bit awkward at the revelation of your concerns.

"N-no, it's just... I had a conversation with my dad about it, and I just wanted to know, that's all," you explain, hoping you don't sound too anxious.

"Well, don't worry about it, I've got it under control," he assures you with his reassuring look, when he quickly changes the subject, "And listen, I've got training now, so I've got to get to the field already but I'll see you in class later, okay?"

You say nothing, he doesn't give you the time, as he gently this time leaves a soft kiss on your forehead and walks away, leaving you with your heart beating fast and a mix of emotions that leave you reflective.

And then throughout the school day, you meet Aemond at various times during the day and each time, he is there for you. And the next few days too.

You walk to class together, share laughs at lunch or just in the hallways, as well as Aemond always pretends and proves to be an attentive and gentlemanly 'boyfriend' in the eyes of others.

Every affectionate gesture from him to you, from his gentle kisses to his warm hugs or holding your hand, even to post new photos together to the social, is perceived as genuine and affectionate.

And to you, each of these acts is just a facade, a role you're both playing to keep up appearances in front of others. And you remind yourself that these gestures mean nothing, other than to pretend.

But despite your attempts to keep yourself emotionally distant, you couldn't help but feel touched and to some extent 'special' by the way Aemond treats you.

It's like acting in a movie and being actors playing a couple in love, but you wonder; how come in real life actors don't fall in love for real?

And every time Aemond gives you too much attention and treats you like a boyfriend should treat his girlfriend, a little part of you starts to fear that these gestures might start to be more than just acting for you.

But you know you can't get confused and you can't get your hopes up foolishly. You also tell yourself that you can't let your feelings get complicated now, because it's not the right thing to do.

But still you fear that maybe you might mistake his actions for something real, when you shouldn't.

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acesw · 9 months ago

Text

a short patch timeline on reverse 1999

So I've been going back and forth for almost a year now on comprehending and helping people comprehend the timeline in Reverse: 1999 because oh my god, it's so, so convoluted that it's still taking a long time for me to even write down the information without overexplaining it. And that's just the main story.

However, I've been able to piece together the timeline events by patch and chapter to make things easier for everyone. (...unless you want me to even include the anecdotes, which is another can of worms I'd like to not open.)

However, since 2.0 forwards will be taking place after 1.9, I won't be including the patch names. But, I will put their placements in the timeline without making specific notes to avoid spoilers.

I'd like to first note that 1.6 (Notes on Shuori) has no definite placement on the timeline. The reason why is that 1.6 is personally considered a timeline anomaly; there are plot holes and information that made it difficult to deduce when it took place. (i.e. Yenisei's origins, Getian's character story, Bessmert's* presence) For now, I will leave this out.

Additionally, a lot of the character stories take place between the past and the future. Thus, the character story that chronologically takes place the earliest by far is Lucy's while the latest would be Ezra's.

—

First of all, we start with 1.8 (Farewell, Rayashki) in its entirety. From Windsong's past, to her arrival in Rayashki, to when the second "Storm" took place, and Vila and the kids needed to adjust to this new normal.

Next is Chapter 3 (Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien) and Chapter 5's interchapter. (The Star) Both the story of Vertin's becoming of the Timekeeper, and Greta Hofmann's experience with the Apeiron group are both aligned. Greta even mentions Vertin in her log after returning to the Foundation.

Afterwards we skip to 4 years later, and we're now in 1966. (Post First "Storm") Three events occur here. First, 1.1, (Theft of the Rimet Cup) then 1.3, (Journey to Mor Pankh) and then finally, the Prologue of our story. (This is Tomorrow)

Its then quite straightforward afterwards. We immediately follow up with the first 4 Chapters taking us through 1929 to late 1913. Then afterwards, we have Chapters 5-7 taking place within the first 3 weeks of January 1914, and then we're immediately taken to August 1990 at the end of Chapter 7.

I'd like to also add that within those 3 chapters, both rougelikes (Echoes in the Mountains and Series of Dusks) took place within the same time. Although, Series of Dusks ends before Chapter 7 due to Semmelweis and Lorelei leaving with the Foundation right before the "Storm" hit.

Now, in 1990, we start with 1.2 (Nightmare at Green Lake) followed by patches 2.0-2.2, all of which take place in immediate succession. And then for now, we end with 1.5. (Revival! Of the Uluru Games)

So if I put all of these in one list, it looks like this:

Notes on Shuori (1.6) - Undetermined placement

Farewell, Rayashki (1.8) - 1999+1 (1996) -> 1999+2 (1985)

Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien + The Star (Ch. 3 and Ch. 5 Interchapter) - 1999+4 (1987)

Theft of the Rimet Cup (1.1) - March 1966

Journey to Mor Pankh (1.3) - April-May 1966

This is Tomorrow (Prologue) - Jun. 3 1966 -> Feb. 14 1929

In Our Time (Ch. 1) - Feb. 14 1929

Tender is the Night (Ch. 2) - Feb. 15 1929 -> Aug. 1913

Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien (Ch. 3 - Present Time) - Aug. 25 1913

El Oro de Los Tigres (Ch. 4) - Aug. 26 -> Oct. 10 1913

Prisoner in The Cave (Ch. 5) - Dec. 24 - Jan. 4 1914

The Star (Ch. 5 - Interchapter) - Jan. 4 1914

Echoes in the Mountain (Rougelike 1) - Undetermined time, before Jan. 8 1914

E lucevan le Stelle (Ch. 6) - Jan. 6-12 1914

Series of Dusks (Rougelike 2) - Jan. 8-13 1914

Vereinsamt (Ch. 7) - Jan. 12-13 1914 -> Aug. 1990

Nightmare of Green Lake (1.2) - Sept. - Oct. 1990

Patches 2.0 - 2.2 - Sept. - Nov. 1990

Revival! Of the Uluru Games (1.5) - Jan 1991

The story can only get even more convoluted from here. As of the moment, I've been sort of working on a larger timeline to piece the entire story together, especially since we've yet to finish it before the story ends. New stories and information continuously flows in the meantime.

#reverse 1999 #lore analysis #timeline #quick post #so much information to take in #sobbing #send help /j

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whimsymoonpages · 7 days ago

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chapter 10. mr. owl ate my metal worm

cw: family tension, emotional vulnerability, references to strained sibling relationships, mild drinking, subtle anxiety about social situations, brotherly loooove

the owls arrive just after breakfast, their wings brushing through the open window, talons clinking against the plates as they drop their letters. one letter lands in your lap, the familiar looping handwriting making your stomach twist in surprise. regulus. it's been a while since you've seen him. since the party.

you glance over to where sirius is still buttering his toast, looking utterly unbothered until the owl drops a second letter directly in front of him.

his expression tightens immediately. he reads the front. freezes. and pushes it unopened to the side like it's nothing. but you know it's not nothing.

you crack the wax seal on yours carefully. the letter is simple.

"lovely—

i am turning twenty-two. my plan is to have lunch with my mother by day, and go bat-shit crazy by night. it wouldn't be fun without you. barty will be there, and so will evan, pandora, xeno, and some of evan's work friends.

bring your friends, too, if you'd like...but i can't promise my pet snake (evan) won't bite ;)

he made me write that. the blithering idiot.

i can't wait to see you. i've missed you.

-r.a.b."

you put the letter into your pocket, pretending your heart doesn't ache a little for sirius.

later, you notice that sirius has tucked the letter, which was now open into the sidetable drawer.

"sooo," you drag out as you stare at the letter. "you're not going?"

"to what?" sirius' tone is sharp, but you know it's just defense.

"you know what....regulus' birthday."

he stiffens.

"he invited you too?"

you nod. "yeah, i’m his best friend! he asked about you, actually. told me to make sure you got his letter." you shove your hands into your front pockets to stop from fidgeting. you never were good at lying.

sirius rolls his eyes as if he can see right through you. "fat chance."

you let him stew for a bit, but eventually, you nudge him softly. "he's your brother."

"was my brother."

"sirius."

he pushes his long hair back. "he doesn't really want me there. probably just a family obligation thing. last time i saw him, he called me the disgrace of the family."

you wince, remembering how awkward it had been to hear. but really, you knew he didn't mean it. regulus had confided in you many a times during your time living together, and even before that, about his...familial complications.

"yeah, he said that," you murmur, kicking gently at the leg of the table, "but he also made me help him hide that awful sweater you gave him. you remember? the red one with the dragon that looked more like a fat rat."

a ghost of a smile flickers across sirius' face. "he kept that ugly thing?"

"yeah. he wouldn't wear it when your mum was around, but he'd wear it when he was sick. said it was his lucky sweater."

sirius shakes his head, like he doesn't want to believe it, like it hurts too much to believe it. you can't blame him.

"when he writes me," you add quietly. "he talks about you."

"bet he does." sirius’ voice cuts through the air like ice.

"no, i mean..." you chew your lip, trying to pick your words carefully. "he asks about you. like real questions. how you're doing, if you're happy."

"he doesn't care if i'm happy." sirius snaps, his voice becoming dangerously low.

"he does, sirius." you insist as you lean forward, resting your arms on the table. "i know he does because he told me. because he knew i'd tell you."

the kitchen is quiet except for the soft clink of sirius tapping his ring against the chair, his foot bouncing under the table. it's like he's waiting for you to give up, to drop it.

but you don't. he needs this push.

"you know," you say carefully, "you can hate your family and still miss your brother."

sirius lets out a long, slow breath. "i don't know if he even wants me there. i don't know if i could go and not screw it up...make him uncomfortable on his own birthday."

"then we can all go together." you shrug like it's the simplest thing in the world. "and if it's terrible, we leave early. you know, barty will be there. that's incentive enough, yeah?"

"oh, brilliant, a guaranteed disaster."

"you love him."

"i don't love him."

"you like him."

"i tolerate him."

you grin brightly. "see? we're making progress."

sirius rolls his eyes, but there's a bit more color in his cheeks now.

"you really think he'd want me there?" his question is so quiet, it almost hurts you.

you nudge your foot against his under the table. "i think he'd be really happy to see you."

sirius is quiet for a long time, staring down at the faint water ring left by an old mug. eventually, he drags his hand through his hair and mutters, "fine. i'll think about it."

you smile, warm and knowing. "that's all i'm asking."

that evening, remus and james come back from work early. you all go out for butterbeer and chips. you hadn't planned on telling the others about the invite until later, but sirius is unusually quiet, and james catches on quickly.

"what's up with him?" james mouths to you when sirius steps away. to get another round of drinks.

you sigh, playing with the condensation on your butterbeer bottle. "he got a letter from regulus. birthday party."

james perks up immediately, his curiosity winning out. "oh, we're going, right? haven't been to a proper black family event since i charmed sirius' tie to slap him in the face whenever he got smug at his twelfth birthday."

"that was my favorite tie, potter." sirius whines as he plops down into the booth again.

"don't change the subject. you're going, right?"

sirius shrugs and wipes his damp hands on his jeans. "haven't decided."

"well, if we're going," james says, unfazed, "what are we getting him?"

"a gryffindor scarf," sirius deadpans.

james slaps the table, delighted. "it's perfect."

"he'll burn it." you deadpan, smirking as you chug the rest of your drink.

"worth it."

remus hums from his place by the window, thoughtful. "what do you usually get him, y/n?"

you pause. "uh. sometimes records. he likes the weird stuff...celestina warbeck's banned albums, that wizard rock band that got kicked out of the hog's head for starting a mosh pit—"

"the exploding cauldrons," sirius mutters, surprising all of you.

you blink at him. "you remember that?"

"he used to hum their songs when he was mad. 'cos mum hated them."

there's a beat of silence, not uncomfortable, but heavy enough that you feel it.

"i liked them first!" sirius all but exploded. "he was always copyin' me."

he was an older brother, after all!

"you could get him a first press of one of their albums," remus offers, like he's carefully extending a bridge sirius can choose to cross or not.

"too sentimental," sirius scoffs, but he doesn't shoot the idea down completely.

"what about something stupid, then?" james jumps in, his eyes wide as always. "like a toy wand that shoots out sparkles. or a shirt that says 'world's okayest brother.'"

you snort. "he'd never wear that."

sirius sighs, rubbing his thumb over the corner of his mug.

you nudge his foot under the table. "you can get him something small, siri, doesn't have to be perfect."

"can't believe you're all ganging up on me." he huffs, pretending not to turn red at the sound of you calling him siri.

"it's because we love you," james grins, his cheeks red from all the drinks he'd had. "also because we really want to go to a black family party. it's legendary."

"it's not a family party," sirius corrects, quieter now. "it's his party."

maybe that's what does it, you think. calling it regulus' party, not a family obligation, not a trap. just a party.

previous next

#james potter x reader #poly!marauders #sirius black x reader #the marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #poly!marauders x reader

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chelnciel · 9 months ago

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Waiting for chapter 25 and a brief recap of my thoughts post ch 24

On this side of the globe it's still October 14th, although there are only a few hours left for the new chapter!!!

So I started reading my notes from the previous chapters, the last chapter of the manga and the little that has been published of the next ch and although we didn't have much BL development in ch 24, I'm glad that the 10 second rule was modified considerably (Hirano already established that each one has 10 seconds) but I want our favorite blond boy to keep asking for it, and start longing for that little time that is just for the two of them.

But beyond the beautiful panels that this chapter left us (I insist, Kagi is more and more handsome and Hirano is drawn more and more cute)

what I liked the most is that the importance of Hanzawa's homophobic stance finally comes to light.

So the story is no longer just about getting around Hirano's dense head and his denial/non-denial, but also Hanzawa's prejudices... it seemed to me that not everything could be so simple and that somewhere we would see those clues that were raised in HRKG's novel and that we saw little of in SSMY.

But beware, while in SSMY he supports the boys' relationship, I fear that for KGHR the situation is not so simple (we have already seen him extremely worried about their relationship),

So I think that this is where we will see the change of mentality.

I think that Hanzawa will leave part of his homophobia because of Hirano, since he is his friend and I don't think that Hirano will be so kind as to try to tolerate his position when he already knows that his beloved Kagi could get hurt. So naturally he will defend him from anything including his own friends.

So we can say that Hirano is not only the cornerstone of the SSMY/HRKG universe (being the key piece for the other two to meet, and protagonist of the 2nd), but he is also the one who leads Hanzawa on the right path. My dear grumpy blond

And I loved that Kagi thinks that everyone will be fine as long as they don't see them, forewarned is forearmed… Although if they keep arguing loudly I don't think they'll be able to hide it so easily…. Nor will the love-struck faces he openly makes at Hirano help him stay in the safety of his bedroom closet.

My poor and sweet boy. Not only will he have to fight against Hirano's lack of understanding, but against the homophobia of his environment. In that aspect, maybe HRKG is a little more difficult than ssmy, where they were accepted immediately?

I loved chapter 24, but I'm looking forward to seeing what Hirano thought/felt at that moment… (I've been obsessed with that panel for months) so I have all the faith that in ch 25 we will be able to see the story through Hirano-san's feline eyes.

On another note… I want to emphasize that Hirano will be an attentive boyfriend. Not knowing what to say, he went to look for Kagi-kun after his jealous attack over Sasaki, just to make sure he was okay. Also, it must be acknowledged that he not only cares about his feelings, but he already knows how to read them, so his communication progresses more fluidly (although of course, his outbursts are still much more effusive than normal). And this is where I see more possibilities, he no longer only cares about him, now he can read him perfectly and put his needs before himself… Dude, you are so screwed.

The next chapter has me anxious. Just the title of chapter 25 makes me think of everything I've been considering, and that maybe those many sides of Hirano are seeing how he behaves in his daily life, with his friends, family and Kagi, and how different he is with the latter.

I feel like this chapter is going to be tasty, I want to avoid spoilers, but I don't know if I'll be able to

And about the upcoming announcements, I just hope it's that volume 5 is coming! I've been waiting for it for so long that I feel like when they announce it, I'm going to die, revive, pre-order all the mangas with the extras, and die again.

I hope volume 6 has Hirano really understanding that he does love Kagi, and that we finally get past March and see him with his black hair

#I feel like Yashiro knows something and he's not saying it I don't trust that kid #I can't get that almost kiss out of my head #I procrastinated and now I'm here staying up late leaving my ideas written down to laugh later because I didn't get anything right #Come on volume 5! Now I'm really going to If volume 5 comes out will we have the KGHR adult au?#My English is worse than usual sorry I'm writing super fast to go to sleep #Oops the text is very long and I summarized a lot #HiranolovesKagiura #HiranoamaaKagiura #hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #hirano y kagiura #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #kagihira #hirakagi

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enthusiasticharry · 6 months ago

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so sorry!! I know it's been forever since i've posted and i truly did start writing this to have it out in august but then life got a head of me! I had to move, start a new job it's all be crazy. Now, I can officially say that I'll try and post more regularly (but i can't guarantee anything!) thank you for all the support over the last two and a bit years on this fic, i couldn't ever leave it unfinished for you guys!! enjoy the last chapter of regret me and if you need me, i'll be sobbing in a corner somewhere!!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, talks of drug/ alcohol use, mentions of addiction recovery, angst (i'm sorry), and a stupid little boy who finally realises how amazing he has it.

𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓 here

Los Angeles, Spring 1985

The Rise and Fall (and Rise Again) of a Rock n’ Roll Star by Christopher Thomas

Standing in front of YN YLN’s home, I was nervous. The house itself wasn’t exactly what one may expect of one of the biggest stars to come out of the 70s – it was homely, comforting and not necessarily a ‘rock star mansion’. My nerves stemmed more consequently from the woman I was meeting; one I hadn’t seen in over 10 years and hadn’t necessarily left the best impression at that time either.

However, the second I rang the bell and the door swung open – the past didn’t seem to matter. YLN was wearing a denim skirt, one that landed just above her knee and a light floral blouse with long sleeves that the singer had definitely worn before, or if not something very similar. We chuckled when I pointed out her footwear (her beloved cowboy boots) – something that wasn’t surprising to me and shouldn’t be to any of you. She invited me in and offered me a coffee – something that I was not going to say no to.

After a little small talk, asking how we’d been and so forth, it became time to get to the nitty gritty of my visit, and what everyone reading had been waiting for. After being a household name for the better part of ten years – YN YLN was finally a Grammy nominee. For someone who had been in the spotlight for so long, many may have thought that she was past her prime and that her eighth studio album wasn’t going to be anything special – and yet it was her best one.

“I think it’s raw,” YLN spoke when asked about what was different with this record from her others, “I stopped hiding. It’s the truth – I think people are appreciating the truth from me.”

There was a part of me which was scared to go forward with questioning from here, but with a quick reassurance from YN that it was okay – I continued. In the last four months since her album had been released, YN had started to open conversations about her addiction, something that I had asked her about years prior, at a time when she was in the wrath of her addiction and refused to comment. Looking back, it wasn’t my best moment as a journalist.

“I had freedom that I hadn’t even experienced before,” The air felt thicker as YLN spoke upon this subject, “I went from 0 to 100, and if it wasn’t for the people around me that loved me at that time, I wouldn’t be here today, talking to you.”

The house YLN lives in sits right on the Californian coast, a quiet and calm place away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Once we had finished our coffees, YN suggested a walk down to the beach. She explains that her best friend, Vivienne (“She’s my sister,”), lives in the next house and that she hasn’t gone a day without speaking to her since the day they met, and she wasn’t going to start now.

“Vivienne is my family. I lost interest in my actual family when I realised they didn’t love me, but Viv never made me miss them – she became everything I needed and more. She saw me as a naïve young girl on the strip without a single clue and helped me when she didn’t need to. I’ll never be able to thank her enough.”

YLN mentions her family, more so her parents Mr and Mrs YLN. Her father, a senator seemingly didn’t agree with her new lifestyle and her music even more so, and it seemed as though whatever her father said her mother agreed with. When I asked if the way they had treated her had anything to do with her addiction, and her subsequent overdose YN went silent, choosing not to comment verbally but physically shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t regret anything in my life,” YN takes out a cigarette, offering me one which I accept, “I have come to realise that everything happens for a reason, and I’ve loved and lost for a reason. It’s made me the person I am today.”

The last time I spoke with YLN, she was in a relationship with fellow Rock n’ Roll star Harry Styles, who I have also written for in the past. YLN and Styles have never publicly spoken about the reason behind their split, but rumours surfaced soon after that Styles had been the one to cheat on YLN just before her first world tour.

“I would say that for any songwriter, heartbreak can be a big influence,” YLN chuckles, shaking her head slightly, “I won’t say what happened, I think if anyone has listened to any of my records, especially my latest one – you’ll already know what happened. It was one part of my life, and I don’t hold anything that happened against anyone.”

YN asks for a break after this and asks if we can reconvene later in the day. She recommended that we meet at a café for some late lunch that is a mile or so away from her house. I thought, like probably many of you, YLN would return from the beach to her house. Instead, she made her way up the sand and towards Vivienne’s house, obviously needing some time with her best friend.

“I hope that whoever listens to the album finds something for themselves within it,” YN speaks, sipping on her Iced Tea as we sat across from each other in the café, “It’s my gift for everyone. I hope that everyone who has ever had something to say about me or my life listens to it, and it answers whatever questions they may have.”

YLN lists her relationship, her addiction and everything in between as things that people may have questions about. Since the 70s, the amount of information that the public has known about her has dwindled and she says that is for a reason.

“I had to separate my life from the life that people saw,” YLN nods, “To protect myself, I needed that. All I hope is that people weren’t too angry with me.”

Once we’ve eaten (both having burgers since YLN said that it was the best thing on the menu, and both the waitress and the owner knew her by name), we go outside to have another cigarette. We both joked that we would quit smoking one day, but today was not going to be that day.

“I’ll be there… at the awards,” YN responds when I ask her about whether or not she will be attending the Grammy’s, “I don’t necessarily care about winning – it would be lovely, of course, but it’s not going to make or break me. I’ve lasted this long without; I am damn sure I can last for a lot longer.”

As our time together drew to a close, I asked what I suppose myself and many others are wondering – does YN see an end to her career anytime in the future?

YLN chuckled at the question, “I’ll do this as long as I can if the people will have me.”

If it was up to me, I’d say that YLN will be a name that sticks around for years to come. But, I suppose that’s down to you.

“I know your cowboy boots are like you’re thing or whatever, YN, but I highly doubt that it’s the best look for the Grammys,” Vivienne speaks from where she’s laid upon the bed in YN’s hotel room.

“I don’t feel right without them, Viv, I have to wear them,” YN stresses from where she’s sat, having her makeup done.

Pamela snorts from where she’s lying next to Vivienne. Since they met, Vivienne and Pamela have been inseparable. Therefore, that means that Vivienne, Pamela, and YN have been inseparable. It was a package deal, unfortunately for Pamela, but she didn’t mind too much. The things that Pamela did mind though, however that YN not only had a key to their house but would invite herself in pretty much all of the time. It had become the case that waking up in the morning without three people in their bed instead of two was the norm. At first, Pamela would be confused and disorientated, and then she soon realised that was just what the two girls were like. Where there was one, there was the other not too far behind.

“Pam, I’m nearly done and then it’s your turn,” YN stresses, allowing her make-up artist, Claude, to finish the final touches on her makeup.

Pamela groans, dropping back on the bed and pushing herself into Vivienne’s body. The other girl groans but accepts her fate as her girlfriend’s body rests against her. It wasn’t that anyone was forcing Pamela to wear makeup – she knew it was for the best, considering they were about to be on live television, it just wasn’t something that she normally did. But, as much as this was YN’s moment and her first Grammy nomination, it was Pamela’s too – and that meant, in YN’s eyes, she deserved to be spoilt, too. Pamela hadn’t necessarily ever expected her first band to split up, but it was always a possibility. It was a huge life change, and she hadn’t a single clue of what she was going to do once it happened. Then, when YN invited her to the studio and they started to work on some songs together, they both knew that it made sense for all parties involved that Pamela join YN’s band. That has also meant that Vivienne has been the band’s photographer since that moment as well. As mentioned before, the trio are often never seen without each other.

Apart from being the band’s photographer whenever they needed, Vivienne had also opened her gallery – something that she had always wanted to do but never had the opportunity to do. Seeing her best friend and her favourite person excel in the way that she had done warmed YN in ways that she couldn’t explain.

“Do I have to?” Pamela groaned, pressing her face deeper into Vivienne’s chest.

“Yes,” YN stood up once she had finished, lifting one of the pillows that had been absentmindedly thrown to the bottom of the bed up and hitting the girl with it. It took a few attempts, but soon Pamela had pushed herself up from Vivienne and, with a sulk on her face, sat in the chair, “Thank you. I know you don’t think so, but I’m doing this with your best interest at heart.”

Pamela just groans and crosses her arms over her chest, allowing Claude to get started. Trying her best not to mess her makeup up, YN drops down on the bed next to Vivienne. YN found herself picking at the hole that sat around the wrist of the sweater she was wearing. It was an attempt at not trying to show the nerves that were wracking around her body – but it was difficult, especially when the people in the room were YN’s closest confidants and knew every little tick that the girl had.

“Look,” Vivienne reaches over and grabs YN’s hand, “If you’re nervous about the awards, it’s honestly too fucking unlikely that you won’t win.”

YN snorts, accepting Vivienne’s reassuring squeeze, “Thanks Viv, but I don’t think it’s that.”

“Ah,” The girl nods, “It’s about Harry, isn’t it?”

The announcement for who would be presenting the awards came out a few weeks ago, and whilst YN had originally not thought it was important to know who it would be – it very quickly became obvious that wasn’t the case. When the presenters had been announced, Vivienne had received word of who would be presenting Album of the Year and had immediately rushed over to YN’s house. Being a two-time winner of the award himself (once for Harry’s House, the album that she had written with him), it shouldn’t have surprised YN as much as it did that Harry would be presenting the award.

Knowing that her chances to win were so likely, YN had wondered if it was sort of a set-up. Whoever had decided to ask Harry to do so knew of their past and knew that it would make a lovely bit of new gossip. That was unfortunately where YN’s mind went, and that’s what stressed her out slightly. Especially since her album was so open about her feelings, and even more so about Harry and their relationship – this wasn’t something that she would have ever asked for.

“I’ve just spent so long… so long, Viv, trying to change the narrative of my life,” YN sighs, now starting to pick at the polish on her nails, “And him being there, after I’ve spent so long trying to reclaim my story for me, I’m just scared of how I’m going to react. I don’t want this to be the thing that spirals me right back to the person I was.”

Vivienne sighed, shaking her head, and lifting their joint hands to press a kiss to the back of YN’s hand, “YN… you are not the person you were back then. Trust me, I was right there with you. I mean… God, if that man tries to say anything to me I might lose my shit, but you won’t lose yours. You’ve grown, you’ve matured and most importantly you’ve forgiven yourself. You thought you needed him – but you didn’t.”

YN nodded her head, wanting nothing more than to accept Vivienne’s words and believe them. She hoped she would at least that her face convinced Viv that she was believing her words. The truth was when YN reflected on that time of her life (mostly when she had finished writing her newest record), there were parts of her that wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t reacted the way she had. It was mostly what would have happened to her and Harry if they had handled the situation differently. Because, to YN at that part of her life (and sometimes now) she felt as though Harry was going to be it for her. That she was his, and he was hers.

YN truly did think that she was going to spend the rest of her life with Harry. He saw her and loved her through her hardest times, and yet it was when her life was truly starting to get back on track that she lost her faith in him. It hurt her soul and truly sent her spiralling through the idea that she could only ever be loved when she was broken – and it took her a long time to realise that wasn’t the case.

“It’s just… I think..” YN shook her head, struggling to articulate the words that were swimming around in her head, “My message, especially with this album, is so much more than what we were and what happened to us… I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” It was Pamela that spoke up this time, from the makeup chair, “You are going to do what you do best, YN, you are going to dodge and dive any of the sleazy questions and hold yourself with grace and fucking win that Grammy. You can even thank him for breaking your heart because it made you stronger, and it made you the person you are today.”

YN smiles, trying her best not to tear up and ruin the makeup that Claude had worked so hard on, “You’re right… it’s my day, not his. And anyway, it’s been so long since we last spoke that I honestly doubt he’s even thought about me.”

“He has,” Vivienne nods, “I know you haven’t listened to his albums – but I have. Trust me, he has.”

“God,” YN’s eyes widen, “Don’t say that! That makes me more nervous!”

Vivienne shakes her head, “No, nope, not letting you do that. Come on, I’m going to do your hair, then you’re going to put your pretty little dress on, and we are going to go and win that award.”

YN knew that it was silly, but if she had these girls behind her – she could do anything she put her mind to.

Chicago, 1975 – 5 minutes after the concert

“YN!” YN didn’t listen to Harry’s calls of her name as she stormed off stage. She had no idea where she was going or what she was doing, but all she knew was that she had to get far away. Far away from Harry, far away from Mary and far away from everyone who would know that something was wrong, “YN! Stop walking away from me!”

“Why would I listen to anything you say anymore?” YN scoffs, wiping the tears from off her wet cheeks. She turned down a hallway and realised that it was a dead end. She stopped and sighed, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get away from him now – and also that they would have to have this conversation where anyone could hear them.

“I need to explain, YN,” Harry sighs from behind her, but she still doesn’t turn to look at him, “Let me explain, please.”

That’s the thing when you love someone – even when they fuck up, you can’t say no to them. That was what YN was struggling with. This man had hurt her, done something inexcusable to her and yet he wanted her to listen, and she was going to do that. It was just who she was, and it’s just what love is.

YN turned to face Harry, slightly shocked at the sight of his reddened face matching hers, “Explain then. Try and explain what I saw!”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, “It wasn’t what it looked like at all – she came on to me. I would never do this to you, you know that!”

“You only pushed her off because I was there!” YN exclaimed, “To me, it looked like you would have had ample opportunity to walk away, to push her away to say fucking no, Harry, but she was still on you!”

“I tried, YN, I fucking tried,” Harry claimed, clearly becoming more exasperated by the second, “She was coked out of her fucking mind! She was high, and on an adrenaline rush and there was no stopping her without hurting her!”

“Then fucking hurt her, Harry,” YN points her finger in his direction, “You were supposed to be mine. Mine. Not hers. I fucking knew she was up to something, and I never said a word because I trusted you! I trusted you more than I trusted myself.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Harry shakes his head, “Blame this all on me. Tell me to hurt her and that she was up to something but not once in any of that did you come to me and tell me that!”

“Oh, good one,” YN chuckles, “I didn’t fucking tell you Harry because I trusted you! And I also thought you had eyes and a pretty good eye for this shit. You should’ve fired her months ago, and you know it. The drugs, the booze, the partying – it’s not who you associate with!”

“I associated with you.”

His words stop YN right in her tracks. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. She didn’t want to believe what he was saying to her. She had thought that he would’ve never, ever, put her past against her like that and here he was.

“You did,” YN nodded, “You helped me and loved me when I didn’t know I needed that. All I could hope is that you seeing me like that, loving me like that would make you realise that you shouldn’t be around people like that.”

“She’s a good fucking singer, YN, the crowd responds to her. You’re saying I’m just supposed to fire her because she’s an addict? – come off your fucking high horse.”

“No,” YN shakes her head, “I’m telling you that firing her would have been the right option so that she could get help. This life is not the life that addicts need, you and I both know that. You’re enabling her, allowing her delusions to run, and hurting me in the process! You let her get on top of you, let her kiss you. At no point did you think why? Why does she have the confidence to do this to taken man? It’s because she has no inhibitions, no awareness of her actions!”

“So this is all her fault, yeah? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, I’m saying it’s your fault,” YN took a step forward, pointing her finger against his chest, “You should have realised, you should have put a stop to it. But, now I’m thinking you didn’t want to. Now I’m thinking that you didn’t mind someone coming in and ruining our relationship in this way. I don’t know maybe I wasn’t giving you enough attention, maybe I was getting bigger than you could handle now I’m sober – maybe I don’t ride your dick good enough, I don’t fucking know!”

Harry goes silent, obviously stumped at the girl’s words. Unfortunately for him, that gave YN everything that she needed to know. In her head, all she could think was that he was understanding her, and he wasn’t seeing this from her perspective.

“She hasn’t come in and ruined our relationship, YN,” Harry sighs, shaking his head, “She hasn’t ruined our relationship, you’re the one doing that by not listening to me.”

YN gasps, and that’s it. She lifts her arms and pushes past Harry. He tries to reach out for her, but she pulls away from him.

“YN, you can’t walk away from this,” He calls from behind her, but YN carries on walking. She storms through the hallways, brushing past people lingering in the hallway and hoping that none of them would stop her.

Despite Harry’s calls of her name and the fact that this place is like a fucking maze YN somehow manages to find herself outside. The only problem was Harry had followed her. YN fumbles with her cigarette carton in her pocket and despite her shaking hands she manages to light one.

“Are you finally going to listen to me?” Harry asks, throwing his arms open.

“Are you finally going to listen to me?” She retorts, raising her eyebrow at him.

He shrugs, “What do you want me to say? Sorry? I’m fucking sorry YN.”

YN nods, letting the words settle for a minute. She’d seen this man sorry before, she knew what he was feeling and knew the signs of his true feelings. Whatever he was saying, and trying to express right now she knew wasn’t him. She didn’t know who he was.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” YN shakes her head, “I’m going back to the hotel, packing my shit and going home – I’ll see you in L.A.”

YN turns and walks away, ignoring Harry’s calls to her. The fact that he dared to shout that she was the one leaving this relationship and not working on it as she walked away was crazy to her, and yet here he was. She knew that being on the road changed people, but she didn’t think that it would change him this much. He was her everything, and now she didn’t even want to look him in the eye.

There was always a part of her that thought this was too good to be true, and something was going to ruin it. She would be lying if she said that she didn’t think she would be the one guilty of such, but it seems like it was him that caused this and seemingly had little to no remorse for his actions.

As much as it was going to be difficult, she couldn’t let this ruin her tour. More so, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her life. She had worked too fucking hard.

The second that their car arrives on the carpet, YN knows that everything that she was feeling and all of the memories that had been brought to the surface had to be pushed away. This was her night, one to celebrate with her band and her friends and not bring anything from the past up at all.

Out of all of the awards shows she has been to, YN pulled out all of the stops. The dress she had decided upon was a forest green, one which complimented her darkening hair. It had layers and lace, draping around her arms but allowing her figure to be shown at the same time. Vivienne had styled her hair to perfection, just as the girl always does. Even though Vivienne wasn’t a hairstylist by trade, there wasn’t a single person that YN would trust with her hair besides Vivienne. The last and final touch to her outfit was her cowboy boots and despite Vivienne’s protests when she pulled them on – they truly made her feel like herself.

YN isn’t even two metres onto the carpet before a camera is thrust in her face, a reporter standing by, ready to ask her question upon a question that YN had no control over. It was only in the latter years of her career that she found herself truly in the hands of the media. If her name was mentioned before, she wasn’t in a state of mind to know anything of it.

“YN, it’s your first Grammy Awards, how are you feeling? Nervous? Excited?” The reporter asks, thrusting a microphone into her face before she can even think properly.

“Uh,” YN hesitates for a moment before a small smile crosses her lips, “A bit of both of those, I think. It’s an honour to be invited and nominated at that, but it’s also a little nerve-wracking in the same sense. All I do know is that each person who is nominated deserves that win, and even if it isn’t me I’ll still be grateful for the invitation.”

“How do you feel about reuniting with someone from your past today? Harry Styles. I’m sure you’re aware that he’s announcing your category?”

YN’s heart starts to beat ten times quicker, her palms sweating, but she’s thanking God for all of the media training that she’d been given over the years, “I admire Harry so much as an artist, and has won the category twice before – I can’t name anyone more deserving to present the category.”

The reporter doesn’t look too impressed by her answer, but with more thanks to the reporter and a nod from Vivienne, she decides it’s probably time to move on and get inside. YN immediately links her arm with Vivienne’s and tries to calm her breathing down.

“Was that okay? I think I fully blanked for a second there,” YN mutters the second that they are out of earshot of anybody but the two of them, “I honestly think I just spewed absolute shit at them.”

“It was absolute shit,” Vivienne nodded, pushing one of YN’s curls over her shoulder, “But, as far as PR think it was probably absolutely perfect shit.”

The two girls share a giggle. Pamela joins them a few seconds later, having just come out of her interview, and feels a similar level of confusion and delusion to YN. They take some more photos just as they enter the building, and even though there are calls from left and right for photos of YN on her own – she doesn’t stray from her girls. She could’ve, and she knows that in the future, she might regret not having one fully alone on the carpet – but now, the idea of having to stand on her own without Vivienne or Pamela to hold her up was unbearable.

Once they make it inside the building, YN fully intends to beeline straight towards the drinks. She needed something to chug down to get rid of the cottonmouth she currently had. It wasn’t going to be alcohol, and she certainly knew that – but anything would have been better than the feeling that currently was in her mouth.

“Can I have a glass of water, please? Or soda? Or anything without alcohol?” The bartender looks at her confused, as though he wasn’t suspecting anybody to ask for anything non-alcoholic that evening. YN had offered the man a short but sweet smile in thanks, knowing that if she had opened her mouth she might have said something that she would later come to regret, and beelined straight for where Vivienne and Pamela were waiting for her.

“I can wholeheartedly say I have never wished to drink more than I did in that second,” YN mutters with a shake of her head as she stops in front of the two women, “And it’s not for the sake of I wanted a buzz, no it was for the fact that man had sixteen glasses of champagne ready and not a single glass of fucking water!”

“Okay,” Vivienne reached over and placed her hand on Vivienne’s free hand, as the other was currently lifting the glass of water to her lips, “I think the nerves are probably getting the better of us, and drinking is not the solution to that.”

“I’m not going to do it,” YN sighs, dropping the now empty glass back down on the bar, “Have more faith in me than that, it just crossed my mind, that’s all – for ease.”

YN doesn’t notice the partners share a look, one that they both know exactly what that means, and what they are to do. They knew wholeheartedly that this was just YN’s nerves talking, and the second that they got her distracted and sitting down it would all be okay.

“Did I tell you about the man who got in touch the other day?” Vivienne started, immediately realising that she was about to be chatting absolute shit to her friend, but it was better than to let Vivienne sit in a ball of her stress.

“No,” YN shakes her head, accepting another glass of water from the bartender, “What man?”

“Yeah… what man?” Pamela mutters, her entire face pursed with confusion. Vivienne kicks her slightly under the table, “Oh, yeah, that man! How about we walk and talk?”

Vivienne started to rattle on to her about a man who had come into her gallery and asked her question upon question without seeming to be interested in buying anything. It became obvious to YN further on in the conversation that the man wanted to ask Viv on a date, and she had to be the one to break the news that she was in a committed relationship. Even though Vivienne was rattling on, YN knew why she was doing so. It was to distract YN from the thoughts, and more so from the impending reunion that was on the horizon.

Vivienne rattled on until they got to their seats and continued even when they had sat down. It was funny to YN, that these two women would do anything for her, and she would do anything for them – and that included making a story that certainly wasn’t as interesting as they were making it seem so for YN’s sake.

YN was repeatedly kicking herself internally for the fact that every time her eyes darted around the room, there was one person that she was thinking specifically about. The thing that YN didn’t want to face was not being in control when she saw him again. She had learnt so much about how to control herself recently, and that would send her spiralling right back to a place that she didn’t want to be.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” YN spoke once there was a lilt in the conversation, “Don’t want to be needed a piss in the middle of the awards.”

“Okay,” Vivienne nodded, knowing that some time by herself might be what YN needs right now just to centre herself, “Do you need us to come with?”

“No,” YN offers her a smile, “I’ll only be a minute or two.”

When YN weaved her way through the corridors to the bathroom, it was made abundantly clear to her that her time in the bathroom would be spent sitting on a closed toilet rather than doing anything. After a few minutes, she left the cubicle to glance at herself in the mirror and make sure that her makeup and hair still looked okay.

Once she was happy with herself and felt calmer than she did it was the perfect time to make her way back to the awards and hope that it all went smoother.

Just as YN had turned out of the bathroom door, a smile on her face finally – it was made obvious straight away that it wasn’t to last long. That was because standing a few feet away from her was Harry. He was dressed to the nines in a full pinstripe suit, one hand resting in his pocket as he walked towards her.

YN froze completely, unable to move or breathe or simply function. It was a second or so later that Harry noticed her as well, and his movements came to a stop also. His face dropped, just as hers had. It was the first time in ten years that they had been face to face, the last time being the night of her final performance in L.A., when their relationship had ended completely. Even though it had been ten years, when Harry opened his mouth to speak to her, she felt as though she was right back in that moment and that all of the work she had didn’t matter anymore.

“Hi.”

L.A., 1975 – The last performance of YN’s tour

To say that YN was ready for this tour to finish was an understatement.

There was nothing she loved more than performing her songs for the people who loved them – but with everything that was going on behind the scenes, she just wanted to go home and be with Vivienne and Pamela.

Her band had been doing her fucking head in the entire time, not the girls, mainly the boys, but they were all at fault. It was her simple rules, and they seemed to just not understand the consequences of what happens when they break them. It was why for the first time in a while, YN walked into the green room with a certain skip in her step.

The band was lounged around, empty cans and packets of coke on every surface, but YN was past the point of caring. This was their last night together, and she was not embarrassed to say that she was excited to break that news to them.

“Last night,” YN sighed as she dropped down against the sofa, crossing one of her legs over the other (her cowboy boots sat comfortably on her feet), “I didn’t think we’d get here but we have.”

There was a slight chuckle in the room, and then there was a silence. It was a bittersweet moment. This tour had been one of the best and worst times of her life, and there were only so many words in the English language to explain that.

“I’m not one for many words, as you all know,” YN starts before she hears a snigger from one of the boys.

“Unless you’re fucking complaining about some shit.”

A laugh spreads through the room, and even YN is guilty of a smile spreading across her face.

“Normally complaining about you two just being fucking idiots,” She retorts with a smile, “That’s why I’m happy and relieved to say that this is our last show of this tour, and our last show together… because if I ever do this again, it isn’t going to be with any of you.”

For once, the room is silent, and YN feels a wave of accomplishment rush through her veins.

“Now, let’s go and put on the best fucking show of this tour.”

YN turned to walk out of the room, an ever-present smile still resting on her face. Despite what this show was, and what was consequently going to happen because of this – there was at least this positive for her to focus on. As YN prepared to go on stage, standing on the sidelines and hearing the screams and shouts of the people who were here to see her, she realised that nothing was going to ruin today.

“You ready, babes?” Vivienne smiles from behind her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

YN sighs but nods, “I am… is he here?”

Vivienne’s eyes never leave YN’s, but a wave of sadness washes over them, and she nods, “He’s in a green room with his band.”

YN nods. Since that night in Pittsburgh, there’s been no communication between herself, and Harry and she was glad about that. Everything had gone through management, and YN thought that was the best way to do it. It was strange to think that she would be seeing him in the flesh soon, and singing with him once again but it was probably for the best that she hadn’t thought about it at all.

“If you see him, tell him not to be shit,” YN says and Vivienne chuckles, reaching out to give YN’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t you worry,” Vivienne shakes her head, “If I see him, I’ll be saying a whole lot more to him.”

YN just rolls her eyes but is appreciative of her friend, and she knows that Vivienne knows that, too. When YN had first called Vivienne to explain what had happened, Vivienne was ready to jump on a flight and speak her mind to Harry. Once YN had gotten over her initial anger at the situation, Vivienne was there for her throughout the sadness, too. When she needed to cry, Vivienne was always there at the end of the phone to be there for her.

The two girls shared one last hug before it was time for YN to go on stage, to finish the tour that might have actually been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she would be lying if she said that she hadn’t loved it as well.

Telling her band that she was firing them before the last show could have gone one of two ways. Fortunately for YN, it had gone a better way than many would have expected. They were good at what they did, and they all (she was including herself in this) played the best that they had the entire tour. There was an energy from the crowd that was palpable, and it seemed to be wearing off on the band as well as herself. It was a damn good show if she said so herself.

Just as she was coming to the last song on her set, she received a nod from the side of the stage saying that it was time. Time for her to welcome a guest on to stage, and to pretend in front of thousands of people that this man hadn’t just broke her heart.

Once the cheering has subsided, YN tucked her hair behind her ears and addressed the crowd, knowing it was better to do so like she was ripping a band-aid off rather than drawing it out.

“Now, it’s coming up to the point where we have to say goodnight,” YN smiles, hearing a mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd, “And before we do say goodnight, I thought… since it’s the last night of our tour, and you’ve been such an amazing crowd that I’d surprise you all… Now, this guest, he’s someone that’s very special to me. I haven’t seen him, or spoken to him in a while… but he has my heart, and he should always know that… Now, please put your hands together for Mr. Harry Styles!”

There’s a moment where YN doesn’t want to turn to look at Harry, in fact she just wants to ignore that he’s there all together – but she knows she can’t do that. Once she does turn to look at him, she’s shocked at what she sees. It still looks like him, the man that she loved with all of her heart, but he looks worn out, and tired and quite possibly heartbroken.

The band starts to play Cherry and all of a sudden she’s transported back to that night. Everything that happened, everything that he did, everything that she felt rushed back to her body, and flooded every one of her thoughts. It was difficult to keep her composure, and even more difficult not to turn and look at him, but she couldn’t. Not when she had a show to put on, and a tour to finish.

“Don’t you call him [me] baby/ We’re not talking lately.”

As the song was drawing to a close, YN realised that she had to look at Harry. Now that her initial anger and upset had passed, he needed to see how she felt. He needed to see how he had hurt her.

It wasn’t in YN’s plan to change the lyrics, but she couldn’t help herself. A song that Harry and herself had written all those years ago was now resonating in their life in a way that neither one of them could’ve expected.

“Don’t you call her what you used to call me.”

Harry stopped singing when he noticed what she had done, and even with thousands of people in the room it felt as though it was only the two of them, once more, just as it had been on that night. Instead of an anger running through her veins, YN felt sadness, a heaviness. She was grieving the man she knew and the life that she had envisioned for herself because in that moment she realised it was over… for good.

“Thank you all, you’ve been amazing!” YN snapped herself out of her trance and turned back to the crowd, “Thank you for having me, and I’m sure we’ll see you all soon!”

With once last smile and wave to the crowd, YN turned and walked off the stage, leaving her band and Harry standing there. She wasn’t necessarily proud of this action, but it was needed. It was her time to leave this tour, and these feelings in the past – and there was one more thing that she needed to do to ensure that.

“When Harry comes off, tell him to come to my dressing room,” She spoke to Jeff as she walked past him, offering him a small smile as she did.

“Of course.” He replied with a nod.

She paced in the room for a few seconds and then the door opened behind her. She turned, and he was there. It was strange, she had imagined what this conversation was going to be like so many times in her head and now that he was here, she couldn’t think of any of it. All she knew was that she needed to tell him how she felt.

“YN…”

“No,” YN shook her head, biting the side of her lip and resting her hands upon her hips, “I need you to listen to me… and I need you to listen carefully,” There was a slight pause where she had to compose herself from crying, “I love you, and I still love you and I probably always will… but, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t… you couldn’t see it from my perspective, and I don’t know if you ever will, but I know that for myself, I can’t wait and find out.”

“YN…” There were tears in his eyes.

There were now tears in hers, “I will never be able to get that image out of my head, and what you said… It hurt me. I love you and I want you to know that… but we’re over.”

A silence washes over them, as though both of them were coming to terms with what she was saying.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know what else I can say but I love you.”

“I just saw him,” YN says the second she sits down with Pam and Viv.

Vivienne almost spits out her drink, and Pamela’s mouth drops open, “What do you mean?”

“He was there when I left the bathroom,” YN shook her head, “I just stared at him. I didn’t even say anything.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Vivienne asks and YN nods her head.

“He said ‘Hi’ and then I bolted back here,” YN places her head in the palm of her hands, “I knew that I was going to see him, but I thought it was at least going to be in this room, or when he gets on stage – not after I had a piss.”

Vivienne wraps her arm around YN, “The show’s about to start. Put it out of your mind. You’ve got a Grammy to win.”

That’s exactly what (with a little bit of inner strength) she did. The show started, and awards were given out, and the clock was ticking until it was her category. She kept herself looking cool, calm, and collected to anyone glancing at her, but inside, her heart was racing out of her chest.

“Your next babes,” Vivienne grabbed YN’s hand from the side of her, “Whatever happens, I just want to tell you that I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

YN’s eyebrows lifted, tears collecting in her waterline, “Stop it… or I’ll cry before it even starts.”

“Don’t you worry, babes…” Vivienne squeezed her hand tighter, “I’ll wipe your snot before you go on stage.”

YN rolled her eyes, and the girls shared a chuckle. It was then that the lights dimmed. A round of applause started, and the spotlight hit the stage. Harry was dressed in the same pinstripe suit as she had seen him a few hours before. He stood on the stage, his arms crossed in front of him and a smile on his lips. It wasn’t the smile that YN remembered in her dreams, the one where his dimples and his teeth lit up the world – but it was him.

“As a recipient of this award myself, I am honoured to announce this category today,” he said, cool, calm, and collected, “As much as I’m sure you would all love to hear me chat away, I think it’s probably better for everyone that we get to it. The nominees are…”

YN blanks out as the names are read, but when he speaks her name for the first time in years, she almost melts. It was strange that her body had such a visceral reaction to something that she hadn’t ever thought about before.

“And… the Grammy goes to…” Harry speaks, opening the envelope. It was then that a beaming smile crossed his face, “YN YLN!”

A gasp left her lips, a high-pitched buzz filling her ears. There was a part of her that didn’t believe it, but when she saw Vivienne’s teary-eyed face staring at her – she knew it was real. The girl, who was usually cool, calm and collected was sobbing so forcefully that YN was slightly scared for her.

“I told you, babes!” Once YN pushes herself up from her seat, Vivienne pounces on her in a hug, “I knew it was going to be you!”

“I…” YN shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

“You need to go,” Vivienne places her hands on YN’s cheeks and nods, “Take Pam, and go. Get your fucking Grammy babes.”

YN nods and reaches for Pam’s hand, whose face looks the same as YN does. There was a flash of disbelief as well as pure shock on both the girl’s faces. YN squeezes Pam’s hand as tightly as she can, trying to centre herself as well as be there for the other woman as they walk towards the stage. It’s then that YN hears the clapping from the crowd, and it takes every ounce of strength she has not to burst out into tears.

Then she sees him.

He was standing at the front of the stage, the award clutched in his hand, but at that point, it was almost as though the award didn’t matter. The smile on his face was the one she saw in her dreams when she closed her eyes and thought back to that time of her life. When she doesn’t want to think of the heartbreak or the hardship, when she wants to think of the overwhelming love she felt and had in her body. That was the Harry that she saw standing there, the one who first asked her to come on stage and sing his song with him, the man who gave her everything.

If it wasn’t for Pamela pulling her up the stairs, she would’ve ceased moving altogether. Once she had come to a stop in front of him, he held the award out to her.

“Well done.”

“Thank you.”

That was all she could say before she was pushed in front of a microphone. Pamela tried to slip out of YN’s hand, but she pulled Pamela right to the side of her.

“I hadn’t expected this,” YN chuckles into the microphone, “So I’m sorry if I forget anyone or anything. I think… I want to thank my team, my band, and Pamela in particular, who stayed with me all of those nights when I couldn’t give up and had to finish even though everyone else had left… I want to thank everyone in my life who saw me at my lowest and pushed me to my best. Vivienne. I want to thank you for forever being my best friend, my sister, and my family. This is for you and for everything you’ve ever done for me… and, uh, Harry. I, uh, want to thank you for seeing something in me that night at your show and asking me on that stage… I wouldn’t be here without that. Thank you so much, I’ll keep this forever close to my heart.”

Even though he was standing right next to YN, she couldn’t look at him. When she had given her speech, some thought earlier on in the day, the thought of thanking Harry hadn’t even crossed her mind. Looking back, she assumed it was because she was too nervous to see him that thanking him in her speech hadn’t even crossed her mind. Once she had deemed that seeing him hadn’t been as bad as she expected it to be (minus the stress and also rehashing of memories that she had wanted nothing more than to forget), it was like her brain couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

Music started playing around her, and she saw this as her cue to leave the stage. Grabbing Pamela’s hand, she pulled them off the side of the stage, where she guessed that she was going to have her photo taken.

Just as she started to make her way down the steps, she felt something tug the end of her dress, and she nearly went toppling forward down them. A hand grabbed onto her elbow, steadying her. She turned, and there he was, a concerned look on his face.

“Keep going,” He nodded, “It’s okay.”

Then she felt the skirt of her dress lift, and she didn’t have to worry anymore.

“If it was up to me, you would’ve won for your very first,” A man who YN knew as some studio executive was standing in front of her. There was a strong smell emanating from his person, and the empty glass in his hand, YN assumed it was whisky, “It’s the studio’s fault for not nominating you. I would’ve done that straight away. You would be on your fourth, even fifth nomination and win by now.”

“It wasn’t the studio’s fault,” YN offered him with a small smile, trying to be polite and not as though this was the fiftieth conversation she’d had like this since she arrived, “It was mine. I was in recovery. They couldn’t have nominated me even if they wanted to.”

“Oh,” He seemed surprised, “Anyway, if you ever do fancy a switch in studios, gimme a call.”

“I won’t,” YN offers another smile, “But thanks for the offer.”

YN turns, and spots Vivienne and Pamela coming back and drinks it hand. It happens every time they leave or every time they even turn their back on YN for a second. YN was so proud of herself for having won, but if this was what she was going to get from here on out, she was going to have to mentally prepare herself for such.

“Here is your water, winner,” Vivienne passed her the glass with a smile on her face, and YN rolled her eyes at the girl’s antics.

“Are you going to stop with that already?” YN accepted it and placed the chilled glass against her face, flushing from the heat in the room.

Vivienne shrugs, “I will… once the novelty has worn off.”

YN just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “I’m going outside for a cigarette, it’s too hot in here.”

“Okay, winner,” YN shakes her head once more, seeing as though Pamela had decided to join in on her girlfriend’s antics as well.

“You’re a winner too, Pam, don’t forget that.”

YN placed a kiss on Pam and Viv’s cheeks before making her way towards the glass doors that opened to a balcony. They were at some fancy hotel that YN assumed she had been at before in her life but couldn’t remember either due to being high or so exhausted that she didn’t know where she was. Once she stepped outside, though, she realised that she had been here before, and it was on neither one of those occasions. It was after that tour had ended, the one where she had broken up with Harry. There had been a party to celebrate the end, and it was here. YN only remembered the view because instead of being inside celebrating, she had been out here, sitting watching the skyline pass by her.

YN pulled her cigarettes out of her bag, slipping one between her lips and lighting it. It seemed like a coincidence that she was here now after so much had changed. She stood, leant against the railing just as she had that night prior, and looked out at the skyline – this time a Grammy winner, but she would not say any less heartbroken.

“Congratulations,” YN didn’t jump at the sound of a voice behind her, but her eyes closed when she realised who it was, “I didn’t get to say that before.”

“You did,” YN mumbles, exhaling smoke as she did so, “On stage.”

He stops and leans against the railing next to her, taking his own cigarette out. She doesn’t turn to look at him but once she does she just nods her head.

“What’s your plan now? Going to write another?” He asks, turning on his side slightly so that his body is facing hers.

YN just shrugged, turning her body so that she was facing him as well, “I don’t know. What about you?”

Harry sighs, nodding his head slightly, “I’m taking a break. Going back to London, going to spend some time with my family. Gem’s getting married in the summer, and I want to be there.”

“Pass on my congratulations to her,” YN nods, “A break sounds nice. I mean, it’s been ten years for me must be twelve, thirteen for you.”

“Thirteen,” He nods, running a hand over his face, “I need to slow down, I’m not getting any younger here.”

YN exhales a laugh, “We all know that’s the truth… and in hindsight, I don’t think a break is ever on the cards for me. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll probably be making music.”

YN had said it before, and she’d say it again – as long as she was making music that people enjoyed, she’d do it for as long as they let her.

“Speaking of music…” He looks away from her for a second and back out onto the skyline, “You didn’t have to thank me in your speech… I know it probably wasn’t the easiest thing you’ve ever done.”

YN just shakes her head, turning to look at him even though he wasn’t looking at her, “It was just the truth. I truly would not be here if it wasn’t for you. Without you pulling me on that stage that night, God I dread to think what my life would look like. I’d probably be in some unhappy marriage, with a husband who I hate and kids that hate me – just like my parents.”

Harry finally turned to look at her, “It was nothing.”

YN shakes her head once more, “It wasn’t.”

Harry clears his throat, “I know… I know I’ve done this before, and I know last time it didn’t go the way that I wanted it to, okay? But YN, I swear to you… I am so sorry about everything that happened. Looking back, you were right. I was enabling her, and not only that, but I was also hurting you in the process. I can never forgive myself for that… and I’d understand if you never forgave me as well.”

YN sighs, immediately feeling tears starting to well within her eyes, “It’s okay… it’s been too long now, it’s water under the bridge.”

As YN spoke, her voice cracked. She hadn’t realised that even though her mind knew what she wanted to say, her body betrayed her. She hadn’t realised what was building within her as he spoke, even more so when she did.

When she turned to him, there were tears in his eyes just as they were in hers. Standing here, with him after all of those years – no matter how much he had hurt her, there was a part of her that still loved him. She loved him, the life he gave her, the memories they had – the way he made her feel. She tried not to go back to that chapter of her life if she could help it, to stop the pain from resurfacing, but oftentimes, it was the memories of love that she welcomed the most.

Harry dropped his cigarette down on the floor, squashing it with his heel so that it was out. YN turned to him once more, watching as a tear slipped down his face. He immediately reached up and wiped it off his cheek.

“Listen, YN, if you ever do fancy that break London’s just a plane ride away,” He turned as though he was going to walk away, but then he stopped and turned back around, “And I’m always just a phone call away.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

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