series summary: James Potter, a soldier of the royal guard, is assigned to protect the princess at all costs. His new duty proves far harder than he imagined, for the princess has a habit of doing exactly what she’s not supposed to, and hiding a secret no one must uncover.
chapter summary: Attending the masquerade ball in Marlene’s honor, you and James escape into a world of pretend; hiding behind masks and impossible what-ifs. You finally fulfill your lifelong dream of seeing the lantern lights over Solistia, only to discover that some dreams are far more heartbreaking when they come true. (14k)
tags: mentions of sex, hints of deep betrayal, talks of death, heavy themes of sacrifice and selfishness, internal turmoil and external arguments, defying parental authority and expectations, guilt, angst, fighting, crying, heated shouting, foul language, cussing, bittersweet moments, chapter is full of fluff AND angst (sorry guys).
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The afternoon sun streams through the tall arched windows of the guest chambers as you stand in the center of a massive walk-in closet that looks more like a small boutique, entirely overwhelmed. Queen Dorcas has had her servants fill the racks with dozens of gowns, each one more extravagant than the last.
“There are so many options to choose from, I can’t even pick,” you complain, turning around to look at James.
He’s leaning against the dark wood of the wardrobe, already fully dressed in his noble attire. He chose a tailored, deep charcoal suit with gold accents—it fits his shoulders perfectly, making him look every bit the high-ranking protector, even without his usual armor.
Tonight is the night. Before the lanterns are released into the sky, there is the annual charity masquerade in honor of Marlene. Since it’s a masquerade, you’ll both be completely disguised as visiting nobles. It’s a perfect cover, but your head is still spinning too fast to focus on the fashion aspect.
Honestly, ever since last night, your mind has been divided between deep, heavy grief and a sudden, intense addiction to James.
After you finally crossed that line and had sex for the first time, the shift between you two became magnetic. The grief of learning the truth about your powers had triggered a desperate need to feel alive, and James had met that desperation with a consuming hunger of his own.
It was so intense that when you woke up this morning, you ended up doing it again in the massive bathtub. It was, without a doubt, fucking amazing. The warm water, the slick slide of James’s skin against yours, and the devoted way he held you against the tub—you have to silently thank Dorcas for providing a room with such a ridiculously luxurious tub.
But beneath all the endless, intoxicating rounds of sex, there is still a painful ache. You’ve had a few silent breakdowns over the last twenty-four hours, sobbing into James’s chest in the dark until he cradled you to sleep. But right now, looking at the racks of dresses, you just want to focus on the magic of the lanterns.
James steps forward, his eyes scanning the colorful dresses before settling on one near the back. “I think this one is nice,” he says, reaching out and pulling it from the rack.
You look at it, and your breath catches in your throat from how gorgeous it is. It’s a stunning beige gown, heavily adorned with golden embroidery that drapes down the skirt. It instantly reminds you of the traditional coronation gowns in Valenora, yet it has a modern, breathtaking structure. The mask that comes with it is equally beautiful, iced with delicate gold filigree and tiny, shimmering crystals.
You take the hanger from him, holding the gown up against yourself. “You actually have good taste,” you murmur, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through your exhaustion. “It matches your suit perfectly.”
James watches you, his gaze dropping to the gold threads reflecting in your eyes. “I know how you look in gold, love. It was an easy choice.”
You step into the wooden wardrobe to dress, sliding the gold-embroidered beige gown over your shoulders. Working the laces on your own is difficult, a stark contrast to the luxury of having Lily here to assist you, but you manage.
You step out and stand before the vanity mirror, pulling your hair into a simple, elegant style that keeps it out of your face, leaving just enough framing your features.
For makeup, you use the small jars left on the vanity—a touch of crushed, rosy pigment pressed onto your lips and cheekbones, and a sweep of dark kohl to define your eyes. Finally, you adorn yourself with a few simple pieces of gold jewelry.
When you look in the glass, the reflection staring back is both entirely familiar and completely foreign.
As a princess, you are used to wearing expensive gowns of every color and style. But this time, there is no Lily there to help you dress, bustling around you with pins and load of laughter. There are no parents waiting down the hall. There are no brothers waiting just outside your door, ready to tease you the second you step out.
You are entirely on your own.
The reality of it all seems to crash all at once; this trip is coming to an end. After the lantern lights, there is no more reason to stay away. You have achieved all your goals: you found the origin of your powers, and you are about to see the lights. There is nothing left to do.
Besides, it would be deeply unfair to stay on the run any longer. James is risking his life, his honor, and his entire career for you, breaking a million rules every single day he remains by your side. You can’t keep him on the run forever. By the time you return, you will have been gone for two weeks, plus the agonizing week it will take to travel back to Valenora.
You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady your racing heart.
It will be fine.
But will it? What now? Now that you know the truth of your powers, what actually changes? You are still expected to return, to go through with the arranged marriage to Prince Caelum, and to be sent off to Thalassia.
Finding out the truth didn’t change a single thing about your fate. It wasn’t like you were going to start a revolution with this knowledge. You are still trapped.
“Are you okay?”
You flinch, your shoulders tensing as James’s reflection appears behind yours in the mirror. He’s standing there, completely dressed in hissuit, but his eyes are fixed entirely on you. Seeing how deep in thought you are, staring blankly at your own reflection, his expression softens with immediate concern.
He steps closer, placing his hands on your shoulders, and gently turns you around to face him. “You’re still thinking about it right?” he asks softly.
You look up into his warm eyes and simply nod. There is no need to define what it is. You both know. It’s everything Dorcas told you, about your past, and the terrifying reality of what waits for you when this dream finally ends.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, forcing a small, reassuring smile to your lips. “It will be fine. Let’s just go and enjoy tonight.”
James searches your face for a long second, wanting to press further, but he respects the boundary you’ve quietly set. He nods, reaching for the gold-iced mask resting on the vanity.
“Turn around,” he murmurs.
You turn back to the mirror, and James steps up behind you. His touch is incredibly gentle as he brushes your hair out of the way, positioning the crystal-trimmed mask over your eyes. He carefully ties the silk ribbons at the back of your head, his fingers lingering on the nape of your neck.
Once your mask is secure, he picks up his own—a dark leather and gold piece that matches his charcoal suit—and slides it into place.
You turn to look at him. With the masks on, the transformation is startling. The familiar, comforting lines of his face are partially hidden. You, too, look entirely different; you look like a mysterious, wealthy noblewoman from some far-off court.
James’s eyes crinkle behind his mask as a smile spreads across his lips. He leans down, cupping your cheek, and presses a kiss to your lips. “You look absolutely beautiful, Y/N,” he says.
You smile back at him, feeling a genuine spark of excitement for the first time all day. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself, Sir James.”
“Come on,” he says, offering his arm.
You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow, and together, you step out of the guest chambers. A pair of royal servants is already waiting in the corridor, bowing respectfully before guiding you down the grand hallways of the castle. As you draw closer to the grand wing, the distant, lively swell of orchestral music begins to echo off the stone walls.
Just before you reach the massive double doors of the ballroom, a senior servant steps into your path with a polite bow. “My lady, Sir James,” the servant says quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to carry. “Her Majesty, Queen Dorcas, has commanded me to deliver these to you before you enter. She requests that for the evening, you present yourselves under these names.”
He extends a silver tray. Resting on it are two invitation cards. You pick them up, opening the parchment, and your eyes widen slightly as you read the elegant script.
Lady Margaret Sterling and Sir James Sterling, of House Valerius.
The servant bows once more and slips away into the corridor, leaving you and James staring at the cards. It makes perfect sense—to enter the grand ballroom, the royal guards at the door must verify the invitations of every noble guest to maintain security, especially at a masquerade where faces are hidden.
“Oh my god,” you whisper-giggle, nudging his side. “She made us married! She gave us the same last name.”
James looks down at the invitation in his hand, a slow, incredibly handsome smirk spreading across his face. He leans in close to your ear, his breath warm against your temple.
“Well,” he chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement. “I must say, I wouldn’t mind being married to you.”
You roll your eyes behind your mask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. “Hmm, I don’t know about that. I’m not entirely sure you’d make a great husband, James. You’re far too stubborn.”
“Is that so?” James laughs, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief behind his dark mask. “I’ll have you know that Lord James Sterling is definitely a great husband. He is attentive, exceedingly handsome, and completely devoted to his wife.”
“Oh, really?” you tease, your heart fluttering at the easy, joyful banter. “We’ll have to see about that, Lord Sterling.”
“Watch and learn, my lady,” he whispers, squeezing your hand as he guides you toward the grand entrance.
Two towering royal guards stand at the ready. James steps forward with noble poise, presenting the two invitations. The guard scans the names, nods respectfully, and steps aside, gesturing for the grand doors to be opened.
As the doors swing wide, the sheer grandeur of the Solistian charity ball washes over you.
The ballroom is absolutely gorgeous. Massive crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceilings, casting a warm glow over the hundreds of guests dancing below. The air is sweet with the scent of expensive perfumes, spiced wine, and fresh winter blooms. Nobles from all over the continent glide across the polished marble floor, their velvet gowns and tailored silk coats swirling in time with the grand orchestra.
For the first time in two weeks, you don’t feel out of place. You don’t feel the terrifying urge to look over your shoulder or hide in the corners.
The masquerade is a brilliant shield. Because everyone’s face is hidden beneath masks, the social pressure of the court vanishes. If you don’t wish to be approached by prying delegates or curious nobles, you simply don’t have to be—no one can recognize you. You are completely, blissfully anonymous.
James pulls you a little closer to his side, his hand resting securely on your waist as you look out over the glittering sea of dancers.
“See?” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet satisfaction. “No one is looking at us with suspicion. We’re just two visiting nobles enjoying the music.”
“It’s perfect,” you whisper, leaning into his warmth. “For tonight, we’re just Margaret and James.”
“And tonight,” James says, turning his head to look down at you, his eyes burning with that familiar, intense devotion, “I get to dance with my wife.”
The orchestra transitions seamlessly from a lively, sweeping waltz into a slower, more intimate melody. James guides you deeper into the sea of dancers, his hand against the small of your back, his other hand clasping yours.
As you both slow down, you find yourself staring up at him, entirely breathless.
He looks incredibly handsome in this attire. It is the first time you have ever seen him without his glasses, and the change is striking. The dark leather mask with its golden filigree acts as a perfect frame, making the gold in his eyes and the deep, warm tones of his hair shine under the glow of the crystal chandeliers.
Standing this close to James, feeling the beat of his heart against your chest, you are hit with a sudden, dizzying wave of affection. You want nothing more than to reach up, pull his mask down, and kiss him right here in the center of the crowded ballroom.
James notices the intensity of your gaze. A playful, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he leans down, playing right back into the role of your high-society husband.
“Oh, and remind me, what exactly would make me a perfect husband, my lady?” he teases, his voice a low, smooth purr that sends a shiver down your spine. “You seemed rather skeptical of my capabilities earlier.”
You let out a laugh, resting your hand on his shoulder as you step in rhythm with him, happily playing along. “Well, to be a perfect husband, you must be exceptionally patient. You must travel with me around the world. And, of course, you must be prepared to take me anywhere I’d like.”
James lets out a laugh, the sound vibrating against your chest. “Patience, I have in abundance. Listening to your complaints is practically my all time job. But as for traveling and taking you anywhere?” he tilts his head, smirking down at you. “Aren’t I already doing that right now?”
You laugh, shaking your head against his chest. “Well, yes, but that’s because it’s your job. I’m talking about doing it when you’re not getting paid to keep me alive.”
“You know I’d do it in a heartbeat.” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying a quiet, heavy sincerity that makes your chest ache. “If I could… I’d take you everywhere.”
The playful banter fades, replaced by a bittersweet thought that has been keeping you awake at night.
You look up into his golden eyes, your voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. “James…”
“Yes?”
“If we were actually just James and Margaret…” you start, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “If there were no crowns, no magical powers, no running for our lives… do you think we would still be together? Do you think we would have found each other?”
James’s steps falter for a fraction of a second before he regains his rhythm. A sad, tender smile touches his lips.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. “I think we would. I think my soul would have looked for yours until it found you, no matter what names we were born with.”
A small, emotional lump forms in your throat. You want to stay in this safe, beautiful bubble forever. “Tell me about them,” you urge, leaning your head closer to his chest as you sway to the music, desperate to live in the fantasy. “What do Margaret and James do?”
James smiles, his eyes turning reflective as he paints the picture for you. “I think we would live in a nice, quiet house. Far away from the noise of castles. We would get married, of course. I wouldn’t want to waste a single day without you as my wife.”
“Keep going,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a moment to picture it. “How would you propose?”
“Oh, I’d do it properly,” James says, a chuckle in his voice. “I’d propose to you with a nice ring. I’d spend months searching for the absolute nicest gem in the realm.”
You look up at him, a teasing but watery smile on your face. “My standards are very high, you know. I’d want a lumicrystas the stone. Nothing less.”
James laughs, his thumb tracing a soothing circle on your waist. “Then I would find you the brightest lumicryst in the hallow vale. I’d scale the most dangerous peaks myself just to get it for you. And I’d propose in the most romantic place imaginable. On a cliffside at sunset, or under a sky full of stars. Somewhere quiet, where it’s just the two of us.”
He guides you through a gentle turn, his eyes never leaving yours. “And I think Margaret and James would have a very nice, small wedding,” he continues, his voice warm, wrapping you in the comfort of the dream. “No grand royal protocols. No political alliances. We’d only invite our people. Our closest friends, the people who actually love us, and our family.”
You nod, letting yourself fully sink into the beautiful, heartbreaking illusion. “I’d want us to live near your fathers restaurant,” you add softly, looking up at him with a hopeful shine in your eyes. “So we could visit them for dinner every week.”
James lets out a breathy laugh, his heart aching with a mixture of pure love and sorrow. “Sure,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion as he presses his temple gently against yours. “We’d live just down the street. My mother would feed us until we couldn’t walk, and my father would probably try to teach you how to cook his secret recipes. It would be perfect.”
You sway with him in the silence for a long moment, the warmth of his body the only thing keeping the cold reality at bay. You swallow past the lump forming in your throat, resting your hand against the nape of his neck.
“Do you think we’d have kids?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.
A tender nod touches his features, his gaze softening with a devotion so deep it almost hurts to look at. “Yeah,” he whispers, a small, genuine smile curving his lips. “Margaret and James definitely would. I wouldn’t mind how many we had… as many as you wanted. And I’d let you name every single one of them.”
A sad smile touches your lips, a tear threatening to spill over as you look up at the face you’ve come to love more than anything. “I wish we could live like that,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “In another life, I wouldn’t be me. I’d just be Margaret.”
James shakes his head, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the moisture at the corner of your eye. “Or I’d be a prince,” he murmurs. “So you could actually marry me.”
A watery laugh escapes your chest. “That would be nice,” you admit, leaning into the warmth of his palm. “In some way, we’d be King and Queen, ruling a kingdom together.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and heavy with a solemn promise. “I think in some other life, James and Margaret get that.”
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You just glide across the marble floor, held tightly in each other’s arms, letting the beautiful fantasy of Margaret and James carry you away from the heavy reality waiting just outside the doors.
James lets out a long sigh, preparing to spill his heart out to you. “Look, I know we’ve avoided talking about this,” he says, his voice dropping. “But things have changed between us. Ever since we kissed… and after last night, and this morning… I know we have a mountain of things to work out. What happened before you ran, how you left, and… what’s going to happen when we go back to Valenora. But I want you to know something. This trip, even if we were running for our lives, has been the best of my life. And, Y/N… I think you should know, before we go back, that I—”
“Oh, you both look absolutely wonderful! I nearly didn’t recognize you.”
The voice snaps you both out of the fantasy like a splash of cold water.
You blink, suddenly realizing that the music had stopped several moments ago. The other couples had already cleared the floor, leaving just the two of you standing in the center, swaying to absolute silence.
You quickly step back, clearing your throat as you turn to see Queen Dorcas approaching. Even with a masquerade mask, her royal presence is unmistakable.
She wears an exquisite half-mask—one eye covered in laced gold filigree, the other left completely bare to show her sharp gaze. Atop her head sits her massive, glittering crown, nestled perfectly into her long, beautifully styled braids. She looks breathtaking in a pure white gown.
“Your Majesty,” you say, offering a quick, respectful curtsy while trying to force your pounding heart to slow down. “You look absolutely gorgeous. The dress is stunning.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Dorcas replies with a smile.
James clears his throat, slipping effortlessly back into his formal, protective posture. “If you will excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty, Lady Margaret… I’ll go fetch us some drinks.”
You give him a grateful nod, and with a polite bow to the Queen, James slips away into the crowd toward the refreshment tables.
Once he is completely out of earshot, Dorcas turns her gaze back to you. The formal, queenly mask slips away, replaced by a highly amused, knowing smirk “Oh, I know a sex glow when I see one.”
You nearly choke on your own spit. “What?! I—Your Majesty, we didn’t—”
Dorcas lets out a delighted laugh, raising a hand to dismiss your panic. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I’m not like Helena. I won’t lecture you on propriety.”
The teasing words are meant to comfort you, but the sudden mention of your mother’s name feels like a bucket of ice water poured down your spine. Oh, god.
You don’t need the reminder of your mother to make the guilt slam back into you. In the eyes of the law and your kingdom, you have committed the ultimate crime. You are engaged to Prince Caelum. You are destined to marry into the Thalassian royal family. And here you are, having unmarried, passionate sex in royal bathtubs with James—your bodyguard, your protector, and the man who is supposed to be delivering you to your wedding.
You swallow hard, forcing the rising panic back down into your chest. “I… well, thank you.” you manage to say.
Dorcas’s amused expression softens, turning much more gentle and observant. “And how have you been doing?” she asks quietly, her eyes searching yours behind her mask. “After everything I told you?”
“I’m doing well,” you reply, looking down at your hands for a brief second before meeting her gaze. “It took a lot to process. Honestly, there is still a lot I haven’t fully processed yet. It’s… a lot of history to digest.”
Dorcas nods in deep sympathy, reaching out to press your arm. “I cannot thank you enough for coming here, Y/N. I spent years worrying. I constantly questioned if I had made the wrong choices back then, if keeping those secrets was a mistake. But seeing you now, and knowing that this power is with you… I no longer have any doubts. It was your birthright to know the history, and the truth of who you are.”
“I understand,” you say, a sense of relief washing over you. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
Dorcas smiles, then glances over your shoulder toward the refreshment tables. Following her gaze, you see James. He has been entirely cornered by a small group of visiting nobles who clearly believe he is one of them. He is nodding along, gesturing politely with his glass.
You aren’t worried about him; James is effortlessly charming when he needs to be, and he has spent enough time around the court to spin a flawless cover story on the fly.
“He plays the part well,” Dorcas notes with a chuckle. Then, her tone shifts, growing a bit more serious. “Actually, Y/N… I received a letter from Helena today.”
Your heart stops. “What? from my Mother—but how?” you gasp, your eyes widening beneath your mask. “Does she know I’m here?”
“No, no, she doesn’t,” Dorcas reassures you quickly. “She always sends me a letter this time of the year. She delivers her thanks and well wishes for the charity ball and the lanterns, since her duties keep her from attending. But in this letter… she did mention you. She asked me to keep an eye out, just in case you happened to cross into Solistia. She knows how badly you’ve always wanted to see the lantern lights.”
You let out a long, shaky sigh, your shoulders dropping. “How is she? Did she… did she mention anything else?”
Dorcas gestures toward a quiter and more private alcove near the edge of the ballroom, away from the swirling dancers. You follow her, and she sits down on a velvet settee, gesturing for you to join her.
“She seems well, just obviously worried about you,” Dorcas says gently. “From what I gathered, your family is safe and well. However, she did mention that the weather has been unusually bad in Valenora lately, and a seasonal sickness has been spreading through the castle. Nothing to worry about, she assured me—just a seasonal flu.”
Your breath hitches, a cold spike of anxiety striking your chest. You look at Dorcas, your voice dropping to a panicked whisper. “Could it be… because of me?”
“I think so, my dear,” she says. “Since this is the first time in your life you’ve been away from Valenora, natural forces are simply taking over. With your presence in the castle, your magic was unknowingly healing everyone and keeping the sickness at bay. The weather was always good because your light was feeding the land. Now that you are gone, nature is simply taking its course. But you mustn’t carry guilt for that. It is entirely natural. Besides, I wrote back to your mother today. I assured her that I am entirely unaware of your whereabouts.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding slowly as you absorb her words. “Thank you, Dorcas. For not telling her. I… I just need a little more time.”
Dorcas squeezes your hand, her expression turning deeply solemn. “Look, I know that soon you will have to go back to Valenora. And just… I wanted to warn you to be careful. Helena mentioned something rather alarming in her letter. She wrote of a traitor in your midst, and that someone has already tried attacking you twice?”
You nod, the memory sending a cold shiver down your spine. “Yeah. That. It happened a few months back in my chambers—I woke up to a shadowed figure standing over me with a knife. And the second time was at my birthday ball, where someone poisoned my drink. But, of course, nothing happened to me because… well, the magic healed me before the poison could do any real damage.”
Dorcas’s eyes narrow behind her mask as she processes this, her mind clearly working through the implications.
“You must be incredibly cautious, Y/N,” she warns. “In my position, I have learned that sometimes those closest to us are the very ones who betray us.”
She pauses, her gaze drifting across the crowded ballroom to where James is politely laughing at a noble’s joke. “A bodyguard is a perfect shield, but they also have the most intimate access to your life. They know your routines, your vulnerabilities, your—”
“No.” you cut her off quickly, your voice sharp with defense. “James would never. It’s true he knows about my powers—he’s known since we were kids. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it years ago. He would never betray me.”
“Y/N, I have heard countless stories of betrayal,” Dorcas insists gently, though her tone remains firm. “It is often a lover, a close friend, a trusted family member. The people we let behind our guard are the ones who hold the dagger.”
“James has had a thousand chances to kidnap me, to kill me, or to turn me over to my enemies!” you argue, your heart racing as you defend him. “He hasn’t. He’s protected me. He… he—I love him. He won’t hurt me.”
Dorcas sighs, a look of profound pity and worry softening her sharp features. “Well, yes. But whoever this traitor is, they clearly know about your powers. It could be anyone in your castle. Someone disguised as a friend, biding their time.”
You shake your head, the frustration bubbling up inside you. “This whole traitor thing makes absolutely no sense. My parents were so incredibly careful about keeping my powers a secret. Absolutely no one in Valenora knows what I am. How could a traitor target me for my magic if it’s a complete secret?”
“Do you think I didn’t make sure Marlene’s identity was hidden? Do you think we didn’t take every precaution to conceal that she was the Sun Keeper!?”
She pauses, her eyes reflecting the dim candlelight of the alcove. “But look where she is now. She’s dead because someone found out.”
You flinch at her words, the harsh reminder of Marlene’s fate slapping you in the face.
Dorcas instantly winces, regret washing over her face. “I am sorry, Y/N. That was uncalled for. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just… I have made many bad choices in my life, and I am admitting that to you now. I let my guard down once, and it cost me everything. I don’t want the same for you. But before…”
“Is this about how the flower ended up here?” you cut her off, as a piece of the historical puzzle suddenly clicks in your mind.
Dorcas gasps, as she stares at you in sheer shock. “How did you… know about that?”
You shrug your shoulders slightly, a tired, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. The flower chose someone from Valenora, yet it blooms in a temple in Solistia. It didn’t just walk across the border on its own.”
Dorcas winces slightly, her hand dropping from her chest as she lets out a long, defeated breath. “You are a very smart girl, Y/N,” she says, looking down at her hands. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I wasn’t going to hide it from you anyway, since it is entirely obvious by now if you look closely at our history.”
She leans back against the velvet cushion of the settee, the crown on her head catching the dim light of the alcove as she stares out at the swirling, anonymous dancers.
“My ancestors have protected the Sun Drop flower for years and years,” Dorcas explains, her voice dropping to a quiet, reflective hum. “But they were not pure and innocent either. War leaves both sides tainted. Whether it is the Delamaryseline or the Solistian. Yes, the House of Delamaryse killed and brutally stole the power from Ruxandra, who was Valenoran. But my great ancestors were not much better. They hid the flower away, keeping it locked in Solistia, ignoring the fundamental rule of the magic: that the power always returns to its true place of origin.”
You watch her closely, the gears in your mind turning. “So, you kept a power that didn’t belong to you.”
“Yes,” Dorcas admits, nodding slowly. “For generations, my family used the excuse that because the physical drop of the sun fell on Solistian soil, the power belonged here. Both my bloodline and the Delamaryse line were corrupted by greed, refusing to ever return the light to its true owner—to the descendants of Ruxandra, the true Sun Bearers of Valenora. My line simply dressed our theft up in prettier words. We considered that since the flower’s physical location was in Solistia, it was ours. It was entirely unfair. And… I was going to do the exact same thing.”
She looks at you, her eyes heavy with a deep guilt. “I was going to keep it in Solistia,” Dorcas confesses, her voice barely a whisper. “I was going to do it by giving the flower’s power to Marlene. I wanted to protect my kingdom, yes, but more than that… I wanted to keep the power here, with the woman I loved.”
Hearing her words, a cold realization settles over you. You look at the Queen—this woman who has built a legacy power—and you see her clearly for the first time.
“You were selfish.” you spit out the words. It isn’t an accusation, just a simple, stark observation.
Dorcas doesn’t flinch. Instead, she lets out a laugh. “Yes. I was. We all were.”
“My parents always spoke of Solistia as this perfect, peaceful sanctuary,” you murmur, shaking your head as the illusion of the kingdom crumbles just a little bit more. “But you’re not perfect, Dorcas. You might not have been as corrupted as the Delamaryse house—you didn’t kidnap, torture, or murder people to keep the light—but you were still selfish. Your people were still selfish. You kept a miracle that belonged to Valenora just because you could.”
“We did,” Dorcas agrees, her shoulders slumping. “We wrapped our greed in the guise of guardianship. We convinced ourselves that we were protecting the world from the Delamaryse tyrants, but in doing so, we deprived the true bearers of their legacy. I wanted Marlene to hold the light because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, and because I wanted Solistia to remain powerful. I let my own desires blind me to the balance of the magic.”
She reaches out, placing her hand over yours. “But the magic is smarter than all of us, Y/N,” she says, looking into your eyes. “It fought its way through all our greed, all the blood, and all these centuries. It bypassed my kingdom, it escaped the Delamaryse, and it came right back to you. A daughter of Valenora. The cycle finally corrected itself, despite everything we did to stop it.”
You let out a dry scoff, shaking your head as you abruptly yank your hands back from her grasp.
A sudden, hot flash of anger flares up in your chest. “Just because you and your ancestors were selfish does not grant you the right to sit here and project your own regrets onto James! Just because your bloodline was greedy, and just because you let your guard down and made questionable choices, does not mean the man who has bled for me is a traitor. James is not you. He is not a thief, and he is not a traitor.”
Dorcas’s expression hardens behind her mask, her composure fracturing to show a flash of defensive heat. “I am not projecting, Y/N, I am trying to keep you alive!” Dorcas counters, her whisper sharp and hissed between her teeth as she leans in closer.
“Do you think the people who betray kingdoms do it with a villainous sneer? They do it with a smile! They do it while holding your hand, while standing at your bedside, while keeping your secrets. I am telling you this because I thoughtMarlene was safe. I thought the people in my court loved her. And yet, someone still leaked her identity, and she was slaughtered for it. Love makes people blind, and right now, you are wearing a blindfold!”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about being blind!” you snap back, your chest heaving as you glare at her. “You don’t know anything about us. James has had a thousand opportunities to hand me over to our enemies, to sell the secret of my powers to the highest bidder, or to let me die. He chose to run with me instead. He chose to ruin his own life, his own career, just to keep me safe! To even imply that he is waiting to plunge a dagger into my back is insulting. It’s insulting to him, and it’s insulting to me.”
“And it is incredibly naive of you to think a protector is infallible!” Dorcas argues back. “Power like yours corrupts. It makes people do desperate things. What happens when your father offers him a choice? What happens when the pressure of being on the run finally breaks him? You are looking at him through the lens of a girl in love, but I am looking at the reality of a world that wants to tear you apart. I would rather you hate me for planting a seed of doubt than have to mourn you because you trusted the wrong person!”
You stare at her, your jaw clenched so tightly it aches. You want to scream at her, to defend James until your voice goes hoarse, but as you look into Dorcas’s eyes behind the mask, you see the panic of a woman who lost the person she loved most because she didn’t doubt enough.
You let out a long breath, looking away from her toward the marble floor. “He wouldn’t,” you whisper, though the fire is gone from your voice, replaced by a quiet, stubborn conviction. “I know him. I know his heart. James wouldn’t.”
Dorcas watches you for a long moment. The rigid tension in her shoulders slowly drains away, and she lets out a deflated sigh. “I hope you are right,” she says, her voice returning to its usual sorrowful tone.
“For your sake, I truly hope you are. I didn’t tell you all of this to hurt you. I am not proud of my actions, nor am I proud of my family’s history. That is why I do not tell this story. But I am telling it to you because I am on your side. I am willing to have you lose every ounce of respect you had for me, to see me as a selfish queen, if it means you will finally understand the gravity of your situation and trust my warning.”
She reaches forward again, hesitantly placing her hand near yours on the velvet cushion, giving you the space to pull away if you want to. You don’t.
“Please, just keep your eyes open,” she pleads quietly. “I have no idea who this traitor in Valenora is. It could be someone with intentions far worse than the Delamaryse bloodline ever had. But whoever they are, they are close to you, and they know what you are. So please… do not blindly trust anyone. Just… be careful.”
You look at her hand, then up at her face. You slowly nod. “Okay, I hear you. I’ll be careful.”
She lets out a sigh of relief and nods, slowly standing up and smoothing down the white fabric of her gown. “I will go excuse myself and let you have some space,” she says. “I know you do not think very fondly of me after everything I have just confessed. But… I would truly love it if you and James would say goodbye to me before you leave for Valenora.”
“I will,” you murmur.
With a final look of concern, she turns and glides back toward the crowded ballroom, her tall crown shimmering under the distant chandeliers until she is lost in the sea of masked guests.
You are left sitting entirely alone in the dim alcove, the muffled sounds of the orchestra fading into the background of your own racing thoughts.
It is no hidden secret now—Dorcas is selfish. She knows it herself. Even if she tries to justify her actions, even if she believes she ultimately did the right thing by giving your mother the Sun Drop flower when she originally wanted to keep it for Marlene, her hands are still stained with the greed of her ancestors.
But does that make her a bad person?
A selfish person isn’t necessarily a bad person, right? She said it herself—love makes people selfish. But, as you sit there, staring blankly at the ballroom, a cold splash of self-realization hits you.
Who are you to judge her?
What you are doing right now is entirely selfish too. You ran away from your duties. You left your family in a panic, abandoned your kingdom, and left your fiancé, Prince Caelum, waiting for a wedding you didn’t want—all just to escape on a cross-country trip to see some lanterns with your bodyguard.
You are risking James’s life, his career, and his safety for your own desire to feel free for just a few weeks. If love and fear have made you this incredibly selfish, how can you possibly look down on Dorcas for doing the same?
“Everything alright?”
You flinch slightly as a shadow falls over you. You look up to see James standing there, holding two crystal flutes of sparkling drink. He sets them on the small table nearby and slides onto the velvet settee beside you, his shoulders instantly blocking out the rest of the noisy ballroom.
You quickly force a warm, reassuring smile onto your face, smoothing over the tension in your shoulders. “Yes. Everything is fine.”
James doesn’t look entirely convinced. He searches your face behind your mask, his eyes filled with that hyper-observant worry he has. “Did she tell you something else?” he asks, leaning in close so only you can hear him. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”
You shake your head, reaching for one of the glasses to give your hands something to do. “No. No, nothing like that. We were just talking about… everything. Just processing it all.”
James doesn’t look entirely convinced. His eyes narrow slightly behind theleather mask, analyzing the tight set of your jaw and the slight tremor in your fingers as you take the crystal flute.
He replaces the alcohol with a glass of cool water from a passing tray, gently pressing it into your hands.
“Drink this,” he murmurs, as he slides closer on the velvet settee, his shoulder pressing reassuringly against yours. “.What did the Queen tell you?”
You open your mouth to respond, to find a lie or a half-truth that would put him at ease, but the words are instantly swallowed by a ringing blare of trumpets.
The brass notes echo across the vaulted ceilings of the ballroom, cutting cleanly through hundreds of conversations. Instantly, the grand orchestra slows its tempo to a complete halt.
Silence falls over the sea of masked guests. The dancers part like a parting tide, turning their attention upward toward the grand marble mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom floor.
Two royal guards dressed in silver armor stand at attention on the balcony, their long trumpets lowered as Queen Dorcas steps forward to the carved stone railing.
Dorcas rests her hands on the cold stone, looking down at her people. She pauses for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until the entire room is completely silent. When she finally speaks, her voice is carried to every corner of the vast hall.
“People of Solistia,” Dorcas begins, her gaze sweeping slowly across the masked crowd. “Honored guests from lands near and far… welcome.”
A welcoming smile touching her lips as she lets her greeting settle over the room.
“Tonight, we gather once more to observe the annual Lantern Festival,” she continues, her hands gripping the railing. “Look around you. Look at the masks we wear, the diverse colors of our courts, the unique heritages gathered under this single roof. Solistia has always prided itself on being a kingdom of unity.”
A soft murmur of agreement ripples through the crown, but you keep your eyes fixed entirely on her.
“But as we stand on the precipice of tonight’s release…” she pauses. “We must remember that this festival is not only a celebration of our prosperity.”
She looks across the room. “It is, at its deepest core, a sacred memorial. It is a time to honor all those we have lost. The heroes who bled to protect our borders… the ancestors who paved the paths we walk upon today…and the beloveds we carry in our hearts,” she whispers, her voice cracking just enough for those listening closely to catch it. “Whose absence leaves a permanent shadow in our lives.”
The kingdom does not know the name Marlene. The history books have erased her, the public is entirely blind to her existence, and the court believes the Queen’s lack of a husband is simply a sacrifice made for the crown.
But you know the truth. Every word pouring from Dorcas’s lips is a coded confession. You know the real meaning of this day. You know exactly why she wears pure white every single year for the festival—because she is, in the eyes of her own broken heart, Marlene’s bride.
This festival isn’t just a royal tradition; it is her mourning ritual. It is her way of celebrating a love that was torn away from her, a love she still refuses to let go of.
“We release the lanterns into the night sky to guide those spirits home. We send our love upward, into the dark, proving that death cannot sever the bonds we forge in life. Because, grief is the price we pay for love,” she says, her words echoing off the stone walls. “But it is a price we pay willingly. For as long as Solistia stands, we will remember them. We will celebrate the love they left behind… and we will keep their light burning in the dark.”
You look up at her, a bittersweet, complicated knot tightening in your chest. Deep down, it is so hard to reconcile the emotional, mourning woman standing on that balcony with the selfish queen who had just spoken to you minutes ago.
This very woman was selfish. Her love for Marlene had made her selfish enough to try and hoard a miracle that belonged to your people, to keep a stolen miracle locked away in Solistia just to satisfy her own desires. She and her ancestors were just as greedy, just as flawed, as the tyrants they claimed to protect the world from.
Yet, you realize that Dorcas has no shame. She is entirely aware of her own selfishness, and she owns it completely because to her, a love that fierce was worth being selfish for.
“Exactly one hour remains until the release of the lanterns.” she announces. “Enjoy your evenings, drink, dance, and have fun. Before the hour strikes, our servants will distribute lanterns to all of our guests, so that we may lift our hearts to the sky together. Thank you.”
With a final nod, she steps back from the marble railing, her white gown swirling behind her as she disappears into the mezzanine.
The orchestra immediately strikes up a fresh, lively melody, and the crowd returns in a massive wave.
You let out a long sigh, turning to James with a grin so wide your cheeks ache beneath your mask. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening,” you say, the excitement finally breaking through the heavy thoughts you’d been carrying. “An hour left. We’re actually here for it.”
James looks down at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a slow smile.“We’re here for the festival, yes. But we aren’t staying in this room.”
You frown, your hand still resting on his arm as the crowd begins to move around you. “What do you mean? The ball just started. Where else would we go?”
“Just come with me,” he says softly, his grip tightening on your hand as he subtly begins to guide you through the clusters of talking nobles.
“James, hold on,” you laugh, trying to keep your pace casual so you don’t attract attention while navigating the heavy silk skirt of your gown. “You’re acting so weird. What’s wrong with the gardens here?”
“The gardens are going to be packed with hundreds of people trying to make polite conversation while staring at the sky. You’ve been talking about seeing these lights since we were kids. I’m not letting your first time seeing them be from a crowded courtyard where we have to pretend to be Sterlings.”
A laugh escapes you, your heart doing a strange little flip at how well he remembers those details. “Alright, fair point. But how are we supposed to just leave? The guards are tracking everyone who enters and exits.”
“Let me worry about that,” he murmurs.
Within minutes, he guides you right up to the grand exit. When the towering oak doors open, the royal guards step into your path, checking the guest roster with sharp eyes. James doesn’t miss a beat. He adjusts his posture, his voice slipping into that smooth, authoritative aristocratic tone.
“Lord and Lady Sterling,” he says, presenting the gold-leafed cards. “Good evening.”
The guard scans the list, clears the names, and bows politely. “Have a pleasant evening, my lord, my lady.”
The doors shut behind you, instantly cutting off the music in the ballroom. But instead of heading toward the guest wing, James leads you down a turn into a series of dimly lit stone corridors. You recognize these as the servant passages.
“You’ve mapped out the entire castle, haven’t you?” you whisper.
“Naturally,” he replies dryly, pushing open a heavy wooden door at the very end of the hall.
The cool night air hits your face, a sudden, refreshing shock after the stifling heat of the ballroom. You step out onto a secluded stone courtyard backed by the dark woods of the palace edge. Your jaw drops slightly when you see what’s waiting in the open.
Maximus and Midnight are already saddled, their coats gleaming under the stars. Standing beside them is a young man dressed in simple Solistian traveler’s clothes.
You look between the horses and James, genuinely stunned. “How did you get them down here without anyone noticing? We’ve been inside all day.”
James walks over to Midnight, checking the girth of the saddle with practiced ease. “I had some help. Y/N, this is Gideon. I crossed paths with him near the stables yesterday while I was scouting the perimeter.”
The young man bows deeply, a respectful but warm smile on his face. “It’s an honor, Your Highness.”
You study his face, trying to place him, but he’s entirely unfamiliar. “Thank you, Gideon. But… how did James convince you to smuggle royal horses out of the palace stables?”
“He didn’t have to do much convincing once he told me who you were,” Gideon chuckles, rubbing Maximus’s nose. “My sister is Molly. She spoke very highly of you in her letters over the years.”
Your eyes widen. “Molly? Our head of servants? She retired two years ago to raise her family.”
You look at Gideon with a newfound warmth. “I didn’t know she had family in Solistia.”
“Our family is originally from the border lines,” Gideon explains. “She moved to Valenora when she married, but the rest of us stayed. When Sir James mentioned your name, I knew I had to help. Molly always said you were the kindest soul in the palace.”
“Thank you,” you say, genuinely touched by the connection to home.
Gideon nods, turning back to James. You step closer to mount Maximus, but you can hear them murmuring to each other in low, hushed tones. You strain your ears, trying to catch what they’re saying, but you can only catch fractured words: “…boat is ready…” and “…the eastern road…”
Before you can process what they mean by boat and road, James turns around, offering you a steady hand, his eyes locking onto yours behind his mask. “Ready to actually see the lanterns?”
You swallow the sudden lump of curiosity in your throat, deciding to trust him. Gathering the fabric of your beige gown, you place your foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up onto Maximus’s saddle. James moves with efficiency, mounting Midnight in one smooth motion, his sharp charcoal suit cutting a striking figure against the dark horse.
“Keep close to me,” James says, looking over at you.
With a final nod of gratitude to Gideon, you both guide the horses out of the hidden courtyard and galloping away into the night.
The wind whips through your hair, carrying the crisp scent of the Solistian night as the horses maintain a rhythmic gallop away from the palace grounds. The silk of your gown bunches around the saddle, but you hardly care. You pull Maximusa little closer to Midnight’s flank, leaning forward slightly.
“Sooo,” you call out over the thundering sound of the hooves, looking over at his shadowed profile. “Where exactly are we heading? There isn’t much time left until the lanterns are released!”
James lets out a laugh, not even turning his head as he guides Midnight down a branching dirt path. “How are you this impatient? We’ve been out of the castle for barely ten minutes.”
You groan loudly, rolling your eyes behind your mask. “I was trapped inside a single palace for my entire life, James. I have earned the absolute right to be impatient. Now tell me!”
“I’m trying to surprise you,” he replies, a definitive smirk evident in his voice. “Stop asking so many questions and ruining it.”
A giddy, uncontrollable smile breaks across your face. You bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud, your chest warming at the realization that James—your strict, rule-following protector—had actually gone behind your back to plan something entirely for you.
James catches the shift in your energy, shifting his gaze over to you as the horses ease into a gentler trot. “There it is,” he comments. “You’re finally smiling. You looked like you were seeing ghosts after your little secret conversation with the Queen.”
You lift your chin, eager to deflect from the warning Dorcas had given you. “Oh, please. I thought you were far too busy playing Lord Sterling with the other nobles to notice me leaving the floor.”
“I always notice when you leave the floor,” James counters instantly, his tone teasing. He clicks his tongue to guide Midnight around a low-hanging branch. “Besides, you’re always running off to talk to people. First it’s little girls with flowers in the town square, then it’s the Queen in alcoves. I figured if you get to make secret alliances, I’m allowed to do the same with Gideon.”
You let out a chuckle, acknowledging the hit. “Fair, fair.”
The dirt path gradually gives way to a shifting terrain. The sound of rustling trees fades, replaced by the loud rushing of water. James slows Midnight to a complete walk, and you pull on Maximus’s reins, bringing your horse to a halt right beside his.
As you look around, the breath catches in your throat—but not for the reason you expected.
You have reached a very dark, isolated coast. The water of the massive Solistian lake washes up on the pebbled shore. The area is completely desolate, enveloped in thick shadows. There is no grand view. In fact, if you turn around, the shimmering lights of the palace ballroom are barely visible, obscured by the distance and the thick treeline.
The only things occupying the empty shore are a small, weathered wooden hut and two simple rowboats tied securely with a coarse rope to a rotting wooden post.
It is, to say the least, entirely underwhelming.
You blink behind your mask, looking from the small, sad-looking boats back to James. You swallow the sudden wave of disappointment, reminding yourself not to judge his surprise just yet. He had worked so hard to coordinate this with Gideon.
“James…” you start, your voice trailing off as you look around the gloomy shore. “Is this… it? Where are we supposed to see the lanterns?”
James swings his leg over Midnight, dismounting with effortless grace. “Patience,” he says, a small, secretive smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He takes the reins and ties the mare to a nearby post before walking over to Maximus, offering you a hand to help you down.
“You brought me to an abandoned fishing hut in the middle of nowhere,” you tease, placing your hand in his as you step onto the damp gravel, carefully holding up the skirt of your gown to keep it from dragging in the mud. “Forgive me if I’m a little confused.”
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his fingers lingering against yours for a second before he lets go. “I know what I’m doing.”
Without another word, James turns and walks toward the small, weathered hut. He pushes the creaking wooden door open, disappearing into the darkness for a few seconds. When he steps back out into the open, he is carrying two large, unlit paper lanterns in his arms.
“Are those…?” you ask, stepping closer.
“Lanterns,” James confirms, setting them down carefully on the gravel. “Gideon helped me source them. Though he spent most of the time complaining about how difficult they were to sneak past the guards.”
A small laugh slips from your chest. “I can only imagine.”
Unceremoniously, James strips off his formal mask and tosses it onto the floor of the hut, quickly followed by his stiff suit blazer and tie. Rolling up his sleeves, he relaxes into just his white linen shirt and trousers.
Seeing him shed the suffocating attire, you immediately do the same, unlacing your mask, you kick off your heels, and set them near the edge of the hut, letting your bare feet press into the damp earth.
James looks over at you, letting out a laugh as he adjusts his unbuttoned collar. “Gods above… how do your brothers survive wearing those suits every single day? I feel like I just escaped a trap.”
You giggle. “You get used to it after a few years. Though I won’t pretend I’m sad to see the heels go.”
“I don’t know how you walked in them,” he mutters, reaching out to catch your hand. His grip is grounding as he guides you carefully onto the swaying wooden boat.
Once you’re safely seated, James pushes off the shore, climbing in and settling onto the rower’s bench. He takes hold of the heavy oars and begins to row through the mirror-like water.
You look down at the two unlit paper lanterns sitting at your feet, then back up at him, your brow furrowing in amusement. “You arranged all of this while I was sleeping?” you ask, your heart doing a strange, fluttering flip in your chest.
“Of course I did,” he says casually. “You think I’d let us come all this way just to stare at a castle from a dusty balcony?”
He keeps rowing, putting distance between the boat and the shore. After a few minutes, James pulls the oars out of the water, letting the boat glide to a smooth, silent halt in the middle of the lake.
“Turn around,” he murmurs quietly.
You turn in your seat—and the breath completely catches in your throat.
The view before you is stunning. From the middle of the water, the entire kingdom of Solistia sprawls out in a dazzling sea of gold. The massive castle looms high above, its stone arches and soaring spires illuminated by thousands of torches. The reflections ripple across the black surface of the lake, wrapping the boat in a glowing, ethereal halo.
It is so breathtaking, so utterly beautiful, that a prickle of tears immediately stings the backs of your eyes.
James watches you, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Hey, the lanterns haven’t even been released yet and you’re already tearing up—”
Before he can finish his sentence, you launch yourself out of your seat and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him with everything you have.
“Woah—hey!” James stammers, caught completely off guard. The boat lurches beneath your weight, sloshing a cold spray of lake water over the wooden edge and onto his boots.
He instinctively wraps his arms around your waist, locking you tight against his chest as he uses his weight to stabilize the swaying boat. “Careful, love, or we’re both going to end up taking an midnight swim.”
“Thank you.” you whisper fiercely against his shoulder, ignoring the wet hem of your dress, ignoring the cold, ignoring everything except the beat of his heart beneath your cheek.
“Thank you for doing this, James. You have no idea… you have no idea what this means to me.”
This was the moment you had spent years dreaming about. This was the sole reason you had stared out your bedroom window in Valenora as a child, longing to escape the palace. You had wanted to see the little suns—the floating lights that drifted across the skies of far-off kingdoms, washing up on distant shores days after the festivals ended. It felt entirely surreal that you were finally here, living the dream you had kept hidden in your heart for a decade.
And it was even better because you were doing it with James by your side. The man you were hopelessly, secretly in love with—even if he didn’t know it. Even if, to him, this was just one final act of kindness before you both returned to Valenora and you were forced to step into a life you never wanted.
Slowly, you pull back just enough to look up into his face, your hands on his shoulders. The glowing lights of the city catch in his dark eyes, turning them into pools of warm amber.
“James?” you ask, your voice barely louder than the lap of the water against the boat.
“Yeah?” he replies softly, his hands remaining on your waist.
“I’ve spent my entire life dreaming about this exact night,” you whisper. “I’ve wished for it, counted down the years, built whole worlds in my head around just seeing these lights…”
You swallow past the lump forming in your throat, your eyes turning back to meet his. “What do you do when you finally reach the thing you’ve waited your whole life for? What comes next?”
James looks at you for a long moment. The gentle sway of the boat rocks you both as he reaches up, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on your cheek and brushing it away.
“You find a new dream,” James answers quietly.
“When tonight ends, it isn’t over,” he whispers, his voice low and grounding. “You find something new to wish for when you catch a shooting star across the sky. You make a new wish when you blow out the candles on your birthday, or when a stray lash falls onto your cheek. You find another horizon to chase… and you keep reaching for it. As long as you’re reaching for something, you’re never truly trapped.”
You stare at him, your heart aching with a love so fierce and overwhelming it frightens you. You tilt your head into the touch of his hand, feeling the familiar calluses on his palm against your skin.
“And what if I don’t know what to wish for next?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly. “What if I’m too afraid to pick something new?”
James lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You underestimate yourself,” he says, his hand gently sliding down to rest against your jaw. “Whenever you get afraid, you do the bravest things imaginable.”
He watches the way your brow hitches in confusion. “Think about a month ago,” James continues. “When you were trapped in the castle, terrified of what your life was becoming… what did you do?”
You stare at him, the memories surfacing through the blur of tears. You remember the paralyzing fear of knowing a traitor was lurking nearby, the moment you were told that you had to choose a prince to marry, and the pain of being locked away from your own birthday parade.
Every time things got worse, the cage only grew tighter around you. But instead of letting it break you, you refused to conform. What you did instead was… “I took a leap of faith,” you whisper, the words tasting like freedom on your tongue.
James smiles, a radiant pride breaking across his face. “You did,” he says softly, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone. “So whenever you feel alone, scared, lost, or most of all trapped… remember that fortune favors the bold. And sometimes, all it takes is a very brave leap of faith.”
The comfort of his words doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest. If anything, it only makes it infinitely worse.
You look up at James, your eyes searching his face as a profound, agonizing sadness washes over you. Because the horrible truth is hanging in the air between you both, suffocating in its silence.
Once this night ends, once this dream is officially achieved, you can no longer pretend. You can no longer hide behind the excuse of the journey or the escaping. You can’t pretend that there is much left tying him to you.
“And what if you aren’t there?” you whisper, your voice trembling so violently it barely carries across the water. “What if… what if you aren’t with me to find my new dream?”
Hot, heavy tears well up in your eyes, blurring the lights of the distant city. A wet, hiccuped laugh escapes your lips—a sound so broken and bitter it catches in your throat.
Because this moment isn’t just happy. It feels terribly, agonizingly like a farewell. It feels like saying goodbye to James. Your James.
Because he was yours, wasn’t he? He had you first. He was the one who taught you how to act through the fear, the one who held your face in the dark, the one who kissed you until your knees gave out, the one who made love to you while the rest of the world slept.
You love him. You love him so much it feels like a physical tear in your chest, a sharp ache beneath your ribs. You want to scream it into the night sky until your lungs burn. You know he knows it—he’s known it in every glance, every touch, every desperate embrace—but saying the words out loud makes the impending loss real.
And the truth is a bitter, inescapable thing: having James is impossible.
It is like demanding the sun and the moon share the same sky, or expecting the high mountains to reach down and touch the deep sea. It is like wishing lumicrysts could grow everywhere, or believing that James could ever stand in the grand hall as a royal noble, a crown resting on his head.
None of those things can ever happen. The world does not bend for wishes, no matter how desperately they are made. James could never be a prince, and you could never be just a girl who loves him. He might belong to your heart, but he will never be allowed to stay by your side.
James sees it all in your eyes. He watches the conflict and the unbearable pain across your features, reading every agonizing thought as clearly as if you’d spoken it aloud.
He gently pressing his forehead against yours, bridging the tiny space between you until his breath warm against your skin becomes your only anchor. His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek, his touch tender and steady against yours.
“Even if I’m not there with you…” he murmurs at last.
You both know what those words mean. He won’t be there when you put on the grand wedding gown. He won’t be standing at the end of the aisle. He won’t be the prince placing a ring on your finger. He can’t be.
“…then I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” James continues. “You are so, so smart. So brave. You’re so full of life and warmth, Y/N. It’s impossible not to love you, and it’s impossible not to find beauty in all your miastakes. I’m sure you’ll find a new dream. Just like you had one when I wasn’t there… back when you sat by your window and dreamt of these lights.”
“But it’s different, James!” You shake your head frantically, the tears spilling freely now. “You know it’s different! It’s not the same! We—we spent so much time together. We traveled across kingdoms, we slept in the same bed, we kissed, we had sex, we… I can’t just—I can’t just not—”
You break down completely, a choked sob tearing from your chest. You’re crying openly now, raw and undone, suffocating under the weight of loving someone you are forbidden to keep.
James, as he always is, is three steps ahead of you. He sees the spiral, sees the panic and the utter heartbreak wrecking your frame.
“Then don’t do it,” he cuts in softly.
You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at him through a haze of tears. Don’t do what? Don’t marry him? Don’t go back to Valenora?
Before the question can leave your lips, a sudden, warm golden glow blooms in the dark far behind you.
James turns his head, his dark eyes catching the light, and a soft, breathtaking smile touches his lips. “It’s time.”
You turn around slowly in the wooden boat, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.
[i highly recommend playing the song space song by beach house here for a better experience]
There, in the far, far distance, standing on the highest central balcony of the grand palace, Queen Dorcas holds a single, massive lantern, as she lets it go.
The first lantern rises into the night sky—a burning miniature sun hovering over Solistia. It carries everything it was made for: Marlene, their tragic, selfish love, a lifetime of grief, and a surrender to the light.
And then, as if the entire realm had been holding its breath waiting for her command, hundreds upon hundreds of golden lights burst into existence across the entire kingdom.
They pour out from every balcony, every cobblestone street, every village square, and every tiny boat along the shores. Thousands of glowing lanterns lift off into the black abyss, floating toward the stars like a sea of rising embers, bathing the lake, the castle, and James’s face in a breathtaking, golden glow.
Slowly, almost impossibly, the entire world around you transforms into one made entirely of golden suns.
The dark sky is no longer dark. Hundreds upon hundreds of glowing lanterns rise higher into the night, drifting over the mirror-like surface of the water until the space around your little wooden boat is bathed in a warm, breathtaking, ethereal light. It casts away every shadow, every quiet dread, and every lingering fear. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever witnessed. It was worth every tear, every mile traveled, every agonizing secret, and every ounce of fear you had carried since the age of twelve. It was worth everything.
Driven by pure, unfiltered wonder, you carefully push yourself up, standing on the very edge of the wooden boat. The vessel lurches and sways beneath your bare feet, sending tiny ripples across the glowing water.
Before you can lose your balance, James’s hands instinctively wrap around your waist, his grip firm, warm, and rock-steady as he holds you close to keep you both from falling in.
You lean into his solid frame, reaching out a trembling hand toward a lantern drifting lazily right beside the hull.
Your fingers softly touch the warm paper face of the floating light. Your breath hitches in absolute awe as you watch the flame inside flicker, illuminating the faint grain of the parchment.
When you turn around to look at James, your heart skips a beat. He isn’t looking at the thousands of lights washing over the kingdom. He is looking only at you, a soft, unbelievably tender smile pulling at his lips.
In his hands, he holds the two large paper lanterns he had brought from the hut, both now lit from within by a small lighter he had somehow managed to procure. The golden glow spills through the paper, illuminating his sharp jawline and turning his golden-brown eyes into pools of liquid sunlight.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across your face as you sink back down onto the bench beside him. “I am.”
You take one of the lanterns into your hands, feeling the gentle heat radiating through the thin paper. But before you can lift it into the air, James looks at you, his gaze intense and impossibly soft.
“Make a wish,” he says quietly.
A small, tearful laugh escapes your lips at the childish tradition. You close your eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath of the cool night air, sending a silent prayer up into the vast expanse above, hoping that whatever higher divinity of Fate would listen to your simple wish.
I wish I could be with James. I wish I could stay with him, and be free.
Beside you, James closes his eyes, too. Unbeknownst to you, his chest heaves with a prayer so tragically similar that it physically hurts him to breathe it into existence.
I wish she didn’t have to marry Prince Caelum. I wish she would be mine to keep.
You both open your eyes at the exact same moment.
“What did you wish for?” James asks, a playful tilt to his head, though his eyes remain deeply sad.
You laugh, shaking your head as you hold your lantern higher. “It’s a secret. If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
James lets out a huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
Holding your lanterns, you lean in close to one another, your shoulders pressing together, the warmth of your bodies mingling with the heat of the fire. On three, you both lift your hands, letting the glowing parchment slip gently from your fingertips into the night air.
The two lanterns hover together for a brief second, lighting up the dark sky just a little bit more. As the gentle lake breeze catches them, they swirl gracefully around each other—a delicate dance in the dark—before slowly ascending, blending seamlessly into the vast sea of thousands of drifting suns above Solistia.
You watch them go, a wide, luminous smile gracing your lips. But when you turn back to look at James, you catch him already staring at you. He hadn’t looked at the sky once.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” James says quietly.
His voice has dropped an octave, carrying a sudden gravity that makes the air between you grow still. You look at him, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. “What is it, James?” you ask.
He goes entirely quiet.
Around the boat, the hundreds of little floating suns reflect off the dark surface of the lake, casting a golden aura over James’s face. The flickering light catches the edges of his cheekbones, the curve of his neck, the mess of his hair, and the dark amber of his eyes.
Surrounded by a sea of rising stars, James looks like the sun itself.
He takes a shaky breath, reaching out with a hand that trembles just a fraction. His calloused fingers trace the line of your jaw, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that steals the breath right out of your lungs.
“I love you.” James whispers, the confession tearing out of his throat, completely raw and naked, devoid of any other phrases. Just three words.
The words hang in the air between you, more brilliant and blinding than every lantern floating in the sky above.
“I have loved you since the moment I realized I would burn down the whole world just to keep you safe,” he continues, his voice thick with an emotion he can no longer contain, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I loved you when we were kids, I loved you in Valenora as your guard, I loved you when we were running, and I love you now. I know I shouldn’t say it. I know I’m just a guard, and I know what waits for us back home… but gods help me, Y/N, I am completely, hopelessly in love with you.”
Tears rise in your eyes, but this time, they aren’t filled with sorrow. They are filled with an overwhelming, breathless joy. “I love you, too,” you breathe out, your voice breaking on the words. “James… I love you so much.”
Before he can even process the sound of your voice giving him everything he had ever wished for, you lean forward, bridging the tiny distance between you, and press your lips to his.
It’s a deep, agonizingly beautiful kiss—one born from months of forbidden I love you’s. James lets out a low groan against your mouth, his arms instantly pulling you tight against his chest, lifting you slightly off the bench so there is no space left between you.
His lips move against yours with desperate devotion, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your breath. He kisses you like a dying man taking his first breath of clean air, his fingers tangling into the back of your hair, holding you as if you were the only solid thing in an unraveling universe.
James breaks the kiss slowly, his forehead lingering against yours as his breath hitches. A soft, breathless laugh bubbles up from his chest—a sound so full of light, relief, and dizzying hope that it almost sounds foreign coming from him.
“Then let’s not go back,” he whispers, his hands cupping your cheeks, his golden eyes shining with a sudden, wild desperation. “Let’s stay here.”
You blink, pulling back just enough to look at him, your brows furrowing in sheer bewilderment. “What?”
“I love you. And I know you love me too,” James says, the words tumbling out of him in a fast, breathless rush, his fingers tightening against your jaw. “If we go back home, Y/N, it will never work out. You know it won’t. I’m just your royal guard, and you’re a crown princess. The moment we step back into Valenora, they will force that ring onto your finger and lock you away in a palace. But here? Right now? We can just be James and Margaret. We can be free. We can be safe from all our duties and all the expectations.”
A cold spike of dread pierces through your chest. You shake your head, taking a step back on the wooden floorboards of the boat.
“James… we can’t do that,” you say, your voice rising in utter confusion and mounting panic. “If we do that, we can never go back. At some point, my parents will realize something is wrong. When you stop sending your weekly update letters and when we don’t return… they will send out a full royal search party for us. We’ll be hunted!”
“We will make it work,” James insists, shaking his head as he steps closer, reaching out to wrap his hands around your face once more, desperate to keep your focus entirely on him. “Listen to me. We can go far away. A different continent. Somewhere across the sea where Valenora holds no power. We could change kingdoms, move between tiny coastal villages every few months so we can never be traced. That way… that way we can see the world together. Just like you’ve always dreamed.”
Tears brim in your eyes once more, but this time, they burn with horror. You shake your head, pushing lightly against his chest.
“James, if we do that, we can never see our families again!” your voice breaks, a sob tearing through your throat as you gesture wildly between the two of you. “I won’t ever see my brothers again! I’ll never see my mother, or my father, or Lily, or—”
You stop, your eyes wide with disbelief as you look at him. “What about you? You won’t see your mother or your father! You’ll lose Sirius, Remus, Peter… fuck, James, all of your friends! You’d lose your whole life!”
James’s face hardens, his jaw locking tight as a dark, uncompromising resolve takes over his features.
“I’d do it for you,” he says, his voice dropping into a fierce, unwavering whisper. “I’d sacrifice all of it for you. Just to be with you.”
“You can’t ask me that!” you cry out, the tears finally spilling over your lashes in hot, frantic streams. “I love you! I love you so much it hurts, but I cannot abandon my kingdom! I can’t abandon my people, my duty, or my family, and know that I will never, ever see them again for as long as I live! James, please… take me back. Get me off this boat. Please.”
The raw, hysterical panic in your voice seems to hit him like a slap. The desperate light in James’s eyes instantly flickers out, replaced by a sudden, eerie calm.
Seeing you on the verge of a complete breakdown, his guard instincts immediately override his own desires. “Hey… okay. Okay,” James murmurs, stepping back and raising his hands. “We’ll go back. I’ll get us off the boat, and we’ll talk about it in the room. Just breathe, Y/N.”
You nod frantically, wiping your face with the back of your trembling hand. As James turns back around, sitting on the rower’s bench and silently gripping the wooden oars, you can tell—with painful, devastating clarity—that he is deeply bothered. He is offended. Hurt that you didn’t instantly jump into his arms and accept his offer.
If you could even call it an offer.
How could he be so hopelessly blind? How could a man so trained in strategy fail to see the sheer catastrophic ruin his plan would bring?
Deserting a royal post and running off with you wasn’t just a breach of contract—it was high treason. If you two were ever caught, James wouldn’t just be relieved of his duties; he would be executed on the spot as a traitor and a kidnapper.
And his parents… gods, his poor parents. James had spoken so casually of sacrificing them, but he hadn’t considered the horrific aftermath. The moment your father realized what James had done, the wrath of the throne would fall directly on his family. Fleamont and Euphemia would be stripped of their titles, their land, and their honor, spending the rest of their days in utter disgrace or locked in a dungeon for their son’s ultimate betrayal.
And what kind of life would you two even have together? Moving from village to village sounded romantic in a foolish storybook, but the cold reality would be an exhausting, paranoid nightmare.
You would live as nameless fugitives, constantly looking over your shoulders, terrified of every soldier in uniform, every foreign bounty hunter, and every familiar face.
Beyond that, you weren’t just a girl—you were an heir tied to an ancient sun magic that an entire continent was actively trying to understand and control. Leaving meant leaving Valenora completely defenseless, abandoning your people to possible enemies, and leaving your family to drown in the grief of your sudden, unexplained disappearance.
Worst of all, a love built on absolute ruin was a ticking time bomb. How long would it take before the fairy tale shattered? How long until James looked at you in some dingy, damp inn across the sea and secretly resented you for losing Sirius, his parents, his brothers-in-arms, and his home?
How long until you looked at him and felt the bitter poison of regret for abandoning your brothers?
James rows in absolute silence, the splash of the water the only sound cutting through the night. The golden lanterns still drift beautifully in the sky above, but to you, they no longer look like suns.
They just look like dying stars, slowly drifting away into the cold, unforgiving dark.
a/n: welcome to the long rant, folks!!
compared to the absolute essay i wrote for the last chapter, i think i'm actually going to keep this one a little shorter... or at least i'll try to 😭
first, i really wanted to talk about dorcas and her conversation with princess because i think it's one of the most important moments in the chapter, even if it's much quieter than everything that comes afterward. something that has always been incredibly important to me while writing tcov is allowing good people to make bad decisions. i never wanted the older generation to fall into neat categories of heroes and villains because i don't think life is ever that simple.
with dorcas, we finally see someone who possesses enough self-awareness to acknowledge that she wasn't always the person history remembers her as. she loved deeply, but that love also made her selfish. being queen gave her the power to make impossible choices, and being in love made those choices even harder. she knows that and she doesn't try to rewrite history or excuse herself. instead, she openly admits that if events had unfolded differently, she very well might have made the wrong decision. and i think that's what makes marlene's sacrifice even more heartbreaking.
ultimately, dorcas didn't make the right choice herself. the right choice was made for her, marlene took that burden from her.
yes, history remembers the outcome as noble, but that doesn't erase the fact that dorcas was prepared to choose differently. i really wanted princess to hear that because she's spent so much of her life believing queens and kings are somehow above ordinary human weakness. dorcas shatters that illusion completely. she reminds her that crowns don't magically make people wiser or kinder. they're still capable of fear, grief, selfishness, and mistakes. and honestly... i think there's something strangely beautiful about that.
i have always been drawn to characters who are not only aware of their flaws, but who are forced to coexist with them in perpetuity. dorcas is not a figure of absolution; she is a figure of endurance. she carries the weight of decisions she cannot undo and cannot fully forgive herself for, and that ongoing internal reckoning is precisely what makes her one of my favourite characters to write in the entire series.
and in that sense, the parallel between dorcas and princess’s parents—Helena and edmund—becomes impossible to ignore. because what dorcas articulated in the past is, in many ways, the same emotional architecture that defines helena and edmund in the present.
Helena, like dorcas, was not untouched by love; her choices were never made in a vacuum of clarity, but in the pressure of devotion colliding with duty in order to try and protect her daughter. edmund, similarly, was never a figure of uncomplicated authority. his decisions were not born from detachment, but from the same entanglement of fear, responsibility, and emotional compromise for his daughter that dorcas recognises within herself.
what connects all three of them is not moral failure, but the shared experience of loving someone so intensely that it distorts the boundaries of what one believes oneself capable of choosing.
and princess, standing at the intersection of these narratives, is finally forced to confront the fact that her parents were never exceptions to human fragility. they were simply people navigating impossible emotional terrain, just as dorcas did, just as she herself is beginning to.
NOW... THE LANTERNS. OH MY GOD FINALLY.
i think every single one of us knew this scene was coming eventually because... come on... tangled-inspired story. there was absolutely no universe where i wasn't going to include the lanterns LOL
but i wanted it to be more than just a reference. for princess, this isn't simply a beautiful tradition she's always wanted to see. it's something she's dreamed about her entire life while trapped behind palace walls. every single year she watched those lanterns drift into the sky from a distance, never believing she'd actually stand beneath them one day. so finally writing that moment felt incredibly emotional for me because it's one of the first dreams she ever had, long before james, long before running away, and long before discovering who she truly is.
and then...THE CONFESSION.
LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEE. james potter confessing his love beneath thousands of floating lanterns might actually be one of the most romantic things i have ever written.
after everything they've been through, after months of denying it, dancing around it, making excuses, and pretending their feelings were something they could simply ignore, hearing those words spoken out loud felt so unbelievably satisfying to write.
and i think what i love even more is the wishes. because despite everything they've been through, their wishes are almost identical. which (btw) absolutely destroyed me while writing it 😭
i also really wanted to take a moment to talk about the argument itself, because i have a feeling this scene is going to divide people, and honestly, i hope it does. if it doesn’t, then i don’t think i’ve done my job properly, because this is one of those moments where both characters are right in their own way, and that’s exactly what makes it hurt.
from james’s perspective, what he’s offering princess is the most romantic thing he could possibly imagine. for months, he’s watched the woman he loves live with choices she never chose, bound to a crown that was placed on her head long before she ever had a say in it. he’s seen her exhausted by duty, torn apart by expectation, and grieving a future that was decided for her before she even had the chance to dream of her own.
so when James talks about running away, he isn’t thinking in terms of betrayal or abandonment. to him, it is freedom. it is the chance to take everything that has been suffocating her and simply leave it behind. in his mind, he is offering her the life she has always been denied: the ability to choose for herself, to exist outside of a title, to wake up every morning not as princess and royal guard, but simply as james and margaret, two people who love each other.
to james, love is not something that can be measured against consequence. it is something that justifies consequence.
he would give up his career, his reputation, his home, and every piece of identity he has ever built if it meant he could be with princess. there is no hesitation in that for him, and i genuinely believe that about him. that is what makes his confession so devastating, because he is not manipulating her or exaggerating what he would do. he is being entirely honest. he really would sacrifice everything.
but love has never looked the same to princess.
throughout the entire story, james has been the one who believes love should be protected at all costs, even if that means burning everything else down around it.
princess, on the other hand, has been raised in a completely different understanding of love. for her, love has always been tied to responsibility. it is not just something you feel, it is something you carry, and sometimes something you endure for the sake of other people. she has spent her entire life being taught that her choices are never just her own, that every decision she makes ripples outward into her family, her kingdom, and the thousands of people who depend on the crown she is destined to inherit.
so when james asks her to leave with him, she does not hear it as a simple romantic escape. she hears it as a collapse of everything she has been trained to protect. she hears it as abandonment, not just of a place, but of people. and that is where the tragedy of this scene really is, because they are not actually arguing about the same thing at all. they are speaking past each other, each in a completely different understanding of what love is supposed to cost.
james is speaking from hope. he is imagining a future that begins the moment they choose each other. princess is speaking from consequence. she is imagining everything that future would erase in order to exist. he sees a beginning. she sees an ending disguised as one.
one of my favourite parts to write was what happens inside princess’s head after the conversation ends, because that is where the illusion finally breaks. for a moment, running away does sound beautiful. it is easy to picture it in romantic fragments: small villages they have never been to, unfamiliar streets, long journeys with no destination except each other, sunsets over open water, a life stripped down to something simple and free. in theory, it almost feels like the ending of a fairy tale.
but reality always arrives eventually, because the moment they disappear, james is no longer just a man who left his post. he becomes a traitor to the crown. his name is no longer associated with loyalty or service, but with betrayal. and the consequences do not stop with him. his parents do not simply lose a son who chose love over duty; they lose their standing, their security, and possibly even their safety. everything they have built their lives around would begin to unravel because of a choice that was never really theirs to make.
and princess does not escape consequence either. she does not simply lose a future she was already uncertain about. she loses her family in a different way entirely. her brothers would spend the rest of their lives believing she vanished without explanation. her parents would be left with nothing but uncertainty, never knowing whether she was alive, safe, or gone forever. an entire kingdom would be left without its future queen, and the absence would not be romantic. it would be destabilising.
that is probably the most heartbreaking truth of this entire scene, because james is not wrong for wanting that life with her, and princess is not wrong for refusing it.
they are simply two people in love under circumstances that make every possible version of love come with a cost.
i have always said that tcov is not a story about two people struggling to fall in love. it is a story about two people who fall in love far too easily, and then have to decide whether love, on its own, is ever enough to justify what it demands of them.
sometimes it is, sometimes it is not. and that is the question this chapter finally forces them, and the reader, to sit with.
the final image of the chapter is probably my favourite piece of symbolism i have written so far. at the beginning of the scene, the lanterns represent hope, freedom, and possibility, something almost full of promise. by the end, they are still there, still rising into the sky exactly as they were before, except they look like dying suns.
and that is often what heartbreak really is. not the destruction of beauty, but the inability to experience it in the same way once you understand what it would cost to keep it.
anyways, that's all from me for this chapter!!
as always, thank you all so much for reading, for screaming in the comments, for sending me your theories, and for spiralling alongside me every single update. i genuinely look forward to reading your comments and asks more than you know.
until next time, stay safe, stay happy, stay hydrated, stay healthy, and i'll see you all in the next chapter.
‘ SUMMARY◞ slowly soft launching your relationship to everyone
内容 . . . gf!reader & bf!hollis 𓂃 Ⓢmau ◞ cindy kimberly fc ⸝⸝ ⟢ 、 established relationship ࣪ ˖ very much in luv with eo
♫ 2hollis ㆍsister
liked by 2hollis, rommulas, mazzyjoya, nate_sib, and 289,928 others
allabtyn miss you
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yneveryday THE SOMG CHOICE?.?..??.? the most angelic pictures to 2hollis’ music 222musical is this 2hollis shade…. If it is god forbid a girl supports her man omo 2holliboii her man??? bruh u yn fans are so delusional omfg hollis is not settling for her😭😭😬😬. iluvyn see what we not gonna do is come for yn. mind u she literally is on the cover of VOGUE?? ur parasocial af gtfo.
chessasubbiondo you’re literally stunning omg
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antihumanform kids nowadays think they’re slick👀. allabtyn 1. syfm 2. ur blocked&restricted 3. Im literally older than u
angelindisguise peak posted 2 peak im living for this :3
♫ BladeeㆍDNA RAIN
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2hollis miss you 2
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yninurheart the caption is literally connected to yns and no one can tell me otherwise idc pricetag2 NO LITERALLY LIKE 1. hes on tour rn so obvi they miss each other 2. yn literally said dna rain was her fav bladee song 3. yn used a holli song ??????? AND ESPECIALLY WITH EVERYTHING THATS BEEN COMING OUT ABOUT THEM LIKE. 2cute4skl like im #noticing and i love me a good opposites attract type 🤤 like the complete diff vibes of their post compared to eachother imcrine bro
rommulas i took these 👍
antihumanform ygs are soooo subtle omggg!!!!!! ily222 im crying not ryan coming for em and exposing them omg
nate_sib fire 🔥
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boyliifeupdates pics from 2hollis’ 04/12/26 interview! he was especially giddy talking about his mysterious girl ‘friend’ 🤔
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blondeholliaddict he is 10000% soft launching his relationship with yn rn and no one can tell me otherwise
iluvyn BRO HE LITERALLY DESCRIBED YN OMG THAT MAN IS WHIPPPED
givemepaleta bro I’m going to fight all of his parasocial fans when they come for yn bcs I DO NOT PLAY ABOUT HER. ynbabymama NO BRUH LITERALLY LIKE LOOK HOW HAPPY HE LOOKS TALKING ABOUT HER HELLO?? THAT MAN IS IN LOVE.
username728 who tf is yn bruh and whoever she is she is NOT his gf 😬😬👋. 222angelic watch tf out don’t let me catch u outside. delete ur whole account u parasocial whore
♫ The Little Dippers ㆍForever
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allabtyn 2muchluv4you
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ellawoolseyy is that my dress 😠… my eye is twitching rn…. allabtyn ells did I ever tell u I luv u and that I miss u no ok well I do so so much i luv u 😇.. ellawoolseyy DO NOT think u can sweet talk ur way outta dis!!!!!
luvisaillusion OH THE LAST SLIDE?????? WHO IS THAY. 222happy ITS HOLLIS. ON EVERYTHING I LOVE. ynonmymind no way bruh😭😭😭 she settled for him?? tf 6767 woah yn has parasocial fans??? hollis mogs u btw he’s the ultimate chad don’t piss me off
rommulas #noticing 👀
username921 i wonder if he calls her mommy 🤔. speakordie IMCRINE she soft launching her man and dis all u can worry abt u freak ( 1000% he does )
♫ Beach House ㆍLemon Glow
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2hollis my girl <2
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222magical MY?????????? OHMUGOSH HELLO.
lockedtothem IMCRINE THE SECOND PIC
iluvyn THATS LITERALLY YN BRO SHE JS POSTED WITH THIS DRESS OMG. misterboogie we gotta protect our girl from his parasocial fans </2
chessasubbiondo lost my bitch to some skinwalker ☹️. allabtyn iluvu more chessa 👩❤️💋👩 2hollis saying this as if we’re not cuddling rn…
nate_sib hop on Minecraft bruh allabtyn ????he’s occupied rn hoe and go spend time wit ella before i DTEAL UR BITCH nate_sib ALL I SAID WAS HOP ON MINECRAFT SORRY FOR WHAREVER MY PAST LIFE DID TO U??????? AND LEAVE MY GIRL OUTTA DIS????
♫ Feist ㆍMy Moon My Man
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allabtyn surprise <2
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2hollis I miss you <2 allabtyn ik i would too 2hollis ???? a i miss you 2 would’ve worked too…
tigerluvr BABE WAKE UP YN JS HARD LAUNCHED HOLLIS
ynsbaby im crying she saying surprised as if we all didn’t know already 😭😭😭 yearofme LNFAOOO LET MY GIRL BE 2hollis my girl actually 😅 yearofme WELL HELLO TO U TOO HOLLIS???? WHATHRUFVK
swagismylingo genuine question can hollis fight bcs im not going down that easy…. 2hollis yea i can bring it butterscotch IMCRYINGG HE DONT PLAY ABT HIS GIRL
chessasubbiondo wow bae I look very different and funky in these pics! 😂😂 2hollis OK FUNKY WAS UNCALLED FOR????? and get my wife’s name OUT OF UR MOUTH
ynsbabymama hollis replying to comments tryna defend himself gmfu😭😭😭😭
♫ 2hollis ㆍcrush
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2hollis does she hate or luv me lmk
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allabtyn i think she thinks all of the above 🤔 2hollis ure rlly serving #ihatemybf rn and i dont like it.. allabtyn WHICH GIRL IS TEACHINF U THIS LINGO???? 2hollis U SEND ME THAT STUFF ALL THE TIME?? AND IM ON THE INTERNET 2??? allabtyn ure barely on ur phone grandpa 2hollis 😑😑okay whatever u say baby 2kewl4skewl IMCRINE THE WAY HE JS TAKES IT
chessasubbiondo ure js the side that’s why she hates u 2hollis how can i delete comments chessasubbiondo bro u can produce complicated ass beats but can’t delete a comment???? EVEN MY GRANDPA KNOWS HOW TO????
havemykids she got that mug face 🤤
rommulas #truelove
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nate_sib im guessing im going to see more of yn now… allabtyn and u ask why chessa is my fav 😒😒 watch out nathan
💬 𓈒 𝒜ngela notes : yay halooooooooo i rlly wanted to post a holli smau but didn’t know what plot so this is what i came up wit lol👌👌 side note cindy is so insanely beautiful oh my god literally an angel 🤤
summary: trust didn't come easily to you as a result of your colourful past. so when you end up in the starting lineup on your volleyball team and earn three victories in a row after a well known losing streak, people talk. dean di laurentis decides to give in to the rumours and seeks you out for a hot night. you refuse, and he finds himself trying to get to know you first in secret. since when did dean di laurentis play the long game?
tags: 18+ mdni, angst, fluff, comedy
characters: dean di laurentis, garrett graham, john logan, john tucker, hannah wells, allie hayes, beau maxwell, jules logan, reader
⤷ index
chapter one
𐙚｡⭑ ⇢ i'm far too obsessed with this man... just a heads up that i've only seen the show so far so that's my general knowledge of the characters. if they seem out of character, i do apologize! chapters may take a while if i don't have motivation or inspiration. also english is not my first language so i apologize in advance for any mistakes i may make.
you get overwhelmed at a party, and john logan saves the day.
warnings: drinking, reader has a panic attack
word count: 839
a/n: kinda had a rough day and wanted to write something wholesome!!! <3
the hawks had just won a brutal game against eastwood and advanced to the frozen four. it had only taken an hour for sig tau’s basement to swarm with so many students that the air was thick from all the body heat.
you wince every time the pink strobe lights flash like lightening across your vision. the light illuminates the sweaty bodies jumping up and down on the makeshift dancefloor.
you look down at the beer in your solo cup bouncing along to the bass beat, and feel a wave of saliva flooding your throat.
you need to get out of here.
the edges of your vision turn soft. heart ticking like a timebomb in your chest.
you’re stuck, you realize. backed into a corner behind the beer pong table. you’d been waiting for john logan to come back from the bathroom. he should've been back by now. right?
your mind starts to whir with so many what ifs you can't even process them all.
what if he’s flirting with some puck bunny upstairs?
what if one of his friends is holding him hostage up there?
what if he decided he had more fun without you?
what if you die down here?
that's it. you were gonna be sick.
you set your beer down, and let out a shaky breath, before you bulldoze your way through the crowd. muttering hoarse apologies as you shoulder your way to the stairs.
your eyes are glued to your converse. watching them creek against the first steps, when you run face first into a hard chest.
you smell the familiar scent of diesel, ice, and cologne.
logan. thank god.
“woah– baby,” logan coos, "what’s the matter?"
his soft tone has tears pricking your eyes. everything, you wanna say. it's too much.
but logan is two steps ahead of you. his brows furrow as he steadies you. hands softly gripping your shoulders. grounding you.
realization floods his face when he sees that spacey look in your eyes. he's already grabbing your hand to guide you up the stairs when you decide to lie through your teeth.
“i’m fine, logan. let’s just go back down.”
he comes to a halt. turns around to cock an eyebrow at you. big hand still rubbing soothingly circles on the inside of your wrist. can feel your erratic pulse trying to break free from the soft skin of it.
“yeah, sure,” he rolls his eyes fondly, tugging you upwards. “c’mon, pretty girl. party's over.”
“but dean’s shirt is still on. seems like the party just started.”
logan doesn’t laugh at your sad attempt at a joke. he's too busy ushering you through a dimly lit hallway, and into the quiet of beau’s bedroom. “sit here, and wait for me.”
having something to do to, something to focus on finally has your heartbeat slowing down a couple paces.
you take your time admiring the top gun poster on the wall. smiling at the photos of beau's family spread across his desk.
meanwhile, logan doesn’t even bother throwing out half-assed goodbyes to the team as he hunts down your coat.
just tells garrett that he’s got to go. that he’ll tell him why he’s ditching the party tomorrow.
when you hear a knock at the door, it’s your turn to roll your eyes.
“come in, logan.”
he's got a winning grin on his face as he opens the door, waving the wool fabric in the air like a golden ticket. he gently sets it over your shoulders. bends down and presses a warm kiss against your forehead. ruffles your hair till he's satisfied.
“alright. i think it's time to go, baby.”
you follow loganout into the cold air, and the chill sobers you.
you ruined logan’s night, you think. he should be six shots deep right now. shitfaced and celebrating the win with his boys.
now that you think of it, you didn’t even see him finish a single beer.
“you should be in there, logan. i’ll take the bus. really, it’s not–”
his eyes narrow. he looks down at your thumb methodically pressing onto the joints of your fingers. hears the soft pops as your knuckles crack under the pressure.
“you really think i'm gonna let you take the bus alone on a friday night? you're hilarious. you should start doing stand up, baby.” he chokes out a laugh, wrapping a comforting palm around your hand.
your thumb hovers over your index finger.
“c’mon. get your cute ass in my car. i think that ice cream shop you like should still be open if we hurry.” he says it like it doesn’t set your cheeks ablaze. like suddenly your heartbeat isn’t buzzing in your chest for all the right reasons.
he stretches a long arm in front of you, and pops the passenger door open.
“you don’t have to baby me, logan. i’m a big girl,” you laugh, easing yourself down onto the leather.
“i’m not babying you,” logan lies cooly, softly shutting your door and jogging to the driver's side.
he hops in. reaches across your lap to buckle you in. “since when is it illegal to take my girl out for ice cream?”
“you’re impossible,” you smile, shaking your head. logan wraps a big arm around the back of your seat, and pulls out of the driveway.
Summary Being Hannah and Allie's friend required two things: Being social and extroverted. Parties, crowds, and constant socializing. Unfortunately, you were none of those things. So when you made one stupid decision, a not-so-incident kiss with John Loganㅡa hockey star, notorious flirt, and the second-biggest manwhore at Briar, only to prove something pointless to Hannah and Garrett, you expected everyone to forget it by tomorrow. But no, John Logan had other plans.
You were busy. Booked. Perfectly content with your quiet and private life. Then one stupid kiss with John Logan blindsided you.
Pairing John Logan x Homebody!Reader
Note Hi! This is my first story here. English isn't my first languange, so bear with me please...
summary: trust didn't come easily to you as a result of your colourful past. so when you end up in the starting lineup on your volleyball team and earn three victories in a row after a well known losing streak, people talk. dean di laurentis decides to give in to the rumours and seeks you out for a hot night. you refuse, and he finds himself trying to get to know you first in secret. since when did dean di laurentis play the long game?
tags: 18+ mdni, angst, fluff, comedy
characters: dean di laurentis, garrett graham, john logan, john tucker, hannah wells, allie hayes, beau maxwell, jules logan, reader
⤷ index
chapter one
𐙚｡⭑ ⇢ i'm far too obsessed with this man... just a heads up that i've only seen the show so far so that's my general knowledge of the characters. if they seem out of character, i do apologize! chapters may take a while if i don't have motivation or inspiration. also english is not my first language so i apologize in advance for any mistakes i may make.
꣑ৎ you, effortlessly sucking him off while you’re typing out your sociology essays across his exposed, sensitive, soaked lap.
꣑ৎ dean treating you with eating you out for a looooong time, when you get an answer correct when he’s using your flash cards.
꣑ৎ dean bending you over the back of the sofa in his penthouse, with the blinds wide open in the mornings.
꣑ৎ dean fingering you while you're all fours, sucking him off in the shower.
꣑ৎ dean eating you out in the bath, both of you guys trying not to get caught by anyone in the frat house... (this is before you guys called it official...)
꣑ৎ you and dean definitely having sex with his bedroom door open, he doesn’t give a fuuuuuck 😵💫
꣑ৎ dean fingering you while he’s driving, because you couldn’t wait any longer.
꣑ৎ dean sultry saying “smile at the camera, baby” while he lightly holds your chin, before your face is smothered with his cum.
꣑ৎ dry humping him while you’re beside the fire pit, sharing a joint together.
꣑ৎ dean becoming insanely submissive when your walking him like a dog… telling him to be harder, softer, rougher or gentle when you’re telling him how to fuck you right.
꣑ৎ dean being insanely obsessive with making you squirt or cream for the time, wether that’s literally at a party or in his messy bed after having sex for the 15th time that week…
꣑ৎ you and dean sleeping in each other’s wet spots because why not, also he’s gonna want to fuck even more the next day.
꣑ৎ dean clearly has a size kink, comparing his dick against your stomach, throat and hands!!!!
꣑ৎ dean is for sure fucking you until his bed breaks, since then he doesn’t bother buying another bed frame…
꣑ৎ dean is definitely into creampie, he’s making sure that you’re full of him.
꣑ৎ and lastly… dean can definitely last for hours. you better pick up with what he’s putting dooooown ma’am!!!! 🫡
Summary: he asks you to trust him. you almost do. one misunderstanding is enough to bring every fear you've been carrying back to the surface.
note: part 3!! sorry for not posting sooner, I had college finals and was stressedddd but thank you for all the love shown to this <B
Link to Other Parts || masterlist
PART lll
Lunch with Hannah’s friends was supposed to be a one time thing.
At least, that was what you told yourself as you sat beside her, trying very hard not to look across the table at Dean.
It didn’t work.
Every few minutes, you caught him watching you.
When Logan made you laugh.
When Tucker offered you some of his fries.
When Hannah started telling you about an argument she and Garrett had been having for three years about whether a hot dog was technically a sandwich.
Each time your eyes met, Dean smiled.
Not the charming smile you had seen him use on half the girls at Briar.
Something softer.
Something that made you look away first.
“So,” Logan said eventually, looking between the two of you. “How exactly do you guys know each other?”
You nearly choked on your drink.
Dean kicked him under the table.
“Jesus,” Logan muttered.
“Drop it.”
Hannah looked between you curiously.
“We met at a party,” you said quietly.
Understanding crossed Allie’s face.
Logan, apparently realizing he had made you uncomfortable, immediately looked guilty.
“Sorry. I was teasing Dean, not you.”
“It’s okay.”
Dean’s jaw remained tight.
You noticed that too.
He had never acted embarrassed about what happened between you.
If anything, he seemed determined to make sure you knew he wasn’t.
By the time lunch ended, Hannah had invited you to a movie night.
You almost said no.
Then she looked at you expectantly.
“Okay.”
Her entire face brightened.
“Perfect.”
You told yourself you probably wouldn’t go.
You did.
And then somehow, without realizing it, you kept going.
Movie nights became dinners.
Dinners became hockey games.
Hannah started saving you a seat in class, and Allie started sending you pictures before dates asking which outfit looked better.
Tucker discovered you liked baking.
Logan started calling you Sunshine.
The first time he did it, Dean looked personally offended.
“She has a name.”
Logan grinned.
“Jealous?”
“No.”
“You look jealous.”
“I look irritated.”
“Same thing.”
You laughed.
Dean looked at you instead.
He always did that.
It was strange how quickly the hockey house became somewhere you stopped knocking before entering.
How quickly there was always room for you on the couch.
How easily they noticed when you weren’t there.
The first time Garrett texted the group chat asking where you were, you stared at the message for nearly a full minute.
You were at the library.
Everyone else was ordering dinner.
You typed that you were studying.
Dean answered immediately.
I’ll bring you something.
you don’t have to.
His response came seconds later.
i know.
Forty minutes later, he appeared with a paper bag and your usual tea.
“You remembered?”
Dean dropped into the chair across from you.
“You get the same thing every day.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to remember.”
He looked at you strangely.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
You had no answer.
So you looked down at the food.
“Thank you.”
Dean stayed to study.
After that, he kept finding reasons to be around you.
Sometimes he needed notes.
Sometimes he happened to be near your class.
Eventually, he stopped pretending.
“I wanted to see you,” he would say.
And every single time, your heart betrayed you.
You liked him.
That was obvious now.
You liked him far too much.
Which was exactly why you couldn’t let yourself believe he felt the same way.
Dean Di Laurentis did not do relationships.
Everyone knew that.
Maybe you were simply interesting because you were the first girl who had told him no.
Maybe once you stopped being a challenge, he would lose interest.
You knew it wasn’t fair.
Dean had never treated you like a game.
Still, the fear stayed.
One evening, the two of you were alone upstairs while everyone else argued over dinner downstairs.
Dean leaned against his desk.
“Can I ask you something?”
You nodded.
“Why do you keep waiting for me to do something wrong?”
Your stomach tightened.
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He looked almost tired.
“Every time we get close, you pull away.”
You stared at your hands.
Dean was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
Your head snapped up.
“What?”
“I haven’t wanted to.”
You laughed nervously.
His expression fell.
“You think I’m lying.”
“No.”
“You laughed.”
“Because I don’t understand why you’re telling me.”
“Because I want you to know.”
He stepped closer.
“I asked you to get coffee because I wanted coffee. I keep showing up because I want to be around you.”
“Dean…”
“I know what people say about me.”
“You’ve never exactly hidden it.”
“No.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“But that was before you.”
Your heart hurt.
You wanted to believe him so badly that it terrified you.
“You barely know me.”
“I know more than you think.”
Dean moved closer.
“I know you sit near doors because you like knowing you can leave. I know you apologize when other people interrupt you. I know you give everyone the best cookies and keep the broken ones for yourself.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know you pretend you like being alone because it hurts less than admitting you wish someone would ask you to stay.”
“Dean.”
His expression softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“You can’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you make it sound real.”
“It is real.”
You looked away.
“You feel that way now.”
Dean went quiet.
You hated yourself immediately.
“That’s what you think of me?”
“No.”
“You think I’ll get bored.”
“I think you’ve never wanted this before.”
“So I’m not allowed to want it now?”
“That isn’t what I mean.”
He dragged a hand through his hair.
“I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
“I never asked you to do anything.”
“That’s the problem.”
You flinched.
Dean closed his eyes.
“That came out wrong.”
“No. It didn’t.”
He stepped toward you.
“I’m not asking you to trust me because I deserve it. I know my reputation.”
His voice softened.
“I’m asking you to let me earn it.”
You looked at him.
“How?”
“Have dinner with me.”
You blinked.
“A real date,” he clarified. “Just us.”
Every instinct told you to say no.
Instead—
“Okay.”
Dean stared.
“Okay?”
“One date.”
His entire face changed.
“One date.”
The date was perfect.
Which almost made everything worse.
Dean had chosen a quiet restaurant because he knew you hated crowded places. He remembered what food you liked and held your hand on the walk back to your dorm.
At your door, he stopped.
“Can I kiss you?”
You smiled.
“Yes.”
The kiss was soft.
Different from the first night.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Can I see you again?”
“You see me every day.”
“You know what I mean.”
You did.
You nodded.
After that, things changed.
Slowly.
Dean held your hand beneath tables.
He kissed you when no one was looking and sometimes when everyone was.
He sent you good-morning texts.
He still didn’t pressure you to call whatever was happening between you a relationship.
He just kept showing up.
And slowly, you started believing him.
Then you saw the girl.
It happened on a Thursday.
You had gotten out of class early and decided to surprise Dean after practice.
You even bought him coffee.
You were almost at the athletic center when you spotted him standing beneath the awning of a nearby dorm.
A girl stood in front of him.
She was beautiful.
Tall.
Darkhaired.
The sort of girl you could immediately picture beside Dean.
His hands rested on her arms.
She stepped forward.
Dean hugged her.
Then he brushed wet hair away from her face.
You stopped walking.
Everything you had spent months fearing suddenly felt real.
Of course.
Of course this was how it ended.
You backed away before he could see you.
The coffee slipped from your hand and hit the pavement.
You left it there.
Dean texted after practice.
how was your day?
You ignored it.
Then—
you alive?
Later—
did i do something?
And finally—
please talk to me.
You ignored that one too.
Two days later, Hannah appeared at your dorm.
She took one look at you.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that.”
Your eyes filled immediately.
Hannah’s expression softened.
“I saw Dean with someone.”
She frowned.
“Where?”
You told her.
Understanding crossed her face.
Your stomach dropped.
“You know her.”
“That was Sophia.”
You looked away.
“Of course you know her.”
“She’s his cousin.”
You froze.
“What?”
“Her boyfriend cheated on her. She came to see Dean because their families are close.”
The room went silent.
You sat on the edge of your bed.
“Oh.”
Hannah sat beside you.
“You should have asked him.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
You wiped your face.
“Because I was waiting for it.”
“For what?”
“For him to prove me right.”
Hannah looked at you sadly.
“I don’t know how to trust him,” you whispered.
“Then tell him that.”
“I have.”
“No.”
She reached for your hand.
“You tell him he’ll leave. You tell him he doesn’t really want you. You tell him how he feels.”
Her voice softened.
“You never tell him you’re scared.”
You looked down.
“I am.”
“I know.”
“What if he gets tired?”
“What if he doesn’t?”
You shook your head.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand that Garrett had to stop him from coming here three times.”
You looked at her.
“He did not.”
“He absolutely did.”
Despite everything, you laughed.
Hannah squeezed your hand.
“Talk to him.”
You met Dean by the frozen lake the next morning.
He looked exhausted.
You felt worse.
“I’m sorry,” you said immediately.
Dean looked toward the water.
“For what part?”
You flinched.
He sighed.
“That was mean.”
“No. It was fair.”
You stared at your hands.
“Hannah told me about Sophia.”
Dean nodded.
“I should have asked you.”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
“But,” he added, “I understand why you didn’t.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I know who I used to be.”
“That isn’t all of it.”
Dean looked at you.
You swallowed.
“I kept waiting for you to prove me right.”
His expression tightened.
“When I saw you with her, part of me was almost relieved.”
“Relieved?”
“Because waiting was worse.”
Your eyes filled.
“I kept thinking every good thing would be the last one.”
Dean looked away.
“I don’t know what else I can do.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been honest with you.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t been with anyone else. I haven’t wanted anyone else.”
“I know.”
“Then why isn’t that enough?”
Your voice broke.
“Because I don’t understand why you want me.”
Dean went still.
You looked at him through your tears.
“I look at you and understand why everyone wants you. Then I look at myself and I don’t understand why you stayed.”
His expression crumbled.
He crossed the space between you.
“You think this is about my reputation.”
“It was at first.”
“And now?”
You looked down.
“Now it’s about me.”
Dean touched your cheek.
“I can’t fix the way you see yourself.”
“I know.”
“But I can tell you how I see you.”
Your tears slipped free.
“And you can decide whether you want to believe me.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
Dean pulled you against him.
You folded into his chest.
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
His arms tightened.
“I know.”
“What if you get tired of answering?”
“Then I’ll be tired.”
You pulled back.
Dean brushed a tear from your face.
“But I’ll still answer.”
You stared at him.
“We’re not fixed,” he said.
Your heart dropped.
“But we’re not over either.”
“You still want this?”
Dean gave you a tired smile.
“I still want you.”
You reached for his hand.
His fingers closed around yours immediately.
Nothing was magically better.
You were still scared.
Dean was still hurt.
But as you walked back toward campus together, he stayed beside you.
And for once, you tried not to wonder how long it would last.
You simply held his hand.
And let him stay.
End of Part Ill.
-------------------
taglist: let me know if you'd like to be added :) thank you for loving this.
Description: Dean’s away game was supposed to be the worst part of your night. A creepy guy and several drinks later, you’re calling the one person who would drop everything to come get you, and suddenly, whatever you two are doing doesn’t feel so casual anymore.
Note: This can be part 4 for 'Special Girl' or a standalone. The divas yearn for Dean, so hopefully this is a bountiful harvest for those who requested! I got carried away... sorry in advance. Feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!
Tags/Warnings: Mentions of parties, alcohol, swearing. HURT/COMFORT ANGST SOUND THE ALARM!!!
The game lasted way too long.
Every whistle felt unnecessary. Every timeout dragged. By the third period, Dean had checked the clock above the scoreboard so many times that Coach finally barked his name from the bench.
"Eyes on the ice, Di Laurentis!"
Dean muttered an apology and forced his attention back to the game.
It wasn't like he had somewhere to be. Not technically. The team was still hours away from campus, and even if the game ended right that second, he wouldn't make it home before midnight.
Still, he couldn't stop thinking about the disappointed little crease that had appeared between your brows earlier that afternoon when he reminded you about the away game.
You'd tried to hide it quickly.
"Oh... Right. I forgot that was tonight."
But he'd seen it.
And because he was whipped, the knowledge that you'd wanted to see him had left him feeling embarrassingly pleased with himself for the rest of the day.
That feeling had disappeared as soon as you mentioned your plans.
Hannah and Allie were taking you to a party at some off-campus house. A friend of a friend's place, apparently. Dean hadn't recognized the name, but he didn't get any relief when you mentioned some football players were attending. He immediately disliked everyone who might be there.
He knew how ridiculous that was.
You'd only been hanging out for a couple weeks since the fall festival. One night at Malone's. A few increasingly long conversations after class. Several text exchanges that had somehow gone from teasing to telling each other things neither of you usually shared with people you barely knew.
And of course, he couldn't forget the handful of hot make-out sessions in between.
He had no right to care who spoke to you at a party.
You weren't his girlfriend.
Unfortunately, that didn't stop him from caring.
The final buzzer sounded with Briar up by two, and Dean was off the ice before the crowd had even finished reacting. He showered in record time, dragged on some sweats, and practically herded his teammates toward the bus.
"Move," he ordered when one of the freshmen stopped in the aisle to rummage through his bag.
The kid glanced up nervously. "I can't find my headphones."
"Tragic. Keep walking."
Garrett snorted behind him. "You got a hot date waiting at home?"
Dean dropped to his seat and stretched his legs onto the aisle. "No."
"Then why are you acting like the bus is about to leave without us?"
"Because some of us don't enjoy standing around a freezing parking lot while Stevens conducts a full inventory of his backpack."
"I found them!" sounded from a few rows ahead, Stevens holding up his AirPod case like the frozen four trophy itself.
A chorus of tired laughter moved through the bus.
Dean shoved his own AirPods in, although he didn't turn anything on. The moment Garrett looked away, he pulled out his phone and opened your text thread.
The last message you'd sent had come six hours ago.
Good luck at the game!
He'd hearted it before immediately second-guessing himself. The reaction had felt too eager, so naturally he'd followed it with something even more eager.
Text me when you get home?
You hadn't answered.
That wasn't weird. You were at a party. You were probably dancing with Hannah and Allie, drinking something bright blue and laughing at whatever dumb story one of them was telling.
You were fine.
Dean locked his phone and rested his head against the window.
Less than a minute later, he checked it again.
Garrett reached across the aisle and landed a hand on his shoulder.
His knee had begun bouncing without him even realizing.
"You're shaking the entire bus."
Dean glanced down. "Huh."
"What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"You've checked your phone twelve times since we pulled out of the parking lot."
"I'm popular."
"You're anxious."
Dean scoffed, pulling one AirPod out. "I'm not anxious."
Garret studied him for a moment before his mouth curved into a slow grin.
"This about y/n?"
Dean stared at him.
"You've already disappeared with her every day this week."
"I haven't been disappearing."
"You skipped lunch with us yesterday."
"I was busy."
"At Malone's?"
Dean's expression tightened. "Do you have surveillance on me?"
"No. I'm dating Hannah. Y/n tells her everything."
"Of course she does."
Garrett leaned back in his seat, entirely too pleased with himself. "So she's at a party and you're freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out. She asked me to tell her how the game went."
"She did?"
"No."
Garrett laughed.
Dean shoved the AirPod back into his ear. "Go to sleep."
"You're so screwed."
Dean ignored him, although the words stuck with him as the bus carried them onto the dark highway.
He wasn't screwed.
He was curious.
Interested, maybe.
Concerned in a normal, causal way.
Nothing more.
The party had been fun at first.
That was the frustrating part.
You'd spent most of the afternoon pretending you weren't disappointed about Dean's away game, only for Hannah and Allie to see through you immediately.
"You're pouting," Hannah had announced from the foot of your bed.
"I'm getting dressed."
"You can do both."
Allie had glanced at you through the mirror as she applied mascara. "She's definitely pouting."
"I am not."
"You made that exact face when he told you he was leaving," Hannah said. "Like someone told you documentaries were getting taken off of Netflix."
You threw a shirt at her. "I've hung out with him like twice."
"And?"
"And I don't miss him."
Allie's lip twitched. "Nobody said you did."
You'd hated how warm your face became.
By the time the three of you arrived at the party, they had mostly stopped teasing you.
Mostly.
The house belonged to a guy Hannah knew from one of her classes. It sat just far enough from campus that the neighborhood had bigger yards and fewer people walking around, but close enough that every room was packed with students.
Music rattled the windows. People crowded around a beer pong table in the dining room, and the kitchen counters were covered with liquor bottles, half empty cups, and open boxes of pizza.
A red cup appeared in your hand before you had made it ten feet through the door.
"Drink," Allie said.
"I just walked in."
"Exactly. You're behind."
You rolled your eyes but took a generous sip.
The first hour passed quickly. You played flip cup with Hannah, danced badly with Allie, and laughed until your stomach hurt when a guy attempted to jump over the back of the couch and his toes caught onto the top of the cushions instead.
Someone refilled your cup.
Then someone else did.
At some point, you stopped noticing when it happened.
By midnight, the warmth from the alcohol had spread through your entire body, softening the sharp edges of the crowded room. Your face hurt from smiling, and every song seemed like the best one you had ever heard.
You pulled out your phone when it vibrated in your pocket, expecting a message from Dean.
It was an email from the campus bookstore.
Disappointment sank through you before you could stop it.
"You are so bad at being casual," Hannah observed.
You looked up to find her watching you over the rim of her cup.
"I was checking the time."
"You were smiling before you looked at the screen."
"I smile all the time."
"Not like that."
Allie leaned against your shoulder. "Text him."
"He's playing."
"The game ended twenty minutes ago," Hannah said.
You narrowed your eyes. "Why do you know that?"
"Because unlike you, I'm capable of checking a score without staring longingly at someone's contact."
"I wasn't staring longingly."
Allie reached for your phone. "Give it to me. I'll do it."
You jerked it out of reach, laughing. "Absolutely not."
For several minutes, the three of you argued over what would constitute a normal message. Eventually, you gave up and locked your phone without sending anything.
You didn't want to seem clingy.
Whatever existed between you and Dean was still too new to poke at. You liked him more than you'd expected to, which made every text feel strangely important. You didn't want to be the person waiting around for him after only a couple of weeks.
"All right," Hannah said, pointing towards the kitchen. "I need water."
"You need water?" Allie repeated skeptically.
"I'm thirsty! You took a shot off of someone's stomach fifteen minutes ago and I still feel gross about it.”
"It was hygienic."
You followed them toward the kitchen, but a group of people surged between you near the doorway. Someone grabbed your hand and pulled you into a conversation about a professor you didn't even know. By the time you politely escaped, Hannah and Allie were gone.
You weren't worried. They did this all the time, vanishing into different corners of a party before eventually reappearing with stories you could barely follow.
You checked the kitchen, found neither of them, and poured yourself some water.
"Switching to the hard stuff?"
You glanced over.
A guy stood beside you, smiling as though you were already halfway through a conversation. You vaguely remembered him from earlier. He had introduced himself during flip cup, but his name immediately disappeared beneath the alcohol.
"Trying to be responsible," you muttered.
"That's boring."
"I've had enough fun."
"I doubt that."
His gaze lingered on you long enough to make you aware of the short hem of your skirt. You tugged at it without thinking.
He noticed.
The smile remained on his face, but something had shifted.
"You here with somebody?"
"My friends."
"I meant a guy."
You lifted the cup of water to your lips. "No."
"Good."
The answer was too immediate.
You laughed lightly, more out of habit than amusement. "Why?"
"Because I've been trying to talk to you all night."
"We're talking now."
"Exactly."
He leaned closer to be heard over the music. His breath smelled sharply of beer.
You stepped to the side and looked toward the doorway. "I should find my friends."
"They're probably fine."
"I'm sure they are."
"Then stay."
His hand brushed your elbow.
The touch was light enough that you could have pretended it was accidental. You moved away anyway.
"I really do need to find them."
He raised both hands with a laugh. "Relax. I'm not stopping you."
The word relax bothered you more than it should have.
You smiled politely and slipped into the hallway.
The air felt thicker away from the kitchen, and the alcohol that had seemed pleasantly warm twenty minutes earlier was beginning to weigh down your limbs. You pulled out your phone and opened the group chat.
Where did you two go?
The message delivered instantly.
You waited.
Nothing.
You called Hannah. The music on your end was so loud that you couldn't tell whether the call had even connected before it went to voicemail.
Allie didn't answer either.
You reminded yourself that they were somewhere in the same house. They hadn't abandoned you. One of them was probably in the bathroom while the other was trapped in a conversation.
There was no reason to panic.
You returned to the living room and stood on your toes, searching over the crowd. No familiar brunette hair. No flash of Allie's red top.
Someone bumped into you hard enough to spill part of your water down your wrist.
"Sorry!"
"It's okay."
You wiped your hand on your skirt and continued toward the stairs.
"There you are."
Your steps faltered.
The guy from the kitchen appeared beside you, carrying a fresh drink.
"I thought you ditched me."
"I told you I was finding my friends."
"And did you?"
"Not yet."
He held out the cup. "I made you something."
"No, thanks."
"You don't even know what it is."
"I'm drinking water."
"Come on. One drink."
"I've had enough."
His smile tightened briefly before returning. "You sure?"
"Very."
He lowered the cup, although he didn't move out of your way. "You seem nervous."
"I'm not."
"You keep looking around."
"I'm looking for my friends."
"You've said that."
Because you were drunk, it took you a second to recognize the irritation in his voice.
Something cold slid beneath the warmth in your stomach.
You moved toward the stairs. "I'm going to check upstairs."
"I'll come with you."
"No, that's okay."
"It's crowded. I'll help."
"I don't need help."
He laughed as though you were flirting with him.
Normally, you would have been firmer. Sober, you would have told him to leave him alone without worrying whether you sounded rude.
But your thoughts were sluggish, and every response seemed to arrive a second too late. By the time you figured out what to say, he had already stepped closer.
"You know," he said, "you've been giving me mixed signals all night."
You stared at him. "I've barely talked to you."
"You kept smiling."
"I was being polite."
His expression changed again. Not anger exactly, but something petulant and ugly enough to make your pulse jump.
"Right."
You stared past him.
His fingers closed around your forearm.
Not hard.
That almost made it worse.
It was casual, as though he had every right to stop you.
You looked down at his hand before meeting his eyes.
"Let go."
For a moment, he didn't.
Then he released you with another laugh and raised his hands. "Jesus. I was just trying to keep you from falling."
"I wasn't falling."
"You're obviously wasted."
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
The room seemed to tilt around you, not because you were about to fall but because suddenly every instinct you had was screaming that something was wrong.
People moved around the two of you without noticing. Someone shouted from the beer pong table. A group near the couch erupted into laughter.
Nobody was watching him.
Nobody knew that you wanted to leave.
You backed away. "I need some air."
"I'll come."
"I want to be alone."
His smile disappeared completely.
"You don't have to act like I'm some creep."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
You didn't answer. You pushed through the crowd and headed for the front door, resisting the urge to look behind you.
The cool night air hit your face as you stepped onto the porch. You gripped the railing and drew in a slow breath, trying to calm the sudden pounding in your chest.
Maybe you were overreacting.
He hadn't hurt you. He had held your arm for all of three seconds. He was probably drunk too and terrible at reading social cues.
But that explanation didn't make you feel better.
You unlocked your phone again.
Still no response.
You typed another message.
Where are you guys? I'm ready to leave.
Your thumb hovered over Dean's name afterward.
You pictured him on the bus, tired and sore after the game. Calling him would be dramatic. He was hours away and couldn't do anything except worry.
You locked your phone.
The screen door creaked open behind you.
"Getting some air?"
Your entire body stiffened.
He stepped onto the porch and let the door swing shut, sealing off most of the noise from inside.
"I figured I'd keep you company."
"I'm waiting for my friends."
"They'll find you."
He settled against the railing beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
You moved several steps away.
His eyes followed you.
"I think I'm going back inside," you said.
"I'll walk with you."
"You don't need to."
"I know."
The answer came with a smile, but there was no warmth in it now.
He moved when you moved, matching your pace toward the door.
You stopped.
So did he.
"You don't have to follow me."
"I'm not following you."
"You've been everywhere I've gone for the last half hour."
"I'm trying to talk to you."
"And I've told you I'm looking for my friends."
He tilted his head. "Why are you being like this?"
The question caught you off guard.
"Like what?"
"Acting scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You look scared."
He took another step.
Your fingers tightened around your phone.
"I'm going inside."
His hand landed at the small of your back as though he meant to guide you.
You jerked away so quickly that your heel caught on the edge of the porch. The railing stopped you from falling, but the movement sent a painful jolt through your ankle.
"Don't touch me."
He stared at you.
Then he laughed.
The sound made your stomach turn.
"Okay. You're being dramatic."
You pushed through the screen door before he could move again.
The party swallowed you immediately.
You didn't run, but your steps were fast and clumsy as you searched for somewhere to go. The bathroom at the end of the hall was occupied. You knocked once, received no answer, and tried the handle anyway.
Locked.
You crossed the kitchen, nearly colliding with someone carrying a tray of shots. The stairs were crowded. Every doorway seemed blocked.
Behind you, you heard his voice.
"Hey, wait."
Panic sharpened your thoughts for the first time all night.
You slipped down a narrower hallway and found another bathroom tucked near the laundry room. The door opened.
You hurried inside, locked it, and leaned your back against the wood.
The sudden quiet was almost painful.
You breathing came too quickly. Your eyes burned, and when you looked down, your hands were shaking so badly that you nearly dropped your phone.
A knock sounded behind you.
Soft.
Patient.
"You okay in there?"
You covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.
"Come on," he continued. "I said I was sorry."
He hadn't.
Another knock.
"I'll wait."
The words made something inside you crack.
You opened your phone and pressed Dean's name before you could talk yourself out of it.
He answered before the first ring had finished.
"Hey."
You could hear his smirk over the phone.
The relief of hearing his voice was so intense that your eyes filled instantly.
"Dean?"
Silence stretched for less than a second.
When he spoke again, every trace of warmth and teasing had vanished.
"What happened?"
You tried to answer, but your throat closed around the words. All you managed to mutter was a jumbled mess of 'Is' and 'hes’.
"Hey." His voice softened without losing its urgency. "Take a breath for me. Are you hurt?"
"No." The word came out wet and uneven. "I don't think so."
"What do you mean, you don't think so?"
"I'm drunk."
"I know, baby. That's okay. Where are you?"
The endearment nearly undid you.
You pressed a hand to your eyes. "I'm in a bathroom."
"What house?"
"I don't know."
Dean swore under his breath. You heard movement on his end, then Garrett asking him something.
"Open your messages," Dean instructed. "Send me your location."
"I don't want to hang up."
"You don't have to. Put me on speaker."
You did as he said, fumbling through the screen until the location sent.
"Got it," he said immediately. "Stay where you are."
A knock sounded again.
"You still in there?"
Dean went silent.
Your stomach dropped.
"Is that him?" he asked.
You nodded before remembering he couldn't see you. "Yes."
"Who is he?"
"I don't know."
"What did he do?"
"He won't leave me alone. He grabbed me, and he followed me outside, and I told him to stop, but he keeps saying I'm being dramatic."
Dean's breathing changed.
The quiet anger in it frightened you almost as much as the guy outside.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"Did he put anything in your drink?"
"I don't know."
"Okay. Listen to me." His voice remained steady, each word clipped and controlled. "You are not opening that door. I don't care what he says. Hannah and Allie are there, right?"
"I can't find them."
"I'm calling them now."
"Dean, please don't hang up."
"I'm not hanging up. Garrett's calling."
There was muffled conversation on the bus. Seats shifted. Someone cursed. Dean was clearly moving toward the front.
"You're still hours away," you whispered.
"No, I'm not."
"You said-"
"We've been driving for over an hour. We're close enough."
"How close?"
"Doesn't matter."
The bus driver shouted something in the background.
Dean responded sharply, then returned to you. "I'm coming."
Guilt pierced through the fear. "You don't have to."
"Stop."
His voice wasn't harsh, but it left no room for argument.
"You called me because you're scared. I'm coming."
Another knock rattled the door.
"Are you seriously hiding from me?"
You flinched.
Dean heard it.
"Back away from the door."
You moved toward the bathtub.
"Good. Sit down if you're dizzy."
"i'm not dizzy."
"You sound drunk enough to be friends with the floor, so sit."
Despite everything, a broken laugh escaped you.
Dean exhaled. "There you are."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For calling you."
His answer came so quickly that it almost overlapped yours.
"Don't ever apologize for calling me."
Your face crumpled.
You lowered yourself onto the edge of the bathtub and hugged one arm around your stomach, your breath coming out in shaky pants.
Dean barely remembered getting off the bus.
He knew Coach had yelled after him. Garrett had followed long enough to toss him his keys, while Logan remained on the phone with Hannah.
The bus had reached the outskirts of campus, but the party was still twenty minutes away.
It took Dean twelve.
He stayed connected to you the entire drive, forcing himself to keep his voice calm whenever you went quiet. The angrier he became, the gentler he spoke to you.
Hannah and Allie had finally answered Logan. They had been upstairs helping a friend who had gotten sick, both of their phones buried underneath a pile of purses. The moment they understood what had happened, they started searching for the bathroom.
Hannah reached you first.
Dean heard her pounding on the door and shouting your name.
"It's her," he told you. "You can open it."
"Are you sure?"
The question made his grip tighten around the steering wheel.
"I'm sure."
There was the sound of a lock clicking, followed by Hannah's horrified voice.
"Oh my God."
You burst into tears.
Dean listened to Hannah reassure you until the headlights swept over the crowded driveway. He parked crookedly along the curb and was out of the car before the engine had fully stopped.
The front door opened as he approached.
Allie stood there, pale and furious. "She's in the bathroom."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. Hannah told him to get lost, and he disappeared."
Dean's jaw locked.
Every instinct urged him to search the house, find the guy, and make sure he never followed anyone into a hallway again.
Then he heard you crying.
The anger disappeared.
He followed Allie through the house, pushing past clusters of confused partygoers until he reached the narrow hallway.
Hannah sat on the floor beside the bathroom door. You were curled against her, your face hidden in your hands.
Dean stopped.
He had spent the entire drive imagining you injured, unconscious, or trapped behind that door. Seeing you upright should have relieved him.
Instead, the sight of your shaking shoulders hollowed out his chest.
Hannah looked up. "He's here."
You raised your head.
Your mascara had smudged beneath your eyes, and fear still clung to your expression. The moment you saw him, something in your face softened.
"Dean."
He crossed the remaining distance and crouched in front of you.
"Hey."
Your bottom lip trembled. "You came."
The words nearly broke him.
"Of course I came."
He wanted to touch you, but he didn't know what would make you feel safe. His hands hovered uselessly until you reached him first.
Your fingers closed around the front of his sweatshirt.
Dean moved immediately.
He slid one arm around your back and the other beneath your knees, lifting you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.
You curled against his chest, pressing your face into his neck.
"I can walk," you mumbled.
"I know."
"You're carrying me."
"I noticed."
"I'm heavy."
"Now you're insulting me."
A weak laugh warmed his skin.
Dean closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the rush of relief.
Hannah gathered your purse and followed outside with Allie.
"We're coming with you," Hannah said.
Dean glanced down at you. Your eyes were already drifting shut against his shoulder.
"I'm taking her home."
"Our apartment," Allie urged. "We'll meet you there."
Before Dean could respond, your weak voice sounded below him.
"I want to stay with Dean. If that's okay."
Dean tried to fight his smile as he waited for Hannah and Allie's approval, his mouth coming down to your ear to whisper a quick "Of course it's okay, baby." before shooting a pleased look Hannah's way.
"Fine. But make sure she's okay, Dean. I mean it."
Dean nodded his head vigorously as the girls came to crowd around you. Apologies and forgiveness flew back and forth between you and them, the others finally deciding you were good to leave when you promised to call them first thing tomorrow.
He lowered you carefully into the passenger seat of the car, then crouched beside the open door to inspect you.
"Where did he grab you?"
You looked down at your forearm.
Dean found a faint red mark near your wrist.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"Does anything else hurt?"
"My ankle a little."
"What happened?"
"I tripped when he touched me."
Dean stared at you.
Your eyes widened. "It's not bad."
He closed his eyes and pressed his thumb against his brow.
"Dean?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I'm trying really hard not to commit a felony."
That earned him another tiny laugh.
He took off his jacket and draped it over your lap before fastening the seatbelt across you.
Your fingers caught his wrist before he could stand.
"I'm sorry you had to leave the bus."
Dean looked down at your hand around him.
"You really have to stop apologizing."
"I ruined your night."
"You did no such thing."
"You won."
"How do you know?"
"Hannah told me."
Despite himself, he smiled. "We did."
"I knew you would."
The trust in your voice was so uncomplicated that it hurt.
Dean turned his hand beneath yours and squeezed your fingers.
"Let's get you home."
The drive to the hockey house was quiet except for the low hum of the heater.
You kept one hand wrapped around Dean's sleeve, as though you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. He didn't comment on it.
Every few minutes, he glanced over to make sure you were awake.
"I'm okay," you mumbled the third time you felt his gaze on you.
"Didn't ask."
"You keep looking at me."
"You're very pretty."
Your face warmed.
He immediately cleared his throat. "And drunk. Mostly drunk."
"You think I'm pretty?"
"You're hearing things."
"You said it."
"I've taken a few pucks to the head. Nothing I say is legally binding."
You smiled and leaned your cheek against the seat.
For several turns, neither of you spoke.
Then you whispered, "I missed you."
Dean's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
The thrum in his chest drowned out the turn signal as he took another left.
He let his hand fall to your lap as he brought his gaze to yours.
"I missed you, too."
Your eyes filled again.
He softened immediately. "Hey. No more crying."
"I can't help it. You're sweet to me."
Dean stared at you. "That's what's making you cry?"
"It's been a long night."
The light you had been stopped at turned green.
He rotated his wrist to hold his hand palm-up.
After a moment, you placed yours in it.
He drove the rest of the way one-handed.
The house was dark when he pulled into the driveway.
You stirred when the engine shut off, lifting your head.
"Where are we?"
"My place."
"Oh."
"You remember agreeing to that, right?"
Your brows furrowed.
"I think so."
"Very reassuring."
Dean climbed out and walked around to your side. You had already opened the door by the time he reached you, but the moment your foot touched the pavement, your face pinched.
Dean noticed immediately.
"That hurt."
"No."
"That was absolutely a pain face."
"I don't have a pain face."
"You do now."
Before you could protest, Dean slid an arm around your waist to steady you. You stiffened for half a second, and he felt it immediately.
His grip immediately loosened.
"Is this okay?
You looked up at him, and something in your expression softened.
"Yeah."
"Okay."
He kept his arm around you as you crossed the driveway, letting you decide how much weight to put against him. Halfway to the door, your head tipped against his shoulder.
"You still with me?"
"Mhm."
"Compelling argument."
"I'm tired."
"I know."
The house was empty, which Dean was privately grateful for. The last thing he needed was Garrett or Tucker wandering downstairs and making some comment that would send you into another spiral.
He guided you into the living room and eased you onto the couch.
"Sit."
"You're bossy."
"You're drunk."
"You keep saying that."
"You keep proving it."
Dean disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of water and a sleeve of crackers.
You frowned at the crackers. "Those are depressing."
"They're preventative."
"Preventative of what?"
"You throwing up on the rug."
You looked down. "Is it expensive?"
"Not even a little."
That made you laugh again.
"Drink."
Dean twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to you. You took two tiny sips.
He stared.
"More."
"You're annoying."
"I've been told."
You drank again, then handed the bottle back with a dramatic sigh.
"Happy?"
"Thrilled."
He sat on the coffee table across from you, and for the first time since leaving the party, the room went completely still.
Without the music or the crowd or the urgency of getting away, the night seemed to settle over you all at once. Your fingers tightened around the edge of Dean's jacket.
He noticed.
"You okay?"
You opened your mouth to give the automatic answer, then stopped.
"I don't know."
Dean's expression softened. "That's allowed."
You stared down at your hands. "I should've just been mean."
"What?"
"To him." Your voice grew quieter. "I kept trying to be polite because I didn't want to look crazy."
"You weren't crazy."
"I know that now."
"You should have known it then."
You looked up at him.
Dean leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "You never have to be nice to someone who makes you uncomfortable."
"I know."
"No." His voice lowered. "I mean it. You don't owe anybody politeness if they're scaring you."
Your throat tightened.
Your eyes filled again.
Dean saw it immediately and panicked.
"Oh, no."
You gave a watery laugh. "What?"
"Don't cry."
"I can't help it."
"I'm terrible with crying."
"You're doing okay."
"I'm panicking internally."
That pulled another small smile from you.
Dean reached toward you, then stopped himself before touching you.
"Can I?"
You looked at his hand for a second before nodding, and the hesitation on his face loosened as he let it settle lightly against your knee. The touch was careful, almost tentative, which felt strange coming from someone who normally carried himself with so much confidence. But tonight, he seemed determined to let you control every inch of space between you.
You tugged at his hand gently, his body instantly responding and sliding onto the couch next to you. You tucked yourself into his side, one had wrapping around your shoulders as the other remained on your knee. For a few minutes, neither of you said anything. The house was quiet around you, so different from the pounding music and crowded rooms you'd spent the last several hours trying to escape.
You stared down at his hand.
"I called you."
Dean's eyebrows pulled together slightly. "Yeah."
"I mean..." You swallowed, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing it up. "I don't know why I called you."
His hand shifted against your knee, and you caught the brief flicker of something on his face before he covered it with a crooked smile.
"Wow. This night just keeps getting better for me."
"No." A laugh slipped before you shook your head. "That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"I just mean I didn't really think about it." You picked at the edge of your skirt, trying to figure out how to explain something you barely understood yourself. "I was sitting in the bathroom, and I was scared, and I kept trying Hannah and Allie, but then I saw your name and just... called."
Dean didn't immediately respond.
When you looked up at him, the teasing expression had disappeared. He was watching you with an intensity that made your already warm face feel hotter.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That's not nothing."
He gave you a quiet laugh and glanced away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You're drunk."
"I'm aware."
"Which means I'm definitely not having this conversation with you right now."
You frowned. "What conversation?"
"Exactly."
"Dean."
He looked back at you, and you could tell he was trying very hard to keep things light.
"You called me. I came. That's all."
You smiled faintly, but your chest tightened again.
"I knew you would."
That wiped the amusement from his face.
Dean stared at you for long enough that you started wondering if you'd said something wrong.
"Knew I would what?"
"Come get me."
Your voice was quieter now.
Something changed in his expression then. It was subtle, but you saw it. His jaw shifted slightly, and his thumb moved once against your knee before going still.
"You can't say things like that when you're drunk," he finally said.
Your brows knitted together. "Why?"
"Because I'm trying very hard to be a decent person here."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Dean let out a disbelieving laugh and leaned back slightly. "You really are drunk."
"You keep saying that like I've forgotten."
"You asked me ten minutes ago if my rug was expensive."
"That was a valid question."
"You were worried about throwing up on it."
"I was being considerate."
He grinned despite himself. "You're adorable."
The word slipped out so naturally that neither of you seemed to process it immediately.
Then Dean did.
His grin faltered.
Your eyes widened slightly.
He cleared his throat. "Drunk. I meant you're an adorable drunk."
"That wasn't better."
"I panicked."
That pulled another laugh from you.
Dean smiled, clearly pleased with himself, before standing and holding out his hand.
"Come on."
You stared at it. "Where are we going?"
"Bed."
Your eyes snapped up.
Dean immediately sighed.
"My bed. You sleep in it. I sleep somewhere else." He shook his head. "Jesus. Get your mind out of the gutter."
"My mind isn't in the gutter."
"You looked terrified."
"I was surprised."
"Sure."
You took his hand and let him pull you carefully to your feet. Dean caught you around the waist before you could stumble.
"I'm fine."
"You know, I think we should ban that phrase from your vocabulary."
"It barely hurts."
"Great. You can tell me all about it while you're not walking on it."
Before you could ask what he meant, Dean bent and lifted you into his arms.
A startled noise escaped you as you grabbed onto his shoulders.
"Dean!"
"What?"
"I can walk."
"I know. We've discussed this. I just want to help you up the stairs."
"Jerk."
His laugh rumbled beneath your ear.
You should have felt embarrassed being carried through the house by a guy you'd only been seeing for a couple of weeks, especially after everything that had already happened.
Instead, you felt safe.
Dean pushed open his bedroom door with his shoulder and lowered you carefully onto the edge of his bed.
"Stay."
You raised an eyebrow. "Am I a dog?"
"No, because dogs listen."
You rolled your eyes while Dean disappeared into his closet. He returned a moment later and with a folded T-shirt.
"Arms up, baby."
You raised your arms, heat dusting your cheeks as the slid it over your clothes.
It smelled like him.
That seemed like an observation you should keep entirely to yourself.
When you returned from the bathroom after cleaning yourself up and removing your party clothes, Dean was pulling an extra pillow from the bed.
"Where are you going?"
"Couch."
The answer came so easily that something in your chest sank before you could stop it.
"Oh."
Dean paused.
You immediately hated how much disappointment had slipped into that one stupid syllable.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He stared at you.
You climbed beneath the covers and busied yourself adjusting the pillow.
"I'm fine."
"Banned phrase, remember?"
You sighed.
Dean waited.
Finally, you looked at him.
"Can you stay?"
The teasing disappeared from his expression.
You rushed to explain before he could misunderstand.
"I don't mean... I just don't really want to be alone yet."
Dean's face softened so quickly that you almost wished you hadn't looked at him.
"Yeah."
He put the pillow back without another word.
"Of course."
He lay down beside you, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between your bodies. For someone who had spent the last couple of weeks flirting with you at every available opportunity, he was suddenly acting like crossing the invisible line down the middle of the mattress might kill him.
You turned onto your side.
Dean stared up at the ceiling.
"You're really far away."
His head turned toward you.
"I told you I was trying to be a decent person."
"You look like you're afraid of me."
"I'm afraid of myself."
You frowned.
Dean immediately shook his head. "That sounded significantly worse than I intended."
You laughed softly.
"Dean."
"Yeah?"
"Come closer."
He hesitated.
Then he shifted across the mattress until only a few inches remained between you.
"Better?"
You nodded.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The exhaustion you'd been fighting all night finally began pulling you under, but every time your eyes closed, you remembered the bathroom door.
The knocking.
The voice on the other side.
Your eyes opened again.
Dean noticed.
"You okay?"
You nodded, then stopped yourself.
"No."
He waited.
You stared at the space between you.
"Can I..."
You trailed off, embarrassed by what you were about to ask.
Dean seemed to understand anyway.
He slowly opened one arm.
"Come here."
You moved before you could second-guess yourself, curling into him and resting your cheek against his chest.
Dean went completely still for half a second.
Then his arm settled around you.
Carefully.
His hand rested between your shoulder blades, warm and steady, and the tension that had been sitting inside you all night finally began to loosen.
"This okay?" he murmured.
"Mhm."
"You sure?"
You smiled against his shirt.
"You ask that a lot."
"Tonight seems like a good night for it."
You couldn't argue with that.
Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You won't leave?"
His chest rose beneath your cheek as he took a slow breath.
"No."
"Even if I fall asleep?"
"Especially then."
You were quiet for a moment.
"Promise?"
Dean's arm tightened around you just slightly.
"I promise."
You believed him.
Dean stayed awake long after you stopped moving.
He stared into the darkness with one arm wrapped around you and your hand curled loosely into his shirt, trying not to think too hard about how natural it felt to have you there.
Two weeks.
That was it.
Two weeks of burgers and texts and stupid jokes. Two weeks of pretending the rush he got whenever your name appeared on his phone was just because you were new and interesting.
Tonight had ruined that lie.
Because when he'd heard your voice crack through the phone, there hadn't been a single part of him that had considered doing anything other than getting to you.
And now you were asleep against his chest because you trusted him enough to close your eyes.
Dean looked down at you, his hand slowly moving over your back before he could stop himself.
He should have been terrified by how much that meant to him.
Maybe tomorrow, he would be.
Tonight, he only pulled you a little closer and closed his eyes.
For the first time since his phone had rung on that bus, Dean finally felt like he could breathe.
꣑ৎ you, effortlessly sucking him off while you’re typing out your sociology essays across his exposed, sensitive, soaked lap.
꣑ৎ dean treating you with eating you out for a looooong time, when you get an answer correct when he’s using your flash cards.
꣑ৎ dean bending you over the back of the sofa in his penthouse, with the blinds wide open in the mornings.
꣑ৎ dean fingering you while you're all fours, sucking him off in the shower.
꣑ৎ dean eating you out in the bath, both of you guys trying not to get caught by anyone in the frat house... (this is before you guys called it official...)
꣑ৎ you and dean definitely having sex with his bedroom door open, he doesn’t give a fuuuuuck 😵💫
꣑ৎ dean fingering you while he’s driving, because you couldn’t wait any longer.
꣑ৎ dean sultry saying “smile at the camera, baby” while he lightly holds your chin, before your face is smothered with his cum.
꣑ৎ dry humping him while you’re beside the fire pit, sharing a joint together.
꣑ৎ dean becoming insanely submissive when your walking him like a dog… telling him to be harder, softer, rougher or gentle when you’re telling him how to fuck you right.
꣑ৎ dean being insanely obsessive with making you squirt or cream for the time, wether that’s literally at a party or in his messy bed after having sex for the 15th time that week…
꣑ৎ you and dean sleeping in each other’s wet spots because why not, also he’s gonna want to fuck even more the next day.
꣑ৎ dean clearly has a size kink, comparing his dick against your stomach, throat and hands!!!!
꣑ৎ dean is for sure fucking you until his bed breaks, since then he doesn’t bother buying another bed frame…
꣑ৎ dean is definitely into creampie, he’s making sure that you’re full of him.
꣑ৎ and lastly… dean can definitely last for hours. you better pick up with what he’s putting dooooown ma’am!!!! 🫡
best friends don't call each other baby ! garrett graham x childhoodbestfriend!reader
summary.ᐟ when your new roommate observes your 'friendship' with hockey captain garrett graham, she can't help but think your relationship with your childhood best friend is more than platonic
notes.ᐟ 2 year age gap (garrett is a junior and reader is a freshman) occ as garrett didn't go to boarding school (whoops!)
"Jesus, women. Is there anything left in your house or did you pack it all?"
You turn to look at your bestfriend, your eye's shifting down to the brown cardboard box he was lifting up into his arms. The box was nearly busting at the corners, threatening to break at any moment from the sheer weight of its contents.
"G, be careful. That ones really heavy" You gasped, reading the 'books' label you had scrawled onto the side during packing.
Your concern didn't phase him, Garrett not even bothering to look over at your dramatic expression.
"It's fine, baby. I got it" He spoke, rolling his eyes as he shifted the heavy box into one arm before reaching up to close the trunk of his jeep.
You huffed in reply, your eyes drifting down to his arms before you could consciously register it. His biceps strained against the fabric of his t-shirt, looking as if the fabric could rip at any moment at the sheer size of his arms. His tan skin glowed under the sun, the box you had to get your mother to help you lift seeming as if it weighed nothing to him as he held it with only one arm.
The sound of the trunk door closing snapped you back into consciousness, silently cursing at yourself for checking out the boy you had been best friends with since the in 1st grade. Thankfully, Garrett didn't seem to notice your clear ogling.
"Ok, We should only have to do one more round after this" He said, referencing to the fact you only had two more boxes of stuff left to bring up to your dorm.
You nodded in reply, your arms wrapping around your own cardboard box you were holding. One admittedly much smaller and much lighter in comparison to the one Garrett had.
He looked at you for a moment to make sure you were ready before he began leading you to your dorm building.
Garrett was two years older than you, being a junior while you were just a freshman at college. Meaning that he knew his way around Briar while you were still currently clueless on the layout of campus.
The age gap between you never bothered you and Garrett much, until it meant he was going to college while you stayed stuck in your hometown.
Saying it was a shock to your system would be an understatement, going from living a few doors away from Garrett to him moving hours away to Briar U.
But, the distance didn't mean he let you go, even though a small part of you thought the second he went to college he would forget about you.
He called you multiple times a week, staying on the phone with you for hours while you updated each other on your lives until you eventually dosed off on facetime. Thankfully, Garrett also came home to visit during the year. Once whispering to you as he fell asleep in your arms that he only came to see you, and not his father or friends from highschool.
You really didn't plan on going to Briar U.
I mean sure, you would have loved to ended up here because of Garrett, but he isn't the reason you ended up enrolling.
Ok, maybe his presence had a little, tiny influence on your decision to apply in the first place
However, you had received a full ride scholarship to Briar. And you knew you couldn't pass up on it, refusing to burden your Mom with college fees she would refuse to let you get student loans for.
Garrett almost squeezed you to death when you told him about your enrolment, hugging you so tight you could barely breathe.
Although he strongly, strongly encourage your apply to Briar, he would never admit to you how much he wanted you here, knowing this decision was yours to make without his influence.
Garrett had drove back home the night before the day you were moving to Briar to help out. Despite your insistence that it was definitely not necessary, he didn't budge, arriving to your house with his signature grin slapped across his face as he told you how excited he was for you to be with him at Briar.
Both his and your mom's car was packed to the brim with boxes, both of them rolling their eyes at your obvious overpacking.
Garrett wiped the tears that rolled down your face as you said goodbye to your Mom, you insisting that she didn't have to stay to unpack the rest of your things from Garrets car as you knew more time would only make the goodbye worse.
You were now trudging up the stairs to your dorm, your legs embarrassingly sore from having to go up and down them all morning.
"Garrett, you really didn't have to do this" You huffed as you finally reached your level and began walking beside Garrett who had been a few steps infront of you.
"What are you talking about?" He responded dumbfounded, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion.
"Help me move in. You've been lugging boxes upstairs all day, and you start classes tomorrow as well. Go home, please" You sighed, feeling terrible guilt about him helping you all morning and having to drive hours to and from campus.
"First of all, Rude. And that's stupid, of course i'm gonna help you. Now shush" Garrett replied, shutting down your unnecessary worry and pushing the door to your dorm open.
You rolled your eyes at his comment, deep down relieved he truely wanted to help and didn't just feel obligated to. Because, knowing Garrett, he would have just said so.
Your eyes drifted into the expanse of your dorm room, boxes filling your side of the dorm as the other half lay bare. Due to it being the morning, you knew your roommate probably wouldn't arrive till mid-day, about an hour from now.
Garrett closed the door behind you as you drifted in, placing the box you were holding down on your bed. He followed closely behind you in your actions, effortlessly placing the heavy box he had onto your draw.
He swiftly waltz over to you, standing behind you at your position stood at the foot of the bed. Bringing his hands to wrap around you at your waist, he held you close to his body as his head dipped to your shoulders, burying closely into the crook of your neck.
It was the night of your sixteen birthday party that you first noticed you and Garrett acted in a way that was closer than being solely friends.
He stared closely at you as you blew out your candles, his normally stubborn and blank face cracking into a grin and a twinkle in his eyes. He held you close in his arms as you two were hidden away in the corner of the room away from your guests, tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing you tenderly on the crown of your head.
It was only when your friends observed your actions with Garrett that you first noticed this was more than what childhood friends do. You denied their comments to the grave that you were more than friends.
Because you genuinely believed it, oblivious to the fact that you two acted like more of a couple than anything.
"Who brings books to college?" He teased, observing the label that was scrawled onto the cardboard, remembering the other 'textbooks and assigned reading' box he had lugged up earlier, signalling these books were simply for pleasure.
You could feel his breathe littering goosebumps on your skin, his teasing intertwined with soft chuckle that make his words vibrate onto your skin.
Ignoring his smartass comment, you turned around in his arms to look up at him, his dark curls creating what looked like a halo around his head. His hands didn't move from your body of course, only shifting slightly to lay warm around your waist once again, his hands pressing against you as he caged you into him.
He only brought you impossibly closer to his frame as you rested your head into his chest, sighing into his black shirt as he brought his head down to rest atop of yours. Your hands now wrapped around as well, feeling how his back muscles rippled against your palms.
"I'm so fucking glad your here with me now" His voice was almost a whisper, filled with relief. You could feel his lips press against the top of your head as he placed a tender kiss upon your hair.
You lifted your head to look up at him, finding his eyes filled with adoration swimming in the dark brown of his irises.
"Me too, G. Missed you" You replied softly, always quick with your the admittance of your feelings.
His lips up turned into a smile at your comment, bringing a hand up to your face and cupping your cheek, dragging his thumb softly up and down on your skin.
A soft silence fell around you as you rested in each others arms, a sense of relief filling you both at being together again.
"Ok, gonna go get the last boxes. You stay here, yeah?" While the words Garrett said left his mouth like a question, you knew it really wasnt.
You nodded at his words, untangling yourself from his arms and watching him grin at you once more before opening the door and striding out.
The room felt cold without his presence, the white bareness of your sterile dorm becoming more clear to you now.
Softly peeling off the tape off one cardboard box, you lifted your folded sheets up and placed them on the desk. Your fingers softly smoothed the light pink fabric, dainty flowers decorating the sheet.
After a few minutes, more than it should have probably taken you, you had got all of your boxes off your bed, reaching over to grab your matress cover.
The sound of your turn knob turning rang through your ears, the door creaking softly as it was pushed open.
Instead of Garrett returning, a girl stood in the door, holding an overflowing box and a suitcase handle in another. She squealed excitedly as she almost ran into the room, placing the box down on the bed on the other side of the room and dropping the suitcase to the floor.
"You're my roomate!" She said joyfully, pulling you into a tight hug before you could process it.
"I am!" You replied, laughing softly as you hugged her back.
She pulled back, looking at you. "And you're so pretty! We are gonna have the best year"
You smiled at her compliment, happiness flooding through you that you're roomate you were nervous about meeting was so kind.
"It's so nice to meet you" You exclaimed, introducing yourself with your name.
"You too! I'm Phoebe" She replied, grinning from ear to ear.
"I got here a bit earlier so i just put my stuff down on a random side, but we can totally switch if you want" You said, Phoebe replying instantly with a shake of her head "It's ok, i don't mind"
You two began to chat as you floated to either side of your room, eventually making no progress in packing and sitting together on your bed.
You learned that she lived only a couple of hours away from Briar, and her parents were crying so much this morning she sent them on a mindless task to the administration office so she could have a moment of peace.
You laughed at her bluntness, but was interrupted shortly after by the door of your room opening once more.
"Baby, we really gotta talk about your hoarding tendancies-" Garrett started, his voice floating into the room before he cut himself off at noticing your roomate had arrived.
You jumped up at his arrival, watching as he stood awkwardly in the doorframe, the last two boxes in his arms.
"Oh! Phoebe, this is Garrett. Garrett, this is my new roommate, Phoebe." You said, drifting over to stand near Garrett's side as you introduced one another.
"Hello" Garrett said shortly, barely polite as he came back to your side after placing the boxes on your desk.
"Hi" Phoebe replied, waving at him softly with her hand
"He's just helping me move in" You started, breaking the heavy silence "I promise you he will not be in here often" Garrett rolled your eyes at your comment, knowing you didn't want to make your new roommate uncomfortable with the thought of him always lurking in your dorm.
She laughed at your comment, walking over to her suitcase and packing more things into her draws.
"I'm just gonna walk him out, be back in a sec" You said, grabbing Garrett's hand as Phoebe replied with a wave of her hand to signal 'no worries' as she continued unpacking.
The door of your room shut with a click as closed it, turning to Garrett infront of you.
"Isn't she so nice! I'm so relieved." You exclaimed to him.
He nodded at your comment, reaching down to your other hand so he was not holding both infront of him. "See, i told you. Didn't need to be so worried" His voice calm as always.
Whenever you were around Garrett, you noticed he always needed to be touching you in some way. Whether it was simply holding your hand, resting his palm on your lower back, or holding you in his arms.
He watched as your lashes fluttered softly against your cheek as you blinked, your smile so radiant he thought it would probably put literal angels from the heavens above to shame.
Your eyes floated down to his watch, reading the time and sighing to yourself. "Garrett, you're late to practice."
"Nah, can't be late. They don't start without me" He quipped, your eyes rolling at his arrogance.
"Thank you" You said softly, pulling him into a hug that he gladly reciprocated, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame.
"For what baby?" He replied, the less than casual but ordinary nickname rolling off his tounge smoothly
"For helping me. For being there for me, always" You breathed out, refusing to look at him as you spoke.
You felt his his hand come down to your face, bringing his finger under your chin and tilting your head to look up at him.
"Hey, don't do that. Don't thank me for that" He whispered, his voice soft and sincere.
Garrett brought his face down to yours, resting a searing kiss onto your forehead. "Always be there for you"
You smiled softly at his words "You're the best bestfriend a girl could ask for G"
His body tensed under yours so subtly you didn't notice, a soft "Yeah" falling from his lips at your words
"Ok, go to practice now please Mr. Graham" You said, jokingly pushing him away, oblivous to how his face had fallen slightly at your words.
"Call me later, okay? Need to know you're all good" Garrett said, you nodding softly at his comment.
"See you, Baby." He said, walking away as you replied with a small bye, watching as he neared the end of your hallway before taking one look back at you and grinning.
You found yourself sighed at the interaction, bringing your hand up to the doorknob of your room and walking in before shutting the door behind you.
"You know Garrett Graham!?" Phoebe almost shrieked, all composure from before dissipating as her tone made you jump in surprise.
You laughed, slightly shocked "You know Garrett Graham?" You mimiced back, only your tone was one of genuine confusion.
"Uh, Duh. Of course i know Garrett Graham. I don't think there's one person at Briar who doesn't. I think i saw almost 10 posters of him walking in to campus today alone" Phoebe said
You knew how popular Garrett was. It had been like that since Middle school. People parting way for him in a crowd, whispers as he walked past, eyes glued to him for no apparent reason anywhere he went.
It wasn't any different at Briar. Especially since Garrett was the captain of the Division I Hockey Team, and had a grin that could make your knees lock and your heart beat out of your chest.
You noticed the way girls watched him as he walked through the hallway of your dorm building. Conversations that had stopped the second he walked past, but never taking his eyes off of you to notice.
"Oh, right. Yes." You replied, not knowing what to say in the moment. Phoebe's face quickly morphed into one of horror before she replied in a ramble. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry, that was weird to say. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable"
"No, no. It's fine" You replied in earnest, laughing softly to lighten the mood.
"I'm just in shock that my roommate is dating Garrett Graham" She said, genuine in her words as turned back around from standing in front of you.
You nearly spit out your metaphorical drink at her words, your eyes widening. "Oh, um. Garrett's definitely not my boyfriend."
Phoebe quickly turned at your words, her face written with confusion. "Shit, sorry. I shouldn't have assumed" She said honestly, cursing herself for saying another thing that probably offended you.
"No worries, we're just close friends. We've known each other since we were little"
Her eyes glinted curiously at your words, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything more.
You squinted your eyes at her expression "What?" You asked, dumbfounded.
Phoebe looked at you more seriously now, staring at you as if she were looking into your soul. "Sweetheart" She started, a mischievous, knowing look on her face.
꣑ৎ you, effortlessly sucking him off while you’re typing out your sociology essays across his exposed, sensitive, soaked lap.
꣑ৎ dean treating you with eating you out for a looooong time, when you get an answer correct when he’s using your flash cards.
꣑ৎ dean bending you over the back of the sofa in his penthouse, with the blinds wide open in the mornings.
꣑ৎ dean fingering you while you're all fours, sucking him off in the shower.
꣑ৎ dean eating you out in the bath, both of you guys trying not to get caught by anyone in the frat house... (this is before you guys called it official...)
꣑ৎ you and dean definitely having sex with his bedroom door open, he doesn’t give a fuuuuuck 😵💫
꣑ৎ dean fingering you while he’s driving, because you couldn’t wait any longer.
꣑ৎ dean sultry saying “smile at the camera, baby” while he lightly holds your chin, before your face is smothered with his cum.
꣑ৎ dry humping him while you’re beside the fire pit, sharing a joint together.
꣑ৎ dean becoming insanely submissive when your walking him like a dog… telling him to be harder, softer, rougher or gentle when you’re telling him how to fuck you right.
꣑ৎ dean being insanely obsessive with making you squirt or cream for the time, wether that’s literally at a party or in his messy bed after having sex for the 15th time that week…
꣑ৎ you and dean sleeping in each other’s wet spots because why not, also he’s gonna want to fuck even more the next day.
꣑ৎ dean clearly has a size kink, comparing his dick against your stomach, throat and hands!!!!
꣑ৎ dean is for sure fucking you until his bed breaks, since then he doesn’t bother buying another bed frame…
꣑ৎ dean is definitely into creampie, he’s making sure that you’re full of him.
꣑ৎ and lastly… dean can definitely last for hours. you better pick up with what he’s putting dooooown ma’am!!!! 🫡
content.ᐟ 18+, pathetic!dex, unprotected p in v, first time, crying, praise, pet names (baby/babygirl)
dex poindexter, bullseye, who cums within 30 seconds of being inside you.
he can't shake the thought that it feels a bit too good when your hand strokes his flushed cock lightly a few times before he inches himself in, but he couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was already close. what was he supposed to say? "i feel like i might cum from looking at you, can we take a break?" he decided to save himself the embarrassment.
so when your pussy is fluttering around his pretty pink tip, he has to clench his eyes shut and bite his lip, before burying himself to the hilt quickly. he swears he's never felt anything like your velvety heat, so warm, wet, and tight— fuck. his head falls down to your bare chest and he actually pants, cursing under his breath and not daring to move.
the soft moans and breathless whispers of his name that fall from your lips when he's fully buried inside you isn't helping either. the way your nails card through his damp hair and scratch at his scalp makes his balls tighten up, he literally has to pull his head away from your grasp so he doesn't blow his load right there. poor boy feels so bad :(
"dex?" you ask in that soft raspy tone that always manages to give him a painful hard-on. even as he's distancing himself as much as he can from you without actually pulling out, you're reaching for him, small soft hands grasping at his biceps, pulling him back into your chest.
you figure he just needs a bit of encouragement, maybe he's scared of hurting you? "feels s'good baby..." you praise him breathlessly. his dick twitches violently inside your gummy walls at that, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, like he's hiding from your impossibly soft gaze.
"m'sorry babygirl, i just- jus' need a minute..." he speaks lowly, words muffled by your neck. it sounds more whimpery than he meant it to be.
you catch on quickly after that, you then notice his trembling and heavy breathing, you have to hold back a giggle, such a big brooding guy like him all gooey under your touch and words. he has a big need to please you, but it's not his fault your pussy just feels too good!
you let a small smirk grow on your face, "oh, dexie," you coo, rubbing his back. "am i that good?" you huff a small, teasing laugh, kissing the top of his head.
he whines at the sound of your voice, and just how pathetic he feels. "just- don't talk —fuck— i'm sorry-" he shakes his head, it physically hurts him to tell you to be quiet, but if you don't, he knows he'll embarrass himself :(
you feel dex's eyes blinking against your skin, and the tears falling down his cheeks. you bring your hand to grip the hair on the back of his head, pulling him from the crook of your neck. he has big, glossy eyes staring at you with so much embarrassment.
you soften impossibly at that, "dex, baby, s'okay" you coo at him, peppering reverent kisses all over his flushed face, swiping away his tears. he leans into the contact, closing his eyes and letting you kiss all over his face. "i- i don't wanna disappoint you–" he hiccups, glancing down at where the two of you are connected, and instantly regretting it.
before you can reassure him once again, you feel him buck his hips into yours, and a sudden, warm sensation. "oh– fuuuck–" he chokes out a low groan, burying his face into your neck again. he's crying harder, fingers gripping into your shoulders hard enough to bruise as he fucks into you in shallow thrusts, moaning softly.
you lay there in almost shock, still rubbing his back tenderly as he fills you up with his warm release. "did you just–" you stutter out, letting a small, suprised grin grow on your face.
he's not so amused though, shaking like a leaf and sobbing apologies into your skin. "ohgod–" "m'so sorry, baby" "fuck– i'm so stupid" he's beating himself up, making a big deal out of cumming too soon. he collapses on top of you, not wanting there to be any space between the two of you.
"dex." you stop his spiraling firmly, squeezing his bicep and getting him to look up at you. he looks humiliated, pitifully glancing away from your gaze when you begin to speak. "i don't mind, okay?" you make him nod at that, carding your finger through his damp, blonde hair. "lets go again, yeah?"
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