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imaginespazzi · 24 days

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Part 5: One Perfect Day

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6

Let me photograph you in this light (in case it is the last time that we might be exactly like we were)

(In which a procrastinating writer procrastinates giving her ship happiness)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Some Fluff

Words: 7.5K

TW: Swearing, Alcohol, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Good evening my lovelies <3. As many of you have reminded me it is indeed Friday and so here we are, nobody needs to yell at me! I know I'm years too late with this but I hope y'all like it anyways, even though this is very much mainly hurt with very little comfort. But for things to get better, they have to get worse and remember, it's all for the plot! There's plenty of creative liberty taken this chapter with how hotels and post-championship celebrations work and other logistics but I wrote it how I needed to so just go with it. Did I edit? Yes. Are there typos and errors anyway? Probably. As always, tell me what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see next. Have a wonderful weekend lovelies!!

March 2019

The final buzzer echoes through the Williams Arena, and the disappointment of the last couple of years is finally drowned out as the Hopkins Royals win the state championship. Surrounded by the cheers of her teammates, Paige doesn’t know if she’d call this the happiest moment of her life, the stomach flu symptoms haven’t quite faded yet, but she knows it’s definitely on her mount rushmore of times when life was great.

For a second, as she’d been crouched over the toilet with Azzi’s hands soothingly rubbing her back, feeling her soul leave with the remnants of last night's dinner, Paige had almost lost hope. But she’d never been taught to give up without a fight. And so it hadn’t mattered that she definitely looked a little green or that standing up was taking twice the energy it normally did, Paige was going to play today. It hadn’t been a flashy scoring night but she’d done everything else her team needed. And as that lead had built and built and built, Paige knew, the moment was still hers.

“Paigeyyyyy,” Drew is the first one to find her after her and her teammates break apart, launching his tiny body into her legs, “you won!”

Paige laughs, lifting her brother into her arms and spinning him around, “I told you I was gonna didn’t I?”

One by one, her whole family, the epitome of a modern family, pull her into hugs and then they gather into one large group hug, with Paige at the centre of it all. Her siblings look at her with pure admiration while her parent’s eyes are filled with pride. And it fulfils that part of Paige that has always lived a little more for her family than for herself.

As her family moves away slowly, Paige finds herself face to face with Azzi’s shining smile and her heart skips a beat. And she doesn’t really know when it started or even how really, but it gets a little more difficult every time she sees Azzi, for Paige to convince herself that that fluttering in her chest is nothing.

“You look a little pale white girl,” Azzi teases, taking a couple of steps towards the blonde, “glad you didn’t vomit all over the floor.”

“Nah no bullshit flu is stopping Paige Bueckers. The flu is scared of me,” Paige juts out her chest with a smirk, earning her a patented eye roll from the younger girl.

“Oh yeah, you’re real scary,” Azzi indulges before pulling Paige into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m proud of you P.”

Paige smiles into the crook of Azzi’s neck, basking in the glow of the compliment. It’s these little moments they have in between their constant banter, where they let themselves be each other’s biggest cheerleaders, that makes them Paige and Azzi. They pull away, still grinning. and Paige’s eyes roam over the Team Paige jersey framing Azzi’s body. It makes her feel some type of way to see the younger girl wearing her name across her chest, but it’s not a feeling Paige is quite ready to accept. Perhaps it’s been written in their destiny that someday things will change, that eventually they’ll both have to confront the something more that’s simmering underneath it all, but for now, Paige just wants to protect what they already have.

“That’s a pretty jersey,” she says with a wink, fingers rushing over the soft material.

“I was forced at gunpoint to wear it,” Azzi sighs dramatically, “I was actually cheering for Stillwater. Their pg’s kinda cute.”

Paige bristles at the comment, the queasiness from this morning returning with vengeance, “she’s mid as hell on and off the court.”

“Don’t be petty Paige. You think she’d let me wear her jersey instead?”

“You know what,” Paige fights a losing battle with the quick surge of anger that’s taking birth in her stomach, “how about you take off my winner’s jersey and go to the loser’s locker room and beg for her jersey instead.”

She knows Azzi’s joking, knows the point guard on the other team isn’t even really Azzi’s type, knows that even if Azzi’s being serious, Paige doesn’t have a right to feel this way. But that green eyed monster is clawing at her heart, squeezing it and making it hard to breathe.

“Oh- hey hey hey,” Azzi’s quick to grab at her when Paige tries to storm off, “chill dude. You know I’m just kidding.”

“Well it wasn’t funny,” Paige pouts, aware that she’s being unnecessarily childish.

Azzi opens her mouth, about to make some smartass quip but there must be something about how genuinely frustrated Paige looks that softens her expression, “I came to watch you P. I have no idea what that other girl was doing. I was cheering for you the whole time.”

“You’re so sappy,” Paige snorts, throwing a handful of confetti at Azzi, but inside, the ice cold jealousy melts into something warm and lovely, spreading through her heart into her veins.

“Can’t even say nice shit without you being a dick about it,” Azzi rolls her eyes, as she links her arms through Paige’s, “now come on, let’s go celebrate you.”

***

It’s almost 2 a.m. when Paige’s teammates finally begin to filter out of her house, leaving with droopy eyes and tired smiles. She and Azzi stand in the doorway, waving goodbye to every last one of them and it feels a little domestic, like a couple after a dinner party. Paige shakes that thought away the minute it begins to form, forcing herself to ignore the burst of wouldn’t that be lovely that blooms in her chest.

“What if I just fell asleep here?” Paige sags against the doorframe.

“You’d probably fall flat on your face and I’d get an epic video of it.”

“You’re so fucking mean to me.”

“Oh yeah right because you’re so nice to me.”

“Am to,” Paige retorts, before she makes grabby hands towards Azzi, “carry me?”

Azzi swats her hands away, “Absolutely not lazy, it’s one flight of stairs.”

“That’s like 20 steps,” Paige whines. To be honest, she’s not that tired. Out of the two of them, she’s probably closer to being a night owl. But Paige is nothing if not a little bit of nuisance, especially when it comes to Azzi.

“Are you an athlete or not,” Azzi chides, rolling her eyes.

“Bro I just won a championship AND I had the flu. And you won’t even carry me? What kind of best friend are you?”

“Paige.”

“Azziiiiii.”

“Paige I’m tired.”

“Pleeeeeaseeee.”

The younger girl sighs, a sign of her caving in, before turning around so her back is facing Paige's front, “fine, get on you big baby.”

“YES-”

“Dude shut up, you’re gonna wake everybody up,” Azzi groans, always the responsible one.

“Sorry, sorry,” Paige whispers as she jumps onto Azzi’s back, the force of it causing the brunette to take a couple steps forward, “fucking hell Azzi don’t drop me.”

Azzi lets out an indignant squawk, as she regains her balance, “with that attitude, I should drop you.”

“If you’re too weak to carry me, just say that,” Paige teases, wrapping her legs firmly around Azzi’s torso. She buries her shit-eating grin in her best friend’s neck, as she loops her arms around Azzi’s shoulders.

“It is not my fault you’ve put on like a hundred pounds since I last saw you.”

Azzi squeals when Paige pinches at her ribcage and the blonde immediately slaps a hand on her best friend’s mouth, “what happened to being quiet? Now, onwards horsey- OW! Did you just fucking bite my hand!?”

“What happened to being quiet?” Azzi mocks, adjusting Paige’s weight on her back as she begins to walk towards the staircase, grumbling something under her breath about ‘ungrateful best friends’ but Paige knows she doesn’t mean a word of it. She snuggles further into Azzi’s neck, letting herself breathe in the scent of the younger girl.

When Azzi had first left Minnesota, after they’d spent every second since the plane ride back from Argentina, Paige had thought that that hollowness in her chest was temporary, that it would fade once she got back into daily life. It didn’t. And the thing is the word miss had existed in Paige’s dictionary before too but she doesn’t think she really understood what it meant til she started to miss Azzi.

As soon as they reach Paige’s bedroom, Azzi’s already swatting Paige off her back. The blonde falls back onto the pillows on her bed with a content sigh, watching with a cheeky grin as Azzi pretends to stretch out the muscles on her back and her arms.

“I think that might have broke my fucking back,” the younger girl groan, face scrunching up in mock exhaustion, “and I have to sit on a plane again tomorrow.”

That wipes the smile straight off Paige's face. It’s so easy to get lost in the moment with Azzi, so easy to forget that they spend less time together than they do apart. They haven’t bothered with the actual lights but even in the dim glow of the moon through Paige’s windows, Azzi sees her best friend’s change in expression clearly, her own face becoming melancholic. Sighing, she climbs onto the bed herself and lies down next to Paige, intertwining her hands with the older girl’s.

“You could stay a little longer,” Paige says after a moment, eyes resolutely focused on the ceiling.

Azzi let out a wistful sigh, “I wish. But you know I can’t.”

“You can, you just won’t, little miss goody-two-shoes,” the light-hearted teasing eases some of the mood as they both let out soft giggles. They dissolve into a comfortable silence before, “I can’t wait til we’re playing for UConn together.”

Paige misses the way Azzi stiffens a little next to her, too enthralled with imagining a future where she and her best friend could conquer the world together. She knows Azzi, with all her indecisive tendencies, hasn’t quite come around to being anywhere near ready to pick a college team yet but Paige still has time to convince her and Paige Bueckers is nothing if not persuasive.

“So it’s definitely UConn then?”

“Yeah. I mean it’s UConn dude. The UConn. They’re the best. All these other programs are nice but when UConn calls, you don’t say no to that shit,” and Paige means that with all her heart. As the number one recruit in her class, there had been no shortage of offers and of course Paige had entertained them for a little while. But the minute Geno Auriemma had given his offer, everything else had become obsolete. She hadn’t committed yet, still maintaining a façade of being in the decision stage, but all of that was just a front. Paige knows she’s meant to be a UConn husky, there’s no way around it.

“I think you’ll make a pretty damn good Husky,” Azzi says with a soft smile, as she absentmindedly plays with Paige’s fingers.

“We’ll make damn good Huskies,” Paige affirms.

“I don’t know P, California’s pretty tempting,” it’s said teasingly but a hint of seriousness slips through the cracks anyway.

Paige scoffs, “cause it’s hot? Bruh that much heat would be boring. Connecticut gets all four seasons. We’d get the heat and the snow.”

“I get all of that in Virginia already,” Azzi points out with a huff, “maybe I want something different.”

“You do get something different. You get to play with me. That’s different.”

“Yeah but-”

“Dude why are you fighting me on this? Do you not want to be on the same team as me or something?” Paige asks agitatedly, suddenly feeling frustrated with the turn the conversation had taken.

“Okay breathe,” Azzi gives her a stern side-eye, “I was just saying California’s nice. Of course I want to be on your team. Did the shirt not make that obvious?”

Involuntarily, Paige has to smile at the memory of Azzi’s jersey, the team Paige that had been loudly imprinted across her chest, “right, sorry got a little carried away. I just always want you on my team, you know?”

“I’m always on Team Paige. I always have been. I always will be,” Azzi says firmly, as if it’s the most obvious truth in the world.

When Paige turns her head to look at her best friend, the younger girl is already looking back at her and the sincerity in Azzi’s eyes makes Paige’s heart stutter. The moon shines against Azzi’s face and Paige swears she can see every little detail in the dim light. And the thing is Paige has always known Azzi’s a pretty girl, she’s not blind. But it’s different tonight. Tonight Azzi’s the kind of beautiful that Paige wants to memorise until it’s imprinted in the back of her eyelids, the kind of beautiful that she wants to lock away in a treasure chest and preserve only for her own eyes to ever see again. The kind of beautiful that Paige knows she isn’t allowed to think of Azzi as. But still, right now, Azzi’s the kind of beautiful that makes Paige want to try and see if maybe, just maybe, there’s the possibility for something more.

That night, when she finally falls asleep to the sound of her best friend’s quiet breathing, Paige dreams of UConn and championships and at the end of it all, kissing Azzi under the confetti.

***

April 2024

There’s 14 seconds left in the National Championship game and UConn is ahead by eight points. Adrenaline courses through Paige’s veins as that one elusive dream of hers seems to finally be coming closer and closer to fruition. Winning a National Championship had been on her mind since she’d first picked up a basketball. The minute she’d committed to UConn, it had felt inevitable and yet year after year, her team had fallen just a little short. But this afternoon, it seems like it’s finally within grasp. 14 seconds to go. 14 steps closer to having her perfect moment.

Except, every time Paige had imagined this moment, she’d expected her best friend to be there. In the beginning, before everything, she’d dreamed of them being on the court together, running into each other’s arms the minute the buzzer sounded. And then, until the last second today before she had to take the court, Paige had just assumed that when she’d look in the stands, somewhere in the crowd, there’d be the one face she wanted to see most in the world. But no matter how much she squinted, that face had been nowhere to be found and Paige had forced herself to compartmentalise her disappointment, and focus on the game. She hadn’t looked at the crowd since.

The ball is in the other team’s hands, their point guard, diligently calling out plays before she inbounds it. Coach’s words echo in Paige’s head, try for a clean steal but don’t under any circumstances foul. Their pg inbounds the ball and the shot clock starts to count down. The ball bounces through the hands of different players on the other team but the UConn defence is stifling. Their coach is out of timeouts and it isn’t until the last millisecond that they heave up a prayer shot. And it doesn’t matter if it goes in, it’s a two point possession game, but Paige’s eyes are glued on the basketball anyways.

The shot is an airball. The buzzer sounds through the arena. UConn wins their 12th national championship.

For a second, everything goes silent around Paige. The normally over-excitable girl, known for her insane golden retriever energy, is perfectly still. It takes a couple more seconds for the adrenaline to hit. And then she’s screaming, pummeling her body into the rest of her teammates as the bleed blue crowd goes wild. She loses herself in the noise of her teammates cheering and the bright lights of cameras flashing nearby. They did it. And it doesn’t erase just how fucking hard the last couple of year had been, but it makes the burden significantly lighter.

Paige rushes through the handshake line, the opposing team’s coach giving her an appreciative review of her performance before she’s recaptured into a group hug by her teammates. It’s a surreal feeling really, one that’s far better than even her most wonderful dreams. For the first time since the game began, Paige lets her gaze wander over to the family section who are all tearfully hugging, smiling at her parents and then her siblings and then-

When her eyes meet Azzi’s, it’s like the last piece of the puzzle has finally settled into its rightful place, completing the perfect picture of Paige’s perfect moment. A #5 UConn jersey hangs loosely against Azzi’s hips as she smiles shyly at her best friend. And Paige is scared to blink, scared if she looks away, the girl in front of her will disappear. It takes everything in her to not rush into the stands, pull her best friend into her and kiss her under the confetti.

Azzi doesn’t budge when the rest of the family and friends crew start to move towards the court. There’s too much attention, too much media, for that to be a feasible option. Paige wishes they would all just disappear, let her have her moment the exact way she’d pictured it. She thinks she’d like to fulfil that dream of hers, kiss Azzi in the confetti, twirl her around, and between it all, let the world know that she was Paige’s.

As always, Drew is the first person to reach her. He’s a little too big for her to pick up, but she spins him around anyway.

“You won Paigey,” her little brother squeals and he might be older now, but that innocent admiration of his older sister is as palpable as always, “I knew you could do it!”

“Thanks for always believing in me, little dude,” Paige says softly, leaning her cheek against the top of Drew’s head.

Over the top of her brother's head, Paige realises with sudden panic that Azzi’s not there anymore. Dread filters into her bloodstream, the voices in her head screaming it was too good to be true. The way her body tenses doesn’t go unnoticed by her mother who’s quick to hold her.

“She said to tell you she’d see you at the hotel later,” Amy Jo says with a knowing smile, before letting Paige’s body sag into hers. She rubs her daughter’s back as relief settles into the younger girl's features, “proud of you Paigey.”

Paige smiles into her mother’s chest. Last year had been the hardest of her life and for a while the light at the end of the tunnel had been hard to see. Today, she feels the light surrounding her, washing away all the darkness from the last few years, bathing her in the glow of happiness.

***

“I always knew you’d look good in a UConn jersey.”

Azzi’s eyes fly open and Paige smirks, leaning her body against the wall. The last couple of hours had been a whirlwind of media, champagne and excited chatter about what the after party would be like. Paige’s focus had been on celebrating, but the thought of getting back to Azzi had been a constantly lingering presence in the back of her mind. And as the bus had gotten closer to the hotel, anxiety had creeped in because what if Azzi wasn’t there? What if she’d changed her mind?

Paige had smiled for the fans outside the hotel, diligently posing for pictures and signing autographs, ignoring the heaviness in heart. But as soon as she was far away from prying eyes, she was bolting towards her room. And then everything was okay. Paige has heard a lot of cliché things about love, about how it makes you hear violins and see stars and all of that, about how it increases your heart rate and makes you flush. But Paige thinks all of that can’t quite be right. Because when she’d seen Azzi, curled up in her sheets, #5 jersey crumpled but still fitted around her body, Paige had only felt a sense of calm. And that Paige thinks, is probably the actual truth of love, it’s about finding peace and to Paige, Azzi has always been her peace.

“I’d look great in any jersey,” Azzi claps back groggily, moving to sit up.

“But you look the best in mine. You always have,” Paige tries to keep her voice teasing, but it comes out sounding rather wistful, and the next words are even softer, “you came.”

Azzi bites her lips, looking down at her fiddling thumbs, “you asked me to.”

Those four little words carve themselves into a little crevice in Paige’s heart as if they’ll stay there forever, as if they’ll echo through her entire body for the rest of time. She practically throws herself onto the younger girl, the force of it pushing Azzi back down into the pillows, as she buries her head in the crook of Azzi’s neck. Their legs slot together of their own accord and it’s a little bit like they’re trying to meld into each other’s skin the way they press themselves as close as possible, til there’s barely space for air in between them. They lie like that for god knows how long; it goes by in a rush and yet ever so slowly.

“I’m really fucking happy you’re here,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s skin, “really fucking happy.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, humming into Paige’s hair as she tightens her grip on the blonde’s waist but Paige can tell by the way she stiffens underneath her, that Azzi’s holding herself back from something. Her heart hammers in her chest as she lifts her face from Azzi’s neck to inspect the younger girl’s face.

“What aren’t you saying to me Az?” she whispers quietly with a sinking feeling.

“Paige,” Azzi closes her eyes. And just that is enough for Paige to understand exactly what’s going through her best friend’s head and suddenly she wishes she’d never asked, just let them have this moment.

“Never mind, I don't want to hear it.”

“That’s not how that works. I- I wanted to wait a little but we- we need to talk.”

“No we don’t,” Paige retorts stubbornly, fighting the tears threatening to spill, “I don’t want to.”

“Paige-”

The girl in question pushes herself off of Azzi, rising to sit on her knees, “this is meant to be the best day of my life Azzi.”

“I know- I’m sorr-”

“What game are you playing, Azzi? Why even fucking come if you were never gonna stay?” Paige spits out.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Azzi says softly, as she sits up “maybe- maybe I should have stayed away. But it’s you Paige, it’s you and I- I’ve never been that good at staying away from you. And maybe I’m just really selfish but I- I told you once that I wanted to be there when your dreams came true and so- here I am.”

They’d barely known each other when Azzi had said that, when they had just been young innocent girls with a tentative friendship, lying in the grass and sharing their dreams. Back then, the words had thrown Paige off. She hadn’t quite understood why they had meant that much to her, why they had filled her with more warmth than the sun shining above them. But she’d tucked them away in a little corner of her heart hoping she’d understand it better when she was older. She’s older now and she understands. Except every single emotion she’d felt at fifteen is heightened with the realisation that the words had meant something to Azzi too. And-

Paige surges forward to kiss Azzi. She’s pretty sure this bipolar act of theirs will be the death of them someday but it’s the only thing in the moment that makes sense. Azzi is hesitant at first, clearly too in her head, always the overthinker, but she gives in when Paige squeezes at her waist. It’s not as if they’ve kissed that many times before but it feels familiar, a little bit like coming home. She moves to straddle Azzi’s hips and they can’t get any closer really with every bit of their bodies pressed together now, but Paige tries anyways, tries to etch please don’t leave me into the other girl’s skin. And she isn’t sure if the salt she can taste is from the tears steadily streaming from Azzi’s eyes or the ones free-falling from her own.

The minute Azzi pulls away, Paige misses her.

“We can’t-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Paige cuts Azzi off immediately, resting her forehead against the younger girl’s, “please.”

“Paige,” Azzi breathes out, “I have to go.”

“No you don’t,” Paige says stubbornly.

“Paige please-”

“Stay- fuck please- Azzi- just give me tonight. Tomorrow we can talk and you can-,” Paige swallows, not wanting to say leave out loud, “but please- tonight can we just pretend? Can you give me that? Fuck- can I just have tonight? Please- just- stay.”

Azzi lets out a shaky breath, “it won’t make it hurt less.”

“I know- fuck- I know but I just don’t want it to hurt right now.”

“Okay,” Azzi whispers slowly, thumb caressing Paige’s wet eyelashes, “okay, I’ll stay tonight.”

Paige kisses her again.

***

The UConn team falls in love with Azzi in a matter of hours. No one had been shocked when Paige had shown up to the after party a.k.a everybody gathering at the hotel bar, fashionably late and with a nervous Azzi teetering behind her. It had been awkward at first; everyone was a little unsure of how to act around the new presence. Not only was Azzi from a rival team, but everyone was at least a little aware of her tumultuous relationship with their star player. But then KK had wanted to film a tiktok that needed someone to do random camerawork and when everybody else had groaned, Azzi had quietly volunteered. Much to KK’s delight, Azzi turned out to be quite the cameraman. And that apparently was all that was needed and Paige marvels at the way Azzi just fits.

She moves around Paige’s team as if they’re just as much hers. One second she’s timing some stupid drinking game that KK and Ice are playing, the next she’s sitting in a corner laughing with a more subdued Ash and Q.

Aubrey and Ayanna gush over their girlfriend and Azzi’s coos over their pictures, a hint of wistfulness on her face when she meets Paige’s eyes.

The team does their routine of teasing Aaliyah’s about being vegetarian and Azzi diligently backs the Canadian up with a spiel of how tofu isn’t actually that bad. That gets her a hi-5 from Aaliyah despite the eye rolls from the rest of the team.

Despite being a little tipsy from having been dragged into doing shots with Amari and Carol, the two other people she knows pretty well, Azzi diligently lets Inés and Jana teach her little bits of Portuguese and Egyptian.

Even Nika sheds her frostiness, amused by Azzi’s curiosity to learn her native language beyond just the curse words, and teaches the younger girl a couple of words. Azzi rolls her eyes fondly when she realises she’s been taught to say UConn is the best team ever in Croatian and amidst Nika’s laughter, Paige knows is a hidden acceptance.

But the best part of it is that although Azzi’s suddenly being pulled in all different directions by various UConn girls, she never really leaves Paige’s side through it all. There’s always a little bit of them touching, whether it’s their shoulders or their knees, even when they’re both involved in completely different conversations and activities. It feels oddly domestic and Paige is reminded of the part after her state championship all over again. The burst of i want this forever that stirs in her chest makes her want to sob because it collides head first against a wall of this is only for tonight. And Paige knows that one night won’t ever be enough for her.

“Aye Paige’s girl, come play truth or shots with,” KK’s loud voice breaks through Paige’s cloud of distress and it’s eclipsed by the implication of those two words.

Paige’s girl. The phrases makes itself home in Paige’s heart, sounding so fucking right. She hasn’t let herself acknowledge it truly ever but that’s how it’s always been in Paige’s mind. It’s how she’s always thought of Azzi. As hers. Her Azzi. Her girl.

“I’m not-that’s not-” Azzi’s cheeks are tinted pink as she stutters through her words, withering under KK’s cocked eyebrow.

“Uh-okay if you say so,” KK rolls her eyes, holding her hands up in a sarcastic defensive position, “guess we’re starting off truth or shots by lying.”

The rest of the team laughs as Azzi’s blush grows even deeper and Paige can’t even try and hide her smile, her own neck tingling a little bit as she tucks herself into Azzi’s side. And it’s not real, they’re not anything, but in this moment it feels a little bit like they’re everything.

“You guys are sickening,” Ice accuses when she notices the two of them cheesily smiling at each other, “it makes me gag.”

“They’re cute. Leave them alone,” Caroline chastises, ever the supportive friend.

Azzi leans back against Paige’s arm as the group goes around the circle, asking each other ridiculous questions, cheering like little kids when their teammates opts to drink instead of answering a vaguely invasive question. When it’s her turn, Paige can already tell by the glint in KK’s eyes that her menace mini-me is about to cause trouble.

“Paigey cakes, when’s the last time you had sex?”

Next to her, Paige can feel Azzi stiffen immediately. The shot feels heavy in Paige’s hand as she seriously contemplates taking it. She knows why KK asked the question, probably having concocted some idea of exposing Paige and Azzi. She’d known by the waggling eyebrows that the whole team had thought the two of them were late because they’d been fucking but that couldn’t be further from the bitter truth.

Paige chances a look at Azzi’s face as she bites down on her lips. The younger girl’s face is stoically devoid of any emotion and Paige knows she’s thinking about the night of the crash (or as Paige likes to call it, the most terrifying night of her life) except-

“November, last year,” Paige says slowly and Azzi whips her face around to look at her, lips falling apart in shock.

“Don’t play, there’s no fucking way,” Ice guffaws and Paige shrugs.

“It’s the truth.”

“Bruh what the fuck,” KK looks a little shell-shocked, “how the fuck did you survive that long?”

“Some of us actually know what to do with our own fingers,” Paige quips defensively, trying to ignore the butterflies dancing in her stomach at the way Azzi’s still looking at her.

“I bet Azzi knows all about your fingers huh Azzi?” and even that, KK’s unhinged commentary, isn’t enough to get Azzi to pull her gaze away from Paige. It’s almost as if she hadn’t heard it all.

“You didn’t- that night?” Azzi manages to get out.

“Couldn’t do it,” Paige mumbles, “she wasn’t you.”

Despite the horde of people around them, they’re in their own little bubble now. There are a multitude of questions swimming in Azzi’s eyes and Paige wants to answer all of them if it means that maybe just maybe, she could prevent the inevitable misery tomorrow would bring.

“Okay Azzi, it’s your turn,” Amari’s voice draws Azzi’s attention away and Paige feels cold without the heat of it. She doesn’t know how she’ll survive tomorrow. Living in the present isn’t working and Paige finds herself already feeling the emptiness she knows will become her reality in a couple of hours. Her fingers tap an incessant pattern on her thigh as she tries to keep her focus on the game,

Azzi swallows nervously before mustering up a grin with false confidence, “I’m ready. Hit me with your best, I’m not drinking.”

“We’ll see about that,” KK smirks, diabolically rubbing her hands together, before she turns to Nika, “all yours Nik-Nik.”

The other girls “ooh”, knowing Nika’s reputation for being notoriously good at this game. The Croatian grins at Azzi, as she sits up from where she’d been lazily lying on the love seat, a glint of mischief in her eyes. And then her eyes meet the forlorn ones of her twin and something shifts. When she looks back at Azzi, there’s a more serious look on Nika’s face.

“Have you ever been in love?”

There’s pin drop silence once the gravity of the question registers. The light-hearted air in the room is replaced with anticipation, as all of Paige’s teammates look back and forth between their point guard and her best friend. Paige isn’t sure if she wants to know the answer, doesn’t know if there’s an answer that wouldn’t break her heart just a little bit. For a second, it looks like Azzi’s going to drink until she puts the shot down on her hand rest until-

“Yes,” she confesses in a whisper, and Paige feels her heart begin to race, “I have.”

“How many times?” Nika prods

“That’s not how the game works. I already answered your question.”

“Different rules for newcomers,” Nika shrugs. It’s a blatant lie but nobody says anything. Paige is still caught up in her own head and the other girls won't challenge Nika, not when they’re just as curious, “I get to ask questions til you drink.”

Azzi narrows her eyes, knowing it’s all bullshit and maybe if she wasn’t a little bit tipsy and competitive, maybe if she couldn’t feel every inch of Paige’s side pressed against her, she’d walk away but she can’t.

“Only once,” she answers.

“With your ex-girlfriend?” Nika asks. The way she raises an eyebrow suggests there’s only one right answer to the question. Paige doesn’t know if there’s a right or wrong answer, only that there’s an answer that would shatter her.

“No. I was never in love with her,” Azzi directs the answer towards Nika, but everyone knows it’s meant for Paige’s ears. And despite the tornado still roaring in her body, the blonde lets out a sigh of relief.

Nika’s intimidating demeanour cracks a little bit when that answer makes her smile, “are you in love with someone right now?”

Even if it’s not said out loud, the implication of Nika’s question, the someone, is clear. And suddenly Paige doesn’t want to hear the answer, not right now, not when they’re both a little tipsy, not when they’re surrounded by all her teammates, not when their future is so unclear.

“Drink,” Paige cuts in, holding the shot in front of Azzi, “don’t answer it.”

“Paige-”

“Drink Azzi,” Paige says firmly.

Azzi looks equal parts relieved and frustrated as she downs the drink, happy to have gotten out of the uncomfortable round of questioning but a little annoyed at losing in front of the UConn girls.

“And you said you wouldn’t drink,” Nika sneers, as she hi-5’s her teammates.

“Because you bent the rules; she did great,” Paige defends immediately and everyone snickers, the mood in the room returning to something more casual.

“So fucking pussywhipped,” Ice teases.

“Shut up,” Paige whines, hiding her face against Azzi’s shoulder as everybody else laughs. If the voices in head screaming this is just for tonight would shut up for a second, Paige thinks maybe she could fall in love with this moment, surrounded by her found family.

It’s almost 3 am when the team decides maybe they should start going to bed, knowing they have a morning flight back to Connecticut. Everyone else is still in a jovial mood, sufficiently drunk of both alcohol and the high of a championship but Paige’s stomach pools with dread. Every minute is a step closer to a goodbye, she’ll never be prepared to say.

They get to the lobby of the hotel when Paige turns to Azzi, ignoring her anxiety to be a nuisance instead.

“No,” Azzi says immediately when she sees Paige making grabby hands at her, “there’s literally an elevator Paige.”

“So? That just makes it easier for you. This is tradition.”

“In what world is this a tradition?” Azzi sighs exasperatedly.

“Since I won the state championship,” Paige grins, “pleeeeease, I’m tired, my feet hurt.”

Azzi gives her an unimpressed look, “you’ve been sitting for the last couple of hours.”

“And before that I was winning a championship, after beating your team by the way,” Paige’s smirk widens when Azzi guffaws at catching a stray.

“Oh fuck off. Reminding me of that is not the way to get me to carry you by the way.”

“C’mon Az, you know you’re gonna give in anyway. You know you wanna sleep, stop wasting time.”

Azzi rolls her eyes with a dramatic sight before doing exactly what she always does, giving into Paige, “hop on then you big baby.”

Paige cheers, latching on Azzi’s back as her knees circle around the other girl’s waist. Unlike when they were younger, Azzi’s doesn’t stumble anymore at the additional weight. She’s stronger now, completely solid and steady underneath Paige and that absolutely doesn’t trigger any inappropriate thoughts in the older girl’s brains, absolutely.

“Y’all are so cringe,” KK crinkles up her face when she turns to look at them as they wait for the elevator, but there’s a certain amount of fondness in her voice, “but Azzi’s cool. Much cooler than you P boogers. You should bring her around more often.”

Paige’s smile vanishes in tandem with Azzi letting out a strangled noise. KK looks between the two of them, slowly realising maybe she’d just put her foot in her mouth.

“Yeah, maybe,” Paige answers noncommittally, trying to keep her voice steady.

Much to her relief, the elevator dings open, saving her from having to say anything more. She wraps her arms tighter around Azzi, burying her face as far into the other girl’s neck as she can and closing her eyes, trying to lose herself in Azzi, instead of in the jail of her own mind.

She doesn’t look up from where she’s nestled into Azzi’s skin, when the rest of her teammates start towards their own separate rooms, telling Azzi how lovely it was to meet her.

“Can you get off her back, so I can give her a hug?” Ice pinches Paige’s arm but the older girl just shrugs her off.

“No. Go hug someone else.”

“Bro you’re so fucking annoying,” Ice groans and Azzi sends her an apologetic wink but it doesn’t go unnoticed that she doesn’t try to shake Paige off like she normally would. It heals something in Paige to know that Azzi doesn’t want to let go either. And she doesn’t understand why they’re doing this, why they’re fighting this, when neither of them want to.

“I think your teammates might like me better than you,” Azzi teases when they finally get back to the room and Paige climbs off of her back. The blonde is too lost in her thoughts to come back with a smart quip. And of course her best friend notices it immediately, nudging her quietly, “P? You good?”

Paige blinks up at Azzi, and even before she says the word, she knows Azzi’s already read them in her eyes, “I don’t want you to go.”

“Paige,” Azzi sighs tiredly, “what happened to pretending tonight?”

“Fuck pretending,” Paige blames the alcohol for how loud her voice comes out, guilty only because it makes the girl in front of her flinch, “I don’t want just tonight. It’s no where near fucking enough. I want forever. With you.”

“That’s not- Paige- we live on different sides of the country.”

“For now, but we can make it work. It’s us,” Paige pleads desperately.

Azzi scoffs, stepping away from Paige, “you say that like it a good thing.”

“What-”

“Us! We don’t- it’s not- being ‘us’ is not a good thing Paige. May us from before but us now? Us now is complicated and messy and hard and I just- I can’t do this Paige.”

“You can- we can- Azzi- just- think about it okay- sleep on it- you’ll see. You’ll see, I’m right.”

Azzi shakes her head, closing her eyes as a single teardrop leaks out, “you’re making this so fucking hard Paige.”

“I don’t want to- I’m sorry- I’m so sorry baby,” the term of endearment slips through Paige’s lips before she can catch it, “but I need you to think about it once please.”

She moves to cup Azzi’s cheeks, thumb caressing away the tears, “please.”

“Okay, okay,” Azzi nods, resting her forehead against Paige’s, “I’ll think about it.”

They’re quiet as they get changed for bed, thinking about the same thing. Co-existing together comes naturally to them after years of inhabiting each other’s space and the. there's no getting in each other’s way, even if they’re both dead silent. It’s awkward when they finally get into bed, both of them lying on their back, resolutely staring up at the ceiling. Paige is the first one to move, turning onto her side so she can face Azzi. The moon shines against Azzi’s face and Paige thinks that so much has changed, but Azzi’s still that kind of beautiful, the same kind of beautiful Paige had thought of her as since the state championship.

“What was your answer going to be,” she asks quietly.

“To what?”

“To Nika’s question. Are you in love with someone right now?”

Azzi hesitates a little bit, before turning her own body to face Paige, “you know the answer Paige, you don’t need me to say it.”

Paige doesn’t prod, knowing they were too volatile for her to keep pushing. Instead she reaches over to intertwine their hands together.

“Do you know what my answer would have been?”

“Yeah,” Azzi says softly, squeezing her hands, “yeah I do.”

Maybe there’s peace in knowing. Or maybe there’s only more pain. Paige doesn’t know if the truth sets her free, doesn’t know if she could ever even be set free from the shackles that bind her to Azzi, doesn’t think she even wants to be set free. But at least Azzi knows too. Maybe there’s peace in drowning together.

***

Paige wakes up in a panic when she reaches over and finds the other side of the bed empty. She gets up with a jolt, eyes frantically searching for Azzi, until they finally land on the girl sitting on the couch next to the bed.

“Fuck,” Paige’s voice is still wracked with sleep, “I thought you left.”

“That’s more your style,” Azzi says and Paige flinches at the reminder, “how’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good. How about you?”

“Pretty shit actually” Azzi admits, “I woke up every two seconds, scared you’d be gone.”

“Az-”

“You asked me to believe in you- to believe in us and I-” Azzi draws in a sharp breath and Paige knows she’s not going to like where this is going, “I want to- I really, really, wish I could. But I don’t. I can’t- I can’t be with you Paige- not when I’m scared you’re going to break my heart every second.”

“Azzi,” Paige scrambles across the bed, stopping when the girl in question holds her hands up. Everything in her feels like it’s on fire. There are no burn marks on her skin but she swears she’s been turned to ashes underneath.

“And you deserve better than that too Paige. You deserve someone who- who’s not scared. Who can give you all of herself without- without holding back and I- I can’t do that.”

“You can- fuck- Azzi you can- please,” desperation leaks through every syllable as Paige fights what she knows is a losing battle.

“Not right now. Too much has happened between us and we can’t- we can’t just ignore all of that and start something new- maybe someday- but not right now.”

Azzi stands up from her seat, hesitantly walking over to Paige’s side of the bed. She cups Paige’s face, watery dark brown eyes meeting crystal blue ones that are glistening with tears.

“Azzi please,” Paige begs, feeling everything slip away before she’d even had a chance to fight for it.

Azzi presses her lips to Paige’s forehead, holding them there for what feels like the briefest of seconds until she’s pulling away, “I’m sorry P.”

And then she’s gone and every part of Paige’s heart is gone with her.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

192 notes · View notes

itsharleystuff · 5 months

Text

╰─▸ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

‘ I just wanna be one of your girls tonight ’

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rockstar!Joel x afab!fem!reader (no outbreak alternative universe).

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.7k

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your best friend’s boyfriend has an older brother that turned out to be the guitarist of a famous rock band from the 80s. You meet Joel by accident before his concert and things take an interesting turn.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), age gap (Joel is 48, reader is said to be in college tho her age isn’t specified), sex, p in v sex, porn with barely any plot, sex with a “stranger”, a bit of dirty talk, oral sex (f), use of ‘slut’, praise, mirror sex, fingering, some oral (m), cum eating, reader calls Joel an ‘old man’, smoking (they share a cigarette), pet-names (sweetheart, darling, honey). Also, I know nothing about guitars or concerts so this is probably very inaccurate. This one’s roughly edited, forgive meee. No use of y/n.

— 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬: One of the girls - The Weeknd, Lily Rose-Depp, Jennie. Breakin’ dishes - Rihanna. Todas mueren por mi - Cartel de Santa.

Third-wheeling has now unintentionally become your most recurrent hobby since your best friend started dating Tommy Miller. Not that either of them minded, given that it was their idea.

Tonight was different, however.

"I could've been a part of it, y'know?" the man boasts, "I just didn't know how to play any instruments or how to arrange tunes... I have a nice voice, though. If that counts for anything."

Ary, your friend, giggles at his statement and replies with a comment that you didn't quite listen. Tommy's car stereo is currently blasting The Clashers' latest album— Joel Miller's rock band, that is. Two days ago, you had no idea who the eldest Miller was –only that he existed–, much less that he was the guitarist of a very popular 80s band. Now his brother is taking you and his girlfriend to their gig, to which he was given front row tickets. Nice.

Their music was actually pretty good, though some of the songs sounded more country than rock. Tommy explained that those were most definitely written by his brother, due to his love for the genre. Apparently, The Clashers have had a recent comeback with their newest album and a small tour, all after a long, undefined hiatus that went on for nearly a decade and a half. "Joel's fault", the younger Miller said, "he became a father. A single one, to top it off. But he's the best at it, don't ever doubt that."

"How old is he again?" you wonder, suddenly curious about the age gap between the siblings.

"Forty-eight. His girl Sarah just turned nineteen a couple months ago." You nod absentmindedly at the response.

You met Tommy almost a year ago, when Ary and you used to work at a cafeteria outside of Dallas' university. She'd graduated a few years ago, but needed money to pay her rent and coincidentally, you did too. You hit it off right away, becoming friends but also roommates in further time. Though you were still in college and she was a bit older, that never seemed to be an issue with your friendship or your schedules. Tommy came along shortly after, turning up every day at the café with his charisma and nice manners, making his intentions with Ary very clear since the beginning.

"D'you think there'll be a crowd?" your question makes her raise a brow quizzically.

"Most likely," she retorts thoughtfully. "Why? Are you regretting your own idea?"

Her boyfriend chuckles at that, knowing perfectly well how much you disliked loud, cramped places. It's not that you didn't enjoy this sort of events once in a while, but being someone who gets easily overwhelmed around people, you mostly prefer the sort of lay-back dates. Nevertheless, it was you who came up with this plan for today. With college giving you such a hard time and your colleagues being tremendous assholes lately, you needed something out of your comfort zone to fully unwind. Some action to pull you off the dull routine.

"Are you subtly implying that I'm a boring person?" you ask, falsely offended, crossing both arms over your chest. "Cause I swear I know how to loosen-up, I just need time to... Get used to it."

Tommy seems to be holding back laughter, but Ary doesn't even try to hide her amusement. "Girl, you're lucky I'm your friend, or else you'd be rotting in our local library," she scoffs.

You roll your eyes playfully, a smirk pursing your lips, "Yeah, cause that'll be such a tragedy. Who'd support you financially if I didn't study, huh?" you turn your head to her boyfriend. "Tommy?"

The man shrugs his shoulders, fighting against the urge to grin. "Oh, dear," she glances over her shoulder to look at you from the shotgun seat, bright smile painting her face. "Don't give him any ideas. He might just marry me."

✩ ° ｡⋆⸜ 🎧

Whilst Tommy went looking for a place to park, you and Ary walked to the nearest convenience store to grab some beverages. You were still running early anyway, which only meant a quick stop wasn't going to imply much trouble.

"I'll wait for you out here," with a head tilt, you silently indicate your friend to go ahead. "I need a cig."

She nods understandingly, "Want me to grab something for ya'?"

"No, I'm alright. Don't worry about it."

Ary stopped at the entrance to look back at you, staring intently for a weird extent of time, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Did I mention you look stunning?"

"You might've had, but that doesn't mean I don't love hearing it," the reply widened her smile. Once she went inside the store, you took a chance to peer at your reflection in the showcase.

This whole eighties vibe was certainly not something you were used to, but there was no denying how hot it made you appear. Aiming for a 'rockstar girlfriend' kinda look, you went for that smudgy, dark eye-makeup; as for the clothes, the mini skirt, low-cut bustier and oversized leather jacket paired with some nice boots kept the whole outfit together.

You blinked away, stunned by how confident you suddenly felt in your own skin. Chuckling to yourself, you started digging in your purse for a smoke. And as if the gods decided to toy with your faith, you luckily found a single one sitting at the very bottom; putting the filter between your lips, you then turned your bag upside down to search for the lighter, only to find that you hadn't brought it with you.

"Damnit," you spat in frustration, closing your eyes to picture in your mind where the last place you'd left it was.

Maybe it was next to your bed, on the nightstand; or perhaps in front of the stove... No, it definitely wasn't in the kitchen. The blurry image in the back of your head resembled more of a–

"Hey," a low, masculine voice called from beside you in a mellow tone, almost as if this mysterious man had a naturally sly nature but wanted to cool it down. "Need a light?"

He had a deep, soothing ring; raspy, profound and very southern-like. Frankly, you didn't know what you were expecting before setting your eyes on him, but it definitely wasn't a man such as he was. A wave of emotions washed over your body as you pried on him; big, broad, rugged and devastatingly handsome. Not to mention older than you— however, how much older is not a detail you care to find out. Your skin felt ticklish and warm, added to the sudden acceleration of your pulse.

First thing you noticed were his big brown eyes, shiny in sort of a childish way, regardless of the wrinkles that surrounded them when he politely simpered. You could tell he was a total heartthrob by the way his lips quirked and his head tilted downwards when addressing you.

He's thick in the arms and wide in the shoulders, something that was noticeable despite the black leather jacket he was wearing over a plain white t-shirt, tucked into a pair of worn-out denims. The cowboy hat on his head casts shadows upon his face but you're still able to make up his features: aquiline nose, strong jawline, soft lips under a styled mustache and a patchy, graying beard. Tall and handsome as hell.

"Yeah," you answer as soon as your mind allows you to, suddenly feeling your mouth dry when realizing you were staring. He bit back a smirk as he gauges at your reaction. "You've got one?"

"Lucky for you, I do." His left hand disappeared in the pocket of his jacket, taking out a simple red lighter. "I don't suppose you've got a cigarette to spare, do ya'?"

"Sorry," you frown apologetically, "this is my last."

He closed the gap between you, but instead of handing the lighter, he hunched down to lit the end of the dart still hanging from your lips, caging it with his big hand. And fuck, he smelled good. A mix of cedar and sandalwood, fresh and manly.

"No worries, doll." Dizzy with his presence, your eyes unconsciously bored into his. You can't move away, diving inside his pupils like you're hypnotized. "I'll just buy a pack for myself."

Caught up in that urge of keeping him near, you take the dart between your fingers and hear yourself say: "Unless you wanna share."

It was impulsive, not to mention irrational. Yet, all of the rational thoughts inside your brain had unforeseeably vanished in thin air, replaced by a strange need that rested in the pit of your stomach, a wicked desire that rushed through your veins like a drug. His brow shot up in surprise, giving you a subtle, pleased nod. He realizes there's something else behind your proposition, nothing that could be hidden with the way you're shamelessly looking at him.

"Let me guess," he commences, his calloused fingers brushing against your own when he takes the cig, orange end stained with your lipstick, "you're headed to the concert."

Your eyes squint with a crooked smile, "Are you that perceptive or am I just that obvious?" he takes a short drag, holding the fag with a nonchalant attitude and a mannerism that expressed experience.

"Bit of both," the shadows of smoke surround his face, hiding his features behind a thick, mysterious fog. "You've got that groupie vibe to ya'. The kind of girl that has her walls filled with boy-band posters," he jokes.

"Oh, is that it?" you ask playfully, mirroring his action to let the nicotine circle your system. "Cool it, cowboy. I ain't trynna get in trouble for fighting an old man."

He chuckles at your sarcastic remark and you can see the spark of a thin chain around his neck, along with the soft curls that gathered at his nape. Jesus, his side profile was divine.

"What's your name, darlin'?" he asks. You tell him, that southern drawl of his being more noticeable when echoing it. "You from around?"

"Yeah," you blow the smoke away from him, though he takes back the dart while you're at it. "Been here my whole life. You?"

He shakes his head lightly, "Austin. But I've been all over."

You can't help but smile inwardly, "That explains it."

"What thing?" the man asks with a certain intrigue.

"Nothing... You've just got that particular vibe." He's already laughing when you point at the cowboy hat, rejoicing in the way you played with his own words.

"I see that, groupie." He takes the almost consumed cigarette between his teeth and removes the hat from his head, running a hand through his soft curls. "Let's trade."

You watch in awe as he unexpectedly places the hat atop your own head. It sits well there and the way his eyes grow dark and his lips curve upwards can only mean he likes it too.

"What'cha think?" you inquire, slightly adjusting it.

"I think..." he eyes you up and down, ashing the cig with a tap of his index, "You should keep it. In exchange, I'll just take what's left of this lung-junk."

"Well, that doesn't seem like a fair trade," you cross both arms over your chest. "Isn't there anything else you want apart from that half-burnt smoke?"

His head tilts to the side as he meditates his answer, his chocolate hair now messy and a couple of those brown curls hanging loose across his forehead. For a moment, you're worried you might've sounded too raunchy for the occasion, but he looks pretty pleased. His eyes lock with yours and you feel your knees wobbly just from that undeniable tension that lingers in the air.

"I'll tell you what, sweetheart." Sweetheart. Damn, he's good. "Find me after the concert's over. You can repay me then with whatever you might find convenient."

Your brows crease at the scheme, curious, "How will I find you, though? I'm certain there'll be a lot of people."

He laughs darkly, like he knew something you didn't –which, to be fair, was probably true–. "Just ask for Joel. I'm sure someone will point you to the right direction."

Joel.

Joel...

Joel?

Could it be...?

"See ya' around, groupie." He sets off with a subtle head gesture, waving back at you.

Your mind was spinning so fast that you didn't even notice when Ary reappeared beside you, rambling something about a woman being annoying over the prices and fighting cashiers, too worked up to even notice your distraught— or your new acquisition.

✩ ° ｡⋆⸜ 🎧

The venue was crammed with people and there was a heady scent of pot all over the place, not unusual in these sorts of businesses. Thankfully, Tommy had arrived earlier to guide you through the masses.

"Here," he said, taking you and his girlfriend by the wrist. "We've got VIP seats, no need to go all the way down there." He pointed the barricade, where a ton of people were congregated to get the better spot.

The area in which you were located had a better view of the stage and was way more comfortable. Only till you finally sat down did Ary notice the new addition to your outfit.

"Did you buy that outside the store?" she wonders, sorta screaming to make herself heard over the mass. Tommy's eyes land curiously on you.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Funny," the man mumbles to himself, shaking his head lightly. "Very funny."

"What?"

"Well," he clears his throat and licks his lips nervously, "I just think it's funny that you'd get a cowboy hat in one of my brother's gigs."

Still in the shadows, you raise your shoulders to beguile him into spilling the details, "Why's that?"

Tommy taps his knee anxiously. "You see, when Joel was younger he'd often 'gift' his hats to any girl that would catch his eye. It was a way of... I don't know, making them one of his girls, you could say. By doing so, the other band members would see her and no one would dare to make a move."

His words fell upon you like an ice bucket. Joel, Joel, Joel. It just had to be the same Joel, because honestly, what were the chances?

Before you can retort, or even form an answer in your brain, the lights go out and the crowd bursts in cheers and shouting. But you can't for the life of you pay any mind to them, too focused on Tommy's story ringing in your ears. Seconds prior to the lights going on again, the sound of a single guitar key reverberated through the venue.

Did Joel Miller just mark you like cattle so no other man would approach you? Was that some kind of sick game he liked to play? If that were the case, you can't really say you're mad about it... Mostly thrilled, so to speak.

"So what would happen afterwards?" you asked, leaning to his ear, so you could make yourself be heard.

"Huh?"

"He'd make his move and then what?"

The man slightly winced as if you had just asked him the dumbest question in the book, "I think you know the rest."

You knew.

Of course you knew.

There's a voice saying "Goodnight, Dallas" and the spotlight is now on the five men standing on stage. You didn't even need to search for his image, your eyes immediately attaching to him like a magnet. A feeling of beguilement settles in your bones as you realize you've achieved that excitement you hoped to get tonight, at last.

Amidst chaos and loud screaming, he stood there in all his glory, perfectly aware of the impression his sole presence could cause. Messy brown hair, sun-kissed skin and that patchy, graying beard. Convenience store Joel turned out to be rockstar Joel.

The only thing that was different about his appearance were the dark aviator sunglasses that gracefully framed his face, a belt with a big, round buckle and the black Epiphone Wilshire guitar that was strapped to his shoulder with a sash. All of this new fashion somehow made him more physically appealing, if that was indeed possible. He looked like the type of man you'd rip off from a magazine and stick up in the corners of your vanity; the kind of star that girls and women would salivate over.

You could totally see the fascination and understand why it was easy for him to simply pick out someone he liked and take them back to his dressing room for a nasty time. Joel Miller was that guy.

In the back of your mind you register the fact that you're probably eye-fucking him whilst his younger brother and your best friend are both standing at your right. But you can't really help it— he was just so electrifying, such a magnetic force of a man. The whole world seemed to stop as the concert carried on, though you can only make out the melodies when you're far too distracted by Joel's charisma and mysterious air.

The way he moves on stage, too focused on his own act, fingers tugging at the strings and metal vibrating underneath his touch... It's fascinating how he makes it look easy and like a tremendous labour at the same time, pulling it all off with a wolffish smile on his face. The other band members had their own charm too, but your preference was undeniable.

They played the songs that you had been previously listening to, and the fact that they're being played live just amplifies the feeling of intimacy regarding the lyricism and musicality. Songs that talk about life's hardships, love, heartbreak and carnal desires. They all just hit different.

Towards the end of the concert, Ary started feeling dizzy, the amount of people and sudden dehydration giving her signs of a posible migraine. She tried not to say anything for the sake of your fun, realizing just how much you're enjoying yourself tonight. But at the end she truly couldn't, deciding to tell Tommy she needed to step back for awhile and go get some fresh air.

"I should go with her," you said in concern. His boyfriend shook his head and patted your shoulder.

"I'll go. You can stay if you want to, just call me if something feels off and I'll be back in a sec," he said reassuringly.

It took a few seconds to agree, although you eventually did. The event was almost over anyways. "Tell me if anything happens."

"F'course."

You watch as he leaves behind her with a certain remorse in your gut. The Clashers play three more songs afterwards, turning out to be much more emotional and heartfelt than you could've expected.

One by one, every single band member thanked the audience before the lights went out completely and the crowd stopped their clapping and cheering.

In order to avoid getting stuck at the exit from the people storming out, you decided to stay back and wait. You intended to reach your friend via message, sending a short "everything alright?" that did not deliver due to the awful signal. Only then did you start to grow nervous and more worrisome.

"Excuse me," out of nowhere, one of the security guards called for you when no one else was around –aside from the scattered people that had the same idea as you did–; a tall man with a 'staff' pin on his shirt. He asked for your name, but something about the way he worded the question made you believe he already knew it. "You've got a backstage invitation."

"A backstage invitation?" You tried holding back laughter. "From whom?” your eyes narrowed at a new clue. “Wait... Did Tommy meet up with Joel?"

The staff member furrowed his brows in surprise, "You came here with Miller's brother?"

"Huh? Yes... Isn't that why you approached me?" the stranger gave you a kind, slightly embarrassed smile.

"No, but you should come with me. Joel's in fact the one that asked."

"Oh..."

So, it was him after all.

'Someone will point you to the right direction', turned out to be quite literal.

You agreed to follow the guard. Maybe Joel could just reach Tommy and tell him you were fine. Although that'll mean you'd have to explain how you two had met. Well, shit... It’s not like it was a bad thing, right?

✩ ° ｡⋆⸜ 🎧

Backstage dressing rooms tend to be different depending on the facility where an event is held. In this case, there were rooms with the artist's names hanged on them and a handful of people moving around, spitting orders and following instructions. Everyone was so involved in their own affairs that no one really seemed to notice you, specially standing next to the security guy, who knocked twice on the guitarist's door.

It didn't take long before he appeared before you, that post-concert glow brightening up his features. His cocky smirk told you just how certain he was that you'd end up here eventually and how glad he was for it. You gave a quick nod to the man that guided you here and he disappeared just as quick as he came.

"Hey there, groupie."

"Joel." Your lips unconsciously curved, too. "I believe I owe you something." His hair was ruffled and the sunglasses rested atop his head, looking better up-close than he did on stage.

"Wanna come in?" the question sounded so genuine and innocent, it almost made you believe there wasn't a meaning behind it... Yet, you knew; you were both aware.

"Sure, but-" there was something you had to tell him... God, he smelled good— what was it you had to tell him? "Won't they scold you for having me here?"

His dressing room was fairly spacious, with a small leather couch, a coat stand with a couple of jackets and shirts hanging. His guitar rested on the corner, tucked inside its case; facing the couch was some kind of vanity where celebrities could get their makeup done, the lights around the mirror reflected a warm light.

"Don't think so, darlin'. I'm way too old for a scolding," he joked, closing the door behind you.

The very moment you were left alone, away from any prying eyes, the air shifted entirely; as if this whole space was your own private setting. That same feeling you experienced outside the store somehow crawled under your skin once more, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a crushing expectation.

"Did you enjoy the show?" you nod distractedly.

"I did. But I ain't gonna lie, it was a total shocker to find out that the hot guy I'd just met was actually a part of the group." Joel's eyes gleamed with an unfamiliar simplicity that invited you in and provided a certain comfort.

"I wish I could've seen your face," he retorted, his voice smooth and low.

"Why?" you bicker, "So I could further boost your ego? No, thanks."

He chuckles softly, his eyes squinting to reveal the tiny wrinkles that form around them; a sign that he's always been the type to laugh without remorse. Those are the small details that make him even more attractive in your perspective.

You lean against the makeup board, giving your back to the mirror and crossing both arms over your chest. The heel of your boots had started to feel uncomfortable, so you placed one leg across the other to shift some of the weight whilst his gaze followed your every move intently; the unfathomable depth of his eyes stirred something inside you, an urge to unleash your impurest thoughts.

"You've got quite an attitude, don't ya', groupie?" the man questions with humor. "But I'm pretty sure you just called me hot, so, either way, my ego was boosted," he pointed out smugly.

"Joel," you click your tongue, subtly shaking your head. "I bet there's tons of women saying that about you, and there's no doubt in my mind that you’re aware of it already."

That could not be denied. Throughout his life, Joel had always been aware of his charm and good looks, which eventually brought him popularity amongst the group. After having Sarah, he saw himself forced to tone down the amount of affairs and adventures he'd have, specially as a single father, always trying not to get his daughter's hopes high if she saw him with someone.

Honestly, despite him being back on track with the 'celebrity' lifestyle, he still wasn't planing on keeping up with his old tricks of bringing women backstage and giving them something to gush about with her friends. He really hadn't gotten involved with anyone during the tour until now... And it wasn't something he'd intended to do either. Everything happened so spontaneously, the way you two sort of bonded and just met out of the blue. Joel's goal wasn't any of this at first, he merely thought of how gorgeous you were and how comfortable he felt in your presence.

However, logic and good sense abandoned him the minute your eyes gaped at him; dark and alluring, with a spark in them that he could not escape, an intriguing verve that entranced him and crept under his skin. From that moment forward, he could only think about you while being on stage, hoping to catch a glimpse of your skin amongst the crowd but having to settle with the fresh image of you on his mind: your confident mannerisms, your striking smile and how good your legs looked in that mini-skirt. He tried to put on his best performance just to impress you.

"Yet, your perception of me is the only one I currently care about," he declares, taking a few decided steps towards you.

You beam, keeping your head held high, "I gotta give it to you, Joel. The hat thing, your whole performance... Very clever."

He's taken aback by your words, surprise written all over his face. "What d'you mean?"

"Come on, Joel," you reply with a roughish grin. "You really thought I wouldn't hear all about your schemes? Oh, here I believed I was special," you joke.

The man gets rid of that 'respectful' distance that kept you apart, slowly making his way to you, exuding that perpetual arrogance he naturally carried and never breaking eye contact. You returned the same energy; piercing his soul with those siren eyes, barely tilting your head back to expose your throat and unhooking your arms to give him a better sight of your breasts. Intentional or not, those little details were driving him insane.

"You are special, sweetheart," he murmurs, emphasizing the second word. "All of my girls are."

He was quite close now, his scent dazing your senses and the warmth of his body, plus that southern drawl of his, formed goosebumps on your skin. With boosted confidence, you reach out to softly grab the lapels of his jacket. You wait for him to push you away, scold you or react negatively... though he never does. Instead, his eyes fall from yours to your lips, licking his own distractedly. You motion to remove the shades form his head and place his hat back on, adjusting it lightly. In the meantime, you take your time to run your fingers through his hair, drag them along his jaw, feel the raspy sensation of his beard scratching your fingertips.

"S'that so?" you whisper, your breath fanning across his cheek. "You know what I want...?" His eyelids shudder, a muscle twitching on his neck as you lean to pour the next words into the shell of his ear. "I just wanna be one of your girls, Joel Miller..."

Those words have an immediate effect on him, his eyes darkening with blown away pupils. Your hand lowers to his chest, conscious of the strength with which his heart was beating, the heat of his feverish skin there where you touched him. His palms land on your hips, caressing the covered skin as they make their way to your waist.

"We'll see 'bout that, darlin'," he hushes, cupping your face with his right hand to keep you steady, restrain your control over him. His face is barely inches away from yours, practically breathing each other in. "You know what's gonna happen now, don't you?"

You gulp in suspense, eyes glued to his lips, waiting, wishing he'd just kiss you. "Yes..."

"Good," Joel's thumb swipes across your bottom lip, slowly coaxing your mouth open. "Is this what you want?"

You can barely muster up the courage to speak, nearly falling from the tension. "Please..."

"Mmm..." his nose rubs against yours and your eyes close instinctively. "That's not an answer, sweetheart."

Your hands fist on his shirt, desperate to touch him. "Yes, Joel."

"That's my girl," he praises, effectively creating a pool of arousal that smothers your underwear. But you've barely got any time to process it before his lips are finally on yours.

The kiss knocks the air out of your lungs, his plump lips molding against yours. Your fingers play with the curls at the base of his neck, your nails scratching his skin deliciously. Everything feels hot all of the sudden, the need to get rid of your jacket latent on the edges of your body. Joel holds your waist and quickly sits you fully on top of the board, making you squeal from the abruptness of the action; this way he can settle himself between your legs and flush his chest to yours. His lips never part from yours, swallowing down any noise that escaped your mouth.

The coarse fabric of his jeans feels rough against your exposed skin, his hands coming to grab the back of your thighs, sliding them beneath the hem of your skirt as you wrap your legs around his waist. The kiss is breathy and intense, you taste him when your tongue drags inside –a mix of mint and cigarettes–, your teeth crashing when he tries to assert his dominance by pulling your body closer to his. Your perfume, sweet and floral, lingers around him in a way that makes him want you even more. When he slowly licks your lower lip, you moan faintly and the sound makes him throb.

His fingers splay on your asscheeks, prodding you to feel the weight of his hardening cock against your inner thigh, consequently setting a fire in your lower belly. You catch his grunt in the kiss, the feeling of his mustache tingling on your skin whilst you grind your hips just to experience that friction once again, relishing in the familiar sensation of your arousal spilling into your panties, wet and warm. And fuck, part of you doesn't believe that this man is hard for you. Joel suddenly backs away, just enough to stare blankly into your eyes, casted with desire, and regain a bit of composure.

"Not a word about this, 'aight?" something you had figured he'd state sooner or later.

"Yes, sir. It'll be our dirty little secret," you grin right as he whispers a goddamnit.

Before he pulls you in for another heated kiss, you struggle to take your jacket off, taking your phone out of the pocket and hastily throwing it to the floor as he mimics your action. Joel uses this moment to fully take in the sight of you; the way your tits sit perfectly in that top, chest rising and falling from drawing ragged breaths, your exposed neck and shoulders, flushed skin ideal for him to nip at and trace with his lips. So he does just that.

He ghosts your mouth, towering over you but ignoring the need to reattach your lips to his. Alternately, he gently kisses your chin, making his way down your throat and between your collarbones. You're a panting mess under his touch, trying to keep yourself collected for the sake of not getting caught, yet failing when his teeth sank onto the pillowy flesh of your breast. You audibly gasp, holding onto his arm for dear life; though he simply huffs a laugh that vibrates through you.

"Don't worry, darlin'. In here, you can be as loud as you want to," he assures.

Joel descends to his knees in front of you and the image is far too erotic for you to hold back a whimper. He coaxes your knees farther apart, your denim skirt hunched up around your hips so he can peek at the red lace of your underwear. He grabs your calf and places a kiss to the side of your knee, looking up at you hungrily.

"Should we take this off?" he taps on your boot, calloused fingers tracing random patterns on your leg.

"Let's keep them on," you say, your hand stroking his cheekbone. "I want to wear them when I come on your cock."

His eyes glint with lust, "Fuck..." he rumbles, almost pained. "Who would've thought a pretty girl like you would have such a filthy tongue."

You can't help but smirk as his lips roam upwards, "You think I'm pretty?"

His gaze scorches with intensity, both his hands languidly sliding up your sides till his fingers hook on the edge of your panties, pulling them down your legs to take them off, "I think you're beautiful," he murmurs amidst. Your heartbeat hammers in your ears at the time he leans into the apex of your thighs, one of his brows quirking up at the sight of glistening slick sticking to your swollen skin.

"Poor thing," he coos, taking off the hat like a cowboy who's worked his whole shift and comes home to eat the best dinner he's ever had, placing it beside you. "You're so sensitive, baby..." you inhale sharply when he lays a teasing kiss on your inner thigh. "Been a while?"

You nod, though even if it has been a while since the last time you slept with someone, you're certain that most of your responsiveness falls onto Joel's doing. He tsked, shaking his head in the meantime and using his thumb to barely spread your folds. Your eyes look at him beneath heavy lids, lips parted as his mouth explores the area, his breathing tickling the sensitive skin.

"I'll take care of you, sweetheart."

Without warning, his tongue darts out to lick the slick around your entrance, ravishing on the sweet taste of your juices. Your fingers thread through his curls, swallowing hard at the new sensation. He takes his time with you, leisurely allowing your wetness to gather on his tongue, his nose nudging at your clit when he moves his head a certain way. It all makes your brain spin, overcome by the pleasure you're experiencing, actually permitting you to loose your cords and spill uninhibited whimpers that only egged him on.

"Shit, you're doing great..." you can feel his smile against your dripping core.

"You just taste amazing, darlin'," he's not lying. Joel's enjoying himself far too much as he buries his tongue between your folds, holding you tighter. "So fucking good..."

The back of your mind registers the brief pain of his fingertips digging in your flesh, thinking it may bruise in the morning. The other part can't even form a rational thought. You moan his name, calling out for something to ground you; but he's just as gone, if not way worse. Joel is bewitched by the headiness of you, clogging his senses entirely. It's been so long since he gave head, but he doesn't remember it like this— like he couldn't get enough, so eager to make you feel good, to hear those pretty sounds spill from your mouth.

"Oh my god..." you mewl when his lips close around your puffy clit, gently flicking his tongue over it whilst you run your hands through his locks.

He flattens his tongue against the bundle of nerves, tracing delicate circles that make your whole body shudder. You're messily dripping all the way down to the wooden surface as he selfishly alternates his attention between your aching bud and your hole.

"Look at you, honey," he mumbles, voice laced with desire. "Doin' so good for me."

His fingers swipe across your slit, making you squirm. "Joel, please-"

"I know, baby, I know..."

Though when he's about to dive in again, you catch the light of your phone through your peripheral vision: an incoming call. The ID read the name 'Tommy <3'.

Tommy???!!!!

"Shitshitshit," you quickly reach for the device, swiping the green button and muttering a wary wait to the man before you. Joel simply gawks at you with intrigue, the pads of his fingers still roaming around your core. "Hello?"

On the other side of the line, Tommy says your name with utter relief, "Thank god. I left you a thousand messages. Are you okay?"

More than okay. Your brother's tongue was inside my cunt just a few seconds ago, actually.

Obviously you can't say that.

"Uh... Yeah, everything's fine." You clear your throat, trying to mask the gasp that threatened to escape when Joel started rubbing tender circles on your clit. "The signal's just really bad."

"Yes, I noticed," he mutters, a bit frustrated. "Should I go get you? There's still plenty of people at the entrance and I don't want you to get lost."

"No- no..." you have to bite your bottom lip in order to muffle the unholy moan you were about to slip out. The bastard had just sinked one finger inside you experimentally, watching your face contort in pleasure as he reached for that particular spot. "I- have... Is Ary alright?"

"She took a pill and is knocked out in the backseats of my car right now," you can practically hear his smile as he speaks. "But... Are you sure you're okay? You sound... Agitated."

That was a way of putting it.

Joel is a greedy, jealous man. He wants all your undivided attention and will make sure to let you know. He decides to add a second finger, watching your eyes screw shut and your mouth gape as he curls them, your slick covering all the way to his knuckles.

"Yes, I met with a friend-" you tug at his hair hard enough to make him groan, his cock twitching with interest. "She's taking me home."

Your thighs start quivering and your body feels hot all over, an abrasive feeling of bliss rushing through every single nerve ending. You're close, and judging by the way you clench around his fingers, he knows too.

"Oh... Well, in that case just let me know once you get home. Please?" You think you answer, but you're not entirely sure. The call ends and your phone slips from your hand.

"Joel, I can't..." you whine when his lips latch to your nub once again, his fingers still working you open.

"Yes you can," he vows. You clutch at his curls with enough strength to work him up. "You're a big girl, you can take it."

And it's right then, when he repeatedly hits your g-spot, licking and sucking at your delicate clit, that your hips get a mind of their own, barely kept in place by Joel's strong grip on your hip. The coil finally snaps. You're not sure what you say, what words fall from your mouth... But they do dawdle on his mind. You shake from the magnitude of your orgasm, muscles starting to relax as Joel licks up every drop of your release, absolutely lost in the sweet taste of you. Your grasp on his hair loosened as he rose to his feet, letting you catch your breath.

He's on edge, his voice a hoarse rumble when he spoke. "Didn't anyone tell you," his left hand came up to brush his fingertips over your lips, "how rude it is to answer phone calls when this pretty pussy of yours is getting eaten?”

You lick your lips nervously. "I'm sorry..." he hums in response, "I'll make it up to you."

There's no time for him to reply since you crash your lips to his once again, frenetically searching to feel his weight pressed on top of you for a second time. This kiss is messy, rushed and needy. You can taste yourself in it as he pushes his tongue past your teeth.

Amidst the fuss, your hand snakes between your bodies to tug at his belt, fumbling to pop his pants open. Once you do, you can feel how warm and heavy his cock is, rock hard beneath your touch. He hisses at the flick of your wrist, moving up and down his length over the thin fabric of his boxers. Joel rests his forehead against yours to even his breaths, his chest heaving with a lustful sigh.

"Fuck," he grumbles, swiftly manhandling you so you're facing the mirror. His hand holds your face for you to stare back at your own reflection. "Aren't you a sight to behold?"

And you're certain that for a man like him, those words couldn't be truer. Sweat beads around your neck and sticks a couple hairs to your temples, eyes teary in the corners and lipstick smeared from the make out. Here and there your skin displays signs of his presence, part of you wishing they'd stay there till the next morning. If there was an accurate way to describe how you looked, that'll be wrecked.

"You should see yourself, Miller," you smirk, gesturing in his direction. His eyes reflected a prurient nature that added to his sex appeal, hair messy from your doing and an eager expression that gave him a downright pornographic aura. "Not bad for an old man."

His lips caress the back of your ear, hands driving the denim skirt farther up your hips. You cling to the edge of the work desk, making an effort to stand up in your weak knees, chills running down your spine when he gently nibbles at your earlobe.

"So much for not wanting to boost my ego, huh, sweetheart?" his gruff voice is both soothing and stirring, making all the blood rush straight to your pussy.

He parts your legs, spreading them with his knee and forcing you to bend forward a little. Your head turns to peek behind your shoulder, his every move being closely monitored by you, eyes widening when you finally fathom the sheer size of his cock. Your lower body pulsates with anticipation, another wave of arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs.

"Holy fuck-" you ramble as you watch him expertly roll a condom on his length. He's long and visibly thick, a prominent vein running from base to tip; your mouth waters just from the idea of wrapping your lips around it. "Shit..."

"Don't be getting all shy now, honey. Tis' what you wanted, then you're getting it," he rasps, lining himself between your legs.

"M'not shy," you retort, staring back at him through the mirror. "Was just thinking about how badly I wanted to blow you."

Joel stifles a groan, his hands snaking to your front to pull down the top and expose your tits. There was no need to wear a bra with a bustier, which you were glad for, cause it made it easier for him to pinch the peaked buds of your nipples. The head of his cock glides across your folds, coating it with the slick that keeps dribbling each time he bumps against your clit or makes you watch as he gropes your breasts.

"You talk like a slut." Your cheeks soared red and your pussy fluttered at the name-calling. The heat of his body on yours was simply intoxicating, making it difficult for you to think. "Is that how you want me to fuck you?" he whispers in your ear, nudging his cock at your entrance but not quite going in yet. "Nice and hard until I make an absolute mess out of you? Mmm?"

You nod, "Yes, god- yes. Please, Joel..."

He takes that plea as his cue to press himself inside you, slow and steady, allowing your body to adjust to the intromission. Your mouth falls ajar, nails scratching the wood under your fingers, vaguely squirming at the sharp sting of the stretch.

"That's it, takin' my cock so well," words of encouragement fall hoarsely form his lips like a chant and your body willingly melts into his. "See? I knew you could take it."

His thighs plunge to yours when he bottoms out at last, letting out a few pants and groans, his fingers pushing stray hairs out of your face. You can feel him jerk inside you, your walls enveloping his girth tightly, a wave of pleasure licking his spine at the feeling. He doesn't waste any more time, finding a pace of his liking as soon as he started moving and being relentless with it. The way his neck chain hits your shoulder blades with each thrust, the scrub of his beard when he kisses your temple and the dirty praises that he murmurs in your ear, somehow make the situation grounding; like it's really happening and you're not dreaming about it.

As Joel cradles you in his arms, your hand skirts to his nape in order to bring him in for a kiss. Each roll of his hips is calculated, deep and unswerving, knowing exactly how and where you liked it, studying your reactions. When he kisses you, he does so earnestly, almost affectionate in contrast to the rhythm in which his dick drags inside you– but it's short, the need for oxygen overpowering both. At this point, not even your stilted whimpers and his soft moans can mask the lewd sound of your squelching pussy or the sporadic noise of skin slapping against skin.

"Good fuckin' slut," he locks your jaw in place, pushing you to keep eye contact with your own reflection. "Sneakin' behind your friend's back to get fucked by a stranger –shit– an 'old man', nonetheless..."

Your stomach tenses each time the head of his cock grazes that sensitive spot within you, legs shaking at the way he speaks to you. Through the mirror, you see the way his thumb digs into your cheek, his hand cupping your breast as he twists your nipple in his fingers and the worst of all: that haughty fucking smile that suited him perhaps too damn well.

"I always did like them older," you utter, out of breath.

He chuckles darkly, heftily, letting his hand coast down your abdomen and reach your clit to tease it while he takes you from behind. The feeling was so intense that all you could do was claw at his bicep and let a hushed whine slip past your lips, knowing that a second orgasm was approaching faster than you had expected.

"Fuck, Joel- It feels so good..." your moans are like music to his ears, a syrupy melody that he wants to maintain on replay.

The way your pussy clenches around him, squeezing his length with every push, has his head fuzzy with sheer pleasure. And god- you look beautiful coming undone for him. No; because of him. He sees you looking at him through the reflection, pupils dark with an obscure desire, feels your cunt soak him every time he tells you how good you are, with each sound he makes just for you.

"I'm so close-" you warn, white sparks blurring your vision at the building of your crescendo.

"C'mon, come for me," he purrs, skillfully teasing your nub. "Wanna feel it— oh fuck, wanna feel you live up to your promise..."

Joel fucking whimpers, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck as he pulls your hips to meet his pace. The sound is so enticing that it throws you off, wanting to engrave it in your mind. Your thighs waver and your back arches, an overwhelming sense of euphoria partaking your body. "I've got you, let me hear you," he fucks you through it, slowing down but never losing precision. "Right there, you did so good..."

In your state of frenzy, you feel his cock throbbing inside you, his grip on your body tightening: the classic telltale of his own climax looming. Through it all, with your heart thumping so loud that it's almost deafening, you blurt out a dulcet: "Come in my mouth..."

God help him.

He nearly loses it right then and there.

"As you wish," he sighed, his deep voice raspy with passion.

But he's an indulgent man, so he musters up the strength to pull out and snatch the condom away, throwing it to the trash can. You fall to your knees with no hesitation, arms stretching to reach the outline of his hips. Joel guides the ruddy head of his cock to your lips, spreading precome all over them before you fully take him in your mouth. You suck him earnestly, focusing on the tip and tracing the vein on the underside of his dick. He's so worked up that it doesn't take him long to start panting; head thrown back and hand grabbing firmly the back of your neck.

Your gaze stick to his, knowing perfectly the power of looking into his eyes. You love the taste of him, musky and strong; all man. All you can think of right at this moment is how you want more, so much more of him.

"Perfect," he slurs through gritted teeth. "Perfect girl."

You can't contain the hum that reverberates through him, pushing him over the edge whilst you massage his balls. A deep, guttural groan claws its way from his throat, hips stuttering and thighs trembling as he comes in thick, hot spurts down your throat. You swallow instantly, not thinking much about it and stroking his shaft unhurriedly until he's whimpering from overstimulation; though he doesn't tell you to stop or pushes you away, letting you work him up to the time of your choice. Once you're content, you straighten your posture and rearrange your top, roughly registering when he tucks himself back in his pants.

"You okay?" he asks, helping you get on your feet. His thumb swipes around your lips and chin to clean the smeared lipstick, a sweet concern dithering in his eyes.

“Feelin’ great,” you say with genuine joy, pulling your skirt downwards and grabbing your panties from the floor, laying next to your jacket and his guitar. “Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” he lends you a hand in putting your jacket back on. “It’s been a while since I’ve… Uh, well, you get it.”

You turn to face him, beaming radiantly. Gosh, you’re stunning. He’s certain he won’t forget those mesmerizing eyes of yours.

“Joel, let’s be honest with each other…” your hands shot up to caress his cheek and thread at his curls. You don’t believe him one bit. “We’ll meet again. You know we will.”

You didn’t really mean it, merely wanting to make an impression. But there was a minuscule possibility that your paths would cross for a second time; after all, you did know his brother. Though you never mentioned that. Deep down, you were scared that he wouldn’t want to make a move if he knew of that connection— specially after seeing Tommy’s reaction when he saw that hat on your head.

“Hope that’s true, groupie.”

Joel insists on calling his chauffeur to take you home, arguing that it was past midnight and it was dangerous to take a cab. Eventually, you let him, making a quick stop to the bathroom to set things right with your appearance. He waits for you patiently, the cowboy hat presented to you as a gift when you walked out.

“Keep it,” he sways, “as a little souvenir for if we don’t end up meeting again. Besides, it suits you better.”

“Won’t you have another pretty girl to gift it to?” he rolls his eyes at your inquiry.

“I can always buy more,” he laughs. “I want you to remember I sent you home sore and aching each time you look at it.”

You giggle, getting on your tippy toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Miller. I’ll be thinking ‘bout it… About you. That’s a promise.”

And he truly hopes you mean it.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month

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I don’t know if you’ve already covered this, but I had a question to ask about the VDC in Book 5. To clarify, I understand that RSA needed to win for thematic and character arc purposes, and that in-lore it was an audience vote not a professional one. The story beats line up. But the choice of cutesy and childlike RSA performance over the more refined and professional NRC performance still doesn’t quite click with me. Is there some kind of cultural difference that didn’t translate to explain why one performance was supposed to be understood as preferred over the other? Even if it was an audience vote, the standards should be higher just by virtue of this being a big name competition for teenagers held at a prestigious school.

Very quickly, I want to add a couple other points that help to explain why RSA won over NRC! Book 6 opens early on with Vil noting that NRC was not able to perform as well as they wanted to since they had just come out of a difficult battle against his OB form. (Because of this, he accepts responsibility for their loss.) Thus, the NRC performance may not have actually been as "refined", "professional", or as polished as we imagine it to be.

Additionally, it’s stated in book 5 that RSA’s song choice had universal appeal whereas NRC’s did not. We see this effect on the production crew when Neige and the Seven Dwarves do their practice run; their performance has a refreshing and soothing effect on what appears to be an older audience (as it plays to their nostalgia); we must consider this when evaluating RSA and NRC. For example, I know that I really disliked NRC's performance (sue me/j) because it sounded very oppressive and therefore unrelatable to me. The lyrics are literally about how NRC will dominate their opponents and win 😭 Sure, the music and lyrics for Neige's song aren't complex, but they're at the very least accessible and easy to follow along with. (That's not to say that I prefer RSA's performance though; I'm just explaining why someone might not find NRC's performance appealing.)

Lastly! We as players are looking at the two song + dance numbers from an omniscient perspective. We need to consider our own biases when judging, and accept that it may differ from the characters in-universe view things. Maybe you prefer NRC’s performance. That’s fair! But how much of that is informed by your personal music preferences? And how much of that comes from your attachment to the NRC characters, since you’ve followed their stories up until this point? As Rook points out in book 5, he’s aware of how hard NRC has worked to get here… but he’s also aware of Neige’s hardships too (er, in terms of his lifestyle; ie living with the dwarves and doing chores, etc.). Consider then, would you honestly not have a bias for RSA had Twisted Wonderland’s story centered on them instead of NRC?

It’s also worth noting that how things are seen in Twisted Wonderland may reflect its own unique culture rather than how we in the real world may perceive it. Maybe the people of Twisted Wonderland just prefer a cute, nostalgic performance. This may not necessarily correlate with west or east at all and that has always been a possibility! (While TWST does take inspirations from the real world, it’s not a 1:1 with the real world.)

dkhlbaiyfadvfoad Okay, NOW onto the actual question being pitched!

When you look at media from different countries, there are some stark differences in how the same information is presented. One example is like... any Gordon Ramsay show yes, I am using him as an example. Compare the American cut and the British cuts; there are much more loud sound effects, dramatic music, yelling, and cussing in the American cuts. The British cuts, by comparison, are notably quieter and contemplative, with hardly any cursing. Another example! Looking at variety shows from the east vs the west, they're quite different as well. Eastern variety shows tend to be "cute", usually using various cute sound effects or edits which make the guests appear more bashful (like drawing blush over their cheeks or something). We don't see this in western TV shows, which are louder and more boisterous. I've noticed a similar trend in the music industries of the east vs the west as well, where eastern stars tend to emphasize their youthfulness and playfulness and western stars try to be more "mature" and grown-up. These are just my personal observations and may not reflect reality, especially seeing as I am not involved in music-oriented spaces.

I asked friends and personal contacts in both eastern and western pop music fandom spaces for their own insights (which is also in no way representative of both fandoms, but at least this gives us other perspectives for consideration). To summarize, most of them replied that they did not think cultural differences account for this situation, since equating a preference for a "cute" aesthetic is not the same as RSA performing what is basically a nursery rhyme. There's no real-world equivalent for that (at least none that they can think of), and I agree with all of this. There’s really no point in trying to compare the two.

I remember lots of Japanese fans being upset at NRC’s loss too (when book 5’s ending was first put out), so the impression I got was they didn’t prefer the performance of RSA over NRC either. It was not just the international fandom that was disappointed. I don’t believe TWST ever intentionally set out to present “Everyone Yahoo!” as the “superior” song and dance number, or as the performance we’re supposed to like more than the other. It was very much framed as something pathetic and unlikely to win in most of the eyes of the NRC characters. They make fun of RSA’s clumsiness and claim it’ll be easy to win over them. The player most likely is supposed to think this way too—until Vil, the one with an eye for showbiz, realizes his loss. Why? Because it doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is how this clumsy performance will resonate with the common person.

What I think it ultimately comes down to is emotional appeal to the audience, which is more of a personal/individual level thing than a cultural thing. The competition is decided by audience vote. The average person honestly does not care about quality or standards. No one is giving them rules to evaluate by, no one is going to tell them off for not having strict standards. They will pick based on what they like best or whatever makes them feel good. And what will make anyone feel food, regardless of age, sex, race, education, socioeconomic status, etc.? Something cozy and familiar, thoughts of simpler times… Nostalgia.

Something else to think about is what a powerful motivator emotions can be. There are irl idol competition shows that are high stakes and decided by audience vote just like VDC/SDC… and people will still vote for their favorites even if they gave a technically bad performance. This is because fans are so emotionally invested in and attached to the performer. It doesn’t matter how “bad” they are, the performer/performance makes the audience member feel impassioned, and they will then act according to those intense feelings. Think about what you’re like when you’re in a terrible mood vs a good one. You act completely differently, right?

I hope that perspective helps! 🙏 I tried to be as thorough as I could be in this response, but please let me know if I misspoke or maybe missed a point.

P.S. I happen to be responding to this ask after TWST showed us the NRC Tribe’s dance performance in a MMD video. I wonder if this only made the “NRC should have own” crowd double down on that opinion since now we’re seeing just what their performance looks like 🤔 (though we don’t have a complete MMD video of Neige’s group to directly compare, just this which shows part of the dance and not in the same clumsy way that Neige and co. perform it).

#twisted wonderland #twst #Neige LeBlanche #Vil Schoenheit #Rook Hunt #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #book 6 spoilers #book 5 spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question #Seven Dwarves #Gordon Ramsay

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zeewritez · 4 months

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The Sailor and The Samurai - I

Mizu x Femme Shipmate/Pirate Reader

Hi my lovelies! I haven't updated in so long and I'm sorry but college has been kicking my ass. (Why tf am I studying biochemistry - because I hate myself). Anyways, I hope to update my other stories soon (I've had chapters for months now, they just need to be edited lol). So for now, here's a little BES fic because I'm in love with this show :)

(Notes: Reader's father is Irish in the fic but she will not be described physically except for having super long curly hair because I like projecting my hair goals onto stories, also I will be using he/him pronouns for Mizu since they are currently being perceived as a man.)

Part 2 now out

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache from the rum she had the previous night. She made a note to self to not attempt to out drink her father, even if he was pushing 60. Rolling out of her cot, she slipped on a blouse and trousers she had acquired from a crew mate at some point. They barely fit, but it was far better than the dresses and corsets she wore whenever they docked back home.

She walked onto the deck just in time to watch over the vast ocean as they approached the isolated island of Japan. She'd been there many times in her career but had only ever been to the ports to assist with loading goods when the crew needed it. Today, there was no need. Instead, she watched with mild curiosity from the crow's nest as crates were loaded onto The Banshee.

The cargo seemed standard: silks, swords, exotic fish. The things nobles in England dreweld over. Yet the passengers were anything but standard. Y/n could barely believe her eyes when the infamous Abijah Fowler was brought on board with guards on each side of him. He was brought to the detention cell, which would have otherwise been used when her father was tired of a crewmate's drunken antics.

Y/n was so taken aback by Fowler's presence she nearly missed the passenger behind him: a young man, a few years older than y/n herself, clad in Japanese garb and yellow glasses. It seemed odd to her, as it was rather overcast outside but she didn't give it a second thought. What she was truly curious about was why Abijah Fowler was on their vessel.

As the ship took sail, she climbed down from the nest and made her way to the detention cell with a curious, if not mischievous, grin.

"I never thought you'd be joining us for London," she teased as she stood outside of his cel, as though dangling her freedom like a carrot. She did not like Fowler one bit, but she found him almost as amusing as she found him vile. Entertainment was hard to come by at sea, so who could really blame her?

"Well I for one am always happy to see you," he said, grabbing her hand through the bars and kissing her knuckles. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand back from him.

"What brings you back to the isle?" she asked. "My father doesn't even enjoy England, and he's still in good standing, legally speaking."

"Perhaps he's a better Irishman then me," Fowler said with a shrug. "What does it matter to you?"

The girl looked up in faux innocence. "Oh, I'm just curious."

"Well, why don't you hunt down the samurai that's on board and he can let you know why I'm going back to London," Fowler finally told her. "You've picked up quite a bit of Japanese, haven't ya?"

"Alright, I'll see you around then," she said as she turned to leave.

"You have your mother's rear!" He shouted out, as though y/n had forgotten why she had disliked the man so much. She said a silent prayer thanking the heavens he wasn't roaming freely as she roamed the ship looking for the mysterious man with glasses, which was simple enough.

He stood on the poop deck, staring out onto the ocean, as anyone who has ever treaded water has. The waters had a way of commanding one's attention.

"Hello good sir," the young woman greeted she climbed the stairs, stopping to curtsey out of habit. She'd managed to have some resemblance of good manners despite being raised at sea by a captain with a drinking habit.

The young man stared at her, which was a common response from many men upon seeing her for the first time, regardless of national origin. In fact, Englishmen seemed most taken aback by her appearance. Her hair was long and unkempt, falling down her back in ringlets instead of being pinned into an updo of a proper lady. Her shirt nearly fell from her shoulders and around her neck was a long, beaded necklace that seemed to trail down between her breasts. Y/n giggled at the man's reaction, having expected nothing less.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he spoke casting his eyes away from her eyes out of embarrassment, then down to her strange necklace, then back up to her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she said, leaning against the Banshee's railing. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance, may I ask your name?"

"Mizu," he answered, finally less taken aback by the strange woman. "And you are?*

"Y/n," she said, reaching out her hand limply, again out of habit more than anything else. Mizu looked at her with pure confusion, almost fear. Y/n giggled again, this time to hide her embarrassment. "It is expected to kiss a lady's hand where we're going."

Mizu nodded and cautiously took the girl's hand, which was smaller then her own, and cool to the touch from the ocean winds. He kissed it with the gentleness most men she encountered lacked.

"You'll make a proper gentleman," y/n remarked as she retrieved her hand once again and placed it under her head. She scanned Mizu as had her. Admittedly he was rather dashing. So much so she'd forgotten what she was originally there to ask him. Fowler was the last thing on her mind. "What's with the spectacles?" she asked.

"My eyes are unnatural back home," he told her.

"Is that so?" Y/n asked rhetorically. Perhaps without thought for personal space, she leaned forward and took the yellow frames from the man's face. She was greeted with eyes that would put the sea herself to shame. "You needn't wear these anymore, your eyes are beautiful." The young sailor folded the glasses and handed them back to the blue eyed man.

A small smile graced Mizu's face at the first genuine compliment he'd heard in regard to his eyes. He looked over the beautiful yet foreign face of the woman in front of him. The journey to London was certainly something to look forward to now.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #reader insert #mizu x you #netflix #bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai fanfic

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simbouquet · 12 days

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TS3: re:Cerberus – Default Replacement Eye Mesh & Textures

This is a little project I’ve been working on for the past month: a complete default replacement for the eye mesh and textures for Sims of all ages and genders. I realize it’s a bit niche and very specific to my personal taste, but I’m very happy to share it. 🙂

The name is a callback to an old piece of CC I made back in 2022, my first eye texture replacement, which I wound up disliking for a number of reasons and ultimately deleted from my blog.

More info and download under the cut!

Overview

I prefer for my Sims’ eyes to have smaller, more realistic looking irises. There are quite a few options out there, but I’ve never been 100% satisfied with how they looked.

On one hand, the vanilla EA eye mesh tends to stretch smaller eye textures, making them look slightly squared, and the occult eye glow creates an unsightly outline where the original texture would be.

On the other hand, aWT’s default replacement mesh does a good job at reducing the textures, but comes at the cost of sacrificing things like catchlights and occult eye effects. Buhudain does have a version of this mesh that restores them, but the catchlights can look a little wonky or jagged at times since the mesh wasn’t really intended to be used with them anyway.

Moreover, those defaults only had a LOD0, so in some cases where the game would use LOD1 in a few situations such as generating certain thumbnails, the vanilla EA eye mesh with massive irises would show up.

With all this in mind, I decided to try my hand at making my own version and ended up with a new mesh based on aWT’s eyes, which features the following:

A natural looking globe-like shape as opposed to a perfect sphere, which @justmiha97 helped me massively with. Though not 100% realistic, I do like the effect it gives and it doesn’t look weird or out of place.

Reduced iris size, pretty much the same as aWT’s mesh.

Slightly smaller catchlights, which I find pretty cute.

Available for all Sims, Toddler to Elder.

Includes LODs 0 and 1, allowing players on lower settings to use these replacements as well besides being cohesive where the game uses LOD1.

Lower poly than aWT’s mesh, but still a little higher than EA’s, thanks to @thornowl nearly halving the poly count from 608 to 320 triangles. See a comparison below.

EA’s mesh: 192 poly for Child thru Elder; 72 poly for Toddler. aWT’s mesh (+ Buckley’s Toddler & Child conversion): 540 poly for all ages. My mesh: 320 poly for all ages.

For the textures, I edited escand’s beautiful Tiffany Glaze eyes, which I’d already been using on EA’s mesh for quite a while. I made the texture a bit larger, similar to EA’s default size, so that it won’t look too small on my mesh, and made some other small modifications to the texture.

I’ve included a replacement for the face overlay for all ages, which combines textures from @potatobuttcheek’s Eyelashes N1, @aikea-guinea’s teeth and missy harries’ sclera. The overlay also gets rid of the lip tint for female Sims and the sclera has a tiny bit of transparency that blends in subtly with the Sim’s skin color. It’s a neat little effect EA used with their own sclera texture, but I hadn’t seen it replicated in many other defaults.

Previews

CAS preview of EA eye colors on the re:Cerberus mesh and textures.

In-game previews of the eyes in light colors, dark colors and with occult effects.

All previews use my Eye Shader Tweaks and VirtualHugs’ ColorLash + Judson’s Bottom Eyelashes.

Compatibility & Known Issues

The mesh and textures are currently default replacements only. I don’t use contacts in my game, so I haven’t made a non-default version.

You can mix and match by using my mesh with other textures, or using my texture on a different mesh. For reference, my mesh reduces eye textures to about the same size as aWT’s mesh.

My mesh uses SimEyes shaders because I wanted to retain the catchlights and occult effects. I haven’t made a SimSkin version, but you can easily change the shader of the GEOM resources using s3pe if you really want to.

My mesh is incompatible with aWT’s eye sliders; they will not look right if you use them because they’re made specifically for aWT’s eye mesh. I’ve never really used these sliders so I haven’t looked into making them compatible.

My texture is incompatible with Gruesim’s heterochromia eye mesh. It will look bad if you try to use them together.

The occult eye glow is a mess by EA’s design. The effect is slapped on the eye mesh without any awareness as to where the iris is actually placed; in fact, it’s not even aligned correctly on their own eyes. I hope to be able to fix this one day and make it work properly with any eye textures, but shader modding is not an easy or fast task, so please bear with me.

Download: SFS / MTS

Place the .package files in your Packages or Overrides folder.

Credits & Thanks

s3pe: Exporting/Importing resources, creating the package file.

Blender: Creating the eye mesh.

Adobe Photoshop 2024: Editing the texture, creating the preview images.

aWT’s Eye Mesh: Basis for my mesh edit.

Buckley’s Toddler & Child Conversion of aWT’s Eye Mesh: Used as a reference for the positioning of my toddler and child mesh.

escand’s Tiffany Glaze eyes: Basis for my texture edit.

potatobuttcheek’s Eyelashes N1: Used in my face overlay.

Aikea Guinea’s Multifoiled eyes: Source for the teeth texture used in my face overlay.

missy harries’ EA Face Overlay fix: Source for the sclera texture used in my face overlay.

Thank you to @justmiha97 and @thornowl for their contribution to the mesh. ❤️

Thank you to @probablyzora’s Zoe Saora for modeling the occult eyes! 💋

#mycc:ts3 #mycc:recerberus

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charlie-lec-stories · 8 months

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Some Odd Numbers are Even // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: Max knows that he's always been in love with his best friend, even if she was driving for the enemy, and he could live with that, but her dating the rival he has a crush on it's where he draws the line.

Warnings: Some angst, but they all take it like champs. Max kisses people when he's drunk. Some sexual comments.

Author’s Note: I had to work on this one a lot to make it fit the theme of the blog, but it motivated me to keep editing my stories, this is the beginning of everything. Rate: +18

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When Max Verstappen met Y/N he was the most hormonal 15 years-old on Earth, or at least that's how his father called him, always running around chasing girls instead of focusing on what was important. He has to admit that his head wasn't filled with the purest thoughts when they got introduced by their mutual friend, Pierre, but when she humiliated all the boys on the track winning by almost twenty seconds, he knew he fell hard. She called him her best friend the second time they hung out and, to Max's dismay, their destiny seemed to have been sealed. Best friends. He hated it, but he would take what he could get. With time, he learned to live with it. She was the first person he told he was feeling "confused", as he initially called it, and then the first he decided to let know that he was bisexual when he finally understood it. He was glad that she took it great and she was kind of surprised that he ever thought she could get mad about him liking people. They enjoyed gossiping around and sharing their opinions on the different people they liked, but he never dared to tell her how he felt about her. She has had at least five boyfriends and countless one-night stands since they met and everything always ended up in heartbreak for her. He spent years wanting to scream "I'm here, just look at me", but she never looked his way, at least not like he wanted. Still, he tried to be supportive, because she still was his best friend and his massive crush on her wasn't her fault. He was supportive when she dated that weird dude from Canada who was obsessed with her hair, when she told him that she wanted to learn how to play the guitar and when she decided that she wanted to drive for Mercedes in F1. He was still a little pissed off that she signed with Mercedes, but he took it like a big boy.

However, there was something they could never see eye to eye about and that something was actually a someone: Charles Leclerc. Max and Charles had quite the history when it came to their relationship, they were rivals above all but, unknown to Charles, the monegasque was also Max's bi awakening when they were 16. The dutch took his time getting there, but he ended up understanding that even though he was constantly wanting to rip Charles' head off, he also find him attractive. Of course, that didn't make Max like the other, he knew the difference between finding someone good looking and liking them at all. Would he have sex with Charles? Probably, in another universe. Did he stopped disliking Charles? No, definitely no. But his best friend adored Charles. Y/N could write a whole encyclopedia about Charles, she was in love with him, but Charles was that unreachable entity that never looked at her as more than Pierre's friend. He was always nice to her, attentive, charming, funny, even warm. He liked her, not the way she liked him, but he liked her anyways. The three of them were trapped in this weird triangle and Max hated it. He hated Charles for getting the attention he wanted and for getting even hotter with time. But for Max things only got worse.

They were all 24 and it was the first time in a long period that the three of them were single simultaneously. Charles had broken up with his girlfriend of two years before the start of the season, Y/N was on a celibacy run since the beginning of the year and Max broke up with his latest boyfriend who he only dated for three months. On the first race of the season he noticed that the Ferrari driver was a recurring character at the Mercedes garage. For a moment, Max thought that Charles was considering moving to Mercedes, but he soon found out that the Ferrari driver had other intentions.

"... And then I said "I'm coming on your camera, mate". Never felt so stupid in my life". Y/N laughed at Charles' story and Max could feel his blood boil inside his veins. "But well, at least I wasn't the one who suggested to milk the goats on Goat Simulator". He added softly looking at George Russell, Y/N teammate, and making the girl giggle.

"Good to know you're funny, Leclerc, now you can make a career in stand-up when you finally fail making one in racing". Charles rolled his eyes and then smirked.

"Look at that, Mr. World Champion is scared of a little competition". Charles taunted him. "What is it, Verstappen? Afraid of me stealing the title this year?"

"Okay, enough of the testosterone battle". Y/N cut them off before Max could reply. "Neither of you got the bigger stick".

"Are you sure about that, Cherie?". Max was five second away from murder. The wink was like playing with fire, but Charles did it anyways. The championship wasn't the only thing he was stealing from Max that year. "Never say things like that without proof".

That same night, around 4 am, Max opened his hotel room to an extremely happy Y/N: "You won't guess who helped me break my celibacy streak". Well... he could guess.

By summer break Charles and Y/N were officially the paddock's favourite couple, for everyone except Max. He was furious about it, and Charles fighting him the championship so closely wasn't exactly helping. Even the fans could see how much Max resented the relationship between his known best friend and rival. Every podium, cool down room and interview that included the two was filled with drama. Petty comments, eyes rolling, arms crossed and even once, Max calling Charles an idiot. But what Max didn't want to admit was that the more he was forced to spend time with Charles, the more he started to like him. He was funny and Max found himself having to suppress a laugh at one of his jokes more than once. He was also extremely good at racing and that was something that Max liked, it was the first thing that made him fall for Y/N in the first place. Also, his best friend was constantly telling him how nice Charles was to her: romantic, loving, caring. And even if Max didn't like it, he could see that Charles actually cared about Y/N, he could see that Charles was in love with her. It broke his heart, it pained him like anything before. He thought he could take it, that he was mature enough to let her go and be happy for her. But he couldn't, so he decided to put some distance, to take care of himself and protect his heart.

The second part of the season was intense. Max won his second championship, but he had put so much distance between him and his best friend that she wasn't there to celebrate with him. She was at the Ferrari garage, hugging a defeated Charles and running her hands up and down his back. The monegasque had the prize that Max wanted the most and, suddenly, the award on his hands wasn't that important. Not when she was there, supporting him. It hurt to watch, her kissing Charles and hugging him tight. Charles smiling at her, nodding his head as he accepted her words of encouragement. She was probably giving him the same speech she gave Max when he first started in F1. "You're more than enough". "Your time will come". "You have what you need to be a champion". He could remember it like it was yesterday when she would ran her fingers through his hair, his head on her lap, softly crying, the ghost of another DNF haunting him. It always worked though, her mumbled sweet words, fixing his broken ego and shattered heart. No matter the distance, Max just couldn't let her go and now he had nothing, not even his best friend. Around Christmas he had come to the conclusion that the main reason why he hated Charles and Y/N's relationship so much was because he didn't know if he wanted to be her to date Charles or be Charles to date her. He liked them both, and if learning he was bi was shocking back in his teenage years, addressing the fact that he liked two people at the same time was even more. So he did what he did best when it was off season, he got drunk. Shit-faced drunk, so wasted that he couldn't remember his own home address.

The red door in front of him was familiar and for a moment he wondered if he actually made it home. That door made him feel home, somehow. He knocked on the door a few times. His head was spinning and thinking hurt his brain. The door swung open, his best friend was looking up at him worried from the other side of it. He didn't think it through, he just grabbed her face and smashed his lips on hers. For a moment, he thought he could feel her kiss back, but as quick as the kiss started, it ended. With a mumbled "You don't know what you're doing" and sad expression on her face, Y/N led him inside and dropped him on the couch. Charles was sitting there, without a shirt and looking at him with a pissed off expression. Max had lost whatever self control he had and the words just started pouring out of his mouth like a river.

"What are you looking at, Leclerc?". He asked, words slurred.

"You just kissed my girlfriend". Charles knew it was pointless to argue with Max on that state, but he was as angry as his face showed.

"Deal with it". Max rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. "And put on a shirt, for fuck's sake, or I'm kissing you too".

For Max, there weren't many feelings worse than a hungover. It was easily on his top 5, along with heartbreak, losing at basically anything, visiting his father and eating tuna, not in that specific order. He did the best he could to look around but the sunlight was burning his eyes off, figuratively, but he felt it literally. The feeling of the furniture underneath him was oddly familiar and the smell in the air was definitely Y/N's. For a moment, he closed his eyes and decided to go back to sleep, satisfied with the feeling of being home. Suddenly, he remembered that he shouldn't be there. Sitting straight up, he found himself ready to throw up from the sudden movement. He took a look at his surroundings, Y/N's home was different from when he last remembered, a few months back. A lot of Ferrari merchandizing adorned the living room and a few framed pictures on the walls showed Charles' smiling face. Max felt the pain in his chest when he noticed that she still had up all of their pictures together. He was the most horrible friend on Earth, she loved him and he pushed her away. A picture in particular caught his attention, it was a podium from the first half of the season, in Silverstone. The three of them got into the podium on that occasion and Max had agreed to take the picture without much drama. Y/N was in the middle and both Max and Charles had their arms around her waist. They all looked genuinely happy. Max couldn't help but feel like he messed everything up, he was the only one to blame for that being the only picture they all had together. The only one, and Y/N had it hanging on her living room like it was a moment as cherished as the other life changing moments hanging on those walls. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to get out of that house. He picked up his phone and wallet from the coffee table, but his keys were nowhere to be found. He searched the whole living room desperately for almost fifteen minutes.

"You're awake". Max stopped moving at the voice of Charles ringing through the air, deep and raspy from sleep. The dutch was currently kneeled in front of the couch, trying to see if his keys were underneath it, and his back was facing Charles. He took a deep breath before he stood up and faced him.

"Yeah...". Was the only thing that Max could manage. He wanted to spit a mean comment, say something sassy enough for Charles to go away, but after seeing all of the monegasque's belongings so naturally laying around the house he didn't have the heart to disrespect him in what was undoubtedly his home.

"You had quite the night last night". Charles walked further into the living room, looking at Max with a puzzled gaze. "Do you remember anything from it?"

"Well, the last clear memory is downing something that tasted awful". Max scrunched his face remembering the taste.

"You came here around 4 in the morning-". Charles stopped talking suddenly. His tone insinuated that he had planned to say more, but he backed out last minute. He was visibly tense.

"I'm sorry". It was the first time Max had ever apologized to Charles in over ten years knowing each other.

"For how long had you liked Y/N?". To say that Max was taken aback by the question would be an understatement. His hungover head tried to think of an excuse, something that could spear him from admitting the truth. Charles could practically see the gears turning inside his head. "Don't bother lying. We know".

"We?". Max was pretty pale, but he managed to get paler.

"Listen". Charles relaxed a bit, moving closer to the couch. "You may don't believe this, but I actually like you, Max. I know that we don't have the best relationship, I'm willing to meet you half way, but I can't do that if you're not honest".

"There's no point in that anymore". Max admitted plopping himself on the couch. "She hates me. I'm the last threat to your relationship, Charles".

"She doesn't hate you. She loves you. Which is kind of awkward because she's my girlfriend". Charles sat next to Max on the couch, the other looking at him with a confused expression. "You kissed her last night".

"Fuck". Max hid his face on his hands. "I'm so sorry, Charles". Twice in less than 30 minutes?

"She kissed you back". There was this tension between them, neither knew what to do with the conversation. "We talked about it when we went to bed". Charles shifted on the couch. "It was an interesting conversation though. We freely left out some things we were hiding". Max sat straighter and looked at Charles, trying to show him that he was actively listening. "Like the fact that we both have had a crush on you for ages". That was something unexpected. "I know that I hasn't been the kindest guy to you through the years, and this doesn't excuse it, but it was really confusing when all of this started happening and I wasn't sure of what to do with it". Max remained silent. "You can say something, you know?"

"I don't know what to say". Max was perplexed. "I guess I just have so much to say that I don't know where to start".

"Morning". Y/N's voice softly entered their charged atmosphere. She walked to the couch and sat down, reading their conversation on their faces. "Are we talking about it right now?"

"I hope you don't mind, but we started without you, mon amour". Charles grabbed her hand and lightly squeezed it.

"I don't mind". She sighed deeply. "Max, we've talked and we want to propose you something". Max nodded his head. "We both really like you, like really like you-"

"Already went through that, amour, he's still processing it". Charles chuckled.

"Oh, okay. To the point then?". She asked mostly to herself. "We know that this is kind of weird and you may not be into it, Charles himself is still working on the idea, but we'd like to know if you'll be interested into adding yourself to this". She pointed between herself and Charles. Max kept quiet.

They waited patiently for Max to gather his thoughts, they knew that it was a lot to take in and they weren't aware of his crush on Charles, so there was also this fear of him not liking Charles back. They spent the night talking, went through all the options: ignore it, break up, take some time, open the relationship, and lastly, they ended up with the only option that made them happy. They both liked Max, they both wanted to be with him, but they loved each other and hated the idea of breaking up so one of them could date Max. Charles had a few contradictions with the idea, he was too wired into monogamy and found the idea uncomfortable, but at the same time he felt like it was the right choice, the one that could make him feel complete. He still had a lot to think about but he wanted to give it a try. Y/N was more open to the concept, she was more in touch with her feelings and less into monogamy than Charles.

"I have been in love with you for so long". Max said softly out of the blue. His eyes met Y/N's when she looked at him. "You have no idea. No idea how much I dreamt about you saying that back to me". He clicked his tongue. "Do you remember when I was 16 and I told you that I saw a guy and felt weird?". Y/N nodded her head. Of course she remembered when he first came out to her. "It was Charles. We had had the most intense race ever, I was just so pumped up, the adrenaline so high. And he took off his helmet and all I could think about was punching his face and then kiss it". Chales, who had been looking at his lap since Max confessed his love for Y/N, looked up at Max.

"For that long?". Charles asked. Max nodded.

"It was my bi awakening". The three of them laughed softly. The air became lighter around them.

"I always thought it was Pierre, you know?". Y/N told Max.

"Oh God, no! I mean I love Pierre, but c'mon, you both are more my type". Max said with more confidence.

"Does that mean that you're in?". Charles asked. Max looked between him and Y/N a few times and then smiled wide.

"Yeah, I'm in".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Okay! So, this is the beginning of the relationship. remember that none of these stories are published in chronological order. They are just short stories about different situations those three went though. I hope you like it!

#charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen imagine #lestappen x reader #lestappen imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #max verstappen x reader #max vestappen one shot #lestappen fic

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athelyna-silverspell · 2 months

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Opinions No One Asked For™️: Palia NPC Edition

Auni: I love this kid. I want him to think of me as a cool older sister or cool aunt. I bring him bugs every chance I get

Ashura: I want him to be my dad. Genuinely love him. Serious contender to be my Shepp

Badruu: He really turned the puns up to 11. I love him. Also want him to be my dad. And possibly my Shepp

Caleri: I wasn't too sure about her, but after getting to know her, I feel like we have quite a few similarities. Definitely want to be her friend. Could she be my Shepp? 👀

Chayne: I find him so calming. He also feels dad-like to me. 100% want him as a support figure/father figure regardless of who I choose as my Shepp

Delaila: Love talking to her. Really want to get to know her better at this point (but 100% want her to win all the prizes at farmers markets/festivals)

Einar: Absolutely adorable and I love him. Only platonically tho. I will give him as many Gils and shiny rocks as he wants

Elouisa: I wasn't sure at first, but I LOVE her unhinged theories. I want to be her best friend. I will investigate all the paranormal things with her. Contender for my Shepp. Girl let's go ghost hunting

Eshe: So snobby. So bougie. So bitchy. I wish she could be my Shepp 😫 (if only because it would be entertaining)

Hassian: First impressions? What an asshole. After some time, I am...intrigued. I want to figure him out. I want to know why he is the way he is. Also fucking love Tau, the gooodest boi

Hekla: Honestly... she freaked me out a little for a long time. I'm slowly coming around though

Hodari: Listen, I get it. I see where you all are coming from. But man's just not my type 🤷🏻‍♀️

Jel: Oh Jel, my beloved. I'm not exactly subtle about it. This man is my husband. Sad, skinny, pathetic, dramatic, goth guys are My Type™️. Would marry him like, yesterday 🥀😫🪡🖤😍

Jina: At first I wasn't sure, but the more I talk to her, I'm like, "Jina, my bestie." I'm a PhD student. I feel you. Also, WOMEN IN STEM, HELL YEAH!!!! I have a feeling we're gonna be great friends

Kenji: Not a fan of your extremely privileged life ("Have you tried inheriting property?" 😐😐😐) or the invasive chapaa situation... but I also don't dislike him as much as I thought. I feel like he's playing a role he doesn't really want to, but still enjoying/expecting the high life for little to no effort

Kenyatta: She should be my best friend. I was put off at first, but she is the coolest. I see quite a few aspects of myself in her

Nai'O: I feel like he's the sweetest boi ever. I'm both like, "He deserves better than Kenyatta" and "Kenyatta is good for him." Perhaps the most wholesome NPC

Najuma: I also want to be the cool older sister and/or cool aunt that she never had. This kid is a badass and smart as hell. I wish my friendship with her was better already

Reth: This man. I love him. I'm not sure if it's platonic or romantic yet. All I know is he's one of my favourite NPCs to talk to. He's funny, he's flirty, he's got a Tragic Backstory™️. I'm here for this soup boi whether he wants it or not

Sifuu: Two words: Bad. Ass. It's a crime that we can't romance her. I really want to ask her to be my Shepp, but I'm not sure it's a good fit

Tamala: I'm sorry, Tamala besties, but I just don't like her 😭 I really wanted to like her so bad, but her aggressive flirting paired with her unwillingness to consider me a friend/equal just rubs me the wrong way

Tish: Absolutely beautiful person. I want to be her bffl. That is all

Zeki: Crime Cat, my beloved. He is the most entertaining Shepp option (imo). He's got an eye patch, a gold tooth, and shady practices. I find him amusing. I want him to like me. Share his (dubiously acquired) riches with me. Please accept me into the black market. I won't tell, but I can't promise I'll participate (I probably will 👀)

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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Azriel x Reader | Crazy Stupid Love

edited!!

type: angst warning(s): self-doubt, harmful thoughts, age-gap, Azriel is Reader's boss word count: 5.4k words summary: Reader is one of Azriel’s spies. Nesta has rescued her from Illyria and brought her to Velaris. Azriel has seen Reader’s potential and has asked her to become his spy. Slowly, he has fallen for her and vice versa. But both have difficulties accepting those feelings, especially since Azriel has doubts about him being Illyrian when you just escaped the Illyrian war camps, thinking you would be disgusted by his love for you. This is now the edited version of a request (where Reader is one of tge IC members' children) that caused incredibly much hate and uproar. Once again I can only apologise and hope you will like this story now better. Additional info, Reader is jealous of Gwyn in this, so Reader’s dislike of Gwyn stems from disappointment and jealousy. I love Gwyn’s character a lot, so these are not my thoughts and hence why I put some cute Gwynriel friendship into it.

The shadowsinger’s thumb carefully swipes over your cheek, barely brushing the surface, his palm soft and warm on your skin, his touch gentle. You almost melt into it, your heart rapidly beating against your rib cage, reveling into the closeness of him. Your skin tingles, prickling. Not only where he touches you. Everywhere actually. Your gaze is trained on the ground, unable to look at him.

Azriel. Shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court. And your boss—you being his best spy and that for quite some years now. So these feelings are…very, very wrong. You know that, but—

“Hm?” he questions, his voice barely above a whisper. It is the gentleness in it that nearly draws tears to your eyes, this side of him that hardly anyone ever gets to see. He lets this gentles, this soft and caring side show whenever he is around you.

And that hurts, because even though, your heart beats for him, there will never be more between the two of you than…friends.

And friends is already the most of it. You are his employee.

“I just felt dizzy all of a sudden. Might have been the heat,” you answer, warmth filling your cheeks. Azriel does not really seem content with this answer and tips your chin up with his thumb. You are forced to meet his gaze eventually, your heart pounding in your throat. You clamp your mouth shut, knowing that you first had to order your thoughts and only then could talk.

You mind is a mess whenever you are around him. You have always liked Azriel a lot. He always seems to understand you, making you feel comfortable in what you do and say and think. Until it changed. Or not. You still feel comfortable around him, but now also really nervous and sometimes a little bit...shy.

Azriel is just–Gods!

He…you find it hard to breathe whenever you look at him. But now, now that your eyes clash with those of hazel, it is a sheer impossibility to form any coherent thought and to make your lungs fill with air.

“I think you might not have drunk enough today,” Azriel says, a tint of reprimanding in his voice. You roll your eyes a little–yes, you are a younger fae, but you aren’t a baby. You are an adult and very capable of knowing how much or little you should drink a day.

The shadowsinger clicks his tongue and chuckles, the deep rumble doing something to you, making your toes curl. “What did I say about you rolling your eyes at me, little one?” Taunting laces his features when his gaze moves over your face, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

Snickering slightly, you simply roll them again. “Well, sometimes, Shadowsinger, one can only roll their eyes at you. I am no baby. I can perfectly—“ “I never said you are a not capable of knowing how much to drink or you being a bay, I just realised that during training you drank nothing at all. And also not during lunch.”

So he was watching you during lunch? Your mind plays silly games with you. Why would he watch you? To see if you are fit for work?

“So during lunch you had nothing better to do than watch me and see if I drink enough?” Your brow raises in challenge, eyes aglow when the narrow in on the shadowsinger. He cocks his head, smiling at your teasing words. Azriel leans back on the lounger and stretches his legs, then he folds his hands behind his neck. His onyx hair glow in the bright sunlight, his hazel eyes sparkling with challenge.

“I’m just looking out for you. Training requires strength. But so it does require that you eat and drink enough and have enough power.”

His explanation is not entirely what you hoped to hear, nevertheless you bow your head and force a small smile on your lips, knowing it does not reach your eyes.

You know this is wrong, know that you should not feel…so much for Azriel. It is strange, odd, weird, twisted. But you cannot do anything against your feelings, you cannot force your heart to stop beating so frantically whenever Azriel is around, whenever he is near. It just happens, you just happen to have caught feelings for him. Feelings that you cannot suppress, nor do anything against them.

You cannot stand the tension any longer, how close he sits, how his scent fills your nostrils —night-chilled mist, cedar and a hint of sweat— or how his warmth reaches your body, how his thigh touches yours. How often have you imagined situations just like this in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling in your room, fingers toying with the edges of the romance books you have been trying to read but soon lost focus.

“Can we just go back to training?” You don’t wait for an answer, standing in one swift movement that has you tumbling a little bit.

“Only if you drink. You nearly fainted earl—“ You snatch the bottle from the bench next to Azriel, roll your eyes and take a big sip. Actually you down the whole thing in a few big gulps.

Unsmiling the spymaster stands, shadows skittering around him. Azriel rolls back his broad shoulders and stretches his wings for a moment.

You find yourself gazing. Your throat works on a swallow when your eyes trail over the thin, leather-like membrane, the vein up to his talon. From Morrigan and Nesta you have often heard the rumors that wingspan says a lot about—

“Staring at wings is inapproiate, Y/N,” Azriel chuckles and quickly snatches them in.

“Sorry,” you whisper, sharply turning away from him. He could never see the terribly blush staining your cheeks. Internally you curse Morrigan and Nesta for telling you about wingspans.

Heading away from Azriel, you decide to join the children of the High Lord and the general of the Illyrian armies, them only being a good century younger than you.

You just have to leave, wanting to get away from the shadowsinger that still has your knees wobble.

Baxton already frantically waves at you, a big toothy grin on his lips. “Feeling better?” he asks and you bow your head, smiling.

They inform you that they, Baxton and Nyx, would do some one-on-one combat while Dorian trains with his father, Cassian, on the other side of the pitch. Well, then you would not train with them. Which leaves you with–

A shadow appears above you and you don’t even have to turn to know who it is. “Let’s do some kicking. There are still some…lacks you have to work on.”

You really want to kick backwards, knowing Azriel just said this to anger you because he knows that you fight much better when you are angered. And this again...that he knows you so well, makes the content of your stomach sour. He knows you somehow better than anyone else, like and and his shadows can read you perfectly, your actions, your thoughts, just everything.

“Well, then, master of kicking, show me how it is done.”

The grin that spreads over your face is cruel and mischievous when you turn to Azriel, innocently blinking your eyes up at him. His nostrils flare and a snort leaves his throat before he tilts his head, motioning for the right side of the pitch.

"Little one..." he growls lowly, reprimanding but also amusement in his tone.

Nyx and Baxton are already dueling, fully focused on each other when you start with kicking excises that Azriel has just shown you, trying to imitate them.

“If you continue kicking like this you will twist your ankle,” Azriel comments and yes, has you roll your eyes once again.

“Then show me how to stand, you oh so great Illyrian warrior.” Mischief sparks in your eyes when you throw him a challenging look over your shoulder. Azriel chuckles lowly, lifting his hand to show you a vulgar gesture. “No need to get feisty, little one.”

“Don’t always call me little one!” Your cross your arms over your chest. Well, you are little indeed since that is what makes a good spy. You have an easy time hiding, and sliding through narrow and small spaces, ducking down behind bushes or fitting into cupboards and closets to get secret information.

Your breathing comes to an abrupt stop when Azriel closes the distance between your bodies, now standing mere inches from you, his brow raised while he looks down on you.

Night-chilled mist and cedar envelope you, the heat from his body stretching out and warming your skin. You try to hold his gaze, looking up at him with colour blooming on your cheeks. This is…different. This feels different. This feels intimate.

“You are little,” Azriel argues and grins. You want to hit him, but you find yourself unable to do so. It becomes a sheer impossibility to breathe, to think, to…exist.

His grin is nothing but cruel beauty. He is beautiful when he smiles, but gods, when Azriel grins, it feels like someone pulls the rug out from under your feet.

A cool breeze tingles your skin when Azriel leans in. Maybe you are imaging it, but still fully on its own accord your head tilts, your lids slowly closing. Offer and permission.

You feel his breath hot against your skin, Azriel is mere inches from you, his own heart rapidly beating in his chest. You can hear it. You can feel it.

The shadowsinger clears his throat, probably remembering that you aren't alone on the pitch, and the warmth leaves your body the moment he leans back.

“Let me show you how should…stand,” he breathes, voice hoarse and croaky when he wipes his palm over his face. He steps back, unease lacing his features, a deep shade of red on his cheeks.

Is he blushing? Is Azriel truly blushing right now? you think, still in a sort of trance of what has just happened. Only moments later you can, with quite a lot of difficulty focus back on training.

But in all honesty, you still think about how close he stood, how his breath felt on your skin, how he looked at you on the training pitch, when you are sitting in your bathtub the following evening.

Soon it is Starfall Eve and you are going to have this big celebration where the whole Inner Circle along their friends will meet up at the House of Wind, celebrating the travelling spirits.

Half a century ago, Nesta brought you along to one of her Valkyrie trainings. She met you in the outskirts of Illyria –you worked there as a laundry lady– and you immediately loved the idea suggested to you: become a Valkyrie and leave the war camp you worked in.

Nesta brought you with her to Velaris, and soon you were offered a room in the Town House as there was always a place for people who needed it.

During the very first training Azriel has already seen your incredible potential, having somehow stolen you away from Nesta somehow by offering you to work as a spy form him. And that was what you did. You became his spy. Neither you nor Azriel has had any intention of falling in love with the other–you hearts apperently have had different ideas. And so did your souls. Two souls hoping to finally being united as one.

Your fingers absently brush over your calves, your gaze trained on the tub wall, imagining how deep the brown of Azriel’s eyes looked when he locked his gaze with yours. How soft his scarred hands felt on your skin. You have always felt most comfortable around Azriel–it was always him who you sought out when you needed someone to talk to, when you felt sad or lonely. It was always Azriel who was there for you, comforted you. And it was always—

“Are you done, Y/N?”

“Almost done,” you answer the young Nyx, whom, when he was younger, you have often baby-sitted, when his father and mother went to High Lord meetings and you did not have to work.

But well, you aren’t even close to almost done, but Nyx seems content about the answer, mumbling something before shuffling away.

You haven’t been finished in twenty minutes, but apperently everyone seems fine it, the High Lord also having taken quite some time longer himself, fixing his suit jacket and his hair.

You were in the bathroom for so long, doing your hair and putting on some light make-up. You want to look stunning, you want to knock the breath from Azriel’s lungs, even though you know how silly that sounds.

You aren't in the best mood, swinging the wine in your glass and releasing some air through your nose. Even two hours after arriving at the House of Wind you haven’t caught sight of Azriel, starting to feel slightly uneasy. Where the hell was he?

You have been hanging around with Nuala and Cerridwen, your two colleagues, for quite sometime until Nuala leaves to talk to the High Lord if still everything is alright and so it is Cerridwen and you. Cerridwen blabbers non-stop about a new recipe she has discovered and you only listen with one ear, always trying to figure out where Azriel could be. He has to see you in this dress, you think to yourself when Cerridwen guides you through the kitchen to head towards one of the balconies.

The door to the balcony is open and the moment you lift your gaze, your heart splinters into a million pieces.

That is where he has been the whole time.

Your brother is still talking to you, still happily chatting, but you cannot make out a single word that is said over the blood pumping in your ears. You feel your knees get wobbly, a large crack appearing in your heart when you see it, the priestess' hand, placed on Azriel’s lower arm. Tensions brackets your mouth, tears burning behind your eyes when you look at the shadowsinger’s happy, joyful face. He is laughing, freely, whole-heartedly. His eyes are glowing brightly, his posture so relaxed, so at ease.

Your hands fall to your side, the crack in your heart increasing, making it hard to breathe. Your lower lip trembles and your—

“What do you think is better–chocolate or vanilla?” Gods…Furrowing your brows you turn to Cerridwen and look up at her. Your lips part when confusion laces your insides. You have no idea. No idea of what she has said, of what you should do now, of how you should act now. You do not want to stay here. Not with them getting all cosy and Azriel probably falling in love right in this moment. He seems so—

A loud, whole-hearted laugh draws your attention once again back to the spymaster and the priestess. Azriel is slightly bent over, clutching his belly, laughing. Gwyn is chortling loudly next to him, her beautiful teal eyes glowing, a stunning smile plastering her face. She is stunning.

Tearing your gaze away from them, you look down on yourself. She is stunning, but you are…What are you?

Self-doubt and self-consciousness flood your entire body and suddenly all you want to do is get out of the skin tight, midnight blue dress. You want to rip it off your body and put on one of those big jumpers that would hide every little curve and edge of your figure. You aren't as slender and stunning as Gwyn and you know that. Azriel probably knows that as well. He finds her beautiful, this is obvious, has become obvious during training in the past…years. He might have been in love with her for much longer, even before the two of you even met, and you simply did—

“Y/N? Still with me?” Getting impatient, the shadow wraith snaps her fingers in front of your face. You turn to her, taking in her partly irritated but also worried expression.

“Sorry, I am not feeling too well,” you whisper. “What did you say?” She waves you off and gives her head a little shake. “What is going on?” she asks, her eyes turning softer. She puts his glass of wine down and fully turns to you.

“Nothing,” you quickly answer. Too quickly probably. She raises one brow at you and parts her lips, but you are quicker.

“I am close to my cycle I believe. I am just not feeling too well. I will head home now. It is best if I get some sleep, the past days have been quite exhausting.” You put your glass down and wipe your hands down your dress, smoothing it out or rather getting the sweat that has started to form on your palms off. “Are you sure? The spirits are about to start travelling.” “Yes, more than sure. I have seen this quite some times already and it will be the same next year. I don’t mind missing it this year.”

And yes…yes, you run down all the dreadful steps that lead up to the House of Wind. You can barely feel your legs, the pain in your heart so much more potent and drowning out everything else.

The journey back home becomes a blur. Storming into your room you already started pulling at the strings of your dress, finally wanting to get out of it. This beautiful dress that no longer feels beautiful. It feels too tight, scratchy somehow. It has the same colour as Azriel's siphons, you have chosen it…Cauldron, yes, you have chosen it for Azriel. And now you hate it. Loathe it.

Your fingers claw at the laces and straps until you finally manage to rip the dress off your body and toss it into the room, stumbling over your heels while you step over it. You slip out of them as well, now just standing in your undergarments.

You head for the bathroom, needing to cool down. You splash cold water into your face, letting a sob you have been holding in for minutes finally escape. The sound of it hollows of the walls, reverberates through your body and fully cracks your heart open. Your soul feels so empty, so dead, the feeling so dull. It feels like someone had cut a thread and now your soul would never find a way to happiness ever again.

Your lower lip still trembles when you stare into your face through the mirror. Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you are holding onto the sink. Obviously he would never fall for you. You are a good three centuries younger than him. And most importantly, he sees you as his spy, as someone who works for him, but he would never see you as a love interest, as his lover. But why is there this connection between the two of you? Why has this connection existed since the very first day?

A single tear rolls down your cheek, landing in the sink. You stare at your eyes, those eyes that would never be as beautiful as Gwyn’s. You have always liked her, she was always like an older sister to you when your first arrived here and now she is stealing your…your…your nothing. You bring one hand up to smack it over your forehead. Azriel is your boss that is it. He is nothing more or less.

You hear your own breathy sob hollow in the bathroom when you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand. You breathing is ragged, air wheezing in and out of your lungs while you try to calm down. This is all so stupid. You are so stupid, you think to yourself. How could you have ever had hopes for this male? How could you have ever thought that Azriel would really fall in love with you? With someone like you when there were all those stunning females right in front of him.

You grind your teeth together, trying to think of anything other than Azriel. Every thought just jumps right back to him, how he was laughing, how happy he looked. It still hurts, your chest still aches, your soul still feels dark and cold, empty.

Your soul isn’t the only one yearning. Sadness is etched into his features when Azriel’s gaze longingly travels through the room.

Weren't you at the celebration earlier, wearing that stunning midnight blue dress? The spymaster does not want to make his searching for you too obvious, but he can't really focus when an uneasy feeling appears in his belly. Somehow like he can feel your hurt. Like he can feel that you are not well.

“And so I kissed him back. And it was beautiful because he gave me a choice and made me feel loved and respected in my decision,” Gwyn finishes her sentence, giggling softly, eyes gleaming with bliss. Azriel turns to her, raising a brow.

Gwyn swats at his arm. “Don't tell me you haven’t been paying attention the whole time.” Reproach laces her features while she shakes her head at the shadowsinger.

“I did listen to your story, Gwyn. And I think it is really nice that you kissed,” Azriel mumbles, shortly looking past the priestess, trying to make out if you maybe are in the kitchen with Nuala.

“What is going on, Azriel?” The spymaster shrugs a shoulder, shadows curling tightly around him. “Nothing,” he breathes and Gwyn rolls her eyes. It reminds the spymaster of you. His heart cracks a little bit because he shouldn’t be thinking of you. He should never be thinking of you. You work for him, he is at least three centuries older and—

Not once did he allow himself to pleasure himself to the thought of you. One time he thought about it for a split second and then was grossed out about himself. He is still disgusted about himself that he thinks about you in way that is more than just…friendly. He likes you, but he also knows that he can never love you. It simply would not be wrong…everyone would think he has only wanted you to work for him for the purpose of wooing you or making you his lover. He saw your potential on the first day and knew that he wanted you as his spy as you were simply great. Still are.

But then, unfortunately, the feelings came in, his heart skipping an extra beat every time he sees you.

But what worries him the most: wouldn’t you be disgusted by this whole thing? This old male drooling after you?

Azriel has been pondering about these questions for months, years maybe. There have never been these feelings until a few years ago. Until some time ago when you came home form a mission…hurt. You had several broken ribs, a bloody face and slashes over your abdomen. Azriel was out of his mind, his heart splintering when he saw you and he knew in that moment that things between the two of you have changed. That he was so worried and broken to see you like this because you are more to him than just his spy.

To him you are the most stunning and breathtaking female Azriel has ever come across.

But you work for him, you have escaped Illyria and the Illyrian brutes, loving you now, wanting to be with you, this could not happen. It would be too twisted, too strange, too out of place.

You probably only see him as your boss, the High Lord’s spymaster, the shadowsinger. Because that is what he is, and only this and never ever anything else or more, Azriel thinks.

Absently, Azriel rubs his scarred palm over his chin, only then realising that he still hasn’t answered Gwyn.

“Nothing, I think I am just tired. Thank you for your concern,” Azriel quickly says, meeting Gwyn’s worried expression. Her hand once again moves to his lower arm, squeezing softly. “What is going on with you lately, you always seem so absent. So…sad,” Gwyn queries, her eyes soft, empathetic.

“Nothing. It really is just that I am tired. Work was exhausting these past weeks.”

Yes, work has indeed been exhausting. But not because of the work itself, but because Azriel constantly found himself distracted. It was either you sauntering into the room with a big, stunning grin on your face, you giggling or talking while you were discussing missions, you teasing him during training, simply you!

But there could never be more between the two of you. He could never openly love you and you could never have a relationship, that is clear. And that hurt. And it hurts so gods damn much, it nearly tears the spymaster's chest apart.

“Have you seen Y/N somewhere?” Azriel then asks, rather out of the blue as they have actually formerly been talking about his well-being.

“Y/N?” Gwyn asks and spins around on her heels. She looks around in the living room and shrugs her shoulders. “She has been here earlier, maybe she is getting herself something to drink? Why are you asking?” A small smile blooms on her face, her feature not giving anything away though.

“Just curious,” Azriel answers and takes a sip from his drink.

“She is doing so great during training, don’t you think?” Gwyn chimes in. And yes, you are doing amazing during training. Gods, Azriel is so in admiration of—

“Yes, she does.” “I bet she would have been a great Valkyrie if you hadn’t stole her away to become your spy,” Gwyn chuckles and nudges the spymaster with her elbow.

Azriel bows his head and smiles.

You don’t show up for the rest of the evening, or night, which has Azriel going close to mad. What has happened to you? Mor, already slightly tipsy from the fairy wine, only says as much as you did not feel well and obviously Azriel blames this on him. Did he do something wrong?

He has noticed that you have slightly changed around him, sometimes acting a bit shy and nervous when he caught you looking at him. But mostly you still were your sassy, confident self, so what could be the reason for you leaving early? Did you really just not feel well? Were you ill?

Those questions still haunt him later that night when he is lying in bed, arms crossed behind his head, throat dry, a thousand thoughts coursing through his mind. He definitely doubted his rationality.

You have left the Illyrian war camps only to fall into his…grasp.

He could not allow that. This was twisted and wrong, he could not have those thoughts, those feelings, for you. Loving you, wanting you, aching for you was off limits. He could never allow himself that. Never.

The spymaster’s sleep is uneasy, he does not find rest, his heart beating sadly in his chest, his shadows unruly, finding not rest either. And many times he questions why he has agreed to family breakfast the next morning which would obviously be held at the Riverside House.

“All packed?” Azriel lifts his gaze to you, heart sinking when he takes in the dark circles under your eyes.

The words leave his mouth before he can stop himself. “Where are you going?”

He has not sent you on a mission and has not given you a day off, so where the hell where you going? A crease appears on his forehead when he swallows the lump in his throat and he feels the High Lord’s gaze on him, but his eyes are trained on you. On you only.

The spymaster watches your throat work on a swallow when you slowly meet his gaze. “I will take a few days off work, I am sorry for only informing you now. I am going to the Day Court to pay Elain, Lucien and Iris a visit.” Although your hands tremble at your sides, your voice comes out steady, strong.

Through working with Nuala and Cerridwen and eventually becoming friends with them you have also befriended the middle Archeron sister, you would now pay a visit. You just have to get out–get away from here.

Your gazes stay locked, something like sorrow glistening in Azriel’s eyes. Has he hurt you somehow? he questions himself. Your demeanor is so different. You don’t smile at him, you don’t tease him, you don’t even smile at your parents.

Has he made a wrong move? Is it because he touched you during training? Did he touch you too much? Somewhere where you felt uncomfortable? Was this because in the war camps those Illyrian brutes did touch you as well and now he was nothing better than them?

Disgust fills him once again, the back of his mouth tasting bitter when he grits his teeth and averts his gaze.

“Tell them all the best from us,” Feyre hums, finally fetching you both back to reality. You have been wondering if he has spent the night with Gwyn, if they went to his place together. Or if he kissed her goodbye.

“I will. Thank you. Good bye!”

By the huge bag you are carrying Azriel can tell that you will be going for longer. The sheer thought of not having you here does something to him. He swallows the rising sorrow, stuffing another piece of egg into his mouth, his gaze drawn to the table.

You cannot look at him either when you leave the room, waving the others goodbye.

Days pass and you love it at the Day Court, but still you find yourself caught in thoughts many times. You bounce a happily giggling Iris on your lap when Elain slides into the seat next to you, narrowing her eyes and placing her hand on your shoulder.

“And now you tell me what is going on with you.” It is a statement not a question. She is so good at that–probably one of her seer abilities, seeing right through you. In the past days you have acted like everything is fine, but apperently she has seen right through your lie.

“I think I am in love with someone…”

“Why such a grim face then? This is beautiful, love is beautiful,” Elain hums, her eyes soft and warm. You shrug and Elain rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t tell me that that he leaves far away or something and you barely have a chance to see him. Did you meet him on a mission?”

A soft laugh escapes you and you give your head a tiny shake. “No, that is not it. Really. It is all just complicated.” “What is complicated?” Elain asks, softly stroking your shoulder with her thumb.

“Love is complicated. Crazy, stupid love,” you grumble and focus back on Iris who happily taps her feet on your thighs, giggling and squealing. You lift and lower her once, squeezing her slightly, grinning.

“You want to tell me who it is?” You shake your head again. “I appreciate this. And I am really thankful, but—“ “Nothing but, it is perfectly fine. You don’t have to tell me. Just know that I am always here if you need someone to talk to.” You turn your head slightly, smiling at the Archeron sister and bowing your head. “I know, thank you.”

For a moment you deliberate about just telling her, but you know that when you say it, it would just complicate things because then she would always question you how you felt concerning…Azriel. And you do not want that. You don’t want anyone to know.

You have no time to ponder any longer, the moment of being caught in your thoughts soon gets interrupted by Lucien strolling inside the room. Not only Lucien, there is tall figure, veiled in shadows behind him. Azriel’s presence immediately fills the room, your breathing halting when your gaze moves to his, meeting, locking.

His hair is ruffled, disheveled, his eyes empty when his lips part. “We need to talk.”

Part II

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

Feel free to leave some feedback. I love to hear what you say💙

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

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag): @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbitxh @cityofidek @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #azriel angst #acotar #acosf

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violet-moonstone · 10 months

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THW Rewrite

More headcannons because I have not been able to stop thinking about this franchise for the past 13 years, and I have over a decade's worth of opinions.

I've already posted some of these ideas but ehh it's fine.

While I enjoyed watching it for the first time, THW was disappointing to me for a variety of reasons. (The music was probably the best out the franchise though, I'll say that) Grimmel didn't reach his full villain potential since the writers used Ruffnut's lack of judgment as his key to success instead of him being a capable strategist. (Also they did my girl so dirty. She may be a dumbass, but she's not an idiot!) I don't like that the dragons left after just 6 years. I don't like that all the riders except for Hiccup and Astrid are just played for laughs instead of shining like they do in RTTE. I don't like whatever the hell Snotlout's obsession with Valka was, and I didn't like Toothless' "romance" with the Light Fury. I hate that even dragons can't escape half-developed romance and a nuclear family as the ultimate character accomplishment.

So here are my edits (looking back, there's quite a bit going on, so it may need to be split into 2 movies or a short TV series)

The time jump happens between movies 2 and 3. (I want a full movie with bearded Hiccup and "Homecoming" does NOT count) 10-15 years have passed, so the riders are about 30-35. Zephyr and Nuffink are either little kids or preteens and are getting to an age where they're starting to train dragons.

Astrid is more rough around the edges like she was in HTTYD 1 and Rob/Dob/RTTE, not just Hiccup's supportive gf/wife. Instead of making her softer, motherhood has made her fiercer because she has more people to protect. Hiccup on the other hand is a doting father and can't say no to the kids if they give him puppy dog eyes: heart melted every time.

Toothless finds his original flock(?)/herd?/murder?/unkindness?/parliament? of Night Furies instead of just one "soulmate". Each can have their own personalities and roles in the group while Toothless is the baby. I think it would be interesting if, like Hiccup, Toothless was quite small compared to his peers - potentially explaining why he was on his own and got separated from the group before meeting Hiccup.

Dagur and Heather are brought into a council meeting as Berserker allies. Hiccup greets them in a way that clarifies things for audience members who haven't watched the show. I suppose Mala would also be in it too. I don't dislike Mala but I hate her and Dagur's relationship. More development needed there.

Gustav should be there too, still very much trying to prove himself as a dragon rider and occasionally messing things up.

In terms of the main plot and villains, I'm not too picky, although I've said before that I'm tired of dragon mind-control being the main villain tool. I'm fine with it if Drago comes back as the villain, but if not, the villain should just be dragon hunters or rival dragon riders who use their dragons for conquering/raiding other settlements.

It can hit pretty much hit the same story beats as before but with better character dynamics.

Make Ruff and Tuff more instrumental to mischief and redirection in a way that helps the plot.

Give Fishlegs more credit for his discoveries and record-keeping about dragons.

Snotlout and Eret are together (or implied to be together if that's the best we can get). Snotlout is also no longer Hiccup's rival - he should be his second in command. They can disagree from time to time, but ultimately, his loyalty is not in question.

Fishlegs and Ruffnut have kids who cause chaos with Zephyr and Nuffink.

It would be cool to include a couple characters from other parts of the world with dragon mythology. I understand that Vikings are white but if we have goddamn flying dragons, there's no reason there can't be visitors from other cultures (who aren't villains).

Ending option 1: The movie can end with the dragons going away, but now they've been with the Berkians for over a decade and it just feels more impactful.

The "there were dragons when I was a boy" line can either be Hiccup talking to his grandson after an even longer time jump, or Nuffink talking to his own kids about Hiccup's adventures.

Ending 2: the Berkians go to The Hidden World with the dragons. Hiccup writes a memoir to leave behind. We hear him reading from it at the beginning and assume that means dragons are going to leave, but it's actually a diversion to make people think dragons are gone so no one tries to look for them.

Ending 3: We accept that HTYYD takes place in a different world so we don't have to explain why dragons don't live among us anymore. The movie ends with Hiccup vowing to make the archipelago safe for all dragons and Nuffink and Zephyr take up the mantle of discovering new dragons. The dragons stay and they all live happily ever after, the end :)

I'm tempted to actually write this as a fanfiction but I already got a lot of writing projects atm. We shall see.

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shhh-secret-time · 1 month

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Star Park AU: Stan Marsh Edition

-> Lives on Tegridy Farms with his family. His dad sold their house and moved them out to the valley when Stan was ten. (They're essentially where Marnie is in game.)

-> Sparky is still alive but he's getting older, so he sticks to laying on the porch waiting for Stan to get back

-> Plays football with Clyde, Craig, and Tolkien! Kenny and Cartman will join in sometimes and he practically drags Kyle out to join them.

-> He works for Joja Mart with his sister. They'd both rather work there than be near their dad.

》 He's saving up to move back to the city, or so he says. Truth be told he can't leave behind Sparky or his Mom.

-> He bought his own chicken coop and has a few chickens of his own.

-> He goes to the saloon every night, most nights by himself

-> But on Fridays, after Jimmy's comedy act, him and his band will play!

-> On Sundays when everyone else is in church or doing their own thing. Stan and Kyle will go up to the summit past the railroad tracks and spend hours up there. Catching up and just unwinding.

-> He probably has a mini event that's kind of like Sam's 2 heart event, where he asks the Farmer what type of music they like.

Gift Guide:

Loves: Pizza, Survival Burger, Book of Mysteries, Frozen Tears, Beer (This changes after Heart Event 6)

Likes: Joja Cola, Apples, All Eggs, Void Esscene, Large Milk

Neutral: All Fruit (Except Apples), Coffee, Peppers

Dislikes: Fertilizer, Daffodil, Any Fish, Pink Cake

Hates: Rabbit Foot, Coleslaw, Clay, Beer (After Heart Event 6)

Loved: "Dude! Are you sure?! Man this rules!"

Liked: "Oh, uh thanks! Should I get you something back?"

Neutral: "Cool, I'll find a use for it."

Disliked: "What...is this? Why?"

Hated: "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Given any alcohol after Heart Event 6: "Why would you give me this?! You know I'm trying to stop!"

Heart Event @ 2:

Stan is throwing empty beer bottles at the passing train, they shatter just as the Farmer approaches him. He looks back at them with a grin offering one for them to throw. He mentions that he was drinking with his friend Kenny but he had to go, so now he's just passing time. He's not quite drunk yet but he's tipsy. When the Farmer takes the bottle and throws it he relaxes a little, says that he's glad they're not put off by the behavior. After a little bit of silence, he asks them why they moved to the Valley. There's not a lot of money in farming and then makes a comment about how he fucking hates it. How he feels isolated from the rest of the town sometimes.

-> Feels that way sometimes doesn't it? But at least you have your friends (+)

-> You're literally closer to town than I am, don't your friends come to visit you? (-)

If First Option: He mulls it over and decides you're right. He should he grateful he at least has them. Though lately it feels like they're drifting apart. Stan comments how you must feel lonely being new to town and all.

"Oh well. I guess we can be lonely losers together. Farmer buddies and all that."

If Second Option: Stan doesn't really appreciate the sass. He wasn't looking for a pity party, just wanted to kinda vent. He makes note not to talk about it again.

"Yeah sure. I guess, but you didn't have to be a dick about it."

Heart Event @ 4:

Stan and his friends are playing pool at the tavern, a rare instance where they're all off work and finally get to hang out. He leans over the pool table and sinks another ball, much to Kyle's annoyance. As the Farmer comes in Cartman makes a comment that Kyle is getting his ass kicked and bad. It prompts Kyle to snap at him and shake the pool cue at him. Kenny and Stan laugh a little before Stan realizes you're there. He smiles and gestures for you to come over! Now that you're here they have enough for teams. Farmer is confused because there's already four of them, they make five. Stan whispers in their ear, explaining that Cartman won't play with Kyle anymore. He lost one time and now he's convinced that Kyle cheated. Something about how there's no way Kyle would ever actually win a game fair and square. When you agree he gets excited and before anyone else gets the chance he announces that you'll be on his team!

"Awesome! We're gonna smoke these guys! Kenny wrack 'em! Farmer is with me!"

⚠️ TW: Attempted suicide ahead ⚠️

Heart Event @ 6:

Stan's drinking again. Right next to the railroad tracks but this time he's got one foot on the railroad, rocking back and forth. There's glass bottles around him, unbroken and too many to count. He almost stumbles down to the ground but he keeps himself up. Farmer approaches and that's when they hear the sound of the train coming in, and it's coming fast. Stan had no intentions on moving, in fact he looks like he's about to fall forward willingly. The dead look in his eyes tells them that much. Farmer runs across the field and tackles him into the ground, the train narrowly missing the both of them. Stan lays there having just had the wind knocked out of him. His head is spinning and he feels sick, but he also feels the Farmer on his chest and his back against the ground. He's not dead. Then it hits him, you almost died to save him. You who's kept talking to him despite everything, even when he was being an ass.

"You....you could have gotten yourself killed why would you do that?"

-> I couldn't just stand there and watch you die Stan!

-> Are you crazy?! You almost got us both killed!

-> I don't know...my legs just moved on their own.

-> (Just hug him)

If First Option: Stan starts crying and presses his palms into his eyes. He lays there and sobs, but he feels safe enough to do it.

"Hey Farmer...hic...can you help me to Kyle. I'm scared."

If Second Option: He grits his teeth and digs his hand into the dirt. Stan knows what he did was crazy, he can't be mad at you for snapping like that. You just saved his life. But he didn't ask you to.

"Fuck...I know. Look, just help me get to Kyle. I think I'm gonna be sick."

If Third Option: Stan doesn't know what to say but he thinks he gets it. He just closes his eyes and tries to stop the dizzy ride his drunken state is on. He doesn't want to move but he can't just lay here all day.

"Do you think Kyle is gonna yell at me...if I show up looking like this? Maybe if I just go to sleep I won't have to think about it."

If Fourth Option: Stan freezes he wasn't expecting the Farmer to do that. They should be angry with him, furious. But they're hugging him and clinging to him for dear life. His life. Stan wraps his arms around them and starts to cry. It's the most vulnerable he's been with anyone in a long time.

"Shit...fuck dude...just please don't let me go. I don't wanna go. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Heart Event @ 8:

It's early morning when the Farmer steps out, they're greeted with the sound of music. Stan is sitting on their porch playing his old guitar, the acoustic one that's seen better days. When the Farmer gets closer he looks up at them for a moment, unable to look them in the eye for too long. After a moment of silence, he tells them that Kyle got it out of storage for him. Says it'll help him focus on something other than the withdrawals and that Kyle put him in contact with a therapist. He thanks the Farmer for saving his life, and apologizes that they had to see that. As he plays a somber tune again he makes a comment, this is the first time he's been on their farm. First time he's been out this way since they moved into the valley. He confesses that your farm is a lot nicer than his dad's and that maybe farming isn't so bad. Farmer sits beside him and he quietly continues playing, they've never heard him play this song before.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I've been a jerk to you. You and Kyle shouldn't have to take care of me, but you did. You care and I should remember that. Sparky would have been really upset if I never came home. So thanks...for everything."

When given the bouquet:

"!! I don't understand why you'd choose me, but...I'm selfish and I want you all to myself. So I accept!"

Heart Event @ 10:

Stan is leading Farmer past the railroad tracks, he doesn't even seem bothered much anymore to be here. He leads them up the path that he's taken a thousand times. There he leads them to the summit, his favorite spot to be at. They sit together at the edge if the cliff with their legs dangling off the side. He admits to them that he liked coming up here a lot as a kid, when his dad and him would fight it was his little hiding spot. Then he brought Kyle and it became special. The days where he'd get stupid drunk he'd think about just falling forward like that day with the train. But it's because of those amazing memories with his best friend, he could never bring himself to do it. They're special and he wouldn't want to ruin them for Kyle. It's things like that, that remind him why he's alive. Things like you. He smiles at the Farmer and tells you this. Tells Farmer he wants to continue to make more memories with them so he has a reason. His hand inches closer to theirs, not quite touching. Before he can pull away, Farmer takes his hand and slides closer to him. They rest their head on his shoulder and look up towards the big illuminated moon that's in front of them. Stan wraps his arm around them and lays his cheek on top of their head.

"Every moment with you reminds me why I'm here. I'm not...perfect and I don't think I'll ever understand why you choose to stick around. But I meant what I said, I want you around me always. I can breath with you around."

Heart Event @ 14:

Stan's outside playing with Sparky and Farmer's pet, when he moved in he brought his beloved dog with him. Sparky seems to be getting better every day he's here and Stan couldn't be happier. Farmer walks up with hearts in their eyes, making him a little bashful. He rubs the back of his neck just as Sparky brings the ball back. He mentions that he really loved animals, and that he's always had a soft spot for them. Farmer questions him about his love for Survival Burgers, which he quickly points out that they're made of Cave Carrot NOT beef! After a little while of playing with the pets he sits in the field with them, looking over their hardwork. Stan turns red and starts ranting about how the last time he went to visit his dad, he started nagging him about grandkids. He's embarrassed because Randy has never mentioned it before and it makes him uncomfortable.

"He's such an ass! You'd think he'd stop trying to tell me how to live my life after I moved out. Why doesn't he bother Shelly with this?!"

-> He probably does. We don't have to have kids if you don't want them! I'm just happy you're here with me! Don't let him get to you!

-> Don't let your dad pressure you into anything you're not ready for. It's our relationship and we'll decide when and if we want kids. But if you're anything like you are with Sparky towards kids, I think you'd be a great dad!

If First Option: Stan grins and tells them they're right as always. He leans down and kisses the top of their head. Sparky walks over with the Farmer's pet and lays in their lap. Stan smirks and makes a comment about how they could just get another dog.

"Our farm is big enough for another one right? We could get one or two more puppies. They could help with the sheep and chickens! Help dig holes!"

If Second Option: Stan says he'll think on it. Later that night while Farmer is cleaning up the dishes and putting them away. Stan walks up behind them and wraps his arms around them. He murmurs in their ear that he's been doing nothing but thinking about what they said. The thought of starting a family with them is starting to sound appealing, plus it could be fun raising a mini them. He presses a kiss into their temple.

"You really think I'll make a good dad? I just don't wanna end up like mine...but if you're with me I think I could do it. And if they're anything like you, they'll be an amazing kid."

Random Marriage Quotes!!

"You looked really adorable asleep last night...you also drooled on my arm."

"Having a bad thought day...I might be a little off today. I'm sorry."

"Babe, you got dirt on your face. C'mere, let me clean it. Just let me take care of you butthead!"

"Sparky and I watered the crops today! How do you know how much to give them? I feel like I'm drowning them."

"Fed the animals! They're doing great! Would...you judge me if I took a nap out in the field with them?"

"Hey...real quick...I uh- I love you. I know I don't say it enough and I'm sorry, but I really do."

"Morning. Made you some pancakes! I stole the recipe from my mom! Why do you look scared?"

"Hey babe, I'm going to visit my parents today. Please feel free to come save me when you're done doing what you need to do."

"Are you coming to the tavern tonight? We're playing a new song tonight, I wrote it for you."

"You know, when I was a kid, when I got nervous, I'd throw up. You make me nervous sometimes but I- hey! I'm not going to puke on you, I'm not twelve. Get back here!"

Tag List: @hunnysnoops

#south park #sp fanfiction #south park fanfiction #reader insert #south park x reader #x reader #Stan Marsh #Stan Marsh x reader #Stan Marsh x Farmer #Stardew Valley #Star Park AU #headcanons #drabbles #shhh its a secret

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