Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: This is the second part and since you waited so patiently i included 3 bonus scenes teehee posting it early for my babies
Special mention to @for-the-love-of-puppies and @luffysprincess who predicted this turnout lol our brains are in sync
Credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 1
Bianca was a blur of movement by the Great Lake.
She darted along the grassy bank, boots thudding softly against the earth as she zig-zagged around rocks and half-buried roots, stopping every few seconds to crouch down and inspect something with intense focus before bolting off again. A stick became a wand, a pebble became treasure, and the reeds at the water’s edge were clearly hiding something very important.
You watched her with a fond smile, arms folded loosely as you leaned back against the cool stone.
“She has too much energy.” You said, though there was no real complaint in your voice—only wonder.
Theo huffed a quiet laugh beside you, eyes never leaving her, “She’s a firecracker.”
Bianca shrieked with laughter as she nearly tripped over her own feet, caught herself at the last second, and then stood very still—carefully regaining her balance before continuing on her way.
Theo tilted his head slightly, watching her, “She takes after you.”
You laughed, startled, “Are you crazy?”
He glanced at you, amused, “What?”
You nodded toward Bianca. “Look at her. She’s observant. Thoughtful. She watches everything. She’s lively, yeah—but she hardly ever leaps without looking first.” You smiled softly, “That’s all you.”
Theo went quiet at that, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
He watched Bianca sprint past a patch of wildflowers, slow just enough to avoid stepping on them, then take off again.
“…Maybe.” He conceded.
A moment later, he added, half-thoughtful, half-teasing, “She’d be a good Chaser.”
You snorted, “Of course you’d say that.”
“Did you see that turn?” He said, nodding toward her as she swerved sharply to avoid the water’s edge, “She'll be a star quidditch player.”
You hummed, considering it. “I don’t know,” You said slowly, “I kind of see her as a Magizoologist.”
Theo glanced at you, “Yeah?”
“She’s gentle,” You said, “Curious. She doesn’t just want to look—she wants to understand.” You smiled as Bianca crouched again, whispering something to a very unimpressed-looking duck, “I think she’d love creatures.”
Theo’s expression softened.
“Whatever she chooses,” He said quietly, “she’ll be brilliant.”
The words lingered between you.
The lake rippled softly. The breeze carried the scent of water and grass. Bianca’s laughter echoed across the shore, bright and unburdened.
And then—slowly, inevitably—the conversation faded.
Neither of you spoke.
Because the truth settled in like a weight neither of you wanted to name.
There were futures you were imagining that you wouldn’t get to see. First matches. First discoveries. First failures. First triumphs.
Theo swallowed.
You hugged your arms closer to yourself, eyes fixed on Bianca as if memorizing the way the sunlight caught in her curls.
For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
And for a moment, that made it hurt so much more.
Bedtime was always a gamble.
There were nights when Bianca conked out long before she was meant to, curled boneless and warm in Theo’s arms, and you and him would exchange a silent look before jointly deciding it wasn’t worth the risk. No pajamas. No teeth brushed. Not if it meant waking her. You’d just lay her down as she was and hope she didn't wake up.
Some nights, she went down like a dream—padding excitedly toward bed because she was looking forward to the story that Theo read to her. When it was your turn, Bianca would read to you instead, you'd study the pictures with exaggerated seriousness, and make enthusiastic oohs and ahhs at all the right moments while Bianca beamed in pride at her reading skills.
And then there were the nights she refused.
It would almost be easier if she weren’t tired—at least then you could burn the energy off. A walk around the castle usually did the trick. More often than not, she’d be asleep in Theo’s arms before you even turned back toward the common room, her cheek pressed into his shoulder, breathing slow and even.
But the worst nights were when she was exhausted and still couldn’t sleep.
Overtired, overstimulated, and furious about it.
The crying cut through you in a way nothing else did—sharp and relentless, scraping along your nerves until you felt hollowed out. Theo held on as long as he could. When it became too much, he’d quietly excuse himself.
"Ten minutes." He promised, "I'll be back."
But when fifteen passed and he still hadn’t returned, you didn’t go looking for him. You knew where he was—the common room, breathing, grounding himself. You let him have those extra minutes.
You held Bianca instead, her small body tense in your arms, her face damp with tears. You hugged her close and rocked back and forth, humming softly at first, then singing—a lullaby from a film you used to love as a child.
Gradually, the sobs quieted.
Her breathing evened out.
And when you were absolutely certain she was gone—truly asleep—you tucked her into bed, smoothing the blankets, lingering just long enough to make sure she didn’t stir.
Only then did you leave.
You closed the door quietly behind you and let out a long breath.
“She’s finally down.” You murmured, collapsing onto the couch beside Theo like your bones had simply decided they were finished.
He looked up from the parchment spread across the coffee table. His hair was mussed, sleeves rolled up, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back up.” He said quietly.
Your head tipped against his shoulder without thinking. “It’s okay, Theo,” You replied softly, “You deserved the break after the fight to get her into pajamas.”
He exhaled—a deep, exhausted sigh—and let his head fall forward for a moment. The common room was dim, fire crackling low, everything wrapped in that hazy, end-of-day quiet where the world felt temporarily paused.
After a beat, Theo straightened slightly, shaking his head like he could physically shake himself awake. “Okay,” He said, gesturing to the parchment with his chin, “Do you want to start writing the Charms essay?”
You nodded, eyes already heavy. “In a second,” You murmured, “Just… give me a second.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
The fire crackled. The room softened. The parchment remained untouched.
And sometime in the night, Theo’s head tipped gently against yours, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed him too—the two of you tangled together on the couch like you belonged there.
Morning crept into the Slytherin common room slowly.
Pale light filtered in through the tall windows, casting faint shapes across the stone floor and catching on the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was quiet in that in-between way—too early for students rushing to class, too late for true solitude.
Sometime during the night, the distance between you and Theo had disappeared entirely.
Your head was tucked beneath his chin now, his arm slung loosely—but securely—around your waist. One of your legs had somehow ended up tangled with his, your body curved into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His cheek rested against the crown of your head, breath warm and steady, fingers curled faintly into the fabric of your sleeve.
You looked… settled.
Theo hadn’t slept that deeply in weeks.
The first voices shattered the quiet.
“Oi—what the hell?”
Blaise stopped short just inside the common room, halfway through a yawn. Mattheo, behind him, followed his line of sight—and froze. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.
“Mama y papà.” He said cheerfully.
Theo stirred at the sound, brows knitting together. You shifted too, burrowing closer on instinct, your face scrunching in your sleep in that exact way Bianca did when she didn’t want to wake up yet.
Theo’s eyes fluttered open.
It took him a moment to piece things together.
The couch. The dying fire. The weight against his chest.
You.
His arm tightened before he could stop himself.
Draco let out a low whistle. “Merlin,” He drawled, “You leave one kid with him for a week and suddenly he’s playing house.”
Theo’s eyes snapped fully open, “Shut up.”
Lorenzo folded his arms, unimpressed but unmistakably entertained, “Are we interrupting something?”
You shifted again, mumbling something soft and unintelligible into Theo’s chest. Your hand slid up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Theo held his breath.
For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling—at the stone arches, at the faint greenish light—fully aware of his friends staring like the two of you were a particularly scandalous exhibit in a zoo.
And still, despite himself, his eyelids felt heavy again.
“Bianca?” He murmured, voice barely there.
“Still fast asleep.” Mattheo supplied easily.
Theo didn’t even fight it.
His eyes slid shut again, arm tightening just a fraction more around you as his head tipped back against the couch.
Out cold.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Oh my God,” Blaise whispered, “He’s actually asleep."
Lorenzo stared, "My old man used to do the same too. Fell asleep through a whole movie once."
The Slytherin common room was almost unnervingly quiet at that hour.
The fire burned low in the hearth, casting slow-moving shadows across the stone walls, green flames reflecting in the tall windows like something alive beneath the lake outside. Most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving only a soft pool of light near the couches where you and Theo sat—books spread open, parchment littered with notes, ink smudges marking the evidence of three solid feet of Transfiguration essays each.
You were officially on a break.
You shivered, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders just as Theo stood, rolling his neck once before moving toward the small table where he’d set up the kettle. You watched him quietly as he brewed tea—precise, unhurried, like the ritual itself grounded him.
When he returned and placed a cup in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that curved your lips.
The teabag was still steeping.
You took a careful sip. It was perfect. Strong, but not bitter. Exactly how you liked it.
A soft chuckle slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Theo glanced up, “What?”
You shook your head, lifting the cup slightly, “Nothing. Just—thank you.”
He nodded once, but his mouth twitched like he knew there was more to it.
Then, almost without thinking, you said, “You know… before meeting her, I didn’t think I’d ever even look twice at you.”
Theo’s quill froze mid-scratch.
Slowly, he turned to face you, one brow lifting. “Wow,” He drawled, “I feel incredibly flattered.”
You winced, “No—wait. That came out wrong.”
He studied you now, the teasing edge fading, curiosity sharpening his expression.
“I just mean,” You continued, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, “before Bianca, I honestly thought we’d graduate and pass by each other without ever really being in each other’s lives.” You hesitated, “But now…”
“Now what?” He asked quietly.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you—the firelight, the late hour, the way his knee brushed yours and neither of you moved away.
“You know exactly how I like my tea,” You said softly, “And I know how you like yours. I’m allergic to smoke, and you stopped smoking before this even became…” Your voice trailed off as you ducked your head, unsure how to name what sat between you, “Whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is,” You finished, almost to yourself, “It’s funny, isn’t it? How sometimes things just… happen. Completely out of order.”
Theo leaned back slightly, watching you like you were something fragile and dangerous all at once.
“She changed things.” He said.
“Yes,” You whispered, “She certainly did.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“I never thought about it before.” He admitted finally, voice low.
“About what?”
“Any of this,” He said, “A family. A future. I didn’t think I was capable of it, to be honest.” His jaw tightened. “Thought I was too screwed up to deserve one.”
Your chest ached.
“And now?” You asked softly.
“Now,” He said, barely above a breath, “I want it more than anything in the world.” His eyes met yours, “Bianca. And you.”
Your heart stuttered painfully.
“I don’t know when it happened,” He went on, “Or how. I just know that somewhere along the way, I stopped yearning for my past—and started anticipating the future instead.”
The fire popped, sharp in the stillness.
You looked at him—really looked. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension he carried like armor. The boy who had let himself love without realizing how deeply it would cut.
“I think,” You said, voice trembling just slightly, “I feel the same way, Theo.” You swallowed, “I want a future with you.”
You reached for him before fear could catch up, your fingers brushing his wrist. He went utterly still at the contact, breath hitching like you’d struck something vital.
You hesitated, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you lifted your gaze to his—and then your hands began to tremble when you saw it. The want in his eyes. Bare. Unguarded.
Theo leaned in slowly, deliberately—giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His forehead rested against yours first, warm and steady, grounding you both.
“Ti amo.” He whispered.
You didn’t need to understand Italian to know what he was saying.
The kiss started softly, tentative—his lips brushing yours like a question he was afraid to ask too loudly. When you responded, just as gently, his breath shuddered, relief and emotion tangling together.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower. Like he was learning you. Like he was afraid that if he rushed, the moment might fracture.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if anchoring himself. You melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, the firelight warming your skin as the world narrowed to this—this quiet, impossible thing that had found you both.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, foreheads still touching.
You really did love him.
Theo had been in a mood.
It settled over him the moment the owl arrived—thick parchment, precise handwriting, the professors’ seal pressed into the wax like a finality. You’d read it together at the kitchen table in the common room, Bianca swinging her legs beneath the chair, humming to herself as she colored, blissfully unaware.
We believe we have found a way to reverse the spell.
Preliminary tests indicate a high probability of success.
We are confident we can return the child to her proper time.
Ever since then, something in Theo had gone quiet.
Not angry. Not cruel. Just… withdrawn. As if he’d folded inward, brick by careful brick, building walls he refused to name. He spoke less. Smiled less. When Bianca reached for him, he held her a little tighter, a little longer—like he was memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against his chest.
You told yourself you understood.
Of course he was going to miss her. You were going to miss her too. Somewhere between shared breakfasts and bedtime stories, scraped knees and tangled curls, Bianca had taken root in your heart. The thought of watching her vanish—of returning to your normal lives and pretending these weeks hadn’t rewritten you—made your throat ache in a way you didn’t know how to soothe.
That night, Bianca went to bed easily.
Too easily.
She pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek, murmured something sleepy in Italian, and curled beneath her blankets without protest. No fuss. No tears. Just acceptance.
It felt like a bad omen.
Theo waited until the door clicked shut behind you before he spoke.
“What if we don’t send her back?”
You turned slowly, the words not quite registering, “What?”
“What if we keep her here,” He said, voice low and urgent, like if he spoke too loudly the idea might shatter, “What if we just—don’t go through with it. We have time with her. Real time. Why should we give that up?”
Your stomach dropped.
“Theo,” You said carefully, “What are you talking about?”
“We’re her parents,” He said, like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious, “And if we send her back, we’re sending her to a life where she doesn’t have a mother. At least this way—” His voice cracked, just slightly, “—at least this way she has both of us.”
“Theo—”
“I know it hasn’t been perfect,” He rushed on, stepping closer, words tumbling over each other, “But we’re learning. We can do this. We already are. You see her—she’s happy here. She’s safe.” His eyes searched yours desperately, “She doesn’t have to lose you.”
Your chest burned.
“I know we could do this,” You whispered, “I know that. But Bianca isn’t our child. Not really. No matter how badly we want her to be.”
His jaw tightened, muscles jumping beneath the skin.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” He said sharply, “To grow up without a mother. To wake up every day knowing there’s a hole in your life you’ll never fill.” His voice dropped, rough and raw, “If she stays here, she doesn’t have to lose you. Whatever it is—whatever happens to you—we can catch it early. We can fix it.”
Your vision blurred.
“If Bianca stays here,” You said, voice breaking, “the you in the future loses his daughter forever. He’s already lost his wife, Theo. Don’t make him lose his baby girl too.”
Something in him snapped.
“Screw him.” He said hoarsely.
He reached for you suddenly, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like he could stop the tears if he tried hard enough. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here,” He whispered, “Right now.”
Your sob escaped before you could stop it, fingers clutching at his sleeves like an anchor.
“Theo,” You breathed, “you know as well as I do… she isn’t meant to be here.”
He sucked in a breath—and this time, he couldn’t hold it back.
The sob tore out of his chest, raw and broken, his grip tightening like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“Don’t make me give you up, (Y/N),” He choked, voice collapsing on your name, “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you too.”
His forehead stayed pressed to yours as his shoulders shook, grief and fear and want spilling out all at once. He wasn’t just pleading for Bianca.
He was pleading for you.
For the life he’d tasted and already couldn’t bear to lose.
And you held him there, crying quietly into his collar, knowing that love—no matter how real—was not enough to change fate.
The second Theo entered the hospital wing, every instinct in his body screamed the same reckless, impossible thing.
Grab you. Grab Bianca. Apparate.
Disappear so completely that no one would ever find you again.
His mother had family in Italy—old blood, old names, people who still believed hospitality was sacred. They would open their doors. They would help you. They would protect you.
How hard could it be, really, to end up on their doorstep with a frightened child and a woman he loved?
Too easy.
Too selfish.
You didn’t even look at him when the thought flickered across his face. You simply squeezed Bianca’s hand and guided her forward, gentle but firm. You knew if you looked back at him, you would be all to convinced to leave together.
Theo swallowed hard, the bitterness rising sharp and ugly in his throat.
All he wanted—all he had ever wanted—was for the three of you to be happy. Together. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for? Why did it feel like the universe kept dangling it just close enough for him to taste before ripping it away?
He knew the truth, even if it tore him apart.
Bianca belonged with his older self.
The man who chose to have her.
The man who could protect her.
The man who could stay.
But she was his daughter too—damn it. Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. And the thought of letting her go felt like carving something vital out of his chest.
You knelt in front of Bianca, pulling her into a tight embrace. You kissed her forehead, whispered words she couldn’t possibly understand, and said as little as you could. Her fingers were small and warm in yours, but they grew slick with sweat as she glanced around at the unfamiliar adults. She tightened her grip, grounding herself the only way she knew how, holding onto you like she could anchor the moment in place.
Theo watched, throat burning.
Then he knelt too.
He’d done it a thousand times—tying her shoes, wiping tears from her cheeks, crouching to her level when he needed her attention—but this time his knees hit the stone floor harder than usual. Pain flared and vanished, eclipsed by something far worse. His hands trembled as they came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her skin slowly, reverently—like he was trying to memorize the exact warmth of her.
“Hey.” He said softly.
His voice cracked immediately.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and tried again, “Bambina.” (Little one)
Her eyes lifted to his.
Just like yours—wide, glassy, endlessly deep. Like looking into a pool of pearlescent ink that reflected too much truth.
“Ti vedrò presto, amore.” He said gently, brushing a curl back from her face. (I’ll see you soon, love.)
“Le cose saranno un po’ diverse…” His breath hitched, “Ma devi avere pazienza, va bene? Andrà tutto bene.” (Things will be a little different… but you need to be patient, okay? Everything will be fine.)
Bianca studied him with grave seriousness, like she was weighing his words carefully.
Then—suddenly—her face lit up.
“Oh!” She said brightly, “Come quella volta.” (Oh! Like that time.)
Theo blinked, “Come quando?” (Like when?)
“Come quando sei andato via con la mamma.” She explained easily. (Like when you went away with Mama.)
His chest tightened, “Quando?” (When?)
“Quando siete andati in ospedale.” She continued, rocking on her feet. (When you went to the hospital.)
"E poi sei tornato a casa felice." (And then you came home with happiness.)
Theo’s breath caught violently.
The room tilted.
"Felice?" He asked quietly, feeling like hell. (Happy?)
The word felt wrong in his mouth.
A cold, sickening thought slithered into his mind.
Was he happy when you passed?
His chest tightened, panic blooming sharp and fast, bile rising in his throat. His hands trembled where they rested, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Then—
Bianca tilted her head, frowning slightly—confused by his confusion.
“Quando sei tornato con il mio fratellino, Felice.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. (When you came back with my little brother, Felice.)
The world went very, very still.
Blood rushed through Theo’s head so fast he swayed, knees locking as though a feather could knock him over.
“Tuo… fratello?” He repeated hoarsely. (Your… brother?)
She nodded, curls bouncing. “Sì.” (Yes.)
“È piccolo,” She added solemnly, “Piange tanto.” (He’s little. He cries a lot.)
The hospital.
You being sick.
Too sick to carry her.
Too sick to eat breakfast.
The reason Bianca hadn’t seemed sad.
The reason she’d been so independent.
Not because you were going to die.
But because you were making room for someone new.
Felice.
Happiness.
Everything slid into place with sickening, breathtaking clarity.
“Oh." Theo breathed.
Bianca reached up, cupping his cheek with her small, warm hand.
“Non piangere, papà,” She whispered. (Don’t cry, Papa.)
He hadn’t even realized he was crying until that moment.
Salazar—this was mortifying. Breaking down like this. In front of professors. In front of you. In front of a three-year-old.
And yet—he couldn’t stop.
Tears spilled freely now, hot and unrestrained.
Because now he knew.
He would be happy.
He would love you.
And you would love him back.
You would build a life together. Two children. Maybe more. A family so warm and whole that Bianca would speak of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His children would never have to imagine a future without their mother.
He would never have to watch them grow up with that hollow ache he’d carried his entire life.
He would never have to watch you get sick, watch you leave this world, leaving him alone to raise your daughter, the last remaining memory of you.
Theo pulled Bianca into his chest, holding her like he could imprint the feeling into his bones—her weight, her warmth, the steady beat of her heart.
“Ti amo.” He choked, “Ti amo tantissimo.” (I love you so, so much.)
Her arms wrapped around his neck—fierce and small.
You stared at the pair of them, heart aching, mind reeling. You felt for Theo—deeply—but shock quickly overtook sympathy.
Because between the two of them, you had absolutely not expected him to be the one crying.
“…Wait,” You said slowly. “What’s going on?”
Bianca turned her head as best she could while still buried against Theo’s chest.
“Papa says he loves me, mamma,” She announced cheerfully, “You’re too slow these days.”
Both of you froze.
“…You speak English?” You and Theo said in unison.
bonus:
The room was finally quiet.
Bianca was gone—sent back to a future that suddenly felt more real than the present—and Theo’s bedroom felt too large without her small presence filling it. The curtains were half-drawn, moonlight spilling across the sheets in pale silver bands. You lay on your side facing Theo, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arm resting loosely around your waist.
Theo was on the cusp of sleep, just as he had been for the past hour, but your incessant thinking refused to let him go.
“But if Bianca hadn’t come back,” You murmured, staring up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, “we would’ve just… gone on with our lives.”
He hummed softly, half-asleep but listening, his thumb tracing absentminded shapes into your side.
“And we wouldn’t have fallen in love,” You continued, the words tumbling out faster now, like if you didn’t say them you’d drown in them, “And if we didn’t fall in love, she wouldn’t exist. Which means she wouldn’t be able to come back and make us fall in love in the first place.”
You turned your face into his chest, your voice muffled, “So at the center of the loop—at the very beginning—there had to be a version of us that fell in love and had Bianca without any intervention at all.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not empty.
Then Theo sighed, fond and exhausted and deeply amused in that way that meant he loved you too much to be irritated.
“(Y/N), my love… amore mio,” He said gently. He had taken to repeating everything in Italian after English so it would help you learn faster. You felt his chest rise as he spoke again, slower and deliberate.
“My future bride… la mia futura sposa. It is four in the morning.”
You groaned softly. “I know,” You sighed, “I just… I miss her.”
His arm tightened around you, grounding and warm, “Me too.”
For a moment, that was all there was—breathing, moonlight, and the quiet certainty that somewhere, somehow, the two of you were happy and whole.
Then Theo shifted.
You felt it before you saw it: the subtle slide of his hand, warm fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt like he thought you wouldn’t notice.
“Say the word, dolcezza,” He murmured, his voice dipping into something unmistakably dangerous, “and I’ll bring her back to us.”
You slapped his hand away without even looking.
“It is four in the morning.” You said flatly.
He chuckled, low and unapologetic, eyes still closed like this was all part of his master plan, “Italiano, per favore.”
You hesitated, “Um… sono...sono le… una, due, tre, quattro… quattro del mattino?” (Um...it's....one, two three, four....four in the morning?)
“Perfetta,” He said smugly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Your accent is getting better.”
bonus bonus teehee:
The front door closed with a quiet, final click behind you.
For a moment, you just stood there.
The house felt different somehow—too still, like it had been holding its breath. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The sofa. The stairs. The framed photos waiting to be filled with memories that hadn’t happened yet.
Home.
You looked down at the bundle in your arms, your baby boy wrapped in impossibly soft blankets, his face pink and sleepy and perfect. Tears blurred your vision before you even realized they were coming.
Theo stepped in behind you, arms full—hospital bags slung over his shoulders, a car seat awkwardly balanced against his hip. He froze when he saw your face.
“Hey.” He murmured gently.
You turned, blinking hard, then leaned into him anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—slow, grounding, full of everything you didn’t have words for. Then you kissed Felice’s tiny forehead, breathing him in like you’d been afraid he might disappear.
“Bentornato a casa, piccolo,” You whispered, voice shaking, “This is where you’re going to grow up.” (Welcome home, baby boy)
Theo swallowed, eyes shining. He reached out, brushing one finger over Felice’s cheek like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.
And then—
“MAMMA!”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Bianca came flying into the hallway, curls bouncing wildly, socks half-slipping off her feet. Mattheo, her godfather, was right behind her, laughing and reaching out uselessly like he could actually stop her.
“Bianca—piano, piano!” He called, “Slow down—!”
Theo reacted instantly.
He dropped the bags without a second thought and scooped Bianca up mid-run, lifting her clean off the ground just before she could crash straight into you. She shrieked with laughter as he spun her once, relief spilling out of him in a dozen breathless kisses pressed to her cheeks, her temple, her nose.
You watched them with a soft, aching smile.
Your heart lurched at the sight of your baby girl in his arms—hair wild, eyes bright, whole and glowing with excitement. You had missed her more than you’d allowed yourself to admit during the last few days. Every quiet moment in the hospital had carried the echo of her laughter, the absence of her small weight climbing into your lap.
You had been waiting eagerly to acquaint your children.
Theo had insisted it was better this way. Better for your recovery, better that you didn’t have to juggle between children so soon. He’d been gentle but unmovable about it, the same way he’d been your entire pregnancy—this one and Bianca’s.
At the first sign of discomfort, he’d been apparating you straight to the hospital wing or summoning your healer for a home visit without hesitation. You’d teased him once that your obstetrician must be thoroughly sick of him by now.
But judging by the way Theo paid—promptly, generously, without ever blinking—and by the fine silk scarf and expensive purse he’d gifted the healer who brought both of his children into the world, you suspected annoyance was the last thing they felt.
If anything, they were probably fond of him.
“Hey—hey—hey,” He murmured into her hair, “Careful, amore mio. Papà’s got you.”
Theo finally stopped spinning, still holding Bianca securely against his chest. He pressed one last kiss into her curls and rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes closed like he was grounding himself.
And you realized, with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness—
And despite the 36 hours of grueling labor, you realized that, for this man, you would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Theo shifted Bianca onto one hip, still holding her tight as if she might vanish if he let go. Her laughter softened into a happy hum as she curled into him, arms looped around his neck.
Then her eyes finally landed on you.
On the bundle in your arms.
“Mamma?” She whispered, voice suddenly small.
You felt your throat close instantly.
“Vieni qui, amore,” You murmured, smiling through the sting behind your eyes, “Piano, va bene?” (Come here, love. Easy, okay?)
Theo crouched, keeping Bianca safely lifted as he guided her closer, one protective hand braced at her back. Mattheo lingered a few steps behind, unusually quiet, waiting for the family to have their moment.
Bianca leaned forward, peering into the soft folds of the blanket.
The baby stirred, tiny fingers flexing, lips puckering in a half-sleepy frown.
Her gasp was barely a sound.
“È… piccolo,” She breathed, "He's smaller than me."
Theo huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glassy.
You tilted Felice just enough so she could see his face properly. His eyes fluttered open for a brief second—dark, unfocused, brand new.
Bianca’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, then froze mid-air.
“Posso?” She asked, glancing up at you for permission. (Can I?)
“Yes,” You whispered, “Gently.”
Felice shifted again, a soft sound leaving him, and Bianca’s eyes went impossibly wide.
"He spoke to me." She gasped.
Theo pressed his lips together hard, eyes shining as he bent to kiss the side of Bianca’s head, then yours. His free hand came up to cradle you, thumb stroking slow, careful circles like he was afraid the moment might shatter.
“This,” he said quietly, voice thick, “is Felice, your little brother.”
Bianca straightened immediately.
“Felice,” She repeated, testing the name. Then she smiled, bright and sure, “Ciao, Felice. Io sono Bianca.”
The baby slept on, oblivious.
Mattheo cleared his throat, rubbing at his eyes like something had gotten in them, "Merlin, enough to make a grown man cry."
And standing there in the doorway of your home, with laughter in the air and your children between you, you knew—
This was it.
This was the life Bianca had promised.
Happy.
bonus bonus BONUS scene for my patient babies:
The one thing about living in Italy was that you missed the company.
Not the weather, not the food—certainly not the wine—but them. The loud, sharp-edged comfort of people who knew you before the life you’d built now. The friends who felt less like friends and more like family, forged in dungeons and late nights and shared survival.
The friends you’d left behind at Hogwarts.
You thanked every higher power you could think of that Mattheo had moved here a few years after Bianca was born. It softened the ache. Made the distance feel survivable.
And now—now that it was Bianca’s sixth birthday, the first child in the entire group to hit that milestone—the rest of them had descended to Italy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Thank goodness Slytherins were rich.
Draco and Blaise were already deep in conversation near the terrace doors, voices low and animated, catching up like no time had passed at all. Lorenzo and Mattheo, meanwhile, had somehow been tricked—lured, really—into assembling Bianca’s princess castle in the middle of the sitting room.
That would teach them to bring gifts that required instructions.
Bianca hovered nearby like a general overseeing her troops, crown slightly askew, offering entirely unhelpful instructions. Felice, on the other hand, had claimed the discarded wrapping paper as his own, even though his uncles had been kind enough to bring presents for him as well.
Instead, he toddled around the sitting room, triumphantly dragging the empty box the princess castle had come in behind him, until Theo scooped him up at the last second—saving him from the scattered screws as Mattheo struggled to put the thing together.
Theo hovered near you like a shadow, as he always did these days. One hand rested habitually—possessively—against the small of your back, grounding, warm. The other balanced Felice on his hip, your son’s face still slightly sticky with cake frosting as he played absently with the little tie you’d put him in today.
Then the front doors flew open.
“MISS ME, YOU MISERABLE BASTARDS?”
Pansy Parkinson’s voice sliced clean through the manor.
Theo barely had time to turn before she was already there—flinging her coat into Draco’s arms without looking, heels clicking furiously across the marble floor. Her eyes found you instantly.
Her face lit up.
“Oh my God—” She started, already smiling—
Then she stopped.
Her gaze dropped.
Paused.
Lifted.
Dropped again.
You barely had time to blink before—
SMACK.
Theo yelped, jerking back, hand flying to his arm, “What the hell—?!”
Pansy rounded on him like a woman possessed, “Can you PLEASE stop climbing on top of this poor woman?”
You laughed helplessly, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.
Theo stared at her, scandalized, “Excuse you—”
“Salazar’s balls,” Pansy cut in, eyes wild, “How many children are you planning on having? Fancy your own Quidditch team, do you?!”
“How many children we decide to have is none of you—”
“And she is not an oven to keep popping out your buns,” Pansy said sweetly, patting his shoulder like she was doing him a favor, “Control yourself.”
Theo spluttered, “It’s not like I could carry them myself, now could I?!”
“You’re a wizard,” She snapped back, “I think you could figure it out!”
You tried—tried—to regain control, “Pansy—”
She turned on a dime, expression melting instantly as she crossed the space between you and pulled you into a careful hug.
“Oh, come here,” She murmured, “Look at you. Absolutely glowing.”
You laughed against her shoulder.
“I get it,” She added thoughtfully, pulling back to look at you again, “If I were Theo, I’d be filling you up with kids too.”
Theo opened his mouth.
SMACK.
“Do not.” Pansy warned.
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: this is NOT a pregnancy fic you guys i promise also i didn't want to split this into two parts but tumblr deemed it too long so um two parts ig
credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 2
Theodore Nott had read enough books to know that the day his entire life changed was supposed to feel different.
The air would be heavier. The world sharper. Something—anything—would be off. A subtle wrongness, a warning. Foreshadowing of the wrench about to be thrown into his carefully ordered life.
He had felt it once before, when his mother died and left a hollow space behind that never quite filled.
But that was the thing.
Nothing felt wrong about today.
Had everything gone as it usually did, it would have been completely mundane—monotonous, even. Theodore woke up, ate breakfast, slipped outside for a smoke. Double Potions. Another smoke. Transfiguration. Lunch. Arithmancy.
And now he was stuck in Charms.
Professor Flitwick had been lecturing about advanced spell interactions—something about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intent—when the first spell fizzled.
Then another.
Then three more went wildly off course, sparks ricocheting off desks and dissolving into the air like fireflies gone wrong.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“Focus,” Flitwick snapped, wand raised, “Clearly someone here has—”
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Cracked—like reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and then—
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. Dark curls fell into her face, dressed in pajamas, and her small hands were clenched into fists as she looked around, eyes wide and terrified.
For exactly two seconds, she was quiet.
Then her lip trembled.
“—Papà?”
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobs—the kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
“Voglio il mio papà!” She cried, scrambling to her feet, “Voglio andare a casa!” (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
“…Did she just Apparate?” Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, “She’s a child.”
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, “Hey, it’s okay—”
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No! No, no, no!” She sobbed, shaking her head violently, “Non ti conosco! Voglio il mio papà! Voglio papà!” (I don't know you! I want my daddy! I want daddy!)
She spun in a slow, desperate circle, looking at all of them with pure, unfiltered fear.
“Papà! Dove sei?!” (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasn’t heartless—of course he wasn’t. There was something about the way she wailed, the sheer terror in her voice, that made his chest tighten painfully. And yet, he stayed where he was.
Blaise nudged his arm, “Oi, Nott. You speak Italian, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Everyone already knew—thanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses he’d hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
“Great,” Blaise said immediately, “Do something.”
Theo’s eyes flicked back to the girl.
She had dropped to her knees now, small hands pressed to her face as she cried, her breathing beginning to hitch dangerously. A Hufflepuff girl hovered nearby, concern written all over her face, but every step closer only made the child cry harder.
“Voglio il mio papà… per favore…” She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy… please…)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theo’s chest.
“I’m not exactly a baby person.” He muttered.
“Nott,” the Ravenclaw girl hissed, “She’s a toddler. She’s about to have a panic attack, and she can’t understand a word we’re saying.”
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
“Papà…” She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
“Cazzo.” (fuck)
He pushed his chair back and stood.
The entire classroom fell silent as he took a step toward her.
Theo approached slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture despite himself.
“Ehi,” He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, “Va tutto bene. Respira, sì? Piano, piano.” (It’s okay. Breathe, yeah? Slowly, slowly.)
The girl barely registered him.
She was still crying hard, hiccupping sobs shaking her tiny frame as she shook her head over and over, “No, no, no… voglio papà… voglio papà adesso…” (No, no, no… I want daddy… I want daddy now)
“Io so,” Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, “Ma sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farà male. Guarda me, piccola.” (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightly—then stopped, unsure.
“Come ti chiami?” He asked softly. (What's your name?)
She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, eyes squeezed shut as if refusing to look at the world around her. “Voglio papà,” She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, “Ho paura…” (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
“Papà non è lontano,” He said, choosing his words carefully, “Va bene? Respira con me.” (Dad’s not far away, Okay? Breathe with me.)
That was when she opened her eyes.
Really looked at him.
Her crying hitched mid-sob.
For half a second, her face went utterly still—eyes widening, breath catching like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—
“Papà!”
She surged forward.
Theo barely had time to react before a small body collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with desperate force. She buried her face into his robes, clutching him like he might disappear if she let go.
“Papà, papà, papà,” She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, “Ti ho trovato… non andare via… per favore…” (I found you… don't go away… please…)
Theo froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do as the child clung to him, shaking with leftover fear. Her tears soaked straight through his uniform as she pressed closer, like she was trying to crawl into him.
The room was dead silent.
Theo’s eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girl’s mouth hung open. Blaise had gone eerily still, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly in his hairline.
Theo slowly mouthed, Get this child off me.
No one moved.
The girl sniffed loudly and tightened her grip, small hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. “Papà.” She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at her—at the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be there—and felt his brain short-circuit.
“I—” He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, “Io… eh…”
She tilted her head just enough for him to feel the movement, her grip loosening slightly as the tension finally drained from her small body. Her breathing stuttered once more, then evened out, warm against his chest.
Theo looked down just in time to see her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Twice.
And then she was gone.
Fast asleep.
Her forehead rested against his collarbone, tiny fingers still curled tightly in his robes like she was afraid to let go even in sleep. A quiet, shaky sigh left her, the last echo of fear finally spent.
Theo swallowed hard.
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, but it did nothing to calm the chaos of the little girl in Theo Nott’s arms. Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape hovered nearby, wands and parchment at the ready, while a few house-elves scurried nervously at the edges of the room.
Theo wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—one hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legs—and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
“She appears… well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, “I’m not even sure what spells were cast. Perhaps someone transfigured an object into a child… though it seems highly unlikely. I did a head count, but maybe a student from another class managed to get de-aged? It will take me some time to get to the bottom of this.”
“During which,” McGonagall added crisply, “We need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.”
All eyes turned to Theo, still awkwardly seated on the bed. The green tie in her grubby hands was clutched tightly, her shirt streaked with snot from her tears. He stared at the ceiling, silently praying to whatever deity listened that this problem would disappear.
“All right,” Flitwick muttered, “We need… more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markers…”
He waved his wand carefully over a tiny strand of her hair, muttering under his breath. The result came up empty. Flitwick let out a frustrated sigh, before his gaze fell on the way her small body curled naturally against Theo. Her fear of strangers was… painfully clear.
He waved his wand again, more deliberately this time.
“It would seem, Mr. Nott,” He began cautiously, “that you are biologically related to her.”
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
“Excuse me?” He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, “I—I understand this is… unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.”
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, “Mr. Nott, we must consider all possibilities. Clearly, she has appeared here through some magical anomaly."
Snape, leaning against the wall with an unimpressed frown, muttered, “Magical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.”
Flitwick cleared his throat, “We may need to consider the… temporal aspect. Combined with the accelerated spellwork and residual transfiguration energy from earlier… it is conceivable that she has been displaced here from another point in time.”
Theo blinked, “…You’re saying… she’s from the future?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, “And until we can stabilize whatever magical interference brought her here, we will need to come up with a plan to care for her."
Theo exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between frustration and disbelief, "Alright then, take her."
Flitwick hesitated, frowning. The professors exchanged glances.
Theo’s heart thumped in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. The child pressed closer, nuzzling her face into his chest, hiccupping softly.
"Perhaps, it would be best for the child to stay with her fa—"
“I’m not her father,” He said firmly, “…And she is not my responsibility.”
“If you truly refuse,” McGonagall said quietly, “then the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.”
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, “Very well.”
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, “Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled—”
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest she’d been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theo’s arms, eyes flying open as she registered that the hands lifting her did not belong to him. Her face crumpled, breath hitching once before she broke into loud, panicked sobs.
“No—no, no!” She cried, voice high and shaking, “Papà! Papà, portami!” (Dad! Dad, carry me!)
She twisted against him, burying her face into his chest as if trying to disappear. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck with desperate strength, her small body trembling violently.
“Papà, per favore,” She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, “Ho paura… non voglio… non voglio…” (Daddy, please. I'm scared… I don't want… I don't want…)
Theo’s jaw tightened. He stared straight ahead, pulse pounding, every instinct screaming at him to hand her over and walk away. But her grip only tightened, her cries growing sharp and breathless.
She was shaking.
“Alright,” Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, “Stop—just—don’t—”
Everyone froze.
Theo swallowed and glanced down at her. Her face was blotchy and red, lashes clumped with tears, chest hitching unevenly as she struggled to breathe. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, like she was bracing for him to vanish.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
“…Va bene,” He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, “Va bene. Basta piangere.” (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stuttered—not stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder once—too stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
“Shh.” He said quietly, glancing around like he’d been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadn’t been oiled in years.
She sniffed hard, still clutching him, but the panic ebbed enough for her breathing to even out. Her head tucked beneath his chin, warm and damp against his collar.
McGonagall studied the child for a long moment, then Theo. Her expression softened—just a fraction.
“It seems,” She said evenly, “that she has made her preference quite clear.”
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, “Yes… yes, I’m afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.”
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, “…Unbelievable.”
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
“…Fine,” He said quietly, “Okay. She can—she can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.”
The walk back to the Slytherin dorms was… an experience.
Theo kept his pace measured, one arm secured firmly around the sleeping weight against his chest. She’d fallen back asleep somewhere between the hospital wing and the dungeon corridor, her curls tickling his jaw every time she shifted, breath warm against his collarbone.
He ignored the stares.
The whispers.
The way a passing Hufflepuff nearly walked into a wall trying to figure out why Theodore Nott was carrying a child through the corridors like this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
The Slytherin common room fell silent the moment he stepped inside.
Lorenzo blinked once. Then twice.
“…Is this some sort of social experiment?”
Mattheo’s grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, “Papa's home.”
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Say another word,” he warned quietly, “and I’ll hex you.”
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. “Congratulations,” He said lightly, “When were you planning on telling us you’d been leading a double life?”
Theo didn’t dignify that with a response. He adjusted his grip slightly when the girl shifted, instinctively tightening his hold, and turned toward the stairs.
Behind him came a chorus of barely-suppressed laughter and stage-whispered “Night, daddy!” that followed him all the way up.
He noticed the change in his dorm the second he stepped inside.
Not because it was loud.
But because it was wrong.
Sitting neatly on his bed were things that had absolutely not been there that morning.
Tiny clothes, folded with precise magical care. Soft socks. A small blanket charmed with a low, steady warmth. Even a stuffed creature—some sort of dragon, judging by the horns—rested near the pillow, its stitched eyes cheerfully oblivious.
Theo just stood there.
Staring.
This was real. This was happening.
He looked down at the small, sleeping child in his arms, her face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks. A living, breathing human being. And somehow—somehow—he was now responsible for her.
His stomach twisted.
This hardly seemed responsible.
Did the staff really just let him walk out with an entire child and no follow-up instructions? No pamphlet? No checklist? How was he meant to keep one of these things alive? What if she woke up hungry? Or scared? Or—Merlin forbid—started crying? Again.
Theo swallowed hard, dread creeping in like a cold chill down his spine.
He crossed the room slowly and carefully, as if any wrong step might shatter the fragile reality holding this together, and lowered her onto the bed. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake, curling instinctively toward the lingering warmth of his body.
He hesitated.
Then, with movements stiff and unsure, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in the way he vaguely remembered adults doing when he was small—firm but gentle, like it mattered.
He stepped back.
She looked… peaceful.
Completely unaware that she had just detonated his entire existence.
Theo dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the door.
He needed a cigarette. Immediately.
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, a small sound stopped him.
“Papà…”
It was barely audible—a sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
“…Papà.” She murmured again, softer this time, like she was reaching for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Merda.” He muttered.
If he left and she woke up—
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
“…Unbelievable.” He whispered.
Theo pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. He flinched every time she so much as twitched, every uneven breath sending his pulse spiking.
Just for tonight.
That’s what he told himself as exhaustion settled heavy in his bones.
Just until she woke up.
Theo woke to pins and needles.
A sharp, unpleasant numbness shot up his legs, like they’d ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shifted—immediately regretted it.
There was weight on him.
Warm. Solid.
Theo froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
She was asleep in his lap.
At some point during the night—at some point he did not remember authorizing—the little girl had migrated from the bed, curled herself into the space between his arms and legs, and settled there like she belonged. Her head rested against his bicep, curls splayed messily over his chest, one small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Theo stared.
His mind helpfully offered no explanation.
He vaguely recalled her stirring sometime in the early hours. A soft whimper. A half-formed Papà breathed into the dark. He must have reached out—must have pulled her close without fully waking, murmuring something useless and soothing under his breath.
Apparently, his subconscious had decided this was his life now.
He didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really—his legs were numb to the point of concern, and any shift risked waking her. Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fluttering faintly as she slept, utterly unbothered by the fact that she was using him as a mattress.
Theo let his head fall back against the chair with a silent groan.
“This is a disaster.” He whispered.
She stirred at the sound, nose scrunching slightly, fingers tightening in his sleeve as if anchoring herself. Theo went completely still, heart hammering like he’d been caught committing a crime.
He tensed, eyes snapping down just as she stirred properly, lifting her head and blinking blearily up at him.
For a long second, they just looked at each other.
Then her face brightened.
“Buongiorno,” She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, “…Papà.” (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoever—or whatever—had sent her back in time had at least had the decency to send an older child.
Because Merlin help him, she was competent.
She managed socks on her own. Shoes, too—wrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didn’t even have to supervise. He just stood there, half-awake, watching in stunned silence.
The only time he stepped in was when the shirt became her enemy.
She wrestled with it valiantly, tugging it halfway over her head before getting stuck, arms flailing wildly as she wobbled on the mattress like a headless chicken. For one terrifying second, Theo was certain she was going to pitch forward and crack her skull open on the floor.
Just as he reached her, hands already out, she stamped one socked foot and protested indignantly.
“Papà! Sono una bambina grande—faccio da sola!” (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waited—hands hovering uselessly in the air—until she finally relented with an irritated sigh and allowed him to tug the shirt the rest of the way down. She immediately smoothed it herself afterward, chin lifted proudly.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long day.
By the time they stumbled downstairs, the Slytherin dorm was already awake and in motion. Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were halfway through getting ready, bags slung over shoulders as they headed out for breakfast.
Theo was still in his pajamas.
He didn’t care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further notice—something he had accepted with a detached nod, too tired to even question how serious this apparently was.
He was already mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Quiet. Private. No gawking students. No questions.
He turned toward the common room—
And she bolted.
“—Oi, wait—!”
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theo’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Slow down!” He snapped, already moving after her, “You’re going to—”
She did not fall.
Instead, she hit the common room floor at a full sprint and beelined straight for Mattheo, slamming into his pant leg with the force and commitment of a homing missile.
Mattheo yelped, stumbling half a step, “What the—”
“Zio Mattheo!” She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like she’d just found a long-lost treasure.
The room went dead silent.
Draco stared.
Lorenzo choked.
Blaise pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking.
Mattheo looked down slowly. Very slowly.
“…Little girl,” He said carefully, “how do you know my name?”
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
“She can’t speak any English, you idiot.”
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, “I see recognition in those beady eyes—”
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
“Buongiorno!” She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, “Portami! Portami, zio Mattheo!”
Mattheo blinked. Once.
Then he looked up at Theo, eyebrow raised.
Theo sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the tips of his ears burning.
“She’s asking her uncle to carry her.”
Mattheo’s grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothing—slung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
“Oi—if you drop her, I swear to Merlin—!”
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, “Relax. I’ve got her.”
Blaise smirked, “Wow. Someone’s being all fatherly for a bloke who isn’t a baby person.”
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, “Yeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
“…I hate all of you,” Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheo’s arms, peering over his shoulder. “Papà!” she called brightly. “Voglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!” (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
“Non puoi chie—” (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t reaching for him.
She wasn’t clinging to his sleeve like the world might end if he stepped two feet away.
She was perfectly content. Happy, even. Nestled comfortably in someone else’s arms.
Theo’s brain stalled.
Then—click.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someone’s emotional anchor.
The synapses in his brain fired one by one like fireworks. Sweet, blessed relief bloomed so fast he was pretty sure he could feel tears—possibly drool—gathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
“You,” He said calmly, decisively, “are on babysitting duty.”
“What?” Mattheo barked, “Oi—wait—!”
Theo was already turning away.
“Feed her,” He called over his shoulder, “Don’t drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
“HEY!” Mattheo shouted after him, “That’s not how this works!”
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, “Ciao, papà!”
Mattheo looked down at her.
Then back at the hallway Theo had vanished down.
"Well, I hope you enjoy being an orphan. Take it from me it's better than having a shit dad." He said absently, carrying her toward the door.
Theo didn’t even remember reaching the usual alcove.
He only knew his hands were shaking by the time he lit the cigarette, breath dragging deep and slow as the smoke filled his lungs. The burn grounded him. Anchored him. For five blessed minutes, he was just Theo again—no professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papà.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for this.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasn’t even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and had—presumably—actively chosen to have this suctioning little tentacle of a child.
He exhaled, staring at the stone wall.
And yet.
She adored him. Wanted him. Chose him over everyone else without hesitation. Which meant—somewhere in the future—he must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future… I’m a good father.
The thought unsettled him more than the panic ever had.
He had never imagined children in his life. Never thought himself capable of it—not after losing his mother so young. How would future him handle this? How would he guide her, discipline her, protect her from the quiet, unrelenting cruelties of the world?
How would he keep her safe?
Theo exhaled again, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish.
Merlin, he needed that.
When he finally returned to the common room, the laughter hit him first.
She was being levitated up and down—up and down—by Mattheo, shrieking with unrestrained delight. Chocolate smeared her cheeks, and it was painfully obvious Mattheo had absolutely no sense when it came to not jostling a child who had just eaten her body weight in breakfast.
Theo stepped closer.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Papà!”
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesn’t screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theo’s arms.
And immediately—
“—achoo!”
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
“Ach—ah—choo!”
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, “Papà…?”
Theo’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? She’d been fine an hour ago—
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from her red nose to Theo’s ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
“…Go shower,” He said calmly, “I’ll skip first class.”
Theo blinked, “I—I didn’t know—”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in easily, “It’s all good. Go.”
Theo swallowed.
“…Right.” He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Papà?” She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, “Tornerò subito. Promesso.” (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returned—hair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ash—the little girl didn’t sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheo’s arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like she’d been waiting.
Theo caught her automatically.
She settled against him, warm and content.
And for the first time, the weight that settled in his chest had nothing to do with panic.
It felt a lot like guilt.
And something dangerously close to resolve.
Theo was collapsed across his bed, utterly defeated. The day had been… long. He hadn’t even gone to class, but that was before the small human currently treating him like a jungle gym had decided it was time for her daily inspection.
He didn’t even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let her—somehow, it was easier than trying to resist. Five minutes of relative respite came only when she discovered something else interesting: the top of his dresser, the ceiling, the corner of the bedpost.
Every so often, one of her “uncles” captured her attention—Blaise, Draco, and Enzo—each appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theo’s surprise. Somehow she recognized them, somehow she liked them, and somehow they had managed to reconcile the fact that she adored Mattheo more than all of them combined faster than Theo had reconciled her existence at all. He watched them all patiently endure, his mind boggling at how quickly they’d adjusted.
Currently, she had his hair in a death grip, determined to tug out every last strand with her clammy little hands. Theo winced as she yanked again, a protest lodged somewhere deep in his chest. She scrambled backward across his chest—kicking him squarely in the face in the process—then crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
“Oi. Cosa fai?” He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
“Voglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.” She declared, fumbling through the drawer. (I want a hair tie! Mom always keeps some here.)
Theo froze.
Mom? She has a mom?
The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water. All this time, he had assumed—stupidly—that she had appeared out of thin air, some magical anomaly he had to manage. Now the idea that she had a mother… a real, actual human mother… knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt absurdly unprepared.
She pulled something plastic-sounding from the drawer and held it up.
“Papà… cos’è questo?” (Papa... what is this?)
Theo’s heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughter’s hand.
“Oi! Restituiscilo!” He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
“Get that out of her hand!” He yelled again, spinning to intercept her, but it was too late. She dashed past Blaise, who was already doubled over laughing, and then past Draco, who had his hands pressed over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Lorenzo had tears in his eyes from the absurdity.
“Little girl,” Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, “wait a second—what is her actual name?”
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
“You… you don’t know her name?”
The little girl shrieked with laughter from the foot of the bed, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, while Theo felt like the universe was quietly reminding him that, yes he was an utter fool.
The little girl zig-zagged across the room, still clutching the condom wrapper like it was some kind of treasure. Theo lunged, arms flailing, but she ducked under his reach and squealed with pure delight.
“Papà! Prendimi!” She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
“Merlin’s beard, why am I even doing this?!” Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
“Oi! Watch it, Nott!” Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, “Maybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didn’t even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl, who had somehow vaulted onto the armrest of the sofa and was teetering dangerously.
“Oi! Scendi di lì, immediatamente!” He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
“Papà!” She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, “Guarda! Guarda!” (Papa! Look! Look!)
Before he could reach her, Mattheo appeared like a hero in the last second, levitating gently above the floor with his wand, and swooped in. “I got her!” He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the room—Blaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wall—and grinned, “You really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?”
Theo froze mid-lunge.
“You… you know her name?” He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, “You didn’t?”
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had tried—really tried—to delay it, holding out hope that the professors would have some sort of solution by now. But it had been three days. Three days of dungeon air, sleep-mussed curls, and the unmistakable stickiness that came with being a toddler. She desperately needed a shower.
And while Theo was getting increasingly comfortable handling her—some might even say paternal—he was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Bianca’s curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theo’s exhausted expression and immediately agreed.
Theo sighed in relief, already imagining a shower of his own. Or maybe collapsing onto a bed and stealing an extra hour of sleep. He didn’t understand why he was so tired—he was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised he’d come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore on—well. Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didn’t help.
She cried anyway.
Clutched his robes with tiny hands, face crumpling as she begged him not to leave, words tumbling out too fast and too panicked for him to catch more than Papà and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire time—but he couldn’t will himself to walk away while she was screaming like that.
Especially now that he knew the difference between her cries.
So, one of the girls’ bathrooms had been cleared out for the morning.
Pomfrey, Bianca, and Theo occupied it alone, the echoes far too loud for his liking. He stood just outside the stall while Pomfrey bathed her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiff—like a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped responding—
“Papà?”
—her voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
“Sono qui,” He called back immediately, instinctive, “Brava.” (I'm here. Good job)
She giggled and continued singing something that sounded vaguely like a nursery rhyme and vaguely like a direct threat to musical theory.
Theo leaned his head back against the tiled wall and exhaled.
My God, was she clingy.
Then again… he supposed he couldn’t fault her for it.
If Flitwick was right—if she truly had come from the future—then she’d been ripped away from her home. Likely somewhere warm and familiar in Italy. Dropped into damp, grey Scotland. Surrounded by strangers. Spoken to in a language she didn’t understand.
Clinging to the only constant she recognized.
Him.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Theo swallowed, fingers twitching as the familiar urge for a cigarette crept in—persistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
“Papà!” She called, sharper now.
“I’m here,” Theo answered immediately, softer this time, “Sono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.” (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumed—quieter. Sleepier.
Theo closed his eyes.
Unbelievable.
Bianca emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel with a warming charm woven into the fabric, her pajamas peeking out beneath it. Her curls were still damp, springing in every direction, cheeks flushed pink and clean, eyes already heavy with sleep. Madam Pomfrey handed her over with a satisfied nod and a stern warning about drafts, and Theo took her automatically, settling her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was now only dimly aware of how absurd this entire situation was.
They stepped out into the corridor together, the stone cool and quiet at this hour—
—and promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Whispers carried between classes, exaggerated retellings murmured in the Slytherin common room. Nott has a kid. From the future. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. There were more reasonable theories floating around—some magical accident that accidentally teleported a child here from outside Hogwarts walls. Others were more creative, claiming Theo had a secret child hidden away in Italy and the time-travel nonsense was just a cover story.
You firmly belonged to the former camp.
This—whatever this was—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into him—
“Mama!”
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theo’s already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
“Mama! Mama!” She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, “Sei tornata! Mi sei mancato!” (You’re back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You forced a smile, gentle and careful, lowering yourself slightly so you weren’t towering over her.
“I’m not your mama, little one.” You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—but he looked like a statue carved from pure shock, arms still locked around Bianca as though letting go might shatter reality itself.
Bianca frowned.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied you, head tilting to one side in confusion. Then she turned in Theo’s arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
He looked like a statue carved in shock, Bianca still tucked securely in his arms, as though letting go might shatter something irreparable.
Bianca’s smile faltered.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied your face, head tilting in quiet confusion. Then she turned slowly toward Theo, curls brushing his collar.
“Papà?” She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnest—
“Papà… ora che la mamma è tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.” (Papa… now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
“There is absolutely no way I’m her mother.”
Your voice echoed far louder than you intended in the hospital wing, ricocheting off white curtains and cold stone with humiliating clarity.
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-sentence.
Flitwick blinked.
McGonagall’s lips thinned—just slightly.
Theo, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Bianca curled against his chest, did not move. He looked like someone who had accepted his fate three hours ago and was now simply watching the universe pile on for sport.
It was hard to believe he’d been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadn’t had time to properly panic—not just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl he’d never given a second glance to. Someone who, in some unfathomable future, he had fallen in love with. Married. Chosen to have a family with.
Theo Nott. Married. A father by choice.
The thought felt so foreign he thought he might throw up.
“For one,” You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, “I would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
“And second,” You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, “there are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never done—” You pointed sharply at Theo, “—with him.”
Theo didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his grip slightly when Bianca shifted, instinctively tucking her closer as she sighed in her sleep.
Flitwick glanced down at his parchment, “…The magical diagnostics are, I’m afraid, quite clear.”
You stopped short. “So you’re actually telling me,” You said slowly, incredulously, “that this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?”
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, “Miss (Y/N)—”
“You’re joking, right?” You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, “I mean, everyone here can see that there isn’t even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would date—let alone get married, let alone have a child.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue—wanted to back you up, to scoff and insist this was ridiculous, that there had to be some enormous mistake, some elaborate cosmic joke with particularly poor timing. A week ago, he would have done exactly that.
But he’d been standing in this same position barely days earlier.
He knew now that arguing would get him nowhere.
Soon enough, Bianca would wake up. She always did. And when she did, she would cry—sharp, panicked, desperate cries that cut straight through stone and reason alike. She would call for you the same way she had called for him, voice cracking, hands reaching for something familiar in a world that made no sense.
And if you were even remotely a decent person, you wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
But Bianca only shifted in his arms, letting out a small, congested sniff as she rubbed at her itchy nose against his robes. Theo adjusted his hold without thinking, brushing his thumb gently along her back until her body went slack again, weight settling against him.
Theodore Nott was not a single father.
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t even a father if one wanted to argue technicalities—and frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasn’t considered a father, then you certainly couldn’t be considered a mother. It was only fair. Balanced. Logical.
And yet.
If he was being forced to look after a suction cup turned human child—day in and day out—then he didn’t see why you got to take the easy way out and keep avoiding her. Avoiding them.
It felt less like co-parenting and more like he was chasing you down for childcare payments.
So he handed Bianca off to Mattheo—who was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complain—and went looking for you.
He caught you just as Potions let out, students flooding into the corridor in clusters of laughter and complaints. Theo slipped through them with singular purpose and grabbed your elbow just outside the classroom doors.
You startled, turning sharply, “Nott? What do you need?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, “Go see your child.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “She’s not my kid.”
“She’s as much yours as she is mine,” Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, “and it’s not fair that I’m the one looking after her all day.”
“We can’t even speak the same language.”
“She’s three,” He snapped, “All you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws or—Merlin—something.”
“She doesn’t even want to come with me.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe she would,” Theo said, quieter but still sharp, “if you spent more time with her.”
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watch—hands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, “Oh, come off it, Nott. Don’t you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?”
Theo frowned, but you weren’t finished.
“She never comes to me first,” You continued, voice tightening, “Never asks me for help when she’s eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. You’re always her first choice. Have you noticed that?”
His mouth opened—closed again.
“And,” You went on, softer now, more brittle, “you know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, I’ve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.”
The anger he’d carried with him faltered.
He could see it then—the hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, “She’s just… not used to—”
“I don’t think that’s it.” You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
“What if,” You said, voice barely above a whisper now, “what if in the future… I’m not there?”
Theo’s chest went cold.
“No,” Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, “No. That’s—there are other explanations.”
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
“Like what?” You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, “Maybe we just—split up. In the future. People do that. All the time.”
Your mouth twisted, humorless, “Right. So either I’m dead, or I’m a deadbeat.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said,” You shot back, “Because if I’m alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesn’t she know my language? Why doesn’t she come to me? Why doesn’t she trust me?”
His jaw clenched, “You don’t know that she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t,” You said quietly, firmly, “And you know it.”
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “You’re making assumptions."
"I don't want to confuse her," You snapped, "What if I spend time with her now and she goes back to a future where she's confused that future me doesn't? Don't you think it's better for her to not be left with any painful memories?"
"Fuck this." He said harshly.
You stared at him, stunned, “Theodo—”
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didn’t look at you when you spoke.
“I thought I might find you here.” You sighed, stepping into the Astronomy Tower. The night air was sharp, the stars cruelly clear.
He only glanced at you once before turning back to the edge, exhaling smoke into the dark. The orange tip of his cigarette flared, then dimmed.
He hadn’t gone back before bedtime like he’d promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chest—but he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo would’ve worn her out enough that she’d gone down on her own. That she’d fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldn’t notice.
But he couldn’t go back now. Not like this. Not smelling like smoke and guilt and the kind of fear that hollowed you out from the inside.
You shifted, eyes flicking to the small graveyard of cigarette stubs at his feet, and visibly bit back a comment.
“You can’t seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?” You said lightly, like it was a joke you didn’t quite believe in, “After all, we aren’t anything to each other.”
Theo’s fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasn’t.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasn’t you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thought—Merlin help him—that he was doing something right.
Thought that maybe—maybe—this was him breaking the cycle. Overcoming his own childhood, his own grief, his own scars. The way she clung to him, trusted him, sought him out—he’d taken that as proof. Proof that he was doing something right. That he was raising her in a house full of warmth. Of love.
A home that wasn’t cold.
A father who didn’t disappear into silence.
A childhood that didn’t feel like walking on broken glass.
He had thought he was undoing the damage his own father had carved into him.
Breaking the curse.
And now it felt like he was watching history fold back in on itself.
Bianca would lose her mother. Just like he had.
She’d be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. She’d grow into something sharp and distant and unfeeling—just like him. Just like his father.
Would he turn into him?
Would he still be able to love Bianca if every time he looked at her, all he saw was you? Would he sit across from her in silence at meals, watching her struggle to eat in the tension, only to hear her throwing up later—alone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasn’t there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his hands—
Theo’s breath hitched.
He’d never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadn’t imagined it either. Not at first.
Perhaps he was driven to it.
He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the ember beneath his heel before reaching for another with trembling fingers.
He never got the chance to light it.
Your hand closed around his wrist.
Firm. Steady.
He stilled.
Slowly, his focus shifted—really shifted—to you.
For the first time since Bianca had seen you, since the world had tilted on its axis, he truly looked at your face.
And there it was.
Your eyes.
Or rather—
Bianca’s.
His throat closed, eyes flickering over your face as he began to compare the two of you when your nose began to twitch, the smell of the smoke finally getting to you.
"Achoo!"
Theo couldn't help but let out a dry breath of laughter.
“You should spend time with her,” He said finally, voice rough—scraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, “I wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.”
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
“She deserves that,” He added quietly, “And so do you.”
Morning came quietly in the Slytherin dorms. The others had already left the dorm to get breakfast and begin classes.
Theo had been awake long before it—again. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the small lump buried beneath his blankets. Bianca had twisted herself sideways sometime in the night, curls exploding in every direction, one chubby foot sticking out from under the covers like a silent rebellion.
“Bianca,” He murmured gently, nudging the lump, “È mattina.” (It's morning.)
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and promptly rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow tighter.
“No,” She mumbled sleepily, “Ho sonno…” (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep—just fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldn’t hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, she’d be feral by noon. No nap. No quiet. No sleep later. Which meant another night of pacing the dorm with a squirming toddler while his own body begged for rest.
He sighed. The deep, tired, fatherly kind—the one he was rapidly perfecting.
Just as he leaned forward to try again, there was a knock at the door.
Theo froze.
His mind leapt immediately to the all possibilities.
Professor McGonagall, stern and efficient, here to inform him they’d finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worse—here to say they couldn’t.
Another knock followed. Softer. Hesitant.
Theo stood slowly, smoothing a hand through his already-mussed hair, heart doing something distinctly unhelpful in his chest. When he opened the door, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You weren’t in your uniform—dressed casually instead—and floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theo’s brows lifted despite himself.
“Oh,” He said. Guarded. Careful. “…Morning.”
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
“I brought breakfast.”
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Bianca’s head popped up from the blankets, curls crushed on one side of her face, eyes still hazy with sleep.
She stared at you for half a second before her entire expression lit up.
“Mama!”
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
“Buongiorno?” You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, “I—uh. I’m hoping I'm pronouncing that right.”
Theo stepped aside as you entered, watching carefully as Bianca scooted closer, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. You set the tray down on the bedside table and sat beside her without hesitation.
Breakfast became a quiet, shared thing.
Bianca sat between the two of you on the bed, half-awake but cooperative, munching on cut fruit and toast while you worked patiently through the knots in her hair. She winced once, then relaxed when your touch stayed gentle.
“I used to have curls like this too.” You said softly, lifting a section of her hair.
Theo glanced over, wondering why you were saying this. Perhaps you were just getting sick of being out of the loop while Theo constantly reminded Bianca not to chew with her mouth open, “Really?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.”
"Oh." He muttered.
“And then,” You continued, amused, “I discovered Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and never really went back.”
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, “You sure you don’t want some?”
You shook your head lightly, “I already ate.”
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
“Mamma… stai male di nuovo?” (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, “…Cosa intendi?” (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, “A volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.” (Sometimes mommy gets sick and can’t eat.)
Theo looked at you slowly, something uneasy settling in his chest.
You tilted your head, confused, "Am I missing something?"
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet.
Theo had never realized just how quiet it could get when everyone was actually in class. On the rare occasions he skipped, he was usually surrounded by his noisy gaggle of friends—laughter, insults, the scrape of chairs. Now, with most of the students gone, the space felt cavernous, almost reverent.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting lazy rectangles of gold across the stone floor. The lake beyond the glass shimmered faintly, shadows drifting slowly along the walls.
Theo sat at one of the long tables, a textbook open in front of him. Beside him, Bianca occupied her own chair, perched atop a cushion to give her some height. Even then, she barely reached the tabletop—her upper body completely propped up on her elbows as she strained forward, tongue poking out in concentration.
A piece of parchment lay in front of her, covered in colorful scribbles, and a box of crayons sat nearby—formerly one of Theo’s cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into his—parchment and quills scattered between you, a textbook here, a notebook there. You leaned in to show him a particularly complicated potion formula, pointing at your notes with the tip of your wand.
“So yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,” You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, “I wrote the key points here—see? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.”
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
“What about this one?” He asked, “It doesn’t match the ratio.”
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, “Oh—okay, this one’s an exception. It’s considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.”
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like she’d uncovered a great secret.
“Papà! Mamma! Guarda!” She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawing—very clearly the three of you. Stick figures, yes, but unmistakable. One tall with dark hair. One beside him with longer hair. And a much smaller one in the middle, curls drawn in chaotic loops. Behind you stood a crooked little house, flowers floating inexplicably in midair, and a tiny sun tucked into the corner of the page.
You laughed quietly, “This is adorable.”
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothing—already basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, “What’s wow in Italian?”
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close you’d gotten—practically halfway into his seat. At this distance, you could see every individual lash, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
You froze.
Theo leaned in, lowering his head toward your ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and lazy, far too close.
“Wow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, “You’re unbearable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, “You asked.”
Theo hadn’t planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But you’d insisted—gentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
“Go,” You’d said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, “You haven’t been out in days. You deserve a night that doesn’t involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but you’d distracted her with some Jaffa cakes. That seemed to do it.
So he went.
There was music. Laughter. Too many people packed into a common room that smelled faintly of firewhisky and bad decisions. Mattheo handed him a drink almost immediately.
Theo stared at it.
Then thought of Bianca—overtired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that she’d decide midnight was an appropriate time to throw a tantrum and demand to be taken back to Theo's dorm only to be greeted by his drunk self.
He handed it back.
“No?” Mattheo blinked.
“No.” Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove he’d tried. Not to himself but to you. Who he knew would give him a teasing scold when he'd come back early, tail tucked between his legs.
And then—quietly, without much fanfare—he left.
The Slytherin dorms were dim when he returned, the corridors hushed and cool. He moved carefully, like any loud noise might break something fragile.
When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was the lamp.
Low. Warm. Soft golden light spilling across the room.
The second thing—
You were there, curled on your side beneath his blankets, Bianca tucked against your chest like she belonged there. One of your arms was draped protectively around her small body, fingers curled instinctively at her back. Bianca’s face was pressed into your collarbone, curls splayed wildly across the pillow.
Fast asleep.
Theo stopped just inside the doorway.
Something tight in his chest loosened. Something else replaced it—heavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
You’d kicked off your shoes, throwing off your jacket as well in favour of casting a warming charm over the two of you right as you had fallen asleep. Bianca’s tiny hand was fisted in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself.
Theo approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He studied your face.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, brushing your lips. In your sleep, your brow pinched faintly, nose scrunching in the exact same way Bianca’s did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefully—so carefully—he reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awake—just enough to shift closer to Bianca, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. Your hand tightened reflexively around her back.
Theo froze.
Bianca was going to lose this one day.
She was going to lose this—the warmth, the safety, the arms of her mother.
He was going to lose this someday.
He didn't want to lose you.
He wanted you for the rest of his life.
The thought hit hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his chest.
He swallowed, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of Bianca’s back. On the way your fingers curved protectively at her spine even in sleep, like your body knew the job before your mind ever caught up.
Then you shifted again.
This time more sharply.
Your eyes blinked open, unfocused and glassy with sleep, lashes fluttering as you took in the dim room. For half a second, you looked confused—then awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
“Oh—Merlin—” You whispered hoarsely, lifting your head an inch before immediately freezing again when Bianca huffed and burrowed closer.
You blinked.
You slowly sank back down, mortified.
Theo watched as realization dawned on your face.
Then, horrified, you wiped at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I—” You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually asleep.”
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, “Okay. That’s a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.”
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
“I was pretending,” You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, “I thought if I stayed really still she’d think it was bedtime and settle down and—well—apparently I fell asleep first.”
Theo huffed out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, “This is so embarrassing.”
Theo didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were careful—deliberate—as he unfolded it and drew it up over you and Bianca, tucking it in around her small shoulders before letting it settle across your waist.
“You can sleep here tonight,” He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, “If you want.”
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
“Here?” You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, “She’s already settled. No point moving her.”
You hesitated.
Then nodded, “Okay.”
Theo’s jaw loosened, just a little.
A few days later, Theo was running on fumes.
The bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave. The kind that made time blur and thoughts lag half a second behind reality. Between the staggered schedules, half-missed classes, and nights that never quite counted as sleep, he felt like he was permanently five minutes behind himself.
You weren’t doing much better.
The professors still hadn’t found a way to send Bianca back, which meant the two of you had fallen into a strange, grinding rhythm: one of you attending class while the other watched her, trading off half-written notes—if by some miracle you hadn’t fallen asleep mid-lecture. You were grateful the professors were granting you at least that much grace.
The rest of the time was spent cramming together right before bedtime while Bianca threw a tantrum of truly mythological proportions.
It turned out she’d woken up once to find the two of you studying together and had somehow come to the conclusion that whenever she went to sleep, you and Theo threw secret parties without her.
So now—despite being exhausted—she refused to sleep.
You hadn’t known children could get overtired before.
Apparently, it was a thing.
A loud, shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard thing.
Bianca was a small whirlwind. All limbs and laughter and boundless, feral energy that refused to burn out indoors.
So when you suggested a picnic by the Black Lake, Theo thought you’d finally lost your mind.
“You want to let her run free,” He said flatly, “near a giant squid.”
“She just needs to run,” You insisted, rubbing your temples, “Like—really run. Until her lungs give out.”
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
“…You’re a genius.”
So there you were.
The grass near the lake was warm beneath the afternoon sun, the water dark and glassy, the mountains reflected on its surface like a painting. A blanket was spread out behind you with food you’d asked the house-elves to make—and while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didn’t need sugar.
Who cared about Bianca?
You wanted a chocolate lava cake, damn it.
Bianca, meanwhile, had already abandoned the blanket entirely.
She shrieked with laughter as Theo lifted her into the air, spinning once before tossing her just high enough to make her squeal—then catching her easily.
“Ancora!” She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughed—really laughed. Not the tired, guarded version you’d grown used to, but something lighter, freer. He threw her again, caught her, bounced her once on his hip before setting her down just long enough for her to sprint off in a wild, crooked circle.
You watched from the blanket.
At first, it was just fondness. Relief. Gratitude that she was finally burning off that impossible energy. You couldn’t deny it—the sound of a child laughing so freely tugged a smile from you before you could stop it.
Then your gaze shifted.
Theo crouched when she spoke, his attention completely zeroed in on her. When she stumbled, he steadied her without thinking. When she reached for him, he went instantly—lifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory he’d never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadn’t expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy you’d never really noticed. The boy you’d fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, would’ve been nothing more than a footnote—if that—in the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhere—somewhen—years from now, a version of you would love him enough to choose to have a child with this man.
And now?
You got it.
You got the vision your future self must have seen when she decided to lock him down.
You supposed it made sense that you’d never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boy—how could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didn’t waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him now—watching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her back—your stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didn’t feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. “Alright,” You said, “My turn.”
You bent to lift Bianca—
“No!” She protested instantly.
She wriggled out of your arms with shocking strength for someone so small and darted straight back to Theo, wrapping herself around his leg like an anchor.
Your smile slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
“Oh—okay,” You said quickly, forcing it back into place, “That’s fine. Totally fine.”
You took a step back, suddenly unsure of where to put your hands, your weight, yourself. The breeze off the Black Lake felt colder now. You stared out at the water instead of them, swallowing the strange tightness in your chest.
Theo noticed.
He frowned, glancing between you and Bianca, then crouched so he was level with her. Gently, carefully, he loosened her grip just enough to look at her face.
“Perché non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?” He asked softly. (Why don’t you want mamma to pick you up?)
The word mamma hit you even before you processed it.
You turned away a little more, heart stuttering. You didn’t understand the rest of what he said, not really. You suddenly felt like you were standing on the edge of something sacred and private, like you’d wandered into a family photograph you didn’t belong in.
Bianca’s face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
“Mamma è troppo malata per portarmi, papà,” She said firmly, “Lo sai.” (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theo’s eyes flicked to you slowly.
You tilted your head, not knowing how spines began to claw up his hands and feet, making him feel cold, "What's wrong?"
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
PLOT Years after their messy breakup, Y/N, now a rising documentary filmmaker, is assigned to direct a film about Saint Halo, the world-famous band fronted by her ex, Rafe Cameron. What starts as a professional reunion turns into an emotional collision, as old wounds resurface under the lights of fame and the camera starts catching more truth than either of them planned.
CONTENT CHAPTER ONE, strong language, emotionally charged intimacy, emotional infidelity, & me overdoing this whole thing and writing way too much. i lowkey dont check my taglist app so just dm me or comment underneath !
MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST
you sit in the back of the conference room with your coffee going cold. your producer for the documentary, mae, is standing at the front beside a whiteboard that’s already crowded with color-coded notes: names, dates, arrows, scribbles about logistics, flights, permissions. somewhere between week 2 and week 5, she’s managed to fit a doodle of a little guitar.
her handwriting is almost too neat for what she’s saying. “access to saint halo will be limited at first,” mae’s explaining, marker cap clicking in her hand. “they’ve had issues with press, and management is being cautious. we’ll need to be careful about tone early on. don’t push for anything too personal until they trust us.”
you nod automatically. your pen is between your fingers, but you’re not taking notes, mostly because you don’t need to. you could do this half-asleep and still nail it. and honestly, part of you probably is half-asleep, if not physically then somewhere in your head.
mae’s voice blurs into the background. she’s walking through the plan: week one is sit-down interviews, week two is live tour footage, weeks three through (hopefully) six is studio and off-days.
it’s all textbook. you’ve done this a dozen times before with politicians, small-town artists, even that surfer doc that got you the sundance shortlisting, but this one’s different. you’re not sure if it’s the subject, or the subject of the subject. saint halo, of all the bands in the world.
you try to tell yourself you’re lucky. it’s a high-profile project with real budget, real eyes on it. the label’s backing it, the production company’s been trying to get in with the music industry for years, and now they have their foot in the door because of you. your name carries weight. mae knows it, the executives know it. they all trust you.
but your stomach still twists when you think about what that means. you swallow hard, tune back in just in time to hear mae’s voice.
“we’ll be traveling in the next few days,” she says, flipping through her clipboard. “they’re still on tour, so we’ll meet the band at one of their gigs first. we’ll get permission for backstage access and maybe some audience shots. it’s a good chance to get performance footage early - kill two birds with one stone.”
you blink, forcing yourself to focus. performance footage, early material, travel prep. got it. you underline something meaningless in your notebook just to look busy.
mae continues, “i know the idea of filming on-site can be chaotic, but it’s good energy. it’s raw. we want the audience to feel the noise, you know? that’s what makes the music documentaries land.”
you nod again, even though she isn’t really looking at you anymore. your eyes drift back down to your laptop, to the corner of the screen where your email is still open, but your cursor hovers over the imessages icon instead.
you shouldn’t, but your fingers move before you can stop them. it’s like muscle memory, almost.
the chat window pops up with a list of names you know too well. you see the cinematographer from your last film, the sound designer who’s been wanting a chance to work with you again, even that editor who worked with you on a hurricane doc. she still calls you “boss” even though you hated it.
and then, somewhere near the bottom, rafe cameron.
his name looks wrong in the context of work. the little profile circle is just a gray placeholder now. there’s no photo or last activity timestamp, but the thread is still there. the scroll bar is small, a testament to how much you once texted.
you deleted your old messages from your phone years ago. it was an act of cleansing, but the laptop kept everything.
you exhale slowly and scroll up anyway, eyes moving over fragments you’d forgotten were still here. there’s jokes about lyrics, him sending you a rough demo at two in the morning, ‘don’t laugh if it sucks,’ and pictures from nights you barely remember.
your reflection stares back at you from the black edge of the screen. you can hear mae still talking in the background about shooting permits and camera setups. you should be listening. you want to be listening, but instead you’re typing. your fingers move on their own.
no, too casual. delete.
no, he knows who you are. delete.
you breathe in through your nose, try again.
the words look too bare, too defensive for a first message after, what, two years? three? you stare at them for a long time, the blinking cursor pulsing.
you imagine him seeing it. the unread notification, the way his brow might furrow, the possible what now he’d mutter under his breath. you imagine him ignoring it. you imagine him answering. neither version even feels survivable. your thumb hovers over enter.
then, slowly, you backspace. each letter disappears until there’s nothing left. no message, no start, no chance to ruin or repair anything. you shut your laptop gently, the click of it closing louder than it should be.
around you, the meeting wraps up. mae’s saying something about the call sheet, about flight times. the crew’s laughing softly as chairs scrape against the floor. someone tosses a marker into the bin.
you nod when mae passes by and says, “we’ll touch base tomorrow.”
you land in chicago a little after noon. the flight itself was . . . fine, except for the hour you spent stuck behind a group of drunk bachelor-party guys arguing. by the time you finally got off the plane, your patience was thin, your earbuds were dead, and your iced coffee had melted into something closer to literal dishwater. still, you made it, and that’s what matters.
you pick up your luggage, check into the hotel mae booked for the crew and drop your bags at the foot of the bed. the white comforter looks tempting enough to dive into, but mae’s text pops up before you can even think about sitting down: van leaves in 20. wear something casual. soundcheck at 4.
so much for rest. guess you should’ve done more of it on the plane. but now, twenty minutes later, you’re squeezed into the middle row of a black sprinter van with mae and three other crew members. mae’s at the front, laptop open, talking to the driver about the route to the venue while she sips her third cold brew of the day. she’s good at multitasking, she always has been.
“we should get there right as saint halo’s starting soundcheck,” she says over her shoulder. “perfect timing to get some behind-the-scenes footage before the crowd fills in.”
you nod, even though you’re not sure she’s talking directly to you. the city slips by through the tinted window, and the closer you get to the venue, the heavier your chest feels. you tell yourself it’s nerves or excitement. or maybe it’s just the cold pressing through the glass. the venue’s big, but you’ve seen enough arenas from concerts you’ve been to in your freetime.
you step out of the van with your camera bag slung over your shoulder and take it all in. mae’s already directing traffic, telling the camera crew where to unload, which doors to use, what permissions they have. the venue’s front-of-house staff points you toward a side entrance, wristbands waiting for you at check-in.
entry’s been covered by one of the documentary’s major backers. you’d read their name enough times on contracts and funding proposals that it feels weird to finally see their logo plastered on the laminate around your neck.
you move with the rest of the crew through the back corridors of the venue. someone’s already doing a mic check in the distance.
there are equipment cases stacked against the walls backstage, crew members in all black darting between sound techs and lighting rigs. mae stops every few steps to talk logistics with someone, while you find yourself wandering toward the stage area.
a man spots you first, nate ellison, saint halo’s manager. he’s in his mid-40s, beard going silver, wearing a vintage tour tee and a headset like he’s been doing this since the literal dawn of time.
“you’re with mae’s team, right?” he says, smiling as he wipes his hands on his jeans. “y/n, yeah? we’ve been expecting you.”
you nod, offering a polite handshake that he returns with the kind of practiced friendliness of someone who meets too many people in a day.
“they’re just finishing soundcheck,” nate explains, tilting his head toward the stage. “i’ll take you over to meet them real quick. won’t keep you long.”
you follow him up the steps to the side of the stage and notice wide lights, the empty stretch of seats and railings, a few fans scattered near the barricade, phones already up. apparently, saint halo allows a handful of people to buy early-access passes to watch soundcheck.
on stage, the band’s finishing a run-through of a song. instruments hum, and you can feel the vibration through the floorboards. nate lifts a hand, gesturing for them to wrap up.
“hey, guys,” he calls out. “come take a second, this is y/n. she’s with the documentary team.”
the noise quiets. the drummer stops first, setting her sticks down on the snare, followed by the bassist leaning back against his amp, and then, finally, the lead singer turns.
your heartbeat doesn’t care that this is a work assignment. it doesn’t care about professionalism or posture or how many years it’s been. all it knows is that he’s here.
the band gathers at the side, sweat still shining under the stage lights, the early-access fans in the audience murmuring behind their hands. you can’t look away, not yet, and he doesn’t either.
nate’s voice fades into the background as you step forward. the first one to reach out is this tall, lanky guy with a grin and a sweat-darkened shirt. he takes your hand in his, eyebrows raising almost immediately.
“no offense,” he says, his tone somewhere between amusement and disbelief, “but you look kinda young for the gig.”
before you can even think of a response, another voice cuts in, a deeper laugh from just beside him. “i was gonna say the same damn thing,” the other guy adds, shaking his head.
you let out a small, polite laugh, giving the first one a nod. “i’m twenty-five,” you say simply. “and i promise i know what i’m doing.”
that earns a few chuckles from the others. they’re not being mean, they’re just curious. you’re used to it. people expect the kind of person who directs documentaries to be older, more jaded. not . . . well, you.
the first guy is luca if you remember correctly. he still looks half-surprised, half-impressed. the bassist, the one every article called “the glue” or whatever. he’s pretty, that’s for sure.
next is orion, their synth and guitarist. seems like a nice kid. he’s got that restless energy you’ve seen in so many artists. his hand is warm, his grin crooked. the profiles you read called him the “spark” of saint halo, the one who starts ideas that everyone else eventually shapes into something bigger. you can see why.
then comes nox, the only girl in the band. she’s quiet at first, her handshake firm. her dark hair is pulled back, a faint sheen of sweat from soundcheck still clinging to her temples. articles always called her “the backbone of saint halo,” and it fits. she’s presence before she’s sound.
and then rafe. you knew this part was coming, but no amount of bracing can soften it.
he steps forward, slower than the rest, wiping his palm on his jeans before offering his hand. his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he hasn’t been the ghost sitting at the back of your mind for months, maybe years. his hair’s a little shorter, his jaw sharper, but the way he looks at you hasn’t changed at all.
you inhale through your nose before taking his hand. his grip is steady. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. maybe amusement. “so you’re the director?” he asks. it sounds like he’s teasing you and testing the air between you at the same time. you know that he’s known you’re the director for this project.
you squint at him, a slight curve at the corner of your mouth but it never really turns into a smile. “mm,” you hum, then you drop his hand.
nate clears his throat somewhere off to the side. “alright,” he says, clapping his hands together once, “we’ll keep this quick. they’ve still got a couple things to run before doors open.”
the words are mostly for you, though his tone is light, almost apologetic, like he’s trying to usher the moment along without stepping on it. you nod, stepping back a little.
luca adjusts the strap of his bass. orion twirls a pick between his fingers, and nox has already turned away, reaching for her sticks. rafe doesn’t really move.
his hand falls back to his side, fingers flexing once. his gaze stays on you, not intense exactly, just more curious, like he’s trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the one who used to exist beside him.
“this way, y/n,” nate says, gesturing toward the stairs that dip backstage. you follow, the soles of your boots scuffing lightly against the stage.
as you descend, you feel his gaze again, but you keep your expression neutral, professional. behind you, a chord rings out. nate says something about schedules, about how tomorrow will run smoother once everyone’s comfortable. you nod along, eyes on the narrow hallway ahead.
you don’t look back. but if you did, you’d see rafe still standing where you left him, one hand on the mic stand, watching until the curtain swallow you whole.
the rest of the setup moves like clockwork. sound techs darts across the stage, crew members crouch over cables, lights flicker in bursts as the rigging adjusts. the band slips back into their rhythm, instruments tuning, mics checked.
by the time the house lights dim, the venue’s a different animal. it’s crowded, people are sweating already. you’ve got your walkie in hand, headset on, threading yourself through the barricade gap where the cinematographers are already stationed. the pit smells like warm metal and adrenaline. you speak low, guiding them like it’s instinct.
“camera two, hold that wide. three, pan left when rafe hits the chorus. stay on the drummer when the bridge hits. there’s a rhythm shot there i want.”
they nod. you move between them, just close enough to see the flicker of the stage lights bouncing off the lenses. you tell one of the crew to grab a side angle, another to get close on rafe’s hands. you don’t have to think too hard.
after about an hour, though, the volume starts pressing against your skull. you step away, slipping behind the curtain and down the narrow hall that leads backstage. mae’s there at a folding table with an open bag of chips and two monitors showing the live feed from your cameras.
“you’re a machine,” she says, mouth full.
you snort, sitting beside her and grabbing something off the snack spread. the monitors flicker with alternating shots, like the band bathed in red light, sweat on their necks, the crowd’s hands reaching like waves.
you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you watch. every so often, you murmur something into the walkie: “tighten the frame. yeah, that’s better,” or “hold that shot until he turns.”
mae chews, glances over. “this is gonna be good. i can feel it.”
you don’t answer. you’re too focused. the concert stretches on for another hour or so, long enough for the monitors to turn from blue to gold to near-black as the lights shift for the encore. when it’s finally over, the band jogs offstage, laughing, breathless. one of your cameramen follows close, capturing luca wiping sweat with a towel and grinning, orion shouting something about “that last chord,” nox raising her drumsticks like a victory flag. rafe’s there too, grinning wide, a flash of teeth, his eyes briefly catching the lens before he disappears past it.
you stand, tucking your headset off, nodding to mae. “alright,” you say softly, almost to yourself.
the rest happens smoothly. the makeshift interview room is already cleared backstage, low lights and two chairs facing each other with a single camera trained between them. someone’s placed bottles of water and towels in the corner.
it’s time to start the diary footage. mae hovers nearby, letting you handle the first round. you glance over at the others in hair and makeup, each one waiting their turn, fiddling with phones or headphones, shooting little glances toward the monitors where you’ll later sync everything.
the first one is luca, hands folded loosely in his lap, legs bouncing just a little as he smiles easily at you. he leans forward in the chair the second you gesture for him to start.
“we didn’t think anyone would care about four kids playing in a garage,” he says. he laughs softly, like the memory is both funny and unbelievable. “i mean . . . it was just us, instruments no one wanted, riffs we ripped off from old bands we loved, and a lot of late nights arguing over chord progressions and lyrics that didn’t make any fuckin’ sense—am i allowed to swear?”
you tilt your head, letting the camera roll as you ask the first few guiding questions, “so what made you stick with it? why keep playing together?”
he shrugs like it’s obvious. “i don’t know. we just found a rhythm. rafe had that spark, ri could turn any random idea into something that actually worked, and i guess someone had to keep us from completely losing it long enough to actually get a song finished. that ended up being me.”
you nod, scribbling a few notes in your pad while watching his eyes light up as he talks. the way he gestures, it’s clear he loves sharing this story, loves that someone’s actually listening. you ask him about his background, like how he grew up, what drew him into music.
“my parents moved from puerto rico when i was ten,” he says, “so, like . . . everything felt new, like different language, different beaches, different vibes. i had to figure out who i was really quick, and music was my thing. i had a landscaping job one summer to make enough for strings and gas on my own. didn’t matter what anyone else thought, i just wanted to play. like it wasn’t rebellion, not really. it was more like boredom, or pressure. figure eight’s full of money but short on air, you know? you can’t breathe unless you build your own world.”
you ask about their first gigs. he leans back, thinking, hands drumming lightly on his knees. “some house parties, random bars, once at a friend’s dad’s warehouse. nothing fancy. mostly just to see if people would show up. and when nox joined? that changed everything.”
orion’s calmer and quieter when he comes in for his interview. he adjusts the collar of his shirt.
“saint halo really started to make sense once we realized we wanted more than noise,” he says. “i grew up around music my whole life, classical piano, jazz, the whole thing. rafe and luca were kind of . . . chaos incarnate? they could make this messy, emotional stuff, but it needed structure. i provided that. added synth, layered guitars, textures. it was the first time i felt like someone else really understood what i wanted to hear.”
you ask him how they all came together.
“we knew each other in school,” he says carefully, “but we didn’t really hang out ‘til after graduation. different circles, i guess. our parents all had these plans for us. college, finance, business degrees, whatever. but none of us wanted that. we just wanted to play.”
you nod, smiling softly. then nox takes her turn a few questions later. she slides in like she’s only half-interested, but there’s still this carefulness, a hint that she’s clearly media trained. she’s moody, but it’s contained.
“their old drummer bailed before the first gig,” she says bluntly, like that explains everything. “i read the sheet once, figured i’d just play it by ear after. i played it close enough to near-perfect the first try. they asked me to stay. i didn’t really think about it beyond that.”
you raise an eyebrow, letting the camera capture the slight shrug she gives. “so you knew them before the band?”
“yeah, school,” she says casually, tapping the side of the chair. “but we didn’t really . . . hang out until after i graduated. they graduated before me.”
you nod. you don’t need the extra drama on camera, just the essence of it. “so you were kind of the final piece?” you ask.
“i guess,” she says. “kept the rhythm.”
and now, all four of them are backstage in hair and makeup again to regroup and wait for each to finish.
you glance at the monitors again after nox is done, and you see rafe pacing slightly. it’s not anxiety, probably just passing time. he catches your eye for a moment through the reflection of a mirror and then looks away.
you’re still hunched slightly over your notebook, pen scratching as you jot down notes from the last interview. the pages are crowded with observations, like little personality quirks, things to remember for continuity, moments you might want to reference when editing. your head’s down, focused.
mae appears beside you quietly, hands folded in front of her. she stands there for a beat, watching you, tilting her head slightly as if measuring your mood.
“you ready for rafe?” she asks finally.
you barely lift your eyes, still scribbling, fumbling slightly with your pen. “uh, yeah, yeah,” you murmur, distracted. your free hand smooths down your shirt as you shift, trying to get comfortable on the chair again, uncrossing and recrossing your legs to prepare yourself for the next one.
mae nods once and slips away toward the hall to call rafe in. you barely register any of the murmurs over walkies, someone checking the camera, the faint scratch of a notepad on a clipboard.
you don’t pay any mind when rafe enters. mae and nate are speaking with him a few feet away, hands gesturing, heads nodding, giving him quiet instructions on how to act for the cameras, what to expect, how to settle into the room like they did with the others. you catch only fragments of movement, like him nodding, his hesitation on whether they’re done talking to him so he can finally sit, but you don’t look up.
mae’s voice floats over to you, calling your name. you glance up slowly, placing your palms flat on top of your crossed legs, feeling the cool edge of the chair beneath your fingers.
he’s there, sitting across from you. the chair swallows part of his frame, but he leans just enough to the side. his cheek rests against his index finger, his thumb tucked beneath his chin.
your pen hovers over the notebook again, but you don’t write. you glance at him one last time. “you ready?” you ask softly.
he tilts his head, smirking slightly, and gives a slow nod. you exhale quietly and turn toward your crew, a subtle motion with your hand. they nod back, red dots blinking on the sides of cameras, microphones clicking to life. they’re recording.
you clear your throat, “so, let’s start with the obvious. how did saint halo first come together?”
he leans back just slightly, but he answers. it’s the same as the others, just worded differently. the first gig with nox is the same deal.
you nod, letting it sit. you shift slightly, leaning forward, curious eyes tracking his gestures. “walk me through a typical writing session with the band. how do songs start? what’s your inspiration?”
he tilts his head, thoughtful now, fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “depends,” he says slowly. “sometimes a riff hits, someone hums a melody, a word pops into someone’s head. sometimes we sit in silence until someone cracks. most of the time, the inspiration is regret. sometimes love. mostly the same thing, just dressed up differently.”
your pen scribbles furiously, but your eyes flick up at him unconsciously. he watches you, just enough that it feels deliberate, almost teasing. “and,” he pauses, casual, “every now and then, someone or something inspires a line, a hook. you wouldn’t even notice unless you’re listenin’ close.”
you clear your throat, humming. “so then how do you manage creative disagreements? does it get messy?”
he laughs quietly, “all the time. we argue, we mock each other, we literally threaten to quit mid-song. but it works! it works. we need the chaos, honestly. without it, we’d be boring.”
you nod. “there will be new listeners after this, there are currently people who’ve never exprienced saint halo. how would you describe the band’s sound to someone who’s never heard you before?”
“rough around the edges,” he says, almost smiling. “but it’s personal. like, if someone played their diary through a speaker, that’s basically us.“
you hum with a half-smile. you actually hate that you like the sound of that. he leans back again, hands resting lightly on his thighs, gaze drifting to the ceiling for a moment before snapping back to you.
you pause your notes for a moment, and decide to go for something a little heavier. “so do you have any regrets going into this career? anything you’d do differently?” your voice is careful.
he tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if weighing how much to give. he lets out a long breath, fingers brushing across his knee, tapping lightly. “regrets . . .” he starts slowly, almost like the word tastes funny on his tongue. he exhales lazily, having to think about it at first. you almost think he doesn’t have any until he continues. “i mean, sure. everyone has them. maybe some songs i wish i’d never written, shows i could’ve skipped.”
maybe it’s because of your history, but it isn’t exactly the answer you’d hoped for. as the manager of this project, it’s a solid answer. you nod, pen moving again, jotting down a few more notes as he watches you intently.
“maybe a few decisions that burned bridges i shouldn’t have.”
you scribble, but your eyes flick up to him briefly. it’s deliberate, the way he avoids naming names, avoids specifics. you almost, just for a moment, assume that’s actually aimed at you, but you’d be stupid for thinking so. maybe. most likely. you brush over it, not thinking about what that could even mean.
he leans back, crossing his arms lazily as if he’s done with the topic. “but honestly?” he says, shrugging. “every mistake led here. every late night, every chord, every fight got me to a place i can stand on stage, play my music, ‘n actually mean it.”
your stomach sinks a little, a faint knot forming. not because he’s lying, not exactly, but because you know him. you’re grateful he’s found his place. you shouldn’t be upset about anything else.
you scribble a note anyway, trying to capture what he actually said, not what you wanted him to say. “got it,” you murmur quietly and glance back at the cameras to ensure the framing catches everything perfectly.
he’s charismatic. he’s effortless. he’s captivating. but he’s not giving you that one answer you’ve been wondering about for years. not yet, you don’t think, anyway.
the cameras roll, capturing the frontman of saint halo in his element, and you let the disappointment settle quietly in your chest, tucked away beneath your notes and your carefully curated professionalism, and you move on.
A/N: FW, IF, and OS Spoilers (They're small, but you've been warned.), death, grief, loss, disappearance, swearing
Word Count: 13k
Follows Xaden's POV prior to and through 'Forgotten'.
Forgotten - Home
Please let me know if y'all think I did our favorite Wingleader justice!
Fucking Sorrengail.
My only thought as I skulk down the halls trying my best to get to Y/N’s room as quickly as possible. The beginning of this year has been a shit show trying to explain as best I could why I needed to involve myself with Sorrengail, but now with her bonded to Tairn, everything seems to be unraveling.
As I reach Y/N’s door, I can’t help my hesitation, this won’t be the first time this week that I didn’t keep my promise to her. Taking a deep breath to try and calm my aggravation, I knock lightly on her door with our rap of a knock. The seconds begin ticking between the knock and my ears are greeted with nothing but silence. Eyes focused on the grains streaking through her wooden door, my thoughts will her to open. Anxiety begins sinking her sharp claws into my chest as continual silence greets my ears.
‘Clearly the Devoted One has decided she did not want to wait.’ Sgaeyl snarks in my mind.
My eyes narrow in a glare aimed directly at my impudent dragon, always wanting the last laugh. Always putting me in my place. It isn’t as though Sgaeyl isn’t privy to all the way’s I’ve felt my failings of keeping everything contained this year. As if sensing I need some type of reprieve for the night, Sgaeyl interjects once again.
‘Dhioch says she is out at the tree line. I suggest you tread carefully, Dhioch is not very happy.’ I send my thanks back through our bond and am moving as fast as I can to her. There is nothing in Sgaeyl’s last statement that does anything to calm the anxiety still sinking its talons into my chest.
Heavy footfalls eat up the distance between the fortress of Basgiath and the tree line and the minute I step closer to the river, I see a form in the distance.
My heart cracks when she finally comes into full focus. Sitting with her back against the tree and eyes closed turned up to the stars, tracks of tears glisten in the moonlight against her skin. The silver streaks of light cast the trails in an ethereal glow, in direct opposition to the reality behind the reason they are there. Not for the first time this year, I curse myself for the many ways I’ve come to fail her.
As I take in her slumped frame, I can’t even remember the last time I was able to spend any time with her in my arms. Between Wingleader duties, aiding the Poromish, dealing with the Assembly, and now trying to teach Violet Sorrengail how to not die, I have done nothing but disappoint the enigmatically beautiful, trusting, and far too good for me girl that sits alone and crying.
It isn’t the first time that the thought of scooping her up and taking her to Aretia with me and never leaving has crossed my mind. It’s the one thought that has been playing on repeat, for the last year especially, though it’s probably been there since I first laid eyes on her.
I take another step forward and feel a branch crack under the weight of my boots. The minute the noise greets her ears; she’s wiping her tears and scrambling to her feet rushing to disguise the reason she’s out here. Her eyes meet mine for less than a second before she’s moving away.
“Wait, Blaze.” I plead as my arm shoots out to stop her from leaving, but she does her best to sidestep my reach.
“I’m tired Xaden. I’m going to sleep.” The weariness in her voice makes the talons in my chest tighten further as the truth of how much I’ve hurt her makes itself known.
I shake my head and let my shadows wrap around her waist stopping her from leaving. She’s been more than patient with me and my inability to give her the attention she deserves and wants. Constantly reassuring me that she understands that I have all these duties to complete, graciously squeezing my hand when I’m held back in training with Sorrengail, even bringing me dinner on a few occasions when things were too hectic to go myself. Never forgetting to grab me something sweet and leaving it on my desk when I return to my room, almost too tired to move. And yet, I can’t help but notice the way that the tether between us has gone taught and the usual sunny demeanor she wears wavering as the days go on.
“Come sleep in my room.” I know that I’m pushing, but I need her with me if I’m going to get even an ounce of sleep tonight. My failings be damned, she’s the only slice of peace I’ve found in this torment. “Please.”
My insomnia has been terrible since the apostasy, and she’s been the only thing that’s brought me a semblance of serenity and the ability to finally rest. Tonight though, if she’s not with me, I know it will just be tossing and turning until the morning when hopefully the anxiety would melt with the warmth of her smile.
As she turns to me, I can see she immediately wants to say no, to put distance between us and guard herself. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that she’s been pulling away from everyone in our found family. Trying to close herself off. Trying to guard her heart. When all I want to do is make her understand how much that is the antithesis of everything I want.
The last thing I’ve ever wanted was for her to guard her heart, especially not from me, not once she gave it to me. The burning fire of her love enveloped me the more I’ve gotten to know her, and I fear if she takes it from me, I’ll never feel the warmth of the emotion again.
As I look at her, I can see the hesitation in her eyes, the war that wages in her beautiful stare. The openness of her expressive eyes has always drawn me in and kept me focused on only her, though the way they’ve dimmed in the last few months has been a swift dagger to my heart every time.
With a heaving sigh she closes her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. “Alright.” She murmurs so quietly it barely floats to my ears.
My own emotions are torn between elation at the fact that she’ll still be with me and knowing that everything between us isn’t alright. Before we move any further, I can’t stop myself, I take her face in my hands and kiss her slowly, gently hoping to convey just how precious she is. I only hope that she can feel every ounce of my love, of the silent, desperate plea for her to be patient with this crazy life I’ve brought her into.
The kiss doesn’t last long before I’m pulling back and looking down into her eyes. My forehead leans on hers as I try to calm the anxiety that hasn’t fully receded, but it’s almost impossible to quash when I take in the puffy state of her eyes and the way they are rimmed in red.
My anger and frustration are barely contained, but I know if I lash out in any way it will begin to seal the end to her patience with me. Besides, she’s not the one I’m mad at, the anger is at the situation we find ourselves in, the threat of war, the constant pull that I need to be somewhere else. On top of that, she consistently bears the threats and sneers that find their way to her because of my last name and the mark on my left arm.
I lead her back to my room, and the walk is filled with a slightly uncomfortable silence. As we enter, I can feel her reluctance almost like it has become a separate being standing between us. Every part of me wants to kill her trepidation and reassure her in every way I possibly can, but at the same time the logical side of me knows this won’t be the last time she’s left disappointed.
Walking into the room, I turn to her and take her face in my hands again and stroke her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” I whisper as I clutch her face with a firm grip, trying to keep her with me in any way I can.
She gives me a small tug of her lips back, but there’s no warmth or happiness in the gesture. Every single line of her face is creased in a tightness I’ve never seen before, and my eyes scan hers trying to figure out how I can reverse the damage I’ve already caused.
She pulls out of my grasp, and I let her, my hands dropping defeatedly at my side. Wordlessly, I watch as she continues her normal routine when she stays with me. She takes off her leathers and heads to the bathing chamber to wash the day off and I’m left racking my brain again.
Although its only minutes, the time seems to drag on far too long as I sit here pacing and waiting for her to finish. The time does nothing to settle the unease that sinks its sharp claws through every soft emotion I have. The oppressive silence that has lingered keeping us from bridging the gap.
When she comes back in, she is clad only in one of my shirts, and my blood heats at the beautiful picture in front of me. I take my time letting my gaze fall up and down every curve, taking in every single line of her body and committing it to memory. I know the last thing on her mind is sex, but that doesn’t change the fact that seeing her like this turns me on every fucking time.
My own thoughts are broken as she slams herself down on the bed and falls back into the pillow. Without looking at me, she pulls the covers over herself and turns away from me. Despair fills my mind as I rush to shower and change so that she’s not alone for longer than need be. The minute I come back; I’m sliding in bed with her. Immediately turning her to face me or at least try to.
Even though I know she’s not sleeping, she doesn’t make it easy for me to see her face.
“Blaze, love. Turn around, please.” I murmur softly near her ear, trying to be as coaxing and patient as possible.
Eventually she gives in and turns to face me, seeing the additional tears that have fallen, it makes my heart crack even more. Instinctually, I move my hand to her face and gently wipe the salty tracks from her face, trying to erase every single one that has dropped from her mind.
“I’m so sorry, Love. Please forgive me.” I stop at a loss for how to convey everything I want to say. “I lost track of time with training with Sorrengail trying to get her better with defensive positions and then I had an emergency leadership meeting. The day just went to complete shit not long after dinner.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, almost as if she’s come to a decision in her mind. “It’s alright, I forgive you.” Short. Sweet. But, most definitely not to the point. I’m not naïve to know that there’s plenty she’s not saying.
My arm drapes over her waist and I pull her closer. “Are you sure? I know I’ve been an incredible ass and have probably broken every damn promise I’ve made in the last week, hell even longer than that. I can’t imagine it’s that easy to forgive.”
The watery smile that she gives me back breaks my heart. “No, it’s not. But I know that you have things weighing you down and the last thing I want to do is add to the burdens you carry.”
My eyes flash at her statement and I immediately pull her as close as I possibly can, tightening my hold. “Please tell me you don’t think you’re a burden. That’s the absolute last thing you are to me.”
“Aren’t I though? Just one more thing you must take care of in your overly packed day.” I lay my forehead on hers as I fight back the emotion that threatens to overwhelm me.
“No, Love. You are the only thing that I want to take care of in my day. It breaks me to know that you see yourself as anything less than a gift.” She closes her eyes and by the way I feel her body soften ever so slightly, the weight on my chest seems to lift faintly.
“No matter how busy my day gets, how many times you think someone else has my priority, I need you to remember that you – YOU – are the only true priority in my life.” My eyes and tone grow as serious as I can possibly make them, trying to convey how much truth there is to the statement.
Without responding, she leans in and kisses me. My heart soars at the possibility that she understands how vital she is to me. The kiss is all consuming and every thought flies from my head. The stress and the strain of the day completely melting away into just the feeling of her, here in my bed, wrapped in my arms and my lips attached firmly to hers.
I pull my hand to the nape of her neck and tangle my fingers in her hair deepening the kiss, trying to pour every ounce of apology and love that I can into it. Every single nerve in my body alights with a fire that only burns with Y/N’s touch.
Allowing the kiss to turn slow and gentle, I move my forehead back to hers. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s late and I want to spend the morning slowly with you.”
“Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.” The small tight smile she gives me settles me slightly as I watch her close her eyes and begin to drift to sleep.
“I love you.” I whisper against her skin before kissing her forehead and tucking her in closely to me. With hope that tomorrow I would be able to prioritize the beautiful girl in front of me, I drift off to sleep holding her firmly to my side.
__________________________
As if in answer to my pleas, every god in the pantheon has conspired against me from that day. First it was watching her face fall as she saw the arsenal of daggers, I had made for Sorrengail, but I couldn’t tell her they were really at the behest of Sorrengail’s not-so-dead brother.
Then it was the saddle at war games. I watched as her eyes lost their light and she hid behind Dhioch’s leg until everyone mounted. Not once did I see her or Dhioch on the field the entire time, a knot of worry coiled in my chest, especially when I learned of the injured from the wing. And after the insanity of the day, I didn’t even get a chance to find her when I found myself in the infirmary looking after Liam. All of us rattled after his injury.
Next, days spent in the common room all of us studying for one of the thousands of different battle strategies that we needed to learn for our last third year exam. At first, she would join us in our studies and then as the weeks went on, she just avoided commons completely. The room losing the warmth with the continual loss of her.
I would see her in class and pull her to me every time, making sure to sit next to her, to try and get her attention. Though as days wore on, it was impossible to miss the way she kept pushing everyone away. The sunshine of a smile rarely graced her face. A laugh from her lips nearly impossible to hear. And every single time I had to walk away from her and watch her face fall, all I wanted to do is say fuck all to duty and lock us both away together.
Unfortunately, my father instilled the unwavering need to always complete my duty, sacrificing anything and everything else. The duty to Tyrrendor and Aretia as her Duke, to help those in need, the people of our land, to my family, but there was one thing my father never schooled me on.
Love.
When my mother disappeared, my father dove into work and duty leaving the possibility of love behind. Every waking hour was spent in the service of Aretia and Tyrrendor, save for the exceptions he made to spend time with me. Though even in those times, it was mainly to remind me of everything that I needed to be ready to shoulder. The expectations in the life of a noble. Even in his tutelage, he never even alluded to the possibility of ever finding love.
Never once can I remember him telling me what or who I would need to be to love someone properly. Even when he decided that I was to be betrothed to one of the heirs of Poromiel.
Then after the apostasy and my father’s execution, the thought of love was such a foreign concept that I pushed it aside, exchanging it for only pleasure and detachment.
It wasn’t until those eyes filled with warmth and life found mine and the bright smile splashed across her face broke every wall as if they had never stood in the first place. She was my absolute opposite in every way, but there was always something about her that my soul could never deny.
As the year drew closer to the anniversary of the apostasy, my frigid demeanor did nothing to help our situation. Between Sorrengail’s persistent fishing for random things about me, the looming deadline of graduation, and the heaviness of the day, it was only a matter of time before the short leash I had on my temper erupted.
Regrettably, it was directed at the one person who I wanted to wrap myself around and disappear with for the remainder of the day.
“Are you going to be training with Sorrengail again tonight?” The soft whisper of her voice floated to my ears as she came up from behind me in the hall.
The frustrated growl that emanated from me started the small spark that turned into a raging wildfire between us.
“Of course not. I’d rather be doing anything but dealing with anything or anyone inside of this godsforsaken school today.” The tone of my voice was anything but pleasant and I wanted to recoil at the devastated look on her face, but the weight of the day proved too much.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Xaden.” The icy tone that she gave back to me did nothing to help with the anger burning in my chest. “Didn’t know I was included on your list of inconveniences.”
“Gods. Why do you have to make this about you? Don’t you think for once it doesn’t need to be about you wallowing in the hole of self-pity you’ve dug for yourself?” The accusation in my tone is uncalled for, along with my words, but I’m at my wits end and don’t care. No one has ever told me anything helpful comes through anger, but that doesn’t stop the rage coiling inside me. Even though she is more than justified and I’m not.
‘If you keep pushing the Devoted One, you may find yourself regretting your words.’ Sgaeyl tries to knock some sense into me, but I can’t help the fire that seems to burn through every thought.
“If that’s how you feel then I will gladly take my wallowing elsewhere Xaden.” Her defiant tone makes my nostrils flare as she turns and begins to walk away from me, but not before calling over her shoulder. “In fact, you can just forget about me all together. Be well, wingleader.”
The voice at the back of my head is screaming at me that I’m an idiot and I need to immediately go after her and apologize. However, the anger and despair that has made a home in my chest over the last few days at the anniversary of my father’s death causes me walk away in the other direction.
When the day of the apostasy arrives, I haven’t seen the only sunlight in my life outside of classes. Every single time I try to get her attention, just to get her to look at me, she exquisitely avoids every attempt. Slipping through my fingers at every turn, even though I’ve been searching for her.
‘You can only brood about one thing at a time.’ Sgaeyl tries to tease through our bond, knowing that my mind is split in two directions.
As I sit on the parapet staring at the star speckled sky and the moon that illuminates charred corners of my soul, the replay of my last conversation with my Blaze sits heavily on my mind. The words said to her in anger reflecting the same way I spoke to my father the last time I saw him. If there is anything in this world that I don’t want, it is for her to leave me as abruptly as my father did. Especially not to words only spoken out of fear and anger.
‘Seems you have other problems to deal with first.’ Sgaeyl purrs through my mind, a small hint of amusement in her tone.
My brows furrow until I turn to the right and see a sight I never thought I would. Violet fucking Sorrengail is walking out on the parapet in a dress, aimed straight for me.
“Go back. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sorrengail?” I toss at her but am unsure if my voice has carried over the wind.
I eat up the steps between us quickly to make sure that I don’t end up dying from the utter stupidity of this woman. She may be smart, but she lacks common fucking sense.
“Coming to check on the brooding Wingleader. It hasn’t escaped my notice that you and L/N have been distant of late.” Violet states as if she has been observing my personal relationship with a scrutiny well beyond passing interest.
“The state of my relationship isn’t any of your concern. I’m only involved with you because of our mated dragons, nothing more, nothing less.” I can only hope that the firm tone in my voice will stop her incessant questions, because all they are doing is putting me more on edge about losing the girl that has seemed to disappear from this damned school.
“Come now Xaden, you can’t expect me to believe that you don’t harbor any feelings for me. An arsenal of weapons, a saddle, one on one training, I’m pretty sure you’ve spent more time with me this year than the girl you claim as yours.” The words hit home in a way that makes my heart crack open wide, a sharp dagger straight to the center of my heart. It isn’t because she’s wrong, no, it’s because every single thing she just said is absolutely right.
Taking a moment to look to the sky, the stars seem to mock me as they sparkle brightly in stark opposition to my entire life. I take a deep breath to center myself and my mind clicks. There is only one place that I’m going, one place I really want to be, and I need Violet to get her ass back to the citadel to do it.
“Look, you can think whatever you want, but there is a girl in that citadel I need to see, and it isn’t you. So, you need to get yourself back on solid ground.” I firmly grip her shoulders and turn her, beginning to march her back towards the opening.
She stutter steps and brings us both to a halt, irritating me further. “You can’t honestly tell me that I mean nothing to you.”
“Violet, I would be lying if I said I haven’t come to care about you. But you are a friend, at most.” The irritation in my voice is clear, though I mean the words I say. “However, there is a girl in there that I’m in love with, and I need to remind her right now, so get moving.”
I don’t miss the irritated huff leaving Violet’s mouth, but luckily for me she begins moving again. The last thing I want to do is have to sit here and explain to her why I would never choose her first. The minute we step down from the parapet, I’m about to begin a sprint to get to the girl that I’m wishing was with me when the blast of an alarm blares into the night.
Fuck.
Every thought leaves my mind as I begin racing to my room instead of towards the girl I’m desperate to see. Meeting Garrick in the hall, he informs me of what he knows as I head to my room to begin strapping the other weapons I left behind to my back and empty sheathes. Conferring about the squad, he leaves with his orders to gather those that are important and give them their orders.
Once I enter my room, I stop dead in my tracks. There, on my desk, rests a plate with the largest piece of chocolate cake I’ve ever seen. As I examine it, I find the only other thing left there is a fork. No note. No indication of where it comes from, but there is no need. There is only one other person that can cross my wards, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Even with our fight and my uncalled-for anger, she still is there to make sure I’m taken care of. A talent of hers that I know I don’t deserve.
Making sure I don’t feel forgotten.
Finally walking onto the dais with the cadre of Basgiath, I let my gaze wander over fourth wing and search for the one person that I need. Locking eyes on her, it is impossible to get her attention. She stands there at attention, silent with a stare that is unmoving in front of her. Her squad moves around her, conversations carrying between them, but the look in her eyes is the most vacant I’ve ever seen. She may have made sure I wasn’t alone today, but that doesn’t mean that she hasn’t felt alone and forgotten. My chest tightens when I realize that I may have irrevocably torn up and threw away the only thing in my life that matters, all while having to deal with fucking war games.
After orders are given, I prowl off the dais and Garrick meets me. “I told the others everything. Imogen was directed to let Y/N know she’s with us.”
“The other issue is going to be Sorrengail.” I relay as we begin marching back to our rooms to pack for war games. “I don’t want to take her, but I’m unsure if Tairn will be willing to leave Sgaeyl.”
‘I think you already know the answer to that.’ Sgaeyl huffs, confirming my suspicions.
“Y/N will understand Xaden. She’s always been the one to understand everything you have going on, that she knows about at least.” Garrick tries to placate me, but the look he gives me means even he knows that the tether between Y/N and I is too thin. It isn’t the first time that I’ve wondered if I’ve made the right call leaving Y/N out of the loop regarding the aid we’ve been rendering and the true threats we face.
I close my eyes and blow out a frustrated sigh. “I’m hoping that she can give me this before she just walks away.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “I never thought this year would be so complicated. And now, we’re about to graduate and most likely won’t even be at the same duty station.”
“I know you, Xaden. If you love her like I think you do, you’ll find a way. You just have to trust that what you’ve built can withstand the storm.” Garrick claps me on the shoulder and squeezes, a silent gesture that he’ll be there no matter what.
I give him a quick nod in acknowledgement and then trudge into my room to finish packing for whatever insanity the cadre has prepared for us this time. Without time to enjoy it, I wrap the cake and add it to my pack hoping that I can share it with my Blaze once everything gets settled. A few minutes later, I’m heading to the flight field and the anxiety swirling in the air has become oppressive, a blanket of unease woven tightly over every single cadet and dragon in the field.
“Something seems different than past war games.” Bodhi muses as he comes up on my left. Chancing a look at him, I can see he is just as tightly wound as I am.
“Considering our directive is to Athebyne, I don’t have any warm and fuzzy feelings about what’s going to be waiting for us.” I confirm to Bodhi as Garrick comes up on the other side.
I motion for Garrick to follow me, and he comes without question. As I’m scanning the flight field, it’s impossible not to notice that Dhioch is the last dragon in the line of riders. Brows furrowing, I don’t let myself focus on it too much, as this isn’t the time for me to have the conversation I want to have.
As we stride toward my Blaze, I see it again, the way the fight drained from her eyes leaving behind an almost vacant look. Anxiety claws its way back into my heart the closer I get to her. She’s looking directly at me, but it feels as if she’s looking through me, registering absolutely nothing.
“I assume Imogen told you that you’re coming with us.” The words leave my mouth, and my tone is nothing but business, belying the fact that I want to be anything but just business with her.
“Yes.” One word. The only thing she gives me. One single word. No emotion, no fight, just stated plainly. The claws in my chest squeeze and I can feel myself walking the knife’s edge, my control hanging on by the barest of threads.
I look over at Garrick and I can see the worry in his eyes causing me to swallow thickly, my stomach dropping. Garrick gives her an understanding look and turns heading back to our group. I can’t help but stand as an immovable statue, everything in me wants to crack, to take her in my arms and remind her how special she is, how much I need her to know that she’s important, but I give her a curt nod and turn away.
Every single nerve in my body is alight with unease. My steps back towards the rest of the group are sure, but inside the tempest raging is testing my control. From my peripherals I can see shadows begin to writhe in agitation, responding to the pulsing of power and apprehension that’s coursing through my veins.
Another question floats through my mind. Why is she so far away from everyone? Dhioch may not be as large as Sgaeyl, but she’s one of the most powerful in our year, size only slightly smaller than Chradh. My questions and worry must be loud enough to discomfort Sgaeyl, because she lowers her head and gives me a look that tells me she knows more than I do.
As I finally reach Garrick, he’s gathered with Bodhi and Liam probably going over the plans once we get to Athebyne. Until I get close enough to hear their conversation.
“I think it’s more than just feeling inconsequential. I’ve never seen her pull into such a shell of herself.” Bodhi’s words float to my ears as his back is turned to me. My stomach turns to lead and as soon as I reach the group, all our gazes look back and fall to the girl who was only ever a glowing ray of light in a life of unnatural grey.
As if pulled by our gazes, I watch as her eyes meet ours though nothing passes through her gaze. Staring at those eyes that have been my undoing, I set my resolve that as soon as we are out of the confines of Basgiath, I’m going to tell her everything. I’m exhausted from trying to hide everything and I refuse to let the last tether between us go.
My own plans for my Blaze solidified, I call out for the squad and mount Sgaeyl. “Headquarters squad, let’s go.”
Taking to the skies only quickens the pace of my heart. Though it’s impossible to sift through the anxiety that eats at me for the entirety of the six and a half hours it takes to reach the lake outside of Athebyne. I’m sitting on tenterhooks by the time Sgaeyl begins her descent to the lake. It’s only sharpened when I realize that Dhioch never seemed to catch up to the riot completely, for some reason they had launched significantly later than the rest of the squad.
Dismounting I can’t help but scan the skies looking for any trace of Dhioch’s scales. Scanning the area quickly, since I’ve been here more than a few times for drops. ‘The Devoted One is about ten minutes behind us.’ Sgaeyl confirms and it makes my heart race faster.
‘Why did they launch so much later? And why are they flying slower than usual?’ I can’t keep the questions in when Sgaeyl confirms that they are so far behind from where I’d prefer my Blaze to be.
‘You will have to speak to the Devoted One.’ Sgaeyl confirms as I walk towards Garrick.
“Where’s Y/N?” Garrick immediately asks as he makes his way towards where I stand.
“Sgaeyl says she and Dhioch are about ten minutes behind us. We should see them coming in to land soon.” I confirm, my voice even, but from what I can see my best friend is more than aware that I’m barely holding myself together.
“Are you finally going to tell her everything Xaden? At this point, I don’t think you are helping your cause.” Ever the practical one, Garrick knows what I need to do before even I do.
“Yes, I was hoping I would have just a few minutes with her here, but it isn’t looking like tha–.” My thoughts are cutoff.
‘A drift approaches.’ Sgaeyl’s voice splits into my thoughts and I’m moving.
Throwing shadows around Violet, I rush towards the rocks where she was speaking with Liam, other heavy footfalls following close behind. All thoughts abandon me as I try to figure out how I’m going to explain this to a Sorrengail of all people.
As I make my way towards the fliers, my eyes narrow when I see Syrena step forward. Placing myself ahead of Violet, I let the shadows fall and she steps up next to me. It’s more than obvious she’s ready to pounce on them as the enemy, but I’m not going to let it get that far.
“Why the fuck are you here Syrena?” The dark lilt of my voice shows my obvious distaste for their idiotic decisions.
The moment the words leave my mouth, I can hear Violet gasp. The sizzle of Violet’s power bites as it begins to pierce the air and I immediately turn to Liam, my eyes begging him to contain her. He steps up and wraps her up tight, but not before she decides to give the fliers a light show and call for her menace of a dragon.
“Fuck.” I mutter under my breath as I parse forward to figure out exactly why we’ve been graced with this unplanned visit.
“We’ve come to warn you.” Syrena confirms and I cock an eyebrow. The fliers may be many things but generously warning us of impending raids they plan to execute is usually not one of them.
“Warn us about what exactly? Are you intending on raiding another outpost? You know that we have a planned meeting for tomorrow.” I chance a glance back at Violet and see the shock on her face. I silently let out a huff. Good. Maybe now she’ll back the fuck off.
“Venin.” Syrena lets the word settle before continuing. “A horde is heading north after they decimated a village in the vicinity two days ago. It seems they are heading directly in the path of your outpost at Athebyne.”
“We’re armed and heading to Athebyne.” I confirm, before Syrena nods in acknowledgment.
“Signal if you can get away from those that still wear their rose-colored glasses.” Syrena says while flicking her gaze to Violet. Syrena turns on her heels and the fliers begin to walk back towards their mounts.
Taking a deep breath, the flash of copper in my peripherals brings my gaze up to see Y/N still seated on top of Dhioch as if she has been watching the entire ordeal. Her face looks impassive not a hint of surprise or anger on her face, but it’s the small seething girl in front of me that tears my focus away. Again.
‘Fucking. Traitor.’ Sorrengail’s thoughts are so loud, even without the bond and my signet, I’d be able to read them plainly on her face.
I can see the pain on Liam’s face at the words that she’s beginning to hurl at him. Accusation after accusation, as if she isn’t completely in the dark of what is actually going on.
“Stop Sorrengail.” My words are a command, and she immediately whirls on me, fire burning in her eyes.
“Stop?” Her tone goes low, showing her shallow control. “What exactly am I supposed to stop? You are all fucking traitors and –.”
I don’t let her finish.
“That is what you think, but you have absolutely no idea what is going on outside of the protective wards you’ve grown up in.” It’s obvious the way my words hit home as I watch her begin to squirm, her anger however hasn’t been tamed if the electricity in the air is anything to go by.
“Everything the fliers just said is true. The venin are real and they are threatening everything outside of our borders. They’ve been spreading like an infestation since before my father tried to expose Navarre’s lies.” Pausing, I give her a moment to absorb everything she’s just learned. I keep my mind open, trying to make sure she doesn’t decide to wield and measure her willingness to believe everything I’m saying is true.
I watch as her gaze goes in and out of focus, obviously confirming everything with Tairn. As she begins to work through her fury, her stance begins to soften slightly, and I know it’s to the unfortunate realization that this is the truth.
I don’t stop my explanation. I tell her about the weapons and give her one of the alloyed daggers I have strapped to my thigh, watching as she takes it in her fingers and feels the power thrumming through it. My mind is so focused on the volatile lightning wielder before me, all other thoughts have completely left me.
“You expect me to believe that the cadre of Navarre know all about the venin and refuse to do anything about it.” Violet snipes clearly reticent about the reality that this has been hid from her.
“Yes.” There’s no reason to elaborate, no reason to try and convince her, because if what the fliers said was true, she’s not only learning they’re real, but also, going to be seeing them ourselves.
“If what the fliers say is accurate, I don’t need to convince you. We’ll all be able to see it with our own eyes.”
With that I turn and head towards Sgaeyl, my thoughts in and out of focus between everything that’s happened in the last hour.
“Let’s go.” I call out as I mount Sgaeyl, and we launch headed direct for the outpost.
‘How much did Y/N hear or see?’ I question Sgaeyl, because again she’s too far for me to even gauge an ounce of what she is thinking.
‘Dhioch isn’t speaking with me.’ My heart jumps into my throat at Sgaeyl’s response. ‘However, she was in range the minute I confirmed there was a drift.’
Looking back, I cannot even see the gleam of Dhioch’s copper color and fear again grips me at the thought that I’m going to lose her. I’m fighting for a cause that at every turn seems to do nothing but tear away every single ounce of happiness I’ve ever found, and yet I know I can’t stop.
I found a woman that was more forgiving than anyone had the right to be, constantly assuaging the doubts I had over the time I didn’t get to spend with her. A woman who accepted every dark part of me, helped put every broken piece back together.
Then the additional challenges of General Sorrengail and Brennan’s requests this past year have torn every ounce of grace that my Blaze had ever given me to sunders. Every shard of trust and love built between us torn down for people that would love to see me dead, for a favor I was forced to keep in order to save the lives of children that didn’t deserve their cruelty. A choice that I made because it was the only option left.
My mind spinning, I don’t notice the absolute silence that greets my ears from the fortress as we descend. It isn’t until Sgaeyl lands that I realize we are truly alone at one of the most strategic outposts possible.
Dismounting, I take a quick count, again realizing that we are still short one rider.
‘Tell me the minute they land.’ I know better than to order around Sgaeyl, but I’m more than sure she can feel every single emotion I have that is running wild.
Walking into the outpost the eerie silence spills over every single nook and cranny. I let shadows spill out, crawling and swirling into every crack and crevice trying to find any sign of life, but they come up blank. Every single brick, every crack in the wooden beams scream of nothing but silence and stillness. The largest enemy to any army.
The wind suddenly whips through the open gate, and I look left to right taking in the leery gazes of those around me. Anxiety written plainly on every single face.
‘Dhioch just landed.’ Sgaeyl slithers swiftly into my mind, but I don’t let my focus waver.
“Divide and search. From what I can tell, the outpost is deserted.” I turn looking to the group, my focus hardening to the reality we are about to face. “Report back anything you find.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see Y/N come into view, but before I can so much as step towards her, she mounts the staircase to her right. Taking a deep breath, I direct Liam and Violet to follow me to the open-air observation point.
Climbing the stairs has my lungs and legs burning, the exertion helping my trepidation to cool slightly, narrowing my focus. Stepping foot onto the observation point, we have more than a clear view of the town of Resson just outside of Navarrian borders. A small, sleeping village that is about to be the scene of a gruesome enemy.
“There’s no way they would empty a strategic outpost just for war games.” Violet mumbles next to me and I huff a breath at her insistence to believe that the cadre aren’t just as nefarious in their ways to eliminate those they deem as any kind of threat.
“Liam, tell me what you can see.” I ignore Violet and get to the entire point of slogging up this tower, though a thought pricks at my mind, and I turn to her.
“When was the last time your precious best friend touched your face?” My question obviously catches her off-guard and she turns to me.
“What?” She stammers.
“Dain. When did he last touch your face?” I ask bluntly, my patience wearing thin. “Did he touch you after I told you about Athebyne?”
The reality of everything begins crashing into me as a booming voice calls out. “We found the directive.”
Garrick and Imogen kick up their pace and, in an instant, he’s handing me a missive scrawled with my name.
“That’s Colonel Aetos’ handwriting.” Violet confirms as Garrick takes a step back. I tear the seal and the panic that seizes me is immense.
“This isn’t a war game. This is war and we’ve been handed our sentence.” My voice is even, though panic and fury are coursing through my veins.
Garrick takes the missive from my hands and begins to read the words himself. His muttered curse is telling to everyone around us and then he reads the words aloud giving voice to the anxiety crawling up my spine.
“We either abandon Resson or abandon command of fourth wing.” He states, looking up directly at me.
“No, not we. Me. This is a test meant for me.” Letting the resignation course through me, the weight of my decisions pressing in on every side, I’m brought out of my thoughts as an explosion booms and Liam gasps.
“Those were the gates of the village, and the fliers were right. There are four venin headed into the town now. There’s one that seems to be leading, creepy red veins and eyes that could steal your soul, with a large staff.” The minute he finishes speaking, everyone flies to the wall of the turret and strains to look at the enemy looming down on the town.
“There’s nothing to see down there.” Bodhi complains while leaning over the wall, far too far for comfort.
Liam pulls him back to the ground before replying. “Yes, there is and they’re coming for Resson.”
“They are. You should all take your riot and fly as fast as you can out of here.” Syrena says as she comes up next to the group. “We can see that your cadre already evacuated the outpost.”
“You don’t want us to fight?” Garrick asks, surprise on his face.
“No, you’re not ready. How many of you have even seen combat, let alone battle venin. Two is more than enough to decimate everything and everyone down there. Four of them will leave nothing and no one behind.” Syrena’s face hardens as she continues to explain the truth of the situation we find ourselves in. “Take your riot and get out of here as fast as you can.”
Before I can form words, she’s heading back down the turret and back towards her drift. I close my eyes, letting my options settle in my mind.
‘I am with you. We will not leave those who cannot defend themselves. I have never turned from a fight, and I will not start today.’ Sgaeyl confirms, solidifying the decision I’d already made.
Turning back to everyone, I look at each of them and can’t help the way my chest clenches at the thought of putting them all in danger. As much as I want to keep each and every one of these people safe, I know that is not the world we were born to.
"I refuse to leave those who cannot defend themselves. Though I won’t command any of you to join me. I’ve already made decisions for you by forcing you to join the quadrant and fight for your life there. I will not take your decision away from you now.” My words are firm as I continue to parse over our group, more than aware we are still missing one person.
‘The Devoted One is with you as well. Her and Dhioch are going to sweep the perimeter once we launch.’ Sgaeyl confirms as I continue to wait for the decisions of those around me. The confirmation does nothing to calm my thoughts or emotions, putting her in harm’s way is the last thing I want to do.
Garrick is then the first to move, his hand clasped hard on my shoulder. “In it till the end, remember? I’m not changing my mind now.” His hand squeezes hard on my shoulder and I can see the determination shining in his eyes.
“We’ve been the defenseless ones. You shouldered that responsibility for us, cousin, now it is time to repay you and those who cannot defend themselves.” Bodhi responds as he comes up to flank my left side.
Liam and Imogen follow suit. It isn’t long before Eya, Cirian, Masen, and Soleil also join, until the last person standing in front of me is Sorrengail.
“I know what it’s like to be vulnerable. Now I have the power to fight, and I will not waste it.” Violet states and I nod my head in acknowledgement.
As Violet goes on to recount details of the venin from her memories of the book of fables, Liam gives a detailed report of the venin whereabouts, and I analyze the skills we have at our fingertips with those present. A tiny voice at the back of my mind whispers that someone with more battle experience, more strategic knowledge should be making these calls, but I squash it as soon as it rises because there is no time to doubt.
Soon enough, directives have been delivered, and each rider is descending the staircase heading to their respective dragons. My mind wants to spiral, but I lock down every single thing that isn’t related to the battle we’re facing.
I cannot let my focus be stolen.
“What about Y/N?” Bodhi asks as he begins to walk towards Cuir.
I give him a tight sad smile before replying. “She’s with us. Just like we always thought she would be.”
The smile he returns is rueful, with just a hint of mischief. “I always told you she was special Xaden. Now you just have to survive so you can grovel.”
I roll my eyes at him before running up Sgaeyl’s leg and mounting. Searching for copper scales, I’m disappointed to find them already floating above us. The minute before we launch a screech I’ve never heard before tears through the air and all heads turn to see a grey form in the distance.
“That’s a wyvern! There are two legs, not four.” Violet calls out and everyone’s gaze tears back to the sky and we all watch as blue fire spits from its mouth.
“Now that we are all aware of the variables, anyone want to fly for Eltuval?” I ask over the rising panic from the village. Looking to the left and right no one confirms they want to change their minds. “Then get as many people to safety as you can and remember only use the alloyed blade to fight the venin.”
Without hesitating the sky begins to rush up as Sgaeyl launches and races to get a higher vantage. The city below us is burning, smoke and ash billowing in the skies. Plumes of smoke in colors I’ve never seen swirl with a ferocity of magic. The smell holding a foul odor unlike dragon fire.
Civilians scream as they try to find cover, running left and right looking for anything sturdy enough to hide in. Chaos is a living breathing thing as we all descend trying to find the best location to get everyone to safety.
Devastation already rules throughout the town, bodies of the fallen strewn about, mothers crying over their children holding their limp bodies with desperation, and children slumped over their mothers’ lifeless forms. Nothing we experience at Basgiath could possibly prepare you for the scene that has begun to unfold.
‘Soleil and Laim are on the ground evacuating townspeople to a mine.’ Sgaeyl confirms as we fly directly into the path of an oncoming wyvern. The gleaming teeth barred in our direction dripping with scarlet blood only adding to the menace of the beast. Sgaeyl banks quickly and in the blink of an eye tears through the neck of the grey beast, blood now dripping down her maw in the same menacing way.
‘Good, let’s get to the edge of town and clear what we can. It seems there is something they are looking for near the clock tower.’ My voice is firm, and my focus locked on getting as many innocent people to safety as we can.
Heading to the outskirts of the town, the flash of Dhioch’s scales fly underneath Sgaeyl and my breath catches when I realize there’s no rider.
‘Stop your worry. The Devoted One is evacuating a child that was separated from their parents.’ Sgaeyl calls as we continue our course to the edge of town. I take a deep breath, letting the knowledge calm my unease.
Stones topple and crumble as we make it to the walls of the village, looking down, I see a venin heading straight for a group of civilians. Robes billowing as they stride with a manic gleam in their terrifying scarlet eyes. Rolling from Sgaeyl’s back, I land in front of the frightened group and grab an alloyed dagger strapped at my hip.
“Ah, a rider, always so reckless. Always trying to play the hero.” The rasp of a voice grates on my ears, nails to the chalkboard of my mind. I let the shadows coil around my feet, threatening and taunting, coiling them towards the venin as he stands there as if analyzing my power.
Before I can register, the sound of rock crumbling has gaze focusing on the people behind me. “Let’s see if those shadows can save them.” The venin taunts as he hurtles a large stone towards a group of children.
Raising my hands, shadows lash out and drag the rock backwards hurtling it back into the wall.
“Shadows.” He sneers in contemplation. “My sage will be so proud once you join the fold.” My eyes flash at his words.
“I can guarantee I will die before I join your ranks.” I spit back and hoist the blade in my hand to strike. My focus is broken again when two roars sound simultaneously.
‘Xaden! Deigh is dying! Liam needs you!’ Violet’s voice pierces through my mind and my focus turns. My grip tightens but turning back to my target, find him gone. Rounding on the civilians, I alert them to where the rest of their townsfolk are hunkering down and call for Sgaeyl.
‘Tell me it’s not too late. Tell me we can save Deigh and Liam.’ The pause that follows tells me everything I need to know as we fly as fast as we can to where I can see Tairn hovering over two small forms.
All at once the weight of everything I’m losing begins crashing down around me. The cost of battle. The cost of my own decisions.
Liam.
The best of us. The one who always brought sunshine and smiles. The one person who always knew when to push my buttons. The person who brought me back from the brink. The one who always saw through my facades. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. Loyal to a fault. Wood shavings following him everywhere. Laughter and warmth emanating from every pore. He’s dying and there is nothing I can do to fix it.
“Liam.” His name feels like lead in my mouth as I crash down next to Violet. Looking up at her, tears flowing down her cheeks, it takes every ounce of control still within me not to break apart.
“Take me to Deigh.” Liam whispers and brings my focus back down to him.
“Of course, Brother.” The words almost lodge in my throat, but I choke them out as I get to my feet and lift him in my arms. The weight of him dragging me down as the truth of the moment begins to pull at every ounce of my shattered heart.
“It shouldn’t be you.” The words rend from me in a whisper. I just can’t control the anguish that is rushing through me in a torrent of uncontrollable emotion. “It should’ve never been you.”
“I made my choice, brother.” Liam chokes out as he brings his eyes to mine, laying him down next to the broken body of Deigh. The injustice at the situation flies like fury through my mind, he’s here, whole and unharmed, and yet we are losing him. Losing the sunshine to my clouds of our found family. I try to drag my mind from the pain of our reality, but I’m lost to the oblivion of grief.
It’s Liam’s soft words that brings my focus back. “I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything.” My response so quiet I can barely hear it in my own ears.
“Promise me you’ll find happiness with Y/N.” Liam whispers as his breathing begins to slow. “You deserve to be happy Xaden, and everyone knows that she’s it for you. And take care of Violet and Sloane too. They all need you, Xaden.”
The tears snake down my cheeks unbidden now. I can’t hold the emotion in any longer. Liam never questioned his loyalty to me, never once doubted my orders, and is dying because of my decisions. Yet his concern isn’t for himself. It’s for everyone around him and their chances at happiness.
“I promise I will try my hardest to find that happiness, but it won’t be the same without you.” It’s impossible to keep the tide of tears away. Another person that means the world to me being ripped away. Another burden of grief falling into the chasm that won’t seem to fill.
“You are the best of us, brother and you deserve so much more than this.” The words are choked from my throat as I squeeze Liam’s hand brining my forehead to his. A sad smile curls across his lips as a sharp screech tears through the air.
“I love you brother.” As soon as the words leave my lips, Liam’s head rolls to the side and his eyes slide shut. I let my head drop and a rough, unfiltered scream rips through my lungs. Every single ounce of anguish, fear, sorrow, and hatred rolled up into a sound that breaks even my own heart. Shadows tear from my body filling the field around us in a shock of darkness before I reign them in, the sounds of the battle coming back into focus.
They killed Liam. They will all die.
The feeling of vengeance coursing through me as I find myself back at Violet’s side. As soon as I arrive, we both look up to see two wyverns with venin on their backs. An entire horde of wyvern careening quickly towards those we are trying so desperately to save.
“Go.” I command as she stands, determination etched on every line of her face. “You’ll have to be the one to take the venin down. I’ll cover you for as long as I can.”
Before she can reply, I let the shadows absorb the valley and plant my feet. My mind racing at the losses we’ve faced already, and we haven’t even killed half of the venin here.
Violet’s emotions bleed through the bond as she focuses on revenge, the acrid tang coating every pore. Standing here concentrating on holding back the wyvern, I let her emotions roll through me. The taste of death for these creatures who have taken so much a sweet balm to the bitter taste of loss.
I watch those in battle around me, trying desperately to find a way to help them all. My focus is suddenly broken as I feel Violet’s shock and pain flare. Looking up, I can see her on Tairn’s back facing off with a female venin.
Splitting my power, I let the shadows cover Tairn’s back.
‘Use your advantage.’ I send to her, directing her to take the death blow. The minute I see the venin fall from Tairn’s back, I drop the shadows from them and let them melt back into covering the valley.
‘You have to drop the shadows. I have a plan.’ Violet sends through the bond as Tairn flies towards the remaining wyvern.
‘I can’t it’s the only thing keeping those fuckers out.’ I bite back, but there’s no mistaking the waver in my voice. Fire has begun to lick at my veins from the amount of power that I’m trying to maintain, but I won’t let myself falter.
I can’t.
‘If you have a single ounce of trust in me, you’ll drop them. Now!’ Violet shoots back and I’m faltering straining to keep my power in check, so I know this is happening one way or another.
The minute they drop, I’m sprinting. My body feels like lead between the emotions and exertions of the day, but I can’t stop. I won’t. There’s no room to falter, no space for hesitation. I only concentrate on pumping the air in and out of my lungs as I continue my run.
Sgaeyl is there waiting, and I mount faster than I ever have in my life as we fly towards Tairn and Violet. I know that I must keep her alive if I’m going to keep my promise to Liam. Keep the promise to myself.
‘I’ll kill one and you take the other. Once they are dead, the wyvern will fall.’ Violet’s voice slices through my focus and I don’t miss the way it’s laced with pain.
Trailing behind Tairn, I suddenly feel myself caught in a vortex that feels both foreign and familiar. Time seems to stand still as I watch in horror hoping that we aren’t about to meet an unfortunate end. A band seems to snap and the battle resumes, the crackle of white-hot energy zings around us and a bolt flies from the sky and strikes the venin in a direct hit.
My gaze is stolen from the scene as I watch another wyvern begin a direct path to Tairn, I let shadows fly forming a lasso around the venin and pull it towards me with all the force I can muster. The venin bears down on my hand, and directly onto the alloyed blade in my outstretched arm.
As soon as I look back towards Tairn, the world seems to stop and my heart leaps into my throat as Violet’s body falls from his back.
“Violet!” I scream and Sgaeyl uses every ounce of energy she has left to reach her falling body. Cutting through the sky, my hands grasping her pommel with every ounce of strength I have left, I can’t help but think that we aren’t going to make it. We aren’t close enough and Violet is falling too fast.
Before I can overthink it again, I watch as a flash of gold is suddenly in front of us, that same vortex coming and breaking again. Andarna’s appearance helps to stop Violet’s rapid descent until Sgaeyl is underneath her. Andarna rolls slightly and Violet falls into my arms, her unconscious form lulling against my chest.
‘Tell everyone to meet by the gates.’ I tell Sgaeyl as she begins her descent to the ground.
I dismount and take the time to look for the wound that caused Violet to fall. The breath leaves my lungs when I see there is a blade sticking out of her side. But it isn’t the blade that concerns me, it’s the blood flowing from the wound. As I pull my hand away, there is no mistaking that everything about this wound is wrong.
Her blood is black.
Fuck.
Footsteps rush to where we are, and I look up into battle scared faces and exhaustion. I try to take in everyone around me, but my mind is racing a thousand miles a minute trying to decide the best action to take. It’s once my gaze locks on Garrick that I make my decision.
“You need to take her to Riorson House. You need to get her to Brennan. Quickly.” I say to him, although its more of an order than a request.
“Are you really sure that’s the best idea?” Garrick questions, though his intentions may be good, I don’t have time for hesitation.
“It’s the only idea. We need a few days to regroup and make decisions. She wanted to fight, so now she gets to keep the secrets just like we do.” I say as I stand and lift Violet’s limp body.
Garrick doesn’t question anymore as he shoulders Violet’s body from me. In the blink of an eye both he and Chradh are gone and the rest of us are left to pick up the remaining pieces.
‘She better survive this, Wingleader.’ Tairn’s voice pours through my mind and there’s no hiding the menace behind the words.
The sound of wings beat, and I know that Tairn has taken flight in the direction of his injured rider. Tairn can be as angry as he wants and question all my choices, as long as she survives. Spinning on my heels, I’m met with Sgaeyl’s snout and her golden stare.
Brows furrowing, apprehension begins to curl in my chest at her continued stare. Something in her eyes causes the dread in my chest to spike again.
‘What?’ I send to her, though she doesn’t respond at first.
‘You should take care of your brother.’ The thought hits me in the chest as a fresh wave of grief tumbles over me. It’s that grief and reminder that causes my gaze to begin searching.
Scanning over every single face gathered around me, taking in every single wound, smear of blood, and eyes full of pain an exhaustion. However, my heart stops when I realize that one pair of eyes is missing. Turning I let myself glance over every dragon that stands behind Sgaeyl and my breath catches in my throat.
Dhioch stands staring at me. Her golden eyes are shining with anger, the blaze so hot I’m not sure how she hasn’t scorched me yet. Whipping back around, I nearly fall as I look over those gathered again. I don’t know how many times I look to each person before the reality begins filtering in, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.
“Y/N.” Her name leaves my lips in a whisper so low I’m not sure anyone even heard me. Without thinking, I let my shadows roam free, asking them to find her, to search every single inch of the village around us.
Seconds tick by, then minutes. I don’t know how long I let them search but by the time every inch of the village has been rummaged through several times over, my emotions are so high I’m uncertain as to how I’m standing. Tracing the devastation of the town, it barely compares yo the feeling growing in my own chest.
I can feel how pale my face has gone. Cold sweat beading at my forehead and running down my clothed back. My heart in my throat as they continue to roam, my heartrate beating a staccato in my chest, daring to break free the longer they search with no results.
“Xaden.” Bodhi steps next to me, concern lacing his features. “What’s going on?”
I turn and look at him, but my focus is so scattered, I feel like I’m looking through him.
“She’s gone.” The words leave my mouth in a choke, as if my mouth can barely string the words together. Any semblance left of my world shattering with the realization.
Bodhi glances around, his brows furrowing as he tries to untangle what exactly I’m trying to say. I watch as realization finally dawns on his face and his brows rise in shock.
“She’s gone?” He repeats, but as a question. I nod slightly as I turn back to look at Dhioch.
‘Is that what you were trying to tell me, Sgaeyl?’ The words flow through my mental bond so low, I’m unsure if I really thought them.
As soon as I finish the thought, Sgaeyl brings her snout to me and gives me a gentle nudge. That one movement causes the dam to break. The shadows that I had tight control on leave in the second torrent of the day and my eyes begin to fill with tears as I raise my face to the ashen sky.
Taking measured steps, I walk to the crumbling outer walls of the town. Holding the tears at bay proves the only thing I can control until I find myself sinking to my knees next to boulders that used to stand proud and firm in protection of the decimated village. As soon as my knees hit the dirt and jagged rocks, the flood finally breaks, uncontrollable sobs wracking my body.
Trembling, I can’t stop the emotions as they barrel through me. Failure is an anvil on my chest at my inability to save those who deserved to live, and the crushing realization that the woman I love is gone taking my breath.
Air. There’s absolutely no air.
Nothing I do will pull the breath back into my lungs. My soul is crushed from the weight of Soleil and Liam’s deaths, Violet being hurt, and now realizing that the one thing I was fighting for is gone.
‘You are stronger than this, Xaden. You cannot let them win. Falling here will not bring her back to you.’ Sgaeyl knows that pretty words won’t bring me back from the brink. Her voice is stern and unwavering, a solid command to bring me back to myself.
‘There isn’t any way for you to find her? What if she’s hurt? Does Dhioch know if she’s safe? She wasn’t taken, was she?’ The barrage of questions tumbles through my scattered mind trying to grasp and claw at any single piece of information, at any way that this isn’t real.
‘Dhioch won’t give me details, but she does confirm that she can no longer feel their bond.’ Sgaeyl’s voice carries an undercurrent of concern, and the information causes my mind to blank and finally focus.
As air begins to fill my lungs again, my mind sharpens the fog of grief lifting slightly. ‘What do you mean she can’t feel their bond? How can Dhioch know she’s alive if she can’t feel her.’
I refuse to bring voice to the one question that truly plagues my mind. If she can’t feel a bond than certainly, she has to be -.
NO.
I refuse.
I will not let this be the end.
I will not let myself even think of the possibility of that outcome.
The emptiness I felt just moments ago is now filled with rage. How can she be gone? How can her bond to her dragon be breached? What was she thinking?
At least the rage is a comfort, something familiar. I let the feeling wrap around me, steeling me from the turbulent emotions of grief and sorrow. I will not drown. I will find her and bring her back. I won’t stop until she’s by my side again.
Every single step back to the group shores my resolve. By the time I reach them, my usual stoic mask is back in place, and I refuse to let any of them see me break. If I break, it means I’ve failed, and I will not accept failure. Not in this.
“Let’s go. It’s time to take some time at home.” I tell the group and mount Sgaeyl without turning around.
The two hours of flight does nothing to calm the turbulence I’ve caged in my body. Trying to hold every single piece of myself in place proves to be more difficult than I expected. The shards of my heart threatening to break apart at any moment.
‘Will Dhioch tell you anything?’ My mind can only handle one thought. Where did she go and how do I find her?
‘Dhioch is not willing to talk now. I will try my best to get something, but I can’t promise you anything Xaden.’ My name. She never calls me that. At least not unless she’s trying to convince me not to falter. Her tone is also quieter than normal. All these things combined have my chest tightening.
‘Can you at least let Dhioch know that I’m sorry? Sorry for all the ways I’ve failed her rider. That I’ll do anything in my power to get her back.’
‘Of course you will.’ The feminine voice that slices through my mind is sharp and causes my head to swivel, looking directly into Dhioch’s eyes. No ounce of sympathy in the words, only command. ‘If you don’t, I will cut your life short. Your apology will be accepted when you find my rider.’
I don’t cower from the brown’s gaze, if anything I revel in the challenge. Fire and determination lick through my veins. I need someone besides just myself in Y/N’s corner, fighting for her and only her.
‘I promise you, Dhioch. I will return her to you. I will have her back in my arms again.’ The spark of defiance reverberating through my chest. I will utilize every single weapon in my arsenal, until I exhaust each and every one.
Soon enough familiar cliffs that line Aretia come into focus, the jagged edges reminding me of what’s left of my heart, and I let myself breathe. The first full breath I’ve had since the sirens rang out at Basgiath. Breathing through the pain and grief, the constant pull of darkness that wants to bring me down. People are depending on me and there’s a woman that I need to find, and I won’t be able to do that if I let myself drown.
As we descend, two figures come into sharp focus as we descend near the large wooden doors of Riorson House. I snort as the worried face of Garrick and the furious face of Brennan Sorrengail come into clear focus. Rolling my shoulders, I let myself prepare for the fight I know that I’m about to have with one of the most infuriating people on the Assembly.
Dropping from Sgaeyl, I stride with purpose straight for the blazing amber eyes that hold nothing but judgment.
“What the fuck were you thinking Riorson?” Ire building, I push past him refusing to answer.
As soon as I pass the threshold, I let the familiar smell wrap around me the comforting warmth of centuries old stone, worn rugs, and spices that flow from the kitchens. Every single breath begins to calm the storm that has been raging and tearing, whipping and breaking against every wall I had built. Without turning around I let my first words since leaving Resson spill from my mouth.
“Is Violet alright?” It takes every effort to keep my voice even, to not let Brennan know how much my inability to keep her safe is dragging at me.
Brennan walks up to my side and then turns in front of me, his eyes still blazing with fury. “I was able to stop the poison from spreading, but only time will tell if there are any aftereffects.”
“What were you thinking?” Brennan continues as he tries to stand tall and defiant against me.
“What was I thinking?” My patience hanging by a thread. “I was thinking we were sent to die, and I wasn’t going down without a fight. That this entire situation was planned by the cadre at Basgiath and left me no choice, not really.”
“That’s no reason to battle venin underprepared.” Brennan challenges.
“I did what I could. I made decisions that will haunt me for the rest of my life.” My voice continues to get louder as the thread on my self-control snaps. “My friend is dead because of my decision. My brother is dead because of my decision. The girl whose life is tethered to mine was poisoned because of my decision. And the woman I love is gone because of my decision.”
Fists clenched at my sides, the bite of my nails digging into my palms keeping me together. “You sit here behind the Assembly, in the safety of Riorson House and dare challenge me on my decision? I was given an impossible choice. I let every single person decide. Now I – as their commander – get to suffer the consequences of my actions. If you want to be angry, fine, but that leaves me only one thing to say.”
“Fuck. You.” With that I push past Brennan and stride straight to the one place in this fortress of a house that I can finally breathe.
Prowling up the battered stairs, each one worn smooth from the centuries of footsteps that traipsed them before me, I climb to the highest point. As soon as I reach the familiar opening, I step onto the crenellations of the roof and let the darkness of the night consume me.
A huff leaves my lips as I remember sitting in a similar spot only three days ago. Sitting on the parapet and trying to escape the emotions of the day. Now on the roof of Riorson House, I try to push past the emotions that loom over me.
How does someone pull themselves from the depth of grief? I can’t even save myself, how am I going to save everyone else? Is my life and happiness always going to be the cost of my duty?
Questions rolling through my mind, I don’t stop the tide. I let the grief trample my heart, the boulder crushing my chest. Let the regret steal my breath from my lungs. Let the anguish slide down my cheeks in torrents of tears. Let the desperation flow, my blood feeling like sludge in my veins. Let the resentment fill the fire in my eyes, the burn mixing with the tears.
I allow myself to feel everything, to drown in the tsunami of grief that’s left me empty. Even through the hollow emptiness, I promise myself that I will only rise stronger tomorrow.
— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.
warnings: use of drugs, rafe being fucking stupid
authors note: i realized i didnt wna have to write a whooleee fight between these dumbasses so ! anyway if u arent part of the tag list, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3
previous
the first punch sends shockwaves through the party. for a second, everything seems to freeze, like the world itself is holding its breath.
you stop in your tracks, stunned as jj and rafe launch at each other. it’s all a blur of movement, and you can’t make out who’s shouting what anymore. the noise swells.
john b and pope are already stepping in, grappling to pull jj back while sarah and topper move toward rafe, each trying to pry the boys apart before things get worse.
kiara’s by your side, screaming at rafe with all the fury she can muster, her voice cutting through the chaos. but it’s all happening too fast.
you can barely breathe, let alone make out the words flying back and forth. your head spins, and you feel kiara’s frantic energy beside you, only adding to the panic settling in your chest.
just as jj winds up for another punch, sarah and topper manage to drag rafe back. his chest heaves, eyes still wild with adrenaline, but he doesn’t throw another hit. john b and pope have jj pinned away from the fray, keeping him back before things escalate further.
you don’t even think—your body just moves.
you’re in front of rafe before you can process it, shoving your hand hard against his chest. “what the hell is wrong with you?” you scream, eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. “go inside! just go back inside!”
your voice cracks, but rafe barely reacts. his eyes are blazing, still locked on jj like he’s ready to tear back into the fight. sarah and topper have a grip on his arms, pulling him toward the house like you told him, but rafe shakes them off with a rough shrug, clearly not ready to be manhandled.
“rafe, stop!” you plead, but your voice feels lost in the chaos, drowned out by the shouts and murmurs all around. the party is watching. the crowd is growing.
you run your hands through your hair, trying to find some sense in all of this, heart racing as you turn back to kiara. “i’m sorry,” you mutter, breathless, guilt seeping into every word. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
kiara shakes her head quickly, not letting you carry the weight of it. “it’s not your fault,” she insists, her voice firm, but you can see the frustration and exhaustion flickering in her eyes. “it’s rafe. this is on him.”
for a moment, you stop, staring at her. what?
the thought flashes through your mind, quick and jarring. why was she so quick to blame rafe? yeah, he’s high, and yeah, he’s not innocent in this—far from it—but jj wasn’t exactly there to break up the fight either.
jj went in to fight. you know it, kiara knows it. so why is she acting like rafe is the only one at fault here?
you open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. everything is moving too fast, your emotions spinning too wildly. the party, the fight, the shouting—it’s all a mess, and maybe kiara’s accusation was just as quick as the rest of it. you try to push the thought aside, but it lingers, making you hesitate.
with a quick shake of your head, you decide to let it go, at least for now.
you give kiara a half-hearted nod and turn away, following rafe into the house. you’ll deal with the rest later. right now, you need to figure out what’s going on with him.
as soon as he crosses the threshold into the house, he assumes he’s in the clear, like stepping over that invisible line will make everything go back to normal. but you’re right behind him, not letting him off that easy.
with a firm hand, you push against his back, nudging him toward the staircase.
“no, go upstairs,” you say, your voice low but pointed.
he glances over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in defiance, but you don’t back down. the party outside is still raging, but in here, it’s just the two of you—and you’re not letting him just sulk in the corner of the kitchen or lounge around like nothing happened.
after a moment’s hesitation, rafe turns and starts up the stairs, dragging his feet a little but ultimately giving in.
you trail after him, your heart still racing from everything that happened. when he reaches the second floor and heads for his room, you don’t follow immediately. instead, you stand at the bottom of the stairs, trying to steady yourself. your clothes are still wet, sticking uncomfortably to your skin, and it’s only when you take a deep breath that you realize just how cold you are.
where the hell are the towels in this place?
you make your way upstairs after rafe, pushing the door to his room open. he’s already collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, clearly thinking this is over. but you ignore him for now, rummaging around the room in search of a towel.
your frustration mounts with each drawer you open, each cabinet you check. nothing. it’s like you’re a stranger in this house—and, well, you kind of are.
rafe sits up slightly, looking at you, and opens his mouth to say something. “y/n—”
you throw your hand up without looking at him, silencing him without a word. hold on. you’re too frustrated to deal with him yet. you need a moment.
with a huff, you head to the bathroom and finally find a towel. when you return to his room, you close the door behind you with more force than necessary, locking it as you wrap yourself up in the towel.
“what the hell was that?” your voice is sharper than you intend, but you can’t help it. “what is up with you?”
rafe’s eyes flicker toward you, a mix of annoyance and something else. maybe guilt. maybe. he doesn’t answer right away, just runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. the silence stretches between you, and your patience is wearing thin.
you’re giving rafe a look that practically screams, well? you can’t tell if he’s trying to piece together an excuse or if he’s genuinely too out of it to form a coherent thought. either way, it’s getting old fast.
“how much coke is in this house?” you finally ask.
he doesn’t answer right away, just blinks at you, his pupils still blown wide. you sigh, pulling your damp hair to one side as you rummage through the closet, searching for your clothes. every second that passes without him saying anything makes your chest tighten.
you hear him murmur something under his breath, “jj . . . he . . . he was yellin’ at me about somethin’, y/n . . . but it wasn’t . . .”
he trails off, his words slurred and vague, like he’s trying to make sense of the fight but can’t fully grasp it. he’s still high, clearly struggling to focus, and you can feel the frustration building in you. he’s not going to be any help right now.
you throw on a random shirt and some shorts over your soaked undergarments, still smelling like chlorine. it’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do for now.
once you’re dressed, you turn to face rafe, hands on your hips, tilting your head slightly as you try to gauge how much sense he’s capable of making.
he’s just sitting there, staring at you, his eyes half-lidded, mouth parted as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. you can’t read him—whether he’s too high to function or he’s stewing over something, you’re not sure. all you know is that you don’t exactly know how to babysit a high rafe cameron, especially not tonight.
“just steer clear of jj and kiara and sarah and—”
“sarah and her pogue friends,” rafe cuts you off, slurring the words out. it’s like the thought of them just crept into his mind, and he spits it out without thinking. but then, something shifts.
his gaze sharpens, flicking directly to you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. “you didn’t tell me they were comin’,” he adds, almost accusingly, his words slower now but still filled with suspicion.
your heart skips a beat. oh. it’s like he assumes you knew, and though technically he’s right, you don’t let that show on your face. you try to act confused, your brows furrowing as you throw a shrug into the mix.
“i didn’t know they were coming to the party,” you say, trying to sound as casual as possible, but you’re aware that you’re teetering on thin ice.
rafe’s not the kind of guy you lie to easily—and from what you know about him, he doesn’t take betrayal lightly. your pulse quickens just a little as you wait for his response.
rafe’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, his lips parting again as he swipes his tongue over them, thinking. he’s quiet for a moment, too quiet, and you’re not sure if he’s going to believe you. his gaze drops to the floor, and for a moment, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.
but then he nods, slowly, like he’s working through it in his head and deciding to let it go.
he trusts you. at least, for now.
you exhale softly, trying to keep your nerves in check. but you know one thing for certain—rafe isn’t one to tolerate lies, and you have no idea how far he’ll go, even with someone like you. even if you are his girlfriend in this reality.
but the loud knock startles you, your heart skipping a beat as you jump slightly. instinctively, you glance at rafe, whose eyes flick toward the door, narrowing in suspicion.
your throat feels tight, and you take a breath to steady yourself before walking over to unlock the door. as the latch clicks open, you pull the door just wide enough to see sarah standing there, her expression unreadable but cautious. behind her, topper hovers, his posture tense.
sarah looks past you, her gaze landing on rafe for a moment, hesitation flashing across her face. she looks almost apologetic as she lowers her voice, speaking softly, “hey, i know that right now’s probably not the right time but—”
before she can finish, rafe is already out of the bed, his body language shifting immediately from passive to aggressive as soon as he registers toppers presence.
his shout fills the room, “topper!” and his sudden movement toward the door makes your pulse quicken with alarm.
you whip around, and without thinking, you hold out your hands to press against his chest. “rafe, enough.” your voice is firm, but there’s a tremor beneath it that you hope he doesn’t notice.
you’re standing your ground, your palms against the hardness of his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles. every inch of him is still radiating anger, and for a split second, you wonder how much strength it would take for him to push past you.
but you press harder, guiding him back a step, then another, until his furious gaze shifts from topper to you. you swallow the knot of fear rising in your throat.
it’s one thing to watch a psychopath on tv, to see him rage through the screen. it’s another to stand toe to toe with him, to feel the weight of his fury in person, especially when you know that this version of rafe can lose control just as easily.
you keep your hand firm against his chest, not giving him an inch to push forward. “just . . . hang out here, okay?” you murmur, your voice low but steady, even though your heart is racing. you’re not asking—this is a silent command, and you’re hoping that somewhere inside, he’ll listen.
rafe’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring as he exhales sharply. he glances between you and topper again, his body still rigid, but he doesn’t fight your push. reluctantly, he steps back, his eyes dark with frustration, but he lets you guide him.
you silently plead for him to stay put, to not make this worse, and after a tense moment, he turns back toward the room. you exhale quietly, feeling like you’ve won some small battle.
with your back to him, you move toward the door, your hand slipping from his chest as you step out. you carefully shut the door behind you.
sarah’s watching you, her brows knitted together in concern, but she doesn’t say anything just yet. topper looks uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on his feet as if he knows just how close things came to exploding again.
you take a deep breath, then glance between them, “okay. what’s going on?”
topper’s the first to break the awkward silence, though his voice is quieter than you expected, almost subdued. he doesn’t meet your eyes at first, his gaze lingering somewhere on the floor.
“uh, y/n . . . about earlier,” he starts, his words slow, as if he’s picking them carefully, “i didn’t mean to— well, you know. the jump and everything. i’m sorry.”
he glances up at you, his expression a little less sure, and you can’t help but wonder if this is what the other version of topper looks like—quiet, maybe a little unsure of himself. is this, like, the other drunk version of him?
there’s no slurred speech, but there’s an awkwardness to him that makes you think he’s not completely sober either. his hands fidget at his sides, and he glances over at sarah, almost as if he needed her to be there for this. like he wouldn’t have come on his own.
you shift your gaze to sarah, catching the way she watches the whole exchange, her arms crossed, her face carefully neutral.
you can’t help but think she must’ve been the one who pushed him to come here—maybe topper didn’t want to face you alone, and she’s here as backup, just in case he stumbles through the apology.
“yeah, it’s fine,” you reply, your voice a little more clipped than you mean to be, but you’re still reeling from everything that happened. the pool jump, rafe’s outburst, the fight—it’s been a lot to handle in a short time, and you’re still trying to figure out where you stand with all of it. “is that it?”
you glance back at topper, who looks at sarah again, his eyes searching hers for guidance, for whatever comes next.
sarah’s eyes flicker toward rafe’s door. she takes a small breath, clearly weighing her words, and it hits you—she’s not here just for topper’s half-hearted apology. no, sarah’s here because she’s rafe’s sister, and out of everyone, she knows how much of a ticking time bomb he can be.
“i just wanted to check in on you.” she gives you a meaningful look, like she’s trying to gauge just how deep you are in this whole mess. “i know how rafe can be . . . difficult.”
you nod, unsure of what to say. it feels weird, hearing her say it like that—like being with rafe is some sort of burden, a challenge that no one but her fully understands. and maybe she’s right. you’re still figuring out how to handle him yourself.
but then sarah shifts the conversation, and her gaze sharpens, concern clear in her eyes. “i’m also a little worried about you and jj.”
you blink, caught off guard by the sudden mention. you’ve noticed people acting strangely around you, dropping hints here and there, but never fully explaining. even jj himself had that weird reaction earlier, telling you ‘never scare me like that again’ or whatever. but no one has outright told you what’s going on, why people are treating you like you’ve been gone longer than you actually have.
you glance between topper and sarah, suddenly piecing together that whatever it is they’re talking about, it’s bigger than you realized. your heart speeds up, and you try to play it cool, not wanting to tip them off that you’re completely in the dark.
“hey, do you mind just . . . filling me in on what’s been going on between me and jj?” you ask, keeping your voice casual, like you’re just curious, like you have a handle on things. “from your perspective?”
sarah shrugs, folding her arms. “well, you’ve kinda been . . . absent lately. ever since your parents left for their vacation, you’ve been locking yourself in the house.”
you frown, nodding like that makes sense, but you stay quiet, letting her continue.
“then there was that meltdown you had with jj, like a week before your parents left,” sarah adds, her eyes narrowing slightly like she’s trying to remember the details. “you were upset, said something about jj being a bad friend. and jj . . . he said something about how he wished he could take back the last four years.”
that last part hits you like a ton of bricks. take back the last four years? your mind races, scrambling to figure out how this even happened, what led to such an intense argument between him and supposedly you. the other you.
“and ever since then,” sarah finishes, “you’ve just been avoiding him. avoiding all of us.”
you swallow hard, the weight of her words sinking in. it’s starting to make sense, why everyone’s been acting so strange around you, why jj was even so hesitant to reach you, why the pogues looked relieved the moment they set their eyes on you.
you nod slowly, like it’s all starting to click, but deep down, you’re more confused than ever. there’s still pieces you’re sure you don’t know.
“he, uh, also said he wishes he could take back the times that he wasted on you?” topper’s voice is steady, but you can feel the tension in the air as sarah’s eyes widen, realizing too late what he’s trying to say. she starts to shake her head, an unspoken warning, but it’s too late. the words hang heavy in the room, and the sting of them hits you like a slap across the face.
you falter, caught off guard by the harshness of the statement. “what?” you manage to choke out, disbelief washing over you. no wonder this universe’s y/n was avoiding him. how could he say something so cruel?
the thought of jj thinking that way about you twists like a knife, and your stomach churns with confusion. you feel a mix of anger and sadness swelling within you, fighting for dominance.
“and i was avoiding you guys too?” you ask sarah, your voice shaky as you search her eyes for answers. she looks hesitant, choosing her words carefully, but finally nods.
“well, more them and less of me because we technically live together,” she explains, her tone softening. “but yeah, you said you were scared that if you saw one of them, they’d tell jj and . . .” she trails off, waving her hand.
your brow furrows in confusion as you process her words, the pieces slowly falling into place. “just a bunch of other stuff,” sarah finishes. you nod quietly, absorbing the weight of her explanation.
“so that’s why everyone’s been acting so weird,” you murmur under your breath. “thanks,” you murmur, the word leaving your lips like an automatic response, even though your mind is miles away.
sarah and topper exchange a glance, but neither presses further. the conversation is clearly over. sarah nods once before turning on her heel, and topper follows behind her, looking more than a little relieved. you watch them walk down the hall, their figures disappearing around the corner.
as soon as they’re out of sight, you let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. but there’s no time to dwell.
you open the door to rafe’s room, peeking inside cautiously. at first, you can’t really see him—there’s an odd stillness to the room, and for a second, you wonder if maybe he fell asleep.
but as you push the door open a little further, your eyes land on him. rafe is crouched by the table against the door, bent over it in a way that makes your stomach turn.
he’s snorting a line.
your heart drops. this idiot. anger flashes through you, but it’s a cold, silent kind of fury. you don’t scream. you don’t yell. before you can think, you rush over to him, grabbing his hand and pushing his head away from the table. “you’re kidding me,” you mutter, the disbelief in your voice heavy.
he barely reacts at first, looking at you through glazed eyes, still caught in his own haze. but you don’t care. you grab his wrist, yanking him up from the floor, your fingers tight around his arm.
“come on,” you snap, your voice sharp but low. you don’t even wait for him to say anything. you just pull him out of the room, out of the mess he’s made.
he stumbles behind you, his body unsteady, but you don’t let go. your grip on him is firm, and the silence between you both is heavy, but words feel pointless right now.
— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.
warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol n drugs, partying !
authors note: guys IM SORRY I WAS PLAYIJG VIDEO GAMES ALL DAY SO THIS MAY BE LOWKEY RUSHED. if u still arent part of the tag list, let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3
previous
you’re not sure why, but the idea of going shopping with rafe feels more intimate than you’d expect.
he had been a little grumpy when you first got into the car, grumbling about how he didn’t understand why you couldn’t have done this shopping thing with sarah. something about how he had better things to do.
you were half listening, your mind too caught up in the whirlwind of everything else. but after a few minutes of driving, the tension seemed to melt away, and by the time you arrived at the local mall, his mood had shifted. maybe it was just the idea of seeing you try on clothes that turned things around.
he seems to relax a bit when you start walking toward the entrance, his arm casually finding its way across your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side.
there’s something possessive about the way his arm sits there, like he’s staking some unspoken claim on you. you can feel the weight of it—almost heavy, but not uncomfortable. it’s a reminder that, in this world, you’re his.
the thought should unsettle you more than it does, but instead, it just feels . . . familiar. even though it’s wrong, even though it’s not really your life, there’s something intoxicating about the way he holds you like you belong to him.
inside, the mall is alive but not overly crowded. rafe doesn’t say much as you both head toward the first row of shops, his eyes scanning the storefronts while you try to focus on finding a dress for midsummers.
you catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the reflective windows as you pass by—his arm still draped across you, your body tucked against his side. it feels like a scene straight out of the show, like you’re playing a part you’re still not sure you belong in. but for now, you’ll play along.
“this one looks promising,” you say, slowing your steps as you spot a boutique with a window display of delicate dresses, all soft fabrics and flowy silhouettes. something about the colors catches your eye, and without waiting for a response, you give rafe’s hand a tug and pull him toward the doors.
“careful,” he mutters, though his voice holds a teasing note. there’s a faint smile on his lips now, one that wasn’t there earlier, and it makes something warm settle in your chest. maybe he’s enjoying this more than he wants to admit.
you step inside, the cool air of the store hitting your skin, and you let your fingers drift over the racks of dresses as you pass.
“see anything you like?” rafe asks, his voice low as he stands beside you, arms crossed over his chest. he looks out of place here, towering over the dainty dresses and soft hues, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he watches you.
“maybe,” you murmur, holding up a pale blue dress to examine it. it’s the kind of dress you can picture yourself wearing to midsummers—elegant, yet effortless.
and for a moment, you imagine it: you, in this dress, moving through the midsummers crowd, rafe beside you in a crisp suit, the two of you part of this world in a way that feels seamless. like you belong.
“try it on,” he says, his tone lighter now, a hint of encouragement in his voice. “i’ll tell you if it’s ugly.”
you roll your eyes but head to the dressing rooms with a few options anyway. the feeling of slipping a dress on is strangely comforting, like a piece of this world fitting over you.
when you step out of the dressing room, rafe eyes meet yours, and something unspoken passes between you. his gaze travels down your frame, taking in the soft blue fabric and how it falls over your figure.
he doesn’t say anything at first, but the way he looks at you—almost like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before—makes your heart skip a beat.
“well?” you ask, feeling a little self-conscious under his scrutiny. you twirl once, letting the hem of the dress spin around you.
“you look good,” he says after a moment, his voice low, almost gruff. “real good.”
you find yourself smiling, feeling lighter in a way you hadn’t expected. “yeah? you think i should get it?”
he nods, his eyes still on you, and for a second, it feels like the rest of the world has faded away. like it’s just the two of you in this quiet little bubble, pretending this is all normal. pretending you belong here.
you can feel the heat creeping to your cheeks as you step back into the fitting room. after a moment of contemplation, you decide to try on a dusty lavender dress next.
stepping into the soft fabric, you notice how it cascades gently down to the floor, the a-line silhouette highlighting your figure without being too tight. you catch your reflection again, and the delicate curve of the neckline gives you a feeling of elegance.
the lavender is softer than you expected, and the way it flows feels like wearing a dream. but as much as you enjoy this one, it doesn’t quite feel like the one. after a few moments of contemplation, you slip back into the fitting room for the last dress.
you pull on the creamy ivory dress, admiring how the corset-style bodice fits snugly against you while still being incredibly comfortable.
stepping in front of the mirror, the soft fabric flows down to the floor, and as you turn, you can see how the light catches it just right. it’s simple yet breathtaking.
“this one’s different,” you say, a hint of excitement creeping into your voice as you glance back at rafe.
he doesn’t respond immediately, and when you finally turn to look at him, his eyes are wide, almost in disbelief. “jesus,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone deepening. “you need to get this one. hell, get all three.”
your smile falters slightly at the suggestion. “all three? do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“yeah,” he replies, his voice low but laced with admiration. “yeah . . . you deserve it, baby.”
you consider his words for a moment, a mix of excitement and hesitation swirling inside you. finally, with a playful roll of your eyes, you agree.
you end up buying the dresses, of course, and as you exit the store, rafe reaches for you again. the gesture across your shoulder feels easy now, natural, and you let your fingers slide into his without thinking twice.
you’re wandering through the mall together, passing by more shops, occasionally glancing into windows to see if anything else catches your eye.
“you sure you’re done?” he asks at one point, raising an eyebrow as you pass a shoe store. “no shoes to go with the dress?”
you shrug. “i’ll think about it. besides, i already spent your money.”
his lips curve into a smirk. “yeah, well, you know that i don’t mind spending it on you.”
rafe parks the car and hops out, grabbing the shopping bags filled with your new dresses while you unlock the front door. as you swing it open, he strides in behind you, his presence instantly filling the space.
“sarah!” he calls out, his voice booming in the otherwise quiet house. “if you’re here, get out! this is my party tonight!”
rafe heads upstairs, leaving you to wander through the home.
as you step inside, you notice the modern decor—sleek furniture, vibrant artwork lining the walls, and hints of a coastal charm.
glancing into the kitchen, you peek around the corner. the expansive space is bright, with sunlight streaming in through the windows. you’re just about to pull back when a small noise startles you.
wheezie, rafe’s youngest sister, stands in front of the fridge, her curious gaze locking onto yours.
“hey?” she asks, bowing her head down slightly, a blend of confusion and curiosity on her face.
you feel a rush of shyness, suddenly self-conscious. “hi,” you reply quietly, waving as if it might somehow ease the moment. but the nerves get the better of you, and you find yourself slipping away from the doorway. wheezie watches you with a puzzled expression.
as you reenter the living room, rafe strides down the staircase, his brow furrowing when he catches sight of you.
“what’s up with you?” he asks, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.
you shake your head, the words tumbling out in a rush. “it was just wheezie.”
“wheezie?” he echoes, confusion crossing his face. he brushes past you, heading straight for the kitchen. “what the hell are you doing here? my party’s tonight.”
you follow him out of curiosity as you peek into the kitchen. wheezie stands by the fridge, looking completely unbothered, a slight grin on her face as she watches rafe approach. “no one’s driven me to my sleepover tonight,” she replies.
rafe’s expression shifts, annoyance flickering briefly before he recalibrates. he glances at you, then back at his sister, considering his options. you can see the gears turning in his head as he weighs the possibility of driving her himself or asking you to do it. neither option seems appealing to him.
“let me— let me call them,” he says, scratching the back of his head, his frustration evident. “wait, where’s rose?”
wheezie grimaces, “rose wouldn’t drive me.”
rafe’s jaw tightens slightly, reaching for wheezie’s arm and gently guiding her out of the kitchen. “yeah, but she will if i ask her to,” he mutters.
as they head upstairs, you linger behind, watching rafe lead wheezie toward the other bedrooms. you hear rafe calling out to ward and rose, checking to see if they’re home.
the lightness of the moment is comforting, a reminder that even amidst the chaos of the party ahead, there are these small, intimate moments that ground you.
“you’re seriously telling me that neither of them is home?” you hear him ask wheezie.
“yup.”
“you could’ve just texted me or something,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “now i’m gonna have to call someone to pick you up, and—”
your phone buzzes in your pocket. you pull it out, glancing at the screen to find a message from sarah.
‘ hey! just a heads up, i’m bringing kie, john b, pope, and jj to the party tonight but shhh—don’t tell rafe! ’
your heart skips a beat. the mention of the pogues sends a thrill through you. you can almost picture rafe, arms crossed, brow furrowed, ready to kick them out before they even set foot in the door.
you quickly type back an ‘ okay ’ before slipping your phone back into your pocket.
the atmosphere of the party envelops you like a thick fog, the pulsating music thrumming in your chest and the chatter of laughter echoing off the walls.
you clutch your drink—a simple soda—trying to keep it low-key among the flurry of cocktails and colorful concoctions swirling around you.
it’s safer this way, you tell yourself. one drink is enough to keep you grounded, but the anxiety gnawing at the edges of your mind only amplifies with each tick of the clock. you sneak a glance at your phone, the screen illuminating the time.
8:15 pm.
your stomach twists at the thought of what’s to come. when the night ends, you’ll be sent back to the reality you came from. the thought is like a weight pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. you don’t want to think about it, yet it lingers in your mind.
you wander through the crowd, trying to find your place among everyone. you catch snippets of conversations—inside jokes, teasing banter, and screams into the pool—but none of it feels like home.
as you continue to scan the backyard from rafe’s patio, anticipation bubbles inside you. you’re waiting for sarah and the others, your lifeline.
you shift your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your foot lightly against the floor. your eyes flicker around any entryways, but the they remain disappointingly empty. a small sigh escapes your lips, and you lean against the rail, trying to just enjoy yourself for now.
meanwhile, a few people have gathered at the edge of the patio upstairs so far to jump into the pool, their screams of echoing in the night air. each leap is followed by a moment of tension as they disappear beneath the surface, leaving you to wonder how deep the pool really is.
your heart races as you watch them emerge, fists pumping in the air, whooping with joy as they surface. it’s relieving and terrifying all at once.
the sight sends a shiver of anxiety down your spine; what if someone lands wrong? you mentally scold yourself for being so cautious, but you can’t shake the worry.
then you see him—topper—bursting from the water with a laugh that cuts through the noise like a beacon. he looks as if he’s having the time of his life, and he’s not alone.
your gaze narrows, and you lean closer over the railing, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene below. just as topper circles around in the water, his eyes catch yours. there’s a moment of recognition, and then he’s grinning, gesturing toyou excitedly as if he’s known you forever.
“y/n! come down!” he shouts. the world around you blurs for a moment, the party fading into the background as you process his words. the thought of jumping off the edge of the patio and joining the frenzy sends a thrill of both excitement and fear coursing through you.
you look around, searching for rafe among the crowd, hoping to find some semblance of reassurance. but he’s nowhere to be seen.
what’s the worst that could happen?
with a deep breath, you push yourself away from the railing and make your way down the stairs, heart pounding with every step.
as you step closer to the pool, you spot topper in the water, his head bobbing above the surface, catching sight of you with a grin.
“y/n, hey, come on! you have to jump next!” he calls, his voice cutting through all the chatter and mini-splashes. the sight of him, carefree and inviting, is enough to pull you closer, and you can’t help but smile back, even though your anxiety lingers. “i’ll go with you, come on.”
“like, jump in?” you echo, your heart racing at the thought. “but—”
“come on!” he urges, laughing as he splashes a little water in your direction. “you can’t just stand there! everyone’s watching!”
the pressure builds around you. the playful cheers from the party-goers make it hard to say no.
“i don’t know, topper,” you start, hesitating, but he’s already bouncing on the balls of his feet. the energy of the moment is contagious.
“it’ll be fun! i promise! it’s just a quick jump, and you’ll be in the water before you know it!”
you have to think about it, but he’s already pulling himself out of the water, droplets cascading from his body as he lands on the pool deck. he reaches for your hand, leading you inside the house until you’re all the way upstairs.
your heart is racing, not just from the excitement but from the sheer heights. when you finally reach the patio, you realize you’re standing on a ledge overlooking the party, the glow of the lights below illuminating the space around you.
topper glances back at you, his smile widening as he takes in your full outfit. “you’re not going to jump in like that, are you? tell me you’re wearing a bathing suit under there or something!” he laughs, a hint of drunkenness in his tone.
your stomach drops as you look down at your outfit, definitely not swimwear. “i—uh—” you stammer, panic rising. there’s no backing out now.
in a moment of boldness, you decide to just go for it. “fine! just . . . give me a second!” you tug at your dress, pulling the top off in a flurry of nerves and uncertainty, followed by the bottoms. as the fabric slips off, you kick off your shoes, unsure where to put them.
topper looks amused, almost like he can’t believe your spontaneity, and he reaches for your discarded clothing, tossing them to the side as you stand there in just your bra and underwear. “okay, yeah!” he laughs.
the thrill of the moment surges through you, mingling with the embarrassment of being so exposed. but before you can dwell on it, topper gestures to the edge of the patio, the two of you jumping the railing to stand on the ledge. “okay, on the count of three! ready?”
your heart pounds, not just from the heights but from the anticipation of what’s about to happen. “wait! are you sure it’s deep enough?” you ask, glancing down at the water.
“of course! just trust me!” he insists.
just as you begin to regain your bearings, your eyes catch a glimpse of rafe stepping out through the back door of the house. confusion paints his features as he scans the area, clearly searching for you. your stomach twists at the thought of him seeing you jump into the pool with topper.
would he be furious? the last thing you want is to make rafe angry, especially now, when things between you two are starting to feel so comfortable.
“y/n! where are you?” rafe calls, his voice laced with concern, and your heart sinks.
“oh no,” you mutter under your breath, your mind racing. you shouldn’t jump. take it back, you tell yourself, do it now!
it all happens too fast.
before you can process the situation, topper’s hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away from the edge as he shouts, “come on, let’s go!”
you barely have time to think as he counts down, “three! two! one!”
“hold on, topper, wait!” you cry, but it’s too late. his laughter fills your ears as he leaps off the edge, dragging you with him once more.
the world flips upside down, and you’re falling, the water rushing to greet you with a shock that takes your breath away.
when you resurface, you sputter, the water streaming down your face, eyes darting around for rafe. the last thing you saw before you jumped was his furrowed brow, and now you can only imagine the look on his face.
“you’re a natural!” topper laughs from behind you, and you whip around in the water.
“this isn’t funny!” you shout, pushing him backward even though you know it doesn’t do anything. “i said i didn’t wanna jump! what if rafe saw me?”
topper just shrugs, seemingly unfazed. “let him! it’s just a pool party, right? live a little!”
as you swim to the edge of the pool, the exhilaration of jumping fades into an unsettling reality. your heart pounds in your chest, and the night air is cooler than you expected, sending chills down your spine as you finally pull yourself out of the water.
“what the hell was that, y/n?” rafe’s voice cuts through the chaos of the party like a knife, raw and laced with a mix of anger and concern.
he strides over, water droplets still glistening on his skin from where he was splashed during your jump. his fury is palpable, and it makes your stomach twist.
“shit,” you whisper.
“you can’t just jump off stuff like that! what were you thinking?” he snaps, eyes narrowing as he glances at topper, “and you,” rafe directs his ire toward him, “you’re supposed to keep her safe, not lead her off to do stupid shit like that!”
“chill out, man,” topper responds, hands up in a mock gesture of innocence. “it was fun! she wanted to do it!”
“he’s drunk, rafe,” you try to tell him, but he’s not having it.
“fun? fun? you think it’s fun to put her in danger?” rafe’s tone is sharp, and you feel the tension radiating off him like heat waves. he steps closer, guiding you to the edge of the pool, his grip firm yet protective. “you could’ve gotten hurt. do you realize that?”
you swallow hard, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anger bubbling up inside you.
once your feet are planted on the ground, you furrow your brows, watching rafe’s face flush with anger, but something else catches your attention.
“what the hell?” you murmur. you notice something white dusting his nose, a stark contrast against his skin. your heart drops as realization dawns on you. you wipe at the white powder just beneath his nose. cocaine?
he instinctively moves to wipe his face clean, but you’re quicker. you slap his hand down, a surge of protectiveness overtaking you. “are you fucking stupid? what have you been doing?”
“y/n,” rafe begins, but there’s an edge to his voice. he opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to catch in his throat. you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he’s trying to hold himself together.
feeling overwhelmed, you pull away from him, shaking your head in frustration. “i’m gonna go change,” you mutter, turning to head inside.
“y/n, wait!” rafe calls after you, but you don’t stop. you can’t.
the tightness in your chest feels suffocating, and you need to escape the intensity of the situation. you can hear topper laughing behind you, no doubt enjoying the spectacle of rafe’s anger, but you don’t care.
you bump into someone once you step inside, the sudden contact jolting you back to reality.
“whoa!” kiara exclaims, grabbing onto your arm to steady you. her eyes widen in recognition as she takes in your drenched clothes and the tension radiating off you. “y/n? what happened?” a warm smile lights up her face, but it falters as she notices your troubled expression. “wait, are you okay? you look upset.”
the noise of the party swells around you—laughter, music, the splashes from the pool—all blending together that it feels suffocating. you open your mouth to respond, but before you can find the words, kiara’s gaze shifts behind you.
“what did rafe do to you?” she asks, her tone sharp as she looks past you, and suddenly, you realize the source of her concern. but it’s not him. it’s a mistake.
from kie’s words, jj and sarah break away from the group in an instant, charging toward the two idiots arguing by the pool. you try to reach for their arms to stop them, but sarah insists on at least breaking up topper and rafe. jj is practically marching to start another fight probably. that’s what worries you.
“wait, no,” you murmur, feeling the panic rise within you. this wasn’t how you wanted the night to go.
you barely have a moment to gather your thoughts before kiara turns her focus back to you, concern etched on her face. “y/n, are you really okay? do you need to sit down or—”
“no, i’m okay! i’m literally fine, i—” you try to say, the noise of the party swallowing your voice. the music is pounding, and the crowd is moving, people laughing and dancing like nothing is wrong, but you can feel the chaos building around you.
“are you sure?” she asks, her voice barely audible over the bass thumping through the floor.
“I’m fine! i’m fine! i just jumped into the pool, kiara!” you scream, the stress of the night bubbling to the surface. the words spill out, louder than you intend, and you see kiara’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at your outburst.
the overstimulation is becoming unbearable; the lights, the sounds, the emotions swirling around you—they all feel too much. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it doesn’t help.
you try to look for john b and pope behind her, but it’s like on queue, they push past kiara and you, their expressions shifting from confusion to concern as they catch sight of the escalating situation.
you whip around, desperate to see what’s happening outside, your heart pounding. jj and rafe stand locked in a standoff, their faces inches apart, eyes blazing with unspoken words and simmering rage.
you glance at kiara, her wide eyes mirroring your own panic, and you both move instinctively toward the chaos. “rafe, stop!” you shout, but your voice is swallowed by the growing crowd around the pool.
“back off, jj,” rafe says, his tone low and threatening, but the challenge is clear. it’s like a match striking a fuse, igniting something deep within the tension-laden air. you feel the heat radiating from both boys, their emotions intertwining into something volatile and dangerous.
“why should i?” jj shoots back, his fists balled at his sides.
“get out of my way,” rafe snarls, and you continuously shove past people to get to the two.
before you can even think to intervene further, it all happens in a flash. you catch a glimpse of jj’s clenched fist, and your breath hitches in your throat. the world narrows to that single moment, where everything hinges on a single choice.
and then, before you know it, someone throws the first punch.
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.
warnings: safe, mention of drugs, like one f word
authors note: i need to stop making new series when i havent even finished my last 😭 i get so bored when i near the end of a series LMAO im so sorry. guaranteed this is about to be my next potential series if people like it !!
you wake up with a start, disoriented, the remnants of sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog.
the first thing you notice is the warmth of the sun pouring through the windows, casting golden stripes across the room. you blink slowly, your surroundings coming into focus, and that's when the confusion sets in. this isn’t your apartment.
it’s . . . tannyhill. the camerons’ house. the place you’ve only ever seen on screen, the walls adorned with the unmistakable coastal vibe of the outer banks.
you push yourself up on your elbows, heart racing as you try to piece together what happened. just last night, you were in your own bed, scrolling through your phone, drifting off to sleep amidst the noise of the city. how did you end up here, in this bed, in this house?
your mind races, trying to catch up with your senses.
the sheets feel soft against your skin, and you notice the faint scent of salt and something warm, familiar, clinging to the pillow next to you. it feels like a dream, and the longer you sit there, the more bizarre it all seems.
no.
your heart starts to pound. this is wrong. you were in your apartment last night, you were sure of it. how could you be here now? how could any of this be happening?
you take in the opulence of the room. it's exactly like the show, down to the little details you never thought you'd see in person. the bed feels massive, the room impossibly large.
the panic begins to rise in your chest, your breaths becoming shallow as your mind races to make sense of it all.
and then, from the corner of your eye, you see movement. the door to the balcony swings open, and your blood turns to ice.
rafe?
he steps inside as casually as if he’s done this a hundred times before. and he probably has—because in this world, it looks like waking up next to you is normal for him. but for you? this is waking up next to a stranger, someone you’ve only seen on a screen, a character, an actor.
and yet, here he is, in the flesh, shirtless with his t-shirt dangling loosely in his hand like he’s about to put it on.
you freeze, eyes locking onto his bare chest, the sight almost too surreal to process. his body is toned, like you’ve seen a few times in his films, but now he's standing here, so nonchalant, as if this is all part of your routine together.
your breath catches, panic bubbling up inside as your mind screams at you to make sense of it. but no sense can be made. he’s real. he’s right there.
he catches your gaze and pauses for a beat, his expression calm, almost indifferent, as he pulls the shirt over his head. there’s no shock in his eyes, no alarm at your presence. instead, there’s a faint, almost ghostly hint of a smile on his lips, like he’s seeing something that comforts him. like this is just another morning. another day with you.
“you were sleeping for a while,” he says, his voice low, calm, as if you’re supposed to know exactly what he’s talking about.
but you don’t. you can’t.
your heart is pounding so hard you swear he must hear it. you feel like you're glued to the spot, unable to move or speak. he words are there, tangled in your throat, but no sound escapes.
and rafe? he doesn’t even notice. he’s too busy pulling the shirt over his head, smoothing it out with one hand as he heads toward the dresser, rummaging for something—maybe his keys, maybe a wallet. your eyes follow him, wide and unblinking.
every little detail is telling you this is really happening. the weight of the sheets, the soft scent of the ocean drifting in from the open balcony, the way rafe moves so effortlessly around the space—it all feels too tangible. too vivid.
he throws a glance over his shoulder, not catching the absolute terror that must be written across your face. instead, he just adds, “you good?” like, yeah, just a weird morning. what the hell are you supposed to say?
he turns back to whatever he’s doing, seemingly satisfied with your silence, and your mind is racing.
your eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could anchor you back to reality, something that tells you this is just a dream, that you’ll wake up in your own bed any second now. but nothing happens. you’re still here. still watching rafe cameron move around like this is just another ordinary day.
and then he looks at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s starting to sense that something’s off. not that he’s alarmed—he’s just . . . curious. “one of those realistic dreams again?”
the question hits you like a freight train. the way he says it, so casual, so knowing, makes your stomach churn. it’s clear that, in this reality, the version of you he knows has had these ‘realistic dreams’ before. does he think this is just another one of those?
you know you have to respond, have to say something to keep him from getting suspicious, so, you muster the courage to mutter, “yeah . . . something like that.”
the words feel foreign on your tongue, forced, like they don’t even belong to you. your voice sounds small, uncertain, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on it. but rafe? he just nods.
“i’m heading out to take care of some business,” he tells you, vague, the way he always is when it comes to whatever shady dealings he’s involved in. his voice has that low, dry edge to it, like he’s not too concerned with explaining more than he has to.
you swallow, your mind racing. business. you’ve seen the show. you know what kind of business he’s talking about. barry, he’s a drug dealer. or his dad, ward, who’s capable of anything.
suddenly, you wonder just where you are in the timeline of this world. does it follow the plot of the show? or is this some kind of alternate version of it, where different rules apply?
your eyes stay locked on him as he steps closer, and suddenly, the air shifts. he’s walking toward you with a purpose, and something in the way he moves makes you realize what’s coming before it even happens. you’ve seen this before—rafe being possessive, intense. you know what he’s about to do. but knowing still doesn’t prepare you for it.
he leans down, his hand brushing your hair back gently as his lips press against yours in a kiss that’s too soft, too familiar for how absolutely terrified you feel. the moment his lips touch yours, your mind goes blank.
you feel it—the warmth, the pressure, the sensation of his breath mingling with yours. it’s real. it’s terrifyingly, unmistakably real.
when he pulls back, you’re frozen. your hand instinctively reaches up to touch your lips, your mind racing with the reality of it. this isn’t just a dream. dreams don’t feel this real.
rafe pauses, noticing how off you are, his eyes narrowing as he studies your expression. he tilts his head slightly, and for a second, there’s something almost tender in his gaze.
“hey . . .” his voice is low, murmuring like he’s trying to ground you. “i’ll see you later, alright?”
you can’t speak. your throat feels too tight, your brain too scrambled to form words. you just nod, barely, enough to make him think you’re okay.
he gives you one last look, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he turns and walks out of the room, disappearing into the hallway.
you don’t move for what feels like minutes. the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance is the only thing grounding you as your mind whirls. you’re trapped in his world—his reality—and there’s no telling how or why. but the one thing you do know?
this is real. too real.
because if this isn’t a dream . . . then where the hell are you?
the slam of the front door echoes through the quiet house, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches, the reality of everything sinking in, and you can’t help the way your hands start to tremble.
you sit up carefully, trying not to make a sound as you pull the covers off your body. your skin prickles from the cool air against your bare legs, and when you glance down, you realize you’re only in a shirt—one that definitely isn’t yours—and your undergarments. it hits you all at once: this is rafe’s shirt. his scent clings to it, the familiar mix of cologne and something inherently him.
your feet touch the cold wooden floor as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, toes curling at the sudden chill. every movement feels deliberate, cautious, like any wrong step could wake you from this strange, twisted dream—or worse, prove it’s not a dream at all.
quietly, you push yourself off the bed, heart hammering in your chest as you make your way to the door. you peek your head out, eyes scanning the hallway. it’s empty. eerily quiet. thank god. but the silence makes everything feel even more surreal.
you pull back into the room quickly, your fingers brushing your hair behind your ears, trying to still the panic rising in your chest. you need answers. you need to figure out what’s happening—and fast.
your gaze darts to the nightstand, where your phone sits charging. finally.
you grab it with shaky hands and immediately swipe it open, your fingers moving fast as you pull up your contacts list. the plan forms in your head as you scroll, desperate. maybe this is all some elaborate prank. maybe your friends are messing with you, and any second now, someone’s going to pop out and yell “gotcha!”
but as you scroll, the names that appear make your stomach drop. none of them are familiar. faces and names you’ve never seen before fill your screen—until you see his name.
rafe.
then sarah. wheezie. even ward and rose.
your breath catches in your throat as you keep scrolling. it’s his family. it’s them.
you swallow hard, continuing to scroll, fingers trembling as the names blur together until you see the ones that make your heart stop.
jj. pope. kiara. john b.
the pogues.
you stare at the names for a second, your brain short-circuiting. your thumb hovers over jj’s contact, the one name that stands out to you more than the others.
without giving yourself time to second-guess it, you hit ‘call.’ the ringing fills the silence of the room, and your pulse quickens with every passing second.
the ringing feels like it goes on forever. each tone stretching out the anticipation, the nerves, the sinking realization that someone is actually going to pick up. your heart races, and just when you consider hanging up, a click echoes through the phone line.
“y/n?”
you flinch, eyes widening, mouth falling open. it’s him. it takes a few seconds for you to even remember how to speak, your mind stalling out completely. then you somehow force out, “hey, i just wanted to see how you’re . . . doing.”
the words stumble out of your mouth in a mess, and you internally cringe at how awful it sounds. god, could you be any worse at this? you wouldn’t blame jj if he called you out for the obvious lie, the way your voice shakes just slightly with every word.
but, to your surprise, he doesn’t. instead, he sounds casual. like he’s known you for years. “yeah, i’m good. why? do you wanna come over? kie’s here.”
your mind reels. kiara’s there? you’re friends with kiara? that’s news to you, but good to know. in this world, apparently, you’re on good terms with the pogues, at least you think.
you quickly pull the phone away from your ear to glance at the time, realizing it’s probably morning. or maybe early afternoon. time doesn’t even feel real right now.
“yeah, i’ll . . . i’ll come over,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even though nothing about this is normal. the words slip out of your mouth before you really think them through. “where is over?”
“the wreck,” jj replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. right. of course. “but be quick.”
your chest tightens. why do you need to be quick? fear creeps into your voice as you ask, “why?”
there’s a pause, one that feels like it stretches forever, before jj finally responds, his tone softening. “cause we miss you.”
and then, just like that, he hangs up.
you blink, staring down at the phone in your hand as if it’ll give you answers. it doesn’t. you’re left standing there, your mind racing, trying to process what just happened. they miss you?
the idea that jj misses you, that kiara’s waiting for you at the wreck, is both exciting and terrifying.
your eyes dart around the room, like maybe you’ll find some clue that explains how this is all happening, but there’s nothing. just the same four walls, rafes room, his scent lingering in the air, and the echo of jj’s voice in your head.
your mind spins as you sit on the edge of the bed. what is going on in this world?
the characters you know from the show are behaving so . . . normal, so real. there are these new relationships, bits of information that seem to imply some kind of history, things that don’t align with what you know. you’re in their world, but there are gaps—huge, gaping blanks that terrify you because you don’t know what role you’re even supposed to be playing.
you glance around the room, trying to calm yourself as you get up to grab some clothes, already dreading the ride to the wreck.
how the hell are you actually supposed to get to the fucking wreck?
a/n: let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list thru any replies, anons, dms, etc !! notifications are always on <3 this will also lowkey be a jj & rafe x reader series i fear
summary - After your college sweetheart of two years cheats on you, your friends convince you it’s time for a rebound—in the messiest way possible.
pairings - Fem!TigerGirReader x LSU!Joe
warnings: language, angst, fluff, cheater, alcohol, drugs, physical fighting (not abuse!), SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI!), THE SLOWEST OF SLOWBURNS!!!!, Dom!Joe and Sub!Reader on the lowest of keys
a/n: Oh hey! Here's a lil LSU Joe fic hehehe. This fic is a prime example of me trying to keep it simple and creating too much plot smh. Literal yap. Idk if this is how college athlete shit works don’t sue me.
If you want to listen to the song mentioned in the chapter, its Finish Line by Delaney Bailey (start at about 0:57)
word count: 30.7k yikes
If whoever created the five stages of grief is right, you have to sit and wonder just how long depression is supposed to last, because anything is better than crying yourself to sleep for all but a few hours of actual rest.
You’d met broad, charming, confident Cam in late July, when both the football team and LSU Tiger Girls came to campus early to start practices for the season. Of course both of your teams were somewhat intertwined, with a few shared practice spaces, sociable team lunches, and occasional joined travel accommodations for away games. After jumping into whatever clique you could hang on to, you managed to meet him, a lean defensive back hailing from somewhere in Texas. The tall, slick, nonchalant motherfucker.
After about a month of sneaking glances through sweaty workouts, pointing at each other from across Death Valley, and post-practice pizza hangouts, you officially started dating Cam about a week into actual classes. You cursed at yourself over and over again for getting in a relationship almost immediately upon coming to college. Your gut always told you, I have so many people to meet! Am I really going to settle on the first guy? Everyone who does this gets screwed!
You should have listened to your gut.
Finding Cam nose deep in some Zeta’s pussy when you forgot your dance bag in his apartment wasn’t exactly your ideal way to learn this lesson, but it got the message across loud and clear.
It’s now been your most gruesome start to a season yet. The worst part is that it’s not even about the suicides you have to run in the Louisiana heat or the two minute planks held with weights on your back—those feel like nothing compared to the overwhelming pit of nausea that slices through your stomach when you simply sense Cam in the vicinity. Currently, you can barely even stand on the right side of the bright, mirror-ful LSU dance studio knowing he’s with the guys on the other side of the wall picking up and slamming down weights. A particularly loud thud of workout equipment from that room sends a jolt through your body, eyes snapping up to Coach Kandace mid sentence.
“You need to move together on that beat, not even a millisecond behind…” She demands with a snap of her fingers.
Practice has always helped you work through your darkest times, but now you can’t even catch a simple note from Coach clearly. Anger boils deep in your chest, your head heats up at this thought.
I can’t even do the shit I love most because of this motherfucker. How did he take everything from me?
Curses string through your brain, overlapping until you feel the tears of frustration springing in your eyes.
No! You snap at yourself. Absolutely not.
You take a shaky but calming breath in and out through your nose, and use all of your willpower to focus on Coach, practically glaring at her at this point.
“Let’s do that, yeah? Last run before lunch, don’t make me hate it,” She booms, her loud voice followed by two claps. You make your way to your position at the start of the hip-hop routine, shaking your limbs on the way in an attempt to sharpen your mind.
There’s a silence before the music begins. Another thud. Loud laughter. A couple encouraging howls.
The track starts and catches you slightly off guard. Your movements are strong and sharp, but you feel your spatial awareness slip as you push yourself through the routine. Your internal dialogue doesn’t help in the slightest. Choruses of “What the shit was that?” and “Fuck him,” and “Just GET through it.” And of course, on the slide section Coach said no one could be a millisecond late on, you hear your sneaker squeak on the floor just after everyone else’s.
Fuckin’ great.
By the end of the routine your frustration has simmered into sadness, feeling simply disappointed in yourself and your performance. You and everyone else in this room know you’re a much better dancer and teammate than you’ve been for the past month. Your chest contracts and heart aches as you break from your ending position to grab your water bottle and notebook before sitting in a semicircle on the floor in front of Coach. A sharp pain climbs up your throat as you purse your lips, an attempt to keep your eyes from watering. You can’t even stand to look at most of the girls, too embarrassed. Of all of it.
Thud. A football coach’s muffled voice yelling, “Hey, pick that shit up and get over here!”
Coach Kandace starts her post-practice notes, and you hang on to every word. You feel it’s the least you could do after another horrible practice. You get as many details of her quarries as you can jotted into your notebook, your handwriting looking messier than usual ever since the breakup. Another thing you can’t stand about this whole ordeal. Once Coach is finished, you feel your throat has miraculously loosened after those few minutes of focus and a couple sips of water.
“Alright, thank you all for your work. We’ll be in the stadium this evening for sideline practice, so please come prepared in your white practice shorts and purple practice tops. If you’re dressed incorrectly, I don’t want to see you,” Coach speaks slowly as she lists off directions for tonight’s practice. “Lunch is in the big hall today, you’re dismissed.”
You internally groan at the last announcement. Lunch in the big hall means you’re eating with the football team. Another thing you used to look forward to, and now dread.
Everyone starts to disperse, girls talking, and stretching, and drinking more water while getting ready to leave. You start to gather your items, until Coach Kandace calls you over.
Oh God.
You scamper over to the far side of the room, walking right up to her with a straight spine, directly meeting her eye. Anything less and you’d be in even more trouble than you already are.
“Hi, hon. How are you doing? I know we talked at the beginning of preseason about what’s going on, but I want to check on you,” She starts. Coach can see right through each of her girls, and it was blatantly obvious something was wrong that week you’d caught Cam red handed. You had a chat about it after that practice where you told her what happened, but haven’t talked since.
You could have lied, but it would’ve been useless. This woman is basically your second mother. “I’m getting through it,” You said after a few moments.
She hums. “Listen. I know what’s going on here. So do you. So do your teammates. All we want is for you to be uplifted and supported. I’m sure you feel the same. Everyone in this room right now, we all know you are facing adversity. And I hate to be the bitch here, but it’s kind of my job,” She speaks calmly and slowly. “There is adversity happening in every corner of this building. It may not be the exact same as yours, it may not be happening at the same time as yours, but you have a mental responsibility to this team–and more importantly, yourself–to face it. I’ve seen you for the past three weeks try to dance your way out of it and around it. Cut that shit out. It’s not going to solve anything. You need to sit with yourself and your support system, and face it.”
You stand there, hands on hips. All of your past practices loom over you, and finally you realize. Your dreams filled with every mistake in your routines. Running laps around Death Valley when you can’t sleep. Handwashing every practice and game uniform two times over. Dance, dance, dance. You’ve been smothering your feelings so far away, and it’s coming back to bite you in the ass every time. An endless loop of you wanting to substitute your pain with your passion, and your pain infiltrating your passion as a result, making you want to continue substituting your pain with your passion. It’s like you’ve been trying to shove a key in the wrong lock, pushing dance further in, desperately trying to patch up your emptiness until the key bends. How long have you been shoving? And has the key finally snapped, or can you be fixed?
Coach lets out a sigh as she crosses her arms. “You are stronger than this. We all know that. I would not have put you on this team if you weren’t. You’re a fucking Tiger Girl for fuck’s sake.” She points at my chest while she says this. “So, are you going to show up for your team, or not?” Her eyes bore pointedly into yours. You don’t dare to look away.
You take a deep breath and mutter, “Yes.”
Her eyes widen and brows raise at your response. “I’m sorry?” She exclaims as she leans in.
“Yes ma’am,” You declare, speaking stronger this time. Meaning it.
“Alright,” She responds and nods with a slight smile and a glint in her eye. “Also, if you need to bring your lunch somewhere else let me know.” She places a hand on your shoulder rubbing it slightly as a comfort.
“That’s okay,” You reply with a real, full smile. “I’m stronger than that.”
She smiles back. “That you are.”
You turn and walk back towards your items, seeing Kelia on her phone and all packed up, standing by the wooden cubby that holds all of your dance gear. You quickly pile your dance bag a mile high, barely managing to get the zipper closed. Kelia turns to you with a soft, “You good?” You meet her eye as you sling the bag over your shoulder. Her concerned frown makes you sigh.
“Yes,” You reply confidently with a nod, running with this newfound optimism Coach just gave you. You stalk towards the door with your head held high, Kelia falling in step with you quickly.
“That is my girl,” Kelia replies excitedly, slinging her arm around your shoulder as you both walk down a grand corridor in the LSU facility towards the big hall, refusing to glance over at the gym where the boys are finishing up their workout.
You think about what Coach said about your support system, knowing immediately Kelia is one of the people in that circle. Kelia was selected to be your random roommate freshman year, most likely because you’re both Tiger Girls. You honestly didn’t get along super well at first–she’s ridiculously clean, which was hard to keep up with, and you liked to sleep around 11pm, whereas her bedtime veered closer to 3am–but after being yakked on by the same drunk girl at a frat, your trauma bond made you inseparable. She’s been with you through thick and thin, and vice versa.
You start to glance at some of the epic pictures of athletes from LSU’s history that decorate the bright hallway when you see someone break off from a group of girls in front of you. The figure you now recognize as one of your other closest friends, Grace, jogs over to you and Kelia.
“Yo,” She sighs, slinging her arm around your shoulder tiredly. “I don’t wanna go to sidelineee.” She whines in your ear, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout.
“How else would you do so good cheering for your man?” Kelia teases, snickering.
“He ain’t my man,” Grace snaps at her. “We’re feelin’ it out.”
“You want him to be though,” You comment with a laugh, Kelia adding in a little Oooh! to back you up. Grace’s little situationship with one of the team’s star wide receivers, Justin Jefferson, is one of the few things providing you entertainment in this dark period.
“Anyway,” Grace booms with a glare, trying to silence you and Kelia’s giggles. “I’m gonna get him to join us for lunch so you can grill him all about it then.” She crosses her arms and juts out her chin as you three march into the big hall, an extensive, bright, pristine cafeteria with a variety of meal stations and LSU memorabilia all over the walls. The smell of different cuisines and freshly cooked food perks you up. You didn’t realize just how hungry you are until this moment. By far the biggest benefit of eating at the same time as the football team is that you get the same food as them, which is far superior to the bland, prepackaged meals usually provided for the women’s sports.
It seems your teammates are thinking the same thing as you, because Kelia immediately says, “Oh bless those little boys and their silly game.” She makes a beeline for the True Balance section, and you follow suit, both of you filling up your plates as Grace wanders off elsewhere. You chit chat while you make your way to an open table, and the football players start flooding in with all of their smelliness and loudness and whatnot. You try to find Grace over the shoulders of huge sweaty men who just finished a gruesome workout, and eventually find her already walking towards you, side by side with Justin.
Guess she got him to sit with us. You smile to yourself. If there’s one thing about your friends, it’s that they know exactly how to have a man wrapped around their finger. You tease Grace all the time about how down bad she is for Justin, but you have no doubts that if she actually wants him, she and Justin will be an item by midseason.
You tap Kelia’s shoulder as you sit down next to her, nodding at the pair behind you. She glances at them, then shares a knowing look with you. “That girl,” She mumbles as she smirks and shakes her head.
“Hey!” You hear Grace chirp as she slides next to Kelia, Justin hot on her tail, plopping down right across from her.
“What’s up?” Justin greets you both warmly. You’ve met Justin a handful of times when he’s been over at your college apartment you share with Grace, Kelia, and Tay, another Tiger Girl you love dearly. Before unforeseen recent events, you typically hung out with Cam’s friends on the team, who are mostly on the defensive side of the ball. Your breakup and Grace’s newfound infatuation has you branching out to meeting some new players, and that’s definitely for the best, but it feels weird. Sometimes it feels like all of them know exactly what happened, and are laughing at you on the inside. Justin seems nice enough though.
And you’re just jumping to conclusions.
“Fucking tired,” Kelia grumbles, picking at her salad and shoving a bite in her mouth.
Justin just laughs. “Tell me about it, brother,” Another voice interrupts. You look up from your rice and see another wide receiver, Ja’marr Chase, stumble into your table across from Kelia. Everyone gives him a small greeting including you, just giving a tight smile. Your memories of Ja’marr are even blurrier than the ones of Justin. You can’t even recall a full conversation you’ve had with him, only meeting in passing or large groups.
New people, that’s okay, that’s cool!
“So, what is this fight I’m hearing about?” Grace asks the group, specifically the guys.
Ja’marr immediately lets out a loud groan and Justin rolls his eyes. “Man, I don’t even care about this shit. Like, it’s fucking football and I don’t give a shit about feelings,” Ja’marr rants, instantly throwing his arms all around in exaggeration as he gathers a large amount of food onto his fork and chomps down on it.
“It’s actual pussy shit,” Justin points out to you all, shaking his head.
“God,” Ja’marr scoffs, sighing again before starting, “Basically, we was in the weight room right, doing our splits. All the sudden, this– Ah wait. Aye, nine!” Ja’marr pauses, getting distracted and yelling at something behind you and Kelia, seemingly waving someone else over to your table.
Jesus.
You look over your shoulder, realizing the number nine he called over is LSU’s star quarterback and supposed savior, Joe Burrow.
Oh.
Like Ja’marr, you’d met Joe in passing only one or two times. All you know is that he can be pretty quiet, is kind of a big deal, and when faced with football, destructively intense. The kind of guy who walks in the room and everyone knows he means business.
You would be lying if you said he didn’t scare you sometimes. But only sometimes.
When Joe makes his way to the table, he scoots right in next to Ja’marr across from you. “Okay we’re talking abo- Bro, what the fuck did you grab pickles for?” Ja’marr looks at Joe incredulously. Everyone’s head turns to Joe’s plate, with a whole five or six pickle spears on the edge of it.
Joe looks up with part of a pickle already in his mouth, staring at everyone like a deer caught in headlights. His gaze lands on Ja’marr, and his expression turns defensive as he speaks with his mouth half full, “I like pickles. What’s the problem?”
A couple of you all snicker at him, Ja’marr saying, “No problem bruh, you just got, like, 12 of ‘em.”
“You could at least share,” You comment, holding out your thumb and forefinger.
He lets out a little laugh, picking up one of his pickles and gifting it to you, saying, “Here, you can get bullied too.”
“Okay,” Grace booms over the table exasperatedly, “what happened with this fight?”
Joe groans, “This shit?”
“Ohhh yeah,” Ja’marr points at Grace as she rolls her eyes in exasperation. “So, we’re lifting. All the sudden, Deavers and Delpit on the squat rack next to me start chirping or something.” Your stomach turns at that last name. Deavers. Cam. A last name you foolishly thought could possibly be yours one day…
But it won’t be. And you’re better off without it.
“So I’m like bruh, what’s going on? They’re talking about the Texas game this weekend, I’m like, okay. But Deavers is out here on some–” Ja’marr’s voice jumps three octaves as he imitates your ex, “--‘my dad went there, and my whole family are Longhorns, and this is going to be such a hard game.’ Like bitch…shut up!” He throws his hands up when he says this, eyes widening and eyebrows furrowing. You remember moments when Cam told you about his family’s history with Texas, telling you it would be hard whenever LSU plays Texas. You almost forgot how significant this weekend is for him.
“I literally do not give a fuck who you are, where you come from. That’s straight up weird to not be betting on your own guys,” Justin grumbles.
“So Delpit’s already chewin’ him off, I start talking my shit, some punches get thrown, blah blah blah. Some trainers broke it up. I’m just annoyed by what he was saying,” Ja’marr waves off the rest of the story. “The best part was Joe,” Ja’marr points to his teammate and starts laughing. “He came up to Deavers after all macho and shit, and was like, ‘Cut that shit out. This is football, you go to war with your men.’”
“Really there was no reason for all that. Obviously what he’s saying is stupid as fuck, but you should’ve just all shut up,” Joe says to Ja’marr with a hard stare, lightly scolding him as well.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ja’marr rolls his eyes. “But literally 90% of all the punches were him. I was defending myself.”
“He was acting like he wanted to get hit,” Joe backs up Ja’marr’s point.
“Crazy for a guy on the bench every game,” Ja’marr adds, grumbling and going back to picking at his food.
“Sheesh!” Justin calls out, eyes widening at Ja’marr. “You didn’t have to do him like that now.”
Ja’marr shrugs. “I’m sick of his shit.”
“Wooow, the girls are fighting,” Kelia mumbles. All three of them shoot their heads up and glare at you all as you giggle.
“Whatever,” Justin spits out as he rolls his eyes.
“I mean, doesn’t this all make sense anyway?” Grace asks. “The defensive guys are always a little feistier.”
“What do you mean?” Ja’marr challenges, stiffening up.
“Well, they’re just super aggressive,” Kelia explains. “That’s why they play defense…right?”
“Not necessarily,” Joe counters. “For some guys it’s just their build, or how they see the ball. Different skills are good for different positions and make different kinds of players.”
You let out a small laugh. Everyone says that. “Sure.”
All three of the guys are staring at you now. “What?” You ask, throwing your hands up in defense.
“Well, I think we just want you to elaborate,” Ja’marr replies, motioning for you to continue.
“I’m just saying, they’re ramming their bodies into other people’s for fun. They’re a little rougher!” As you explain, you recall the few moments Cam would be in the game and make a particularly hard tackle, scaring the shit out of you. Sometimes you would really think he died or had a serious injury, but he would just get up every time and flex towards the crowd.
You also recall your hot make out sessions after draining practices when he would still find the energy to toss you around, making it feel like his hands were in twenty places at once. It was something you always loved and found extremely attractive, up until he started making excuses for not getting you off afterwards and turning out the light before you could even clean yourself up.
“You don’t think we can play rough?” Joe quips, staring you straight in the eye. You see a glint in them, not quite amusement, but darker. A challenge.
Joe’s innuendo, whether intentional or not, sets off sirens in your brain. You can’t help but imagine what Joe would be like in comparison to Cam. How he would treat a girl he’s with, his favorite positions, just how rough he thinks he can be…luckily the thought is a small flash, and you push it away as soon as it appears. Still, your imagination only fuels the fire of his intimidating stare, and a sudden heat surges into your cheeks for a quick second or two. “No…But you aren’t the guys smashing someone’s face into the ground,” You reply with a shrug.
Joe just laughs, slightly smug. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ll stomp on a ho,” Ja’marr declares, pounding his foot into the ground under the table.
“Be serious,” Justin laughs with his wide receiver duo, wiping his greasy fingers on his napkin before gathering his trash. “Want me to take yours?” He asks Grace.
“Oh, sure!” Grace quips innocently, giving him a big smile as he collects her scraps and piles them on top of his plate. You eye Kelia, noticing Joe and Ja’marr across from you giving each other similar looks. You lightly kick their legs under the table, grabbing their attention and darting your eyes towards Justin’s back that’s now headed towards a trash can. Joe just smirks and shakes his head knowingly, continuing to pick at his food, while Ja’marr puts a finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture.You and Kelia hold back your laughs, and a short silence falls over the table.
Grace notices and darts her eyes between the four of you, her cheeks turning a little pink. “What?” She questions, a smile threatening to burst through her lips.
“Nothin’ girl,” Kelia replies with a chuckle, gathering her trash as well as yours.
“I really don’t think I can make it through this heat bro. I really don’t,” Ja’marr starts complaining as he looks outside at the blazing Louisiana sun. “Not after that workout.”
“I thought you only had to go to Hodge?” Joe asks.
“Well yeah,” Says Ja’marr. “I still don’t want to step outside.”
Grace nods at you. “She’s got class in Hodge too! We usually walk together and split off ‘cause I gotta go across campus.”
“Oh perfect, you can be my human shield,” Ja’marr gives you a cheesy, sarcastic smile as you deadpan your expression in response. Both of you end up chuckling after your little joke as he and Joe finally start throwing their things out. You mentally sigh in relief, glad these guys are easy to get along with. Jumping into everyone’s preordained friendships is nerve-wracking.
The group continues chatting as you make your way out of the hall. When you step outside into the scorching sun Ja’marr so clearly despises, you catch the tail end of a hushed conversation between Cam and a defensive tackle you can’t remember the name of. Their heads snap over to you all as soon as the door opens. You make eye contact with Cam for only a second before turning your head forwards again, standing a little straighter, and holding your head up high.
Not worth it.
Cam and the DT continue their top secret convo once your group is out of earshot, and Justin and Kelia bid their goodbyes. While you’re waving, your brain comes to a serious halt when you make a realization.
Your stomach didn’t drop when you saw Cam. In fact, your reaction was minimal. This is progress. Support system.
“You going back to Gateway?” Ja’marr questions as he points at Joe. Gateway is the nice athletics dorm, and you’re not surprised Joe lives there, especially since Justin and Ja’marr do too.
“Yeah, I’ll walk you guys though, it’s on the way,” Joe replies, falling in step with you, Grace and Ja’marr.
You barely get two paces in when Ja’marr looks back at the ops, grunting. “Of course they’re out here, probably talking shit. Find something better to do,” Ja’marr demands, obviously still salty from the fight at practice.
“I feel like we shouldn’t sit in this rage,” Grace suggests, softly patting Ja’marr’s shoulder to feign console.
Suddenly Ja’marr is quiet, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Wait. I’m sorry. I should’ve shut my mouth,” He rambles. “You guys aren’t friends with him or something, right? That’s my bad.”
“Oh, no,” You blurt out, maybe a little too suddenly. It feels like all eyes are on you after your outburst, Grace looking slightly sympathetic. “Sorry,” You wave your hand back and forth like it will waft away the awkwardness. “He’s just, um, he’s my ex. So, no, not friends with him.”
There’s a short silence. “Oh,” Joe and Ja’marr say simultaneously.
You let out a little snort, and eventually everyone else seems to follow suit, laughing with you.
“Yeah, we don’t like him,” Grace confirms through her giggles.
“Great,” Ja’marr announces. “Cause it’s horns down all week, mothafuckas.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sound of Coach Kadence's whistle slices through the humid air, and you swear the white, intense field lights of Death Valley make your head spin just a little harder for a few moments. “Take fifteen. Drink some damn water, and put away your poms. We’ll finish with tumbling,” Coach announces over the crowd of panting Tiger Girls, everyone exhausted after running your hardest drill. Your body breathes a sigh of relief at her words, begging you to rest for just a moment. In all honesty, you’re still happy as can be. This is the best practice you’ve had in weeks.
You start trudging over to the facility to put away your poms, not too far from the stadium, when you realize the football team has gone inside. They were out here for a majority of the time running their usual drills, and must have gone in ten or twenty minutes ago. The stars catch your eye as you look up, noticing the moon has taken a break tonight. A new moon.
“Jesus,” Someone breathes out next to you. “I always underestimate that drill.” Tay, your other roommate besides Grace and Kelia, has her hands on her hips as she walks side by side with you towards the tunnel where there’s a shortcut to the facility.
You cough out a short laugh through your tired pants and dry throat. “Yeah, me too,” You agree as Grace catches up to the other side of Tay.
“If Coach didn’t give us a break after that I was going to vomit, I swear,” Grace insists. You and Tay just nod in agreement, too exhausted to speak much longer. Luckily, Kelia jogs straight up to the group and does all the talking for you.
“You guys, I came up with an ingenious plan during my Thermodynamics exam today,” Kelia announces excitedly.
“During an exam?” Tay inquires with a judging look.
“Shush. Anyway,” Kelia waves her off quickly and grabs your arm. “Girl. You have been moping about this stupid Cam, sham, bland idiot, and I think today was the exact rebrand you have been needing. I mean look at you, you were fucking killing it out there today!” Kelia motions out at the field as you smile at her. You’re not entirely sure where this is going, and the topic is making you wary, but everything sounds good so far.
“So in the true spirit of that, I think to top it all off you need a full factory reset,” She smirks at you. “I think it’s time you learn the art of the rebound.”
Grace gasps, “I love this idea.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” You chant as you wave your hands out, trying to simmer your friends down from their excited chatter. A rebound? Of course you’ve heard of it, even had a few friends experiment with the unorthodox method of getting over an ex. But there are a lot of complications. You don’t want to hurt the rebound’s feelings if they’re actually into you, and you don’t want to get attached yourself. You don’t want to feel like you’re just trying to fill a void, although at this point you haven’t had good dick in quite some time and your body is a little antsy for it.
“Is that really an ingenious idea? I would say it’s just a theory that has a very slim possibility of becoming successful,” You counter.
“Hey!” Keila lightly hits your shoulder. “It is ingenious! At this point, most of your emotional attachments to him are gone, so it’s not like you’re just trying to fuck away your feelings. Besides, we all know good and well about Cam’s selfishness in bed,” Kelia mumbles the last sentence as you nod off handedly. “It would be good to find someone new who knows what they’re doing a little more.”
You sigh, definitely still not sold on the idea. “Besides, I have the perfect candidate,” Kelia remarks.
“Oh really?” You snort, and Kelia nods, her expression smug and her head held high. “Who?”
“Joe,” She replies simply.
“Joe Burrow?” You utter.
The other girls’ mouths drop. “No way,” Grace gasps with a smile.
“The kid’s teammate?! Oh that’s messy,” Tay adds, cackling along with Grace.
“That’s perfect. Please, please say you’ll do it,” Grace grabs hold of you through laughter.
“Okay this all feels so dramatic,” You reply, your brain moving a mile a minute as you process.
“Come on,” Kelia whines. “He’s nice, hot, a little more experienced cause he’s a little older…Last spring when his ex was in town I met her at this party and she would not shut up about how good he is in bed. It was kind of annoying actually, like bitch I don’t know you.” She scrunches up her nose at that last part.
“Well, I don’t doubt that,” You mutter under your breath.
“Oh, so you have thought about it!” Tay points her finger at you.
“Every girl says that about their boyfriend,” You dismiss Kelia’s previous comment, trying to ignore Tay.
Kelia stops outside the door to the facility with a pointed look. “Did you ever brag to other girls about how good Cam was in bed?” She asks.
You fall silent. Everyone knows the answer.
“Exactly,” She deadpans. “So just think about it! All I’m saying is it would be a really good time, and a really good get-back at Cam.”
“It would definitely be a ‘for the plot’ moment of the ages,” Grace mutters in agreement.
You sigh with your hands on your hips. Realistically, there’s not much that can go wrong, and it’s a pretty win-win situation. The only tricky part is getting him on the same page.
“I’ll think about it,” You finally respond. Kelia lets out a little ‘Yes!’ and high fives the other two girls, as you roll your eyes and enter the facility behind Grace.
A couple doors down is the Tiger Girls equipment closet where a few girls are putting their poms away. The rest are a couple more doors down, peering in the observation windows of one of the matted rooms where the wrestlers typically practice. They’re chatting and gripping their fingers on the window sills, hanging on to every second of whatever is going on in that room. Grace notices too, furrowing her eyebrows back at you and the other girls before investigating.
Once you get to the windows, you realize this is where the football boys went. There are bleachers set up on the far right side of the room where the entire team is sitting, and Coach O, the head football coach, stands in the middle with two clear buckets full of wooden balls.
“Look, Justin,” Grace points out in the row of bleachers. You follow her finger, seeing Justin, Ja’marr and Joe all sitting next to each other. After the conversation you had with your girls on the way in, you unconsciously start noticing Joe a little more. His blonde hair is slightly darker than it usually is due to the sweat accumulated from a long practice, and his strong jaw is set tightly as he focuses on his Coach. He rubs his hand along that jaw for a moment, licking his full lips in the process, making your heart rate accelerate so deliciously that it’s addicting.
He really is hot…
The boys must have seen Grace’s pointing, because Justin gives her a small peace sign, and Ja’marr smiles. Joe’s expression remains stoic and hard set as he makes eye contact with the group, his gaze lingering on you until the side of his mouth tugs upwards ever so slightly. His eyes snap back to Coach O.
“What’s going on?” Tay asks another Tiger Girl, Del.
“They’re wrestling,” She replies with wide eyes. “Watch.” Del points to Coach O, who pulls out a ball from each bucket.
Coach O’s deep, gravelly voice booms, “Offense, 51. Rosenthal. Defense, 1. Fulton.” Cheers and hollers from the guys rattle through the room as two members of the team stand from the bleachers and replace Coach O in the center of the wrestling mat. Coach steps aside, puts his silver whistle in his mouth, and pushes out a hearty alert to start the match. The two players launch into action, grabbing at each other's limbs, trying to form headlocks and pin a pair of shoulders. After a minute or two of tousling, a player wins and earns cheers from the rest of the team, while Coach O approaches a large whiteboard where each match is listed and its winner circled.
“Holy shit,” You mutter. As if they don’t beat each other up enough during games.
“Alright,” Coach O announces, trying to settle the team. “Defense, 13. Deavers. Offense, 9. Burrow.”
Oh god.
Oh god.
The universe is sending you signs and you don’t know how to handle them.
Both Cam and Joe stand from the bleachers as the rest of the team conducts their obligatory claps and hollers, a little, “Oh yeah,” coming from Ja’marr. Your brain short circuits a little when you notice Joe’s wearing a white LSU compression tee with no sleeves, showing off his leftover tan from August.
Jesus Christ.
Joe and Cam shake hands and face off, gearing up in athletic stances for the fight. Almost instantly you take notice of their size comparison. You always thought Cam was a big guy, sitting at a good 6’1 (although he’d tell you 6'2) with a decent amount of muscle on him. Seeing him next to Joe made you rethink that entirely. He’s noticeably taller than Cam, and his shoulders are definitely broader. Although it may not be entirely true, the sleeveless shirt is working in Joe’s favor, making his arms look more sculpted and refined. Plus that ass…
Okay. You need to stop, You scold yourself.
“Alright,” Coach O huffs out, then blows his whistle loud and clear.
Of course Cam is immediately attempting to attack, hoping any intimidation can work in his favor. Joe doesn’t waver, quickly maneuvering out of Cam’s holds, not even flinching at his jukes. After 30 long seconds of Cam on the offense, he manages to trip Joe up on his legs, getting both of them on their knees. Players on the bleachers react, shouting words of encouragement to both of their teammates.
“Agh, come on!” Cam grits out while pulling Joe closer and closer to a chokehold. Both of them are letting out so much force they’re slightly shaking, sweat wicking down their foreheads and cheeks flushed.
Joe takes a deep breath, then lets out an angry grunt, his face suddenly turning as hard and mean as you’ve ever seen him. With his brows down and eyes hooded, Joe’s biceps that are preventing Cam from getting the full hold start contracting beautifully in that cutoff shirt, slowly and shakily bringing Cam’s arm off his neck.
Holy fuck.
Joe starts to pull himself off of Cam’s body, quickly turning and getting a good grip on the arm that was around his neck. Cam uses his other fist to try to make a cheap shot at Joe’s knee, but Joe catches it, using Cam’s moment of weakness to ram his shoulder into Cam’s torso. A couple of your teammates gasp as Joe keeps pushing, driving both of them to the ground with Joe facing you dancers at the observation window, his knees on either side of Cam’s hips. The players on the bleachers get even rowdier as the fight picks up, everyone banging on the metal and cheering on who they want to win.
Come on, Joe…
Joe’s biceps bulge as he lets out another mean grunt, eventually maneuvering Cam’s arm behind his own back like he’s getting arrested. Cam’s other arm tries to grab desperately at any of Joe’s limbs, but Joe drives a knee into Cam’s lower back, forcing him onto his stomach. Whoops and hollers fill the room, with someone barking out, “Get ‘em Burrow!”
Come on Joe…
Joe’s other arm grabs Cam’s free one, joining the two together so he can hold both of Cam’s wrists with one hand. He uses the other arm to crash his elbow and forearm into Cam’s shoulders, holding a pin as Coach O starts to count.
“Three…”
Joe takes his eyes off of the pin and looks straight up. At you.
“Two…”
He quickly adjusts his grip, removing his forearm from Cam’s shoulders, and moving that same hand onto Cam’s head, squishing it into the mat.
“One…”
It dawns on you what Joe’s doing, and why his electric blue eyes are burning into yours at this very moment.
He’s smashing Cam’s face into the ground.
The realization leaves your mouth agape. Joe can see right through you, and he knows it. A cocky grin stretches across his mouth. He’s holding you to your words, and putting you right in your place, leaving you breathless.
The loudest cheers of the night erupt from the spectators, many of them hooting and dancing. Joe rises, still extending a hand to help Cam up afterwards even though he just disrespected the hell out of him by shoving his face into the floor like that. Joe saunters back to his place on the bleachers as Coach O records the match. Your eyes are glued to his frame, his energy and demeanor making him exciting and magnetic. He sits while Justin and Ja’marr give him a few words, and you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. In a moment you could’ve missed if you blinked, Joe looks at you one last time and throws you a quick wink, turning right back to his teammates.
You finally look to your friends, who are just as stunned as you. “Oh, this is perfect,” Kelia whispers, with the largest shit-eating grin you have ever seen.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The rest of your week drags on as normal, other than your somewhat overwhelming thoughts of a certain quarterback. You eat with the football players one other time, sitting again with Justin, Ja’marr and Joe, even chatting with them during practice transitions and occasionally walking to classes together. You and Joe specifically have been getting closer by the day, joking and laughing. Grace is over the moon of course, and it feels like Kelia and Tay are watching you and Joe like a hawk, willing their wish to come true.
Usually, you have no trouble reading guys. In fact, they almost feel boring and predictable most of the time. But Joe is entirely cool and collected, and you’re not at all used to being caught unaware. It excites you, but scares you to death as well.
Am I reading too far into this? Are we flirting? It feels like flirting. He could just be a flirty guy. I could just be ridiculously horny.
That’s the other problem. No one talks about the struggle of going from okay sex, to horrible sex, to no sex at all. You feel so close yet so far, and stupidly desperate, which just makes you even more frustrated because you hate being desperate.
“Ugh,” You groan at your thoughts, finally focusing on your computer screen long enough to submit your last bit of homework before you leave. The team’s bus to Texas leaves at 7am, and maintaining your GPA is part of being a Tiger Girl, so it's essentially team policy to have all of your homework done before you leave.
You shut your laptop with a sigh, dropping it in your backpack and double checking you have everything you need for game day. You hoist the sack on your back, grabbing your dance bag next to your bedroom door and lugging it to your apartment’s entrance so you can leave quickly once your roommates are ready. Grace and Tay are in your small living room using the coffee table to work on a puzzle of a colorful painting of New York, and you join them with a sigh. “All ready?” Tay asks, snapping a purple piece into place.
“Oh yeah,” You respond exasperatedly, glancing at all of the scattered pieces, not even bothering your brain to attempt matching them together.
“Texas will be fun,” Grace comments. “I hope people get rowdy.”
“I hope we win,” Tay retorts with a worried look on her face. “This game is kind of going to make or break the team. We beat Texas and everyone will see the guys didn’t come to play around.” Texas is really good. Beating them is hard. Beating them at home is even harder. The boys keep saying they know what they need to do and how to do it, they just need to execute and show everybody. Even just hanging around their practices you can feel a shift in energy this year compared to last–thing is, you only know this because you’ve been around the practices, and the rest of the world hasn’t. This is the team’s chance to show people what they’re made of.
“I’d also love to crush Cam’s stupid idols,” Tay adds, sharpening her tone. “Or maybe I do want us to lose…whatever hurts him more.”
While you share that sentiment somewhat, you just laugh in response. “You’re stupid. I really hope we win,” You reply. “In fact, we should just win every game.”
Grace snorts. “That would actually be lit,” She smiles, reaching across the table to grab a couple blue pieces.
The sound of a door being shoved open startles all three of you. Kelia comes stumbling out of her bedroom with a huge backpack and overflowing dance bag, her chronic overpacking tendencies on full display. She waddles over to the front door, placing her bags next to everyone else’s with a thud.
“Okay!” Kelia chirps, placing her hands on her hips and glancing at the digital clock on your wall. “And thirty minutes to spare. I’m amazing.” She smiles cheekily, joining you on the couch.
“That you are,” You respond, smiling and jokingly pinching her cheek until your hand gets swatted away.
Suddenly your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dig it out. A text from an unknown number appears.
(740)-219-1009: Hey, it's Joe. You guys want a ride to the stadium? I have room in my car
Kelia squeals in your ear, leaning over your shoulder to read your texts. “Hey!” You exclaim, shielding your phone screen and pushing Kelia’s shoulder.
“Sorry, that was an exciting text! Say yes, right now!” Kelia encourages.
“What happened?” Tay asks.
“Joe texted her saying he’d drive us to the stadium to meet the buses.”
Grace gasps. “Yes! Say yes, I don’t know if my dear old baby Cara can take even one more drive,” Grace whines with an overexaggerated pouty lip. This might actually be true. Grace’s deep red Camry, no matter how sentimental, is on death’s door and could cough at any given moment.
“And this pushes Mission Rebound-”
“-Exactly.” Kelia drives Tay’s point home.
They all stare at you expectantly. “Everyone is ganging up on me,” You comment, typing out your response to Joe.
You: That would be great honestly
Joe: Great, I’m with JJ and Ja’marr too
Joe: We’ll be there in 15
You thumbs up his message. “He’ll be here in 15,” You announce to your friends, and they cheer in response. Grace jumps up and goes into the bathroom, likely spraying on more perfume before she sees Justin. You, Kelia, and Tay shoot each other loaded looks, giggling at your friend who is so horrendously down bad, even if she won’t admit it.
A follow up text from Joe arrives quickly, and everyone lugs their bags out to the front of your building. The Louisiana weather is more forgiving before the sun is fully up, and you’re grateful for the wind that cools your cheeks when you see Joe hopping out of the driver’s seat of a Black Chevy Silverado. He takes the cover off of the open trunk where the guys’ bags are, greeting you with a kind smile. “Hey guys,” He sighs.
“Hi, Joe,” You chirp as he takes each of your bags from you to pile in. “Thanks for picking us up, we really, really appreciate it.”
“No seriously, I don’t even know if we’d have made it to the stadium in my car,” Grace interjects as she slides into the back seat, pointing out dear old Cara in the parking lot. Useless duct tape adorns her bumper in an attempt to keep it intact, a decently sized dent in the back left door is a little more than slightly frightening, and the scratches all over the exterior make her a sight for sore eyes.
“Jesus,” Joe mumbles with wide eyes, popping the hard cover back on the trunk.
“You might as well have saved our lives,” You say as you also study the beat up vehicle, only half joking. Realistically, Cara is a biohazard.
Joe chuckles, rounding the truck to get back in the driver’s seat. “Glad I could help,” He replies with a wink. Your heart leaps, and you fight a smirk as you climb into the back, feeling Mission Rebound get more exciting with each passing moment.
Studying the situation in the back, you realize Joe really didn’t have that many extra seats. With him as the driver and Ja’marr as the passenger princess, there are only three seats left with five people. Grace is already in Justin’s lap on the far end, so you just plop yourself on Tay’s thighs, seeing as there’s no other option.
During the very short ride to Death Valley, Ja’marr plays some obnoxiously hype rap for 6:45am, asking about the game and if you have any new or special cheers for Texas. You all joke and laugh sleepily, knowing when it comes time to board the buses you’ll be separated, as the Tiger Girls and football teams have different bus assignments.
Joe rounds the corner into the stadium agonizingly slow after Ja’marr dramatically clutched onto the door handle on Joe’s last turn, claiming he “rounds corners like it’s F1,” and is “going to send us to the hospital.”
“Now you’re just being a dick,” Ja’marr throws his hands up and gives Joe a long look as he makes it a point to roll through the turn.
“Nah, you said I’m turning too fast!” Joe sasses back with a petty shrug. Everyone in the back groans and gives their two cents, chastising Ja’marr and punching the back of Joe’s seat to no avail. Your collective complaints and laughter slows to a halt as you look towards the stadium and confusion sets in. Outside Death Valley is a large crowd of athletes and coaches, suitcases and bags, loads of equipment…and no buses.
That’s weird.
“Um…where are the buses?” Grace ponders slowly. The apparent becomes more obvious as Joe parks in his reserved spot and everyone climbs out of the truck, getting a closer look at the mob’s annoyed appearance.
“Well this is fucking great,” Justin mumbles.
A tired and less than pleasant looking Del makes eye contact with you and shuffles over. “No buses?” You ask disappointedly. In your two years as a Tiger Girls thus far, the buses were only late once, and by all but 15 minutes.
Del shakes her head. “Not yet. Everyone’s calling around, but it looks like the company messed up. No one knows when they’ll be here,” She explains with a raspy voice. “We’re sitting ducks.”
Joe lets out a long sigh next to you and rolls his eyes.
“That is my cue brother,” Ja’marr announces, promptly sitting right where he is on the sidewalk and pulling out his phone.
“I second that,” Tay groans, cringing when she sits on the hard concrete. You look around, realizing that pretty much everyone else has also taken to the ground, save for a few coaches that are yelling into phones about our transportation. Following suit, you plop down criss cross applesauce, shoving your elbow onto your knee and your pouting face onto your palm.
After fifteen minutes of New York Times games and using Kelia’s phone to play Heads Up, the sound of Coach O’s whistle pierces through the air, causing a few athletes to complain. “Alright,” He starts, his voice as large as ever as he announces the update on your travel accommodations. “Our buses will be here in an hour and a half. But I don’t want a single one of you leaving this lot until we’re on our way to kick some Longhorn ass.”
Grumbles and commotion breaks out immediately after, everyone settling in for a long morning. “I’m reaaally close to Doordashing a coffee right now,” You drag out, feeling your game day anticipation wear off after being told you need to sit on hard concrete at 7am for the next hour and a half.
“There’s those bottled Starbucks things in the vending machines,” Justin comments, nodding his head towards the facility. “Go in and get one.”
You look from Justin, to Coach O, and back to Justin again. “Did you not hear him? We can’t leave. He won’t let me in there.”
“He’ll let me in there,” Joe states, tapping your knee and motioning for you to get up with him.
You look back at Justin warily. He nods and says, “He’s right.”
You sigh, and Joe looks at you pointedly with an outstretched hand. Reluctantly, you grab it and he pulls you to your feet with ease. You follow behind Joe like a shadow as he stalks over to Coach O and says his greetings.
“Do you mind if we head into the facility and grab some Gatorades from the vending machine? I didn’t realize I was out this morning,” Joe asks casually. Coach O has his hands on his hips as he looks between you and Joe, furrowing his brow slightly. You hold your breath, and after what feels like an eternity he finally grumbles under his breath and points to the entrance.
“Go ahead,” He mutters reluctantly. You silently celebrate, both you and Joe thanking Coach as you walk off. “Remember, I trust you boy!” Coach O calls after you and points at Joe’s chest.
“Thank god,” You breathe out as Joe pushes his index finger into a scanner, his print unlocking the doors.
“I don’t know why you were scared,” Joe snorts, tugging the door open for you.
“If he said no I would’ve died,” You defend yourself while you stroll into the open foyer. “This coffee is my lifeline right now, I can’t lie.”
The vending machine isn’t far, and you excitedly squeal when you hear the clank of the glass bottle rolling around in the bottom compartment. You immediately unscrew the cap and take a large gulp, placeboing yourself into already feeling more awake. Confusion flashes across your face as Joe punches in some numbers after you, grabbing a blue Gatorade.
“What?” He asks when he sees your expression. “I really did run out this morning.”
The both of you take a moment to indulge in your drinks until Joe starts wandering off. “Um…where are you going?” You ask warily.
“Dunno,” He responds. “It’s going to get hot outside the longer we’re out there, so I want to be in the A/C a little longer.”
You shrug and join him, closely observing the walls you’ve been walking past for two years now. Suddenly Joe halts in place when an idea pops in his head. “You should show me the dance studios,” He exclaims, a wide smile stretching across his face.
Your nose scrunches up. “What? That’s boring.”
“No, no,” He whines. “I’ve never seen them.” Suddenly Joe pops up in front of you, stopping you in place, and it doesn’t seem like he's budging. “Pleaseee,” He pouts exaggeratedly, slumping his shoulders and shuffling one of his feet back and forth.
“Oh my god, if you’re going to be a big baby about it we’ll go,” You laugh and lightly shove his shoulder, which does absolutely nothing to alter his stance.
Joe pumps his fist and lets out a prolonged, “Yesss.” You start making your way towards the dance studios, with Joe trailing behind like a little puppy.
When you enter the short, more closed off dance hallway, you present the first door on the left with outstretched arms. “This is our main studio, and we basically only ever practice here for Nationals. Obviously for sideline we’re on the field, but everything else is this studio,” You explain, taking a couple steps in. The wooden floors are brand new from last year’s renovations, with a large LSU logo painted in the middle, and floor to ceiling mirrors cover the wall to the left of the door. Bars, props, and mats neatly line the back of the room, exactly as the team had left them after practice yesterday.
“This is massive,” Joe exclaims in awe. “Is this how big the stage is for Nationals?”
“We have a little more room to account for the wings, but just about, yeah,” You nod.
“I’ve never understood how you guys can use this much space in one dance,” He confesses, still slowly walking around to each corner of the room to observe. “I have like two dance moves in the club and it’s all upper body movement.”
You laugh. “Well, I have been doing this my whole life,” You clarify, walking to the middle of the LSU logo and sitting down to stretch. Although you already got in your daily routine this morning, it only feels right to immediately loosen your limbs when you walk in this room. Call it muscle memory.
“Still,” He insists. “It’s incredible how much you can say without speaking at all. Not to mention the strength and stamina it takes, my god. You are a true athlete.”
His compliments make you bashful. Of course this is your art, and you love it, but hearing that someone else appreciates it as much as you do, makes the hardships that weigh you down worth it. Especially coming from someone who’s so elite in their own craft. Someone whose opinion you now value.
Joe finds his way back to you when he’s done analyzing the room, just watching for a moment as you reach for your left foot that’s outstretched. You lean forward as far as you can until you’re stopped by your frontside coming into contact with the top of your thigh, feeling a light pull in your hamstring for a few seconds until it fades. You come back up, and Joe blurts out, “Dance.”
Your face turns bewildered at his vague request. “Oh sure, let me just get up and dance,” You reply sarcastically, rising from your position to complete a single perfect turn to absolutely no music, finishing with a dramatic bow.
Joe shakes his head and laughs nervously. “No, no, sorry. Um, that came out wrong.” He stutters. “I mean, do you have a dance you could show me? I don’t know, just like, thirty seconds. A little part. It’s just so cool.”
“Uhhh,” You drag out with a nervous chuckle. Your palms get a little sweaty, and you realize dancing for Joe with 22 other girls in an 80,000 capacity stadium after he throws a dime for a touchdown is a lot different than dancing for Joe alone in an empty studio. “I guess I can show you a little bit of something.”
“Something, anything,” He pleads. “I wanna see you up close.”
Your heart leaps into your throat as you walk over to the small sound system in the corner. “What do you want to see? Hip-hop? Contemporary?” You ask. “A cheer?” A dry chuckle falls out of both of your mouths at the last suggestion.
“Whatever you want. Whatever you like the most.”
You sigh as you recall last night when you stayed after sideline practice. After getting through the week and actually feeling okay for the first time in what felt like forever, you started doing some self reflecting. You kept replaying what Coach Kandace said to you after practice on Monday about how dance can’t be a place where you block your feelings out. It made you think about how the reason you got into dance in the first place was because it’s where you could let your feelings show without explaining them to anyone at all. You made a commitment to yourself that you wanted to begin carving out time to make dance about that again, so you stayed after practice for that solo studio time.
You played music you were relating to in that moment, and started improving. Eventually it evolved and snowballed, so you came out of the hour and a half with a fully choreographed solo. Since the choreo was fresh in your mind, and you actually really loved this piece, you decided you’d show a part of it to Joe.
“So, it’s to this song called Finish Line,” You explain as Joe sits criss-cross applesauce at the front of the room with his back to the mirrors. “It’s contemporary, and slow, so I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I choreographed it last night for fun. This is the last minute or so.”
You click play, leaving ample time in the song to allow yourself to get to the center of the room before the section you want to start at. The atmospheric nature of the melody fills the room, and the beautiful acoustic guitar and piano make your shoulders drop and heart rate slow. Suddenly it feels exactly like it did in here last night, just you, your thoughts, and dance. Delaney Bailey’s soft voice rings out, and you begin.
If this breakup was a race, you’d win by a landslide.
I’d be walking laps babe, to watch the birds fly by.
You’d lap me cause you’ve been moving along way too fast.
Your legs are on fire babe, ease up on the gas.
So I’ll watch the flowers grow for a while,
You keep running your mile.
The music swells as the outro plays, and you launch into a long turn sequence. Your breaths are deep as the choreography spills out of you, feeling each moment as you transition from one move to the next. Eventually the song peters out, and you’re left walking off the “stage” slowly as your final moment. After a very tired breath, you drop the “dancer walk” and look over at Joe. His expression is entranced, with his wide eyes locked on you.
“What’d ya think?” You quip through tired breaths, walking towards him with your hands on your hips.
He just looks up at you dumbfounded and astonished. “I’m in awe of you. That was incredible,” He mutters, shaking his head slowly. “You are amazing.”
You let out a short laugh. “Uh, thanks,” You cough out, trying your best not to let your giddy emotions show. “Here, let's go to the next room.”
Grabbing your phone quickly, you both make sure to turn off the lights and leave no remembrance of your visit behind. The door shuts with a soft click, and you move past some offices to your old studio, which used to be your only studio freshman year.
“This is what we used to practice in, so thank god for whatever millionaire alumni got us the new studio,” You comment, using your whole shoulder to open the older, more beat up wooden door into studio B. After flicking a switch most of the lights click on, save for a few that never worked even when it was your only practice space. The room is smaller, with little to no equipment, and dirt and dust infiltrate almost every surface. You don’t remember it being this bad, but to be fair you don’t think this room has been touched by anyone–including a custodian–in the two years you’ve been away from it.
“Jesus,” Joe mumbles, almost immediately sneezing from the dust.
“Yep,” You agree, popping the ‘p’ at the end.
You both take hesitant steps into the space, your eyes wandering from the broken bar to a section of a mirror that broke off years ago. Eventually you hit wooden shelves, raking your finger over the top to see the dust and dirt that’s collected.
A gasp falls from your mouth as a realization hits. “This was my first cubby,” You exclaim, your hand almost immediately finding the top row, second one on the left. A wave of nostalgia hits you, seeing that a thin stripe of old blue painters tape still adorns the bottom of it. On the sticky material are bold capital letters that spell out your first and last name, etched in Cam’s handwriting. Looking beyond that, you notice a polaroid of you both is taped to the back, taken after the boys beat UCF in the Fiesta Bowl last year. You and Cam are on the bus, still glistening with war paint and makeup on, but changed into sweats. It’s a selfie with Cam smiling and his tongue out, and you snuggled up to his side while making a kissy face. The high you’re both riding from the win is evident on your faces. You slowly pull the polaroid off the wall, and bring your fingers up to the painters tape.
The memory hits you. You were two excited freshmen, still riding the high of finally feeling like you were a part of something important beyond high school. Seeing your name on anything, from a jersey to a roster to a uniform bag, just solidified the feeling that this was real. You had both actually made it, and were living your dreams. Coach had told you to make sure you put your name in your cubby, because it would be yours for the rest of the season, and before you could claim your territory yourself, Cam snuck into the studio to see you. You remember feeling giddy, in awe that a boy could like you this much, so much so that he would tip toe around for you. With all but a few minutes before someone would catch Cam where he wasn’t supposed to be, you quickly laid out the strip of tape, and watched in adoration as Cam stenciled your name on it. “My favorite girl in the world,” He had said after.
Your heart feels like it’s weighted down with a stone, and a bitter taste fills your mouth.
Well, he lied.
Still tracing your fingers over the tape, you study it one last time before you start picking at a corner. You need to get it off. Joe’s presence looms behind you.
“So, you guys were together for a while, huh?” He asks, most likely analyzing the picture.
“Yeah, we started dating freshman year,” You explain.
He hums. The room doesn’t hold tension, but the air is thick. You both know this is heavy.
Joe sucks in a deep breath before asking, “How’d he lose you?”
Your fingers still methodically pick at the tape that doesn’t seem to budge. “What makes you think I broke up with him?”
“I just know,” He mutters.
It’s your turn to hum. You contemplate telling Joe the truth for a few seconds until you decide there’s no real point in hiding from it. “He cheated,” You state plainly, still picking at the stubborn tape.
Joe goes silent behind you for a moment. “I’m really sorry,” He says sincerely.
For a moment there’s a familiar lodge in your throat that threatens your lip to quiver, but you shrug and let out a deep breath that reminds you of your strength.
I am still standing. I am better for this. This does not define me.
“It’s not your fault. The world keeps spinning,” You push out. The tape finally gives, allowing you to pull it up all in one go. You turn, and Joe makes it a point to look you in the eyes.
“I’m still sorry it happened. No one deserves that,” He affirms.
“Thanks,” You whisper. His eyes are kind, and you pull yourself away before you feel too much from it, crumpling up the piece of tape and the polaroid.
“Well, now I definitely don’t regret kicking his ass in wrestling,” He gloats, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. You laugh, remembering the astonishment you felt in that moment, and the unmistakable fire in Joe’s gaze.
“That was pretty gratifying for me, I won’t lie…” You respond, walking up to the exit to be face to face with Joe, flinging the wad of tape and polaroid into the trash can.
“Good,” He declares with a smile. “Enough to prove to you that I can play rough?”
Your heart skips a beat at his innuendo. A smirk dances across his face, and his eyes peer down at you, making you feel smaller than you already are compared to him. The way he’s staring at you, and the broad nature of his stance has your stomach doing cartwheels, and he just watches as you falter over his words.
He knows. He knows what he’s doing, and two can play at that game.
You step closer to him and jut your chin up, shamelessly letting your eyes rake over his body until you find his gaze again. “You’re improving, but I’m not quite convinced,” You tease, letting a small smirk ghost over your lips.
“Hmm,” He lets out a low, rumbling hum. “I guess I’ll have to be more convincing.” He drawls, his words feeling like nothing but heat as he looks at you like you’re his last meal. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. You’re reminded of just how sexually frustrated you are, and just how rash the whole ordeal is making you.
I have a feeling this is exactly why Coach O didn’t want us in here alone.
“I guess so,” You breathe out, using your last bit of strength to rip your eyes away from his. “C’mon, I never get to go down the football hallway.”
Joe sighs, then chuckles behind you, half-jogging to catch up as you strut out of the studio, your mind racing and your expression casual. “Wait, I like it down here more,” Joe abruptly exclaims, resting his hand on your back to guide you left instead of straight. The small touch almost makes you jump, and your thoughts are silenced as your brain zeros in on the warmth Joe’s hand provides. He slowly drops it, walking ahead of you as the hall opens up, and the warmth simmers off your body, much to your disappointment.
This is getting ridiculous, You think to yourself. I can’t even have his hand on my back without needing to be cleansed with holy water.
“Look,” Joe announces as his face lights up, pointing out the grand, glorious displays that adorn the wide hall.
“Woah,” You murmur in surprise. Huge trophy cases are sectioned off, one for each year LSU won a National Championship. Yellow and purple sprout off of each of them, from signed jerseys, to significant game balls, to large golden plaques, to team pictures, to newspaper articles. You and Joe stop by each showcase, reading about the historical matches until Joe gets too excited and tells you the stories himself. You can’t help but smile as his features become more animated than you’ve ever seen.
Finally you come across LSU’s most recent win in 2007. At the center of the display is of course the sparkling football-shaped trophy, but above it is a picture of then-quarterback Matt Flynn with a wide smile, holding the award up into purple and yellow confetti. The photograph is pure happiness. Victory.
“That’s going to be me one day,” Joe whispers, his eyes darting around the picture in awe. He brings a hand up to the frame, an index finger tracing the wooden outline. Your heart strings pull as you imagine little Joe in front of a TV watching college ball with this same look on his face, and how he must have wanted to be where he is now so badly. Joe’s exterior is brooding and serious, but right now all you can see is a kid with a dream he’s working so hard to achieve.
“Yeah,” You suddenly agree quietly. “I believe you.”
Joe gives you a look, and a twinge of pink appears on his cheeks. He tries to stop it, but a small smile pulls at his lips anyway as he looks down and pulls an arm up to scratch the back of his neck. “Thanks,” He mumbles.
Your head gets thrown back as you laugh. “Did I just make you blush?” You tease, throwing your hands on your hips.
“No one will believe you,” He counters like a child, crossing his arms and pivoting to stalk out of the hallway. This makes you laugh harder, watching a 6’4 football player made of pure muscle stomp away like you did 12 years ago when your parents refused you candy from 7/11. Taking one last look at the beautiful displays before you catch up with Joe, you make a silent little note to the universe to pretty please help LSU win the Natty this year.
After your little jog to get next to Joe, you loop your right arm in his left, feeling the effects of your caffeine start to kick in. “Where to next, Joseph?” You declare gallantly.
Your burst in energy makes Joe smile down at you. “Well I’m glad you’re having a good time, but I was thinking it might get a little suspicious if we’re in here much longer,” He comments
“Unfortunately I think we’ve already passed that threshold,” You remark.
“Not for me,” He scoffs.
“Oh, you think you’d need more time to get me off?” You ask innocently with a shocked look on your face.
Joe immediately backtracks and drops your arm. “What? No!” He proclaims, furrowing his brows and shaking his head. “I mean- I meant- I was saying that I would-”
Your laughter cuts him off. “Relaaax, I was joking,” You soothe as he pushes on the exit door, letting you both back out to the rest of the team.
“Yeah, yeah,” He drawls. “Keep talking, see where it gets ya.”
All of your friends watch you and Joe like hawks as you approach. The sun has fully risen at this point, and Joe was right about the heat amping up, because your happy mood is quickly being dampened by the sweat already wicking your brow.
“Now where have you two been?” Ja’marr scolds like a mother with a small smile creeping onto his face.
“Keeping out of this damn heat,” You snap back. And it’s true. Nothing technically happened in there.
“Mmhm,” Kelia hums, but adds nothing to it.
“So…can we go back to Heads Up?” Grace asks quietly. Everyone looks at each other, and with a collective shrug, Kelia pulls her phone out.
“Joe’s not on my team this time, bruh.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After the longest series of Heads Up ever played, and the most boring yet nerve-wracking bus ride from Baton Rouge to Austin, you finally catch a glimpse of DKR Texas Memorial Stadium. You jump up from your window seat and press your finger to the glass, violently tapping Kelia’s shoulder so she takes off her noise cancellation headphones.
“Ugh, what,” She spits out with a grimace, begrudgingly sliding her headphones onto her neck after being wildly immersed in whatever video is playing on her iPhone.
“We’re so close,” You squeal while poking your finger over and over on the window where the stadium is, practically daydreaming of the minute you get off this frigid charter and get to stretch your limbs.
“Oh bless,” She groans, suddenly no longer interested in the Bachelorette Top 10 Moments. Both of you begin gathering your items and picking up trash you left from your snack time, quickly running over the team’s updated schedule after your two hour setback.
Your first steps off the bus are exactly as you dreamed for all of thirty seconds, until you’re told to race to the away lockers and get in your warm up gear. The away locker room is boring and bland as usual, but bustling with energy and excitement, especially because you can hear the Texas crew getting ready next door. While you obviously don’t compete with their dancers, you’re a team that likes to stand up for the football program, and anyone in burnt orange is public enemy number one. After a good-enough makeup job you did on the road, you just have to take off your crisp white warm up jacket, and step into your purple joggers to be ready.
The Tiger Girls jog out to the stadium together, finding that you’ve exited on the home sideline, and will have to go across the field to get to the away sideline. You veer left to avoid the right side of the field where Texas football has already started their warm ups, sticking to where LSU football is stretching. You have to cut through some spread out players, and lightly high-five Justin when he outstretches his hand to you.
You stop when you hit the away benches, walking left until there are no more benches and you’re closer to the end zone. While you wait for the other girls to catch up, you take a good look around the ginormous stadium, anticipating what it will be like at 7:30pm full of 100,000 spectators. “Well, it’s no Death Valley…but it will do,” You smirk at Tay, who’s usually next to you in formation for sideline.
Coach Kandace is already leaning on the wall that separates the field at the stands with a whistle in her mouth. She’s immediately putting the team through a quick full body warm up with stretching, a jog from one end zone to the other, and some light tumbling. You ease through the motions of your long-time cheers, Grace calling them out each time as captain. When it comes time for the new ones, you roll through them a couple times until Coach is confident there isn’t one pom out of place.
“Five minutes for water, then tumbling passes, then stunts, then we’re out,” She barks, finishing with a sharp blow of her whistle. You all stroll over to your water bottles, panting between large gulps.
After a few minutes Tay gathers herself enough to throw her sweaty arms on your shoulders and deadweight. You stumble slightly out of surprise, and Tay tiredly laughs in response. “Bitch, leave me be,” You groan in faux annoyance, grinning after your light shove causes Tay to take a tumble herself. Tay cackles again, her eyes going to the field after you both sober.
Together you walk closer to the sideline, basking in the golden hour sun, admiring the vast stadium, and observing the two teams who are finishing up their drills. “Every time,” Tay smirks, nodding towards Joe as he stalks up to the 48 yard line, eyeing down every Texas player across the field. He just stands with his hands on his hips, occasionally pacing from one end of the Texas logo to the other, parallel to the 50 yard line split down the middle of the field. A couple players in burnt orange stop and stare, talking to their teammates and shrugging their shoulders. At one point you think you hear someone yell something to him, but if it did happen Joe doesn’t respond, and nothing comes of it.
You smile with Tay and shake your head, your need to beat this godforsaken team growing by the minute. It would obviously be epic, but you do also think it would hurt Cam just a little bit, and that counts for something.
Coach Kandace whistles everyone back into formation, going through the exact chain of events she outlined earlier. Your tumbling pass is a little rusty from the past couple of weeks, but you work out the kinks quickly enough, and surprisingly not one flier is dropped when you finish up with stunts. As Coach flies through the final updated schedule until game time, friends and family of players start to file into the stadium.
“Mama!” Kelia screams, immediately running towards the wall separating the field and lower bowl. About six feet up leaning on the padded fence is Kelia’s beautiful mom in a bright purple LSU Tigers V neck. Her open mouthed smile is wide as ever as she bends over the fence and extends both of her arms out to Kelia, yelling, “Ahhh my beautiful girl!”
Kelia gets up on her tiptoes just enough to kiss her mom’s cheek and you walk up to the duo with your hands on your hips. “And how are you miss thang?” Kelia’s mom asks you with a squeal and a kiss on your cheek as well.
“I’m good, thanks,” You laugh and kiss her cheek back, your cheeks hurting from how much you’re smiling. Ever since she helped Kelia move into your shared dorm freshman year she’s been such a light in your life, supporting both you and Kelia as you persevered through classes, practice, and the social hellstorm college can be.
Kelia and her start gabbing away, bouncing off each other enthusiastically after not seeing each other for about a month. You watch as other Tiger Girls and football players approach their parents, noticing Joe and Ja’marr in their white away uniforms all but 15 feet to your right, approaching two spectators who look to be Joe’s parents. They’re animated as they talk and laugh, and your heart strings pull when you realize you won’t see your parents until the Florida game in October. Somehow so much has happened since you’ve seen them, and lately all you’ve been craving is a hug from your mom.
Joe looks left and double takes when he makes eye contact with you, flashing you a quick smile and a wave before setting himself back in game mode. Ja’marr follows his eyeline and copies his actions, and you realize now all four of them are looking right at you. You quickly wave back and feel a grin stretch across your face, engaging yourself back into Kelia’s conversation with her mom after. Your heart beats a little faster after you turn, feeling their gazes still burning into you.
The somewhat happy moment is short lived, because two all too familiar voices cut through the air. Cam’s dad, Frank, comes bounding down the stands to your left in burnt orange. His unmistakable Texas twang causes memories of being with him and other members of Cam’s comforting family to come flooding into your mind. Cam’s mom, Lisa, trails behind him in a white LSU football shirt, flanked by their large extended family, each of them also clad in Longhorns gear.
The group is rowdy and enthusiastic, all barreling towards Cam who jogs up to the group. Kelia and her mom notice, both shooting daggers at the family before looking back at you with sympathy. Your stomach turns further, not knowing if you hate the commotion or your friend’s pity more. You take one last look at the faces you met last spring break when you visited Texas, each of them recognizable except for one.
Or, you don’t recognize her until you see her bag. The same one that was lying on the floor when you caught Cam giving her the head he refused to indulge you in.
You watch in horror as she bends over the railing the same way Kelia’s mom did, planting a big kiss right on Cam’s mouth. Tears involuntarily prick at your eyes, and you tap Kelia’s shoulder with an, “Oh my god.”
“What?” She exclaims worriedly and snaps her head back around to Cam’s commotion. “Who the fuck is that?!” She demands, her furious eyes coming back around to meet yours. You attempt to keep your resentment at bay, but the fury in Kelia’s eyes validates you, and venom laces your tongue.
“It’s her,” You spit out quietly, the overwhelming shock making it harder for you to find words. “He cheated on me with her.” Cam and his new girlfriends eyes are bright as they converse, laughing away at whatever the fuck is so funny. He keeps one of her hands in his hold, rubbing it softly. You feel like you could genuinely be sick.
“Oh, honey,” Kelia mumbles while placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, not sure how to immediately comfort you in such a public space–and right before a huge game.
“What’s wrong?” Ja’marr quips behind you, his usually lighthearted tone now more serious. You tear your gaze off of the sickening couple to whip your head around, meeting his concerned gaze. Joe stands behind him, his hard set face still analyzing your expression that probably looks all kinds of sad, angry, frustrated and confused.
“Um…nothing,” You say in a shaky voice, darting your eyes between the two and refusing to let the tears pooling in your eyes fall. You clear your throat quietly. “I just need to leave.”
Yes, just go back to the locker room, You tell yourself as you start shoving the few items you brought onto the field into your bag, taking deep breaths to calm the waves of despair and nausea that are washing over you. He is not the one. There’s a game you’re about to cheer for. You are stronger than that.
The steady self-encouragement helps a little as you rise with your bag, refusing to make eye contact with any of your friends as you stalk off across the field. It takes every ounce of your restraint to not take one last glance over your shoulder. Suddenly the weight of your duffel is nonexistent, and you look to your right to find Joe walking with you side by side, your bag in his left hand and his yellow helmet in his right. His expression stays stoic and his jaw stays set, seemingly completely unfazed and locked into his upcoming match. He doesn’t even meet your eyes, simply walking with you to the locker rooms wordlessly. But you look down at your bag in his hand, then back to his face, knowing this is his support. There’s not much many athletes have to give to anyone else when they compete, needing their full undivided attention to be on their craft. For Joe, this is what he can give you to let you know he cares, even if he doesn’t know exactly what happened. And for you, this is enough.
Your gaze goes back to the extensive stadium, letting yourself breathe in the warm early autumn air as you watch the few clouds that are in the sky drift off. The short walk and Joe’s quiet, but calm and collected energy helps you ground yourself, and by the time you’re in front of the away lockers you feel somewhat removed from Cam and his drama. There’s a part of you that realizes it's a little dangerous how fond you’re getting of Joe, but for now you couldn’t be more grateful.
Joe looks up at the sign above the door that reads “Away Women’s Lockers” and drops your duffel back in your hand gently. “Thank you,” You say firmly. He responds by meeting your eyes blankly and nodding once, grazing his hand on your upper back in comfort before decisively turning on his heel to head towards the guys locker room.
You’re still breathing deeply as you enter the dingy room, recounting Coach's instructions as you change into your bright purple cheer skirt with gold trim on the bottom, and cropped high neck tank top with LSU in big yellow lettering across your chest. Other girls file in and out while you re-tie your ponytail and put finishing touches on your makeup, taking one final look in a dusty mirror and grabbing your poms before lining up in the tunnel with the team.
Eventually you notice the soft rumble of the crowd, which is just stadium noise for now, but will certainly grow into deafening cheers and taunts once the players take the field and the game starts progressing. Your conversation with your teammates gets more enthusiastic when Tay pulls up the ABC Sports app on her phone where their coverage of the game has already started. Tay’s friend who’s an assistant physical therapist always brings a bag full of medical gear onto the sideline, and she lets Tay sneak her phone into her bag sometimes so she has access to it in the tunnel and onto the field. You crowd around her phone in awe as drone footage of the packed stadium comes into view, then cuts to clips of their warmups from earlier where some players on both teams are seen getting into the trash talk already. You all shake your heads, used to a tame but chippy warm up, until a video pops up of Longhorns fans shooting through a Burrow jersey with a cannon.
“Oooooh,” The group reacts all at once, a couple of you jumping with anticipation.
“They’re gonna regret that,” Grace mumbles with a fire behind her voice, making sure to keep somewhat quiet with the whole Texas football team right ahead of us in the tunnel. The Texas cheerleaders lead their football team out, then you and the rest of the Tiger Girls lead the LSU players out, so you’re currently sandwiched between the two rowdy groups of men.
“I’m sure Joe has seen it,” Kelia notes, glancing over to the front of the LSU team where Joe is pacing back and forth from wall to wall, occasionally stopping to hold his helmet-clad forehead to one of the walls with intensity. He’s locked in as always, blocking out the noise. You think if you told him he’d just won a million dollars, he wouldn’t hear you.
“I’m scared for Texas,” You add on, watching as Joe suddenly smashes the side of his head three times on the wall, the impact from his helmet hitting the concrete causing loud, crisp bangs to ricochet through the whole tunnel. A couple of Tiger Girls jump, including Kelia and Grace. Kelia slowly turns to you with wide eyes and a slightly concerned expression and says, “Yeah…me too.”
Everyone takes one last look at Tay’s phone, admiring the crowd and laughing when they cover Joe’s dad who throws up the classic horns down at the camera. The Texas marching band then starts their opening routine, causing Tay to quickly shut off her phone and shove it into her friend’s bag with a quick, “Thank you!”
Your excitement bubbles and your heart leaps when the stadium sees the band, causing the echo of the crowd noise to swell in the tunnel. Texas players get even louder and crazier as the song comes to an end, most of them jumping, hooting and shouting as they prepare to greet their 98,763 screaming spectators. The song ends, and every athlete in this hall puts on their most merciless, meanest game face, knowing that in just a few moments nothing else in the world will matter more than one thing–glory.
Suddenly a battle cry breaks from the front of the Texas crowd, causing their entire crew to streamline forward onto the field. The stadium noise crescendos, hitting a fever pitch as the LSU teams are held back by an ABC Sports official that’s coordinating timing. You squeeze the hands of a couple of girls, feeling your heartbeat pounding all throughout your body, ready to unleash your energy. About fifteen seconds later the coordinator releases you, and immediately from the football team you hear someone cry out, “Come on Tigers!”
The uproar that follows is impalpable. You let out a short but loud, “Let’s go!” and don’t hear a single syllable of it due to the noise around you. The entire team breaks out into a fast run, throwing your hands in the air and shimmying your pom poms as you exit the tunnel, the energy and excitement that bursts from the crowd hitting you like a line of cocaine. You bask in the atmosphere and attention, a wide smile stretching across your face, knowing all eyes are on you even though you’re the opposition. You skip up to your spot in formation where you warmed up, the location familiar but different, as the crowd lets you know you’re not as welcome as you were before. Now, a large section of Texas students reside in the silver stands, greeting you with boos and “horns up” hand signs.
Gotta love it.
A few bright purple LSU shirts stand out towards the front railing, but other than that it’s burnt orange for what seems like miles. You try not to pick out those select few Tiger fans, knowing one of them may be Cam’s mom and locking eyes with the girl whose face is etched into your brain forever is definitely a possibility.
The rest of the team takes formation with you, and everyone just smiles and shakes their poms in response to the hostile environment. You've cheered sideline for enough games at this point to appreciate the energy of away crowds, and know that throughout the match the team will be able to shut them up by playing well.
Your smile grows wider at this thought, remembering the cracking sound of Joe slamming his head against the hard wall of the tunnel. Devilish excitement bursts through you, anticipating the moment you get to watch the Texas students’ screaming faces drop in disappointment when Burrow drops dime after dime on their turf.
Good luck, Longhorns.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first quarter is eventful, but trenches-heavy. The Longhorns start the game going three and out, then the Tigers march down the turf and are held to a field goal. Texas gets to the goal line on the next drive, but the LSU defense is able to force a turnover on downs after the refs overturn a Longhorns touchdown, and Texas fails a 4th and goal attempt. Joe almost immediately gets picked off on a tipped pass, putting Texas back in the red zone, but history repeats itself and the Tigers create a second goal line stop on a 4th and goal. The quarter ends with the ball in the hands of the LSU offense and the Tigers up 3-0.
You sigh restlessly on the sideline, hoping the game gets more high scoring. The crowd still isn’t settled with everyone anxious to see the first touchdown of the night, and it’s making Grace’s cheer calls harder to hear. At least the sun is starting to set so you can stop sweating buckets, and each cheer has gone relatively smooth. Luckily the slight pause in action between quarters lets you take a self-breather, getting water and releasing your relentless grip on your poms for a moment. After a minute or two you’re pulled back into the action, anticipating what’s hopefully a scoring drive from LSU.
After the teams switch directions so the Tigers are heading in your direction, they get a couple of first downs, but to your disappointment the drive ends with a punt. The Longhorns then score the first touchdown of the night on the other side of the field with wide receiver Brennan Eagles, reigniting the rowdy crowd you’re cheering in front of.
The next LSU drive has you on your toes, knowing how LSU responds could be crucial to controlling the momentum of Texas, and in turn the outcome of the game. Clyde Edwards-Helaire is a powerhouse, breaking tackles and running up the field, surprising the Texas defense who’s scheme is built around Joe’s strong passing game. This causes linebackers and defensive backs to second guess their covers, leaving Justin wide open for a long shot in the red zone. On 3rd and goal Joe threads the needle, hitting Jefferson on a dot between two defensive backs, resulting in LSU’s first touchdown of the night.
Your entire squad lights up, enthusiastically screaming and hugging in celebration before Grace quickly calls out a cheer. Everyone bursts into action, routinely performing the chant while Texas fans hang their heads and throw their hands up in disappointment.
Yep, exactly that, You think to yourself with an evil little giggle.
Texas attempts to get points on their next drive to no avail, thanks to Cameron Dicker who missed a 58-yard field goal. LSU attempts a field goal of their own after the Longhorns get a stop in the red zone, and Cade York nails it right down the middle to put the Tigers up 13-7.
With not much time left in the half, the Tigers are eager to get Texas three and out, putting the ball back in their hands with only 1:13 left. Joe makes quick work of the Longhorns defense with a long sideline pass to Ja’marr, a far laser over the middle to Justin that keeps the clock ticking, and an absolute dime of a 21 yard passing touchdown lofted yet again to number two. It’s almost as if you blinked and the ball was in the end zone. The entire stadium seems to be shocked by your quarterback, who just placed the ball perfectly within reach of Justin, and perfectly out of reach of both his defenders.
You look back to the line of scrimmage where Joe is talking his shit, roughly beating his chest once with each fist and screaming in the faces of his O-line who hype him up. He points his fingers towards the ground as he walks off the field and continues his long tangent to his teammates, and you can only imagine the cocky boasts that are coming out of his mouth.
You don’t blame him. Everyone’s figuring out who Joe Burrow is now.
The touchdown cheer you and the team complete is quick, and you’re still beaming. There’s commotion to your right where the football team is, and you look over to see Joe still hyping himself up with his teammates and coaches, this time yelling just a couple words at the students who’ve been sitting right behind our benches. With his helmet now off, you see just how merciless his expression is. The only thing you know is he is out for blood.
God, he looks so hot.
You used to love observing Cam on the sidelines, but because he didn’t get much playing time it wasn’t all that entertaining–just a sight for sore eyes. Watching Ja’marr, Justin, and especially Joe is thrilling. They’re electric, intense, and it’s simply more attractive when a guy is actually good at what they do. And these guys aren’t just good–they’re truly some of the best in college football. The cockiness really does work when it’s backed up by how you ball.
With only one timeout left, Texas has a couple attempts to get upfield, but ultimately lets the clock run out so they can take a breather and strategize for the second half. Things are looking good for LSU at 20-7, but you internally groan as the football players run past the team to the locker room and you have to line up for tumbling passes, absolutely hating this part of the night every time.
The load lightens when you feel a gloved hand hit your upper back a little harder than you would have expected, and Ja’marr’s adrenaline-filled face is suddenly in your view. “You see that shit?!” He screams at you over the crowd, pointing out at the field with intensity.
“Yeah, y’all look fucking great!” You shout back with a large smile, hitting his chest to try to get into the football hype-talking spirit. You can tell he barely notices.
“We get another tuddy in this endzone and it’s for that bitch in orange, yeah?!” He continues pointing at the field, then nods to where Cam’s family was earlier with his new girlfriend. Your heart twists when you remember the moment, but the feeling is quickly replaced by an angry one when you realize Ja’marr’s sentiment. He wants to help you show those fuckers.
There’s a sudden lasering heat you feel in your eyes when you look back at Ja’marr. He looks ready to run through a wall, and you feel yourself wanting to get on that same level when you think about how fucked up what Cam did is. You’re not sure how feminist Ja’marr’s thinking is, saying fuck the girl instead of fuck Cam, but you do recall hearing that the girl was aware of Cam’s relationship with you…and did it anyway.
Suddenly you realize you no longer give a fuck. She’s not a girl's girl, so neither are you.
“Fuck yeah,” You spit back at Ja’marr, this time using both hands to give him a little shove towards the locker room. He stumbles slightly, cackling in surprise at your outburst and immediately turns to Joe who’s walking by, slapping his shoulder and saying, “Aye, nine..” Their voices trail off, and you straighten yourself in the tumbling line again with a newfound fire under your ass.
Your brain goes on autopilot during halftime, throwing fake smiles left and right while your thoughts of Cam and his charming face cause your movements to be harder and sharper with anger. You feel like you’re glancing over at the locker rooms every 30 seconds, eager as ever for the latter half of the game so you can beat these goddamn Longhorns. Both teams finally come bounding out and you’re all business, immediately turning with your poms behind your back once you finish your opening cheer to watch kickoff.
Sides switch yet again, and LSU goes three and out, putting a slight halt in their momentum. Texas goes on to conduct a very long drive that eats up over nine minutes of the quarter, many LSU players being pulled out due to injury as the Longhorns slowly progress up the field. Cam ends up leaving his spot on the bench and subs in for an injured DB, causing your jaw to tense and your eyes to narrow. The drive ends with a touchdown right in front of you on a QB draw, and Texas has now cut your lead down to one touchdown.
Your heart drops when the Longhorns get a huge defensive stop on LSU’s next possession, yet again holding the team to a field goal. As the clock dwindles, Texas marches up the field to the red zone, and you feel a particularly hard stab of frustration when Cam gets absolutely smoked by Texas’s receiver Jake Smith, resulting in a Longhorns touchdown. LSU’s once comfortable 13 point lead has been reduced to two with the score being 23-21, and everyone can feel that the Tiger’s sideline is now on edge. The fact that Texas fans are now screaming obscenities at you and the players, words you can hear loud and clear, is definitely not helping.
It gets harder and harder for you to cheer towards the rage-filled Texas crowd, and you start avoiding eye contact as much as you can, looking straight ahead at the orange wall so you don’t focus on the words of crazy spectators. You take a moment to glance at the players on the sideline, noticing Joe sitting still as a stone on the bleachers.
The fans behind him are far worse than the fans in front of you, almost every one of them staring at his back with fire in their eyes. Many of them are even leaning over the fence to get only slightly closer to him, screaming their heads off in an attempt to get in his head. Joe still sits firmly, but you can tell from his expression he’s listening, and letting it fuel him. His chest rises and falls slowly but deeply, only rising from the bleachers and slamming on his helmet after Coach O nods him over.
Both teams get even meaner this drive, with Joe immediately hitting Ja’marr on the sideline for a push to the 50 yard line. He gets blown up by a DB while running out of bounds but stays on his feet, causing him to give a nasty look to the back and shake his head, pointing his finger forwards in a “first down” gesture. Texas blitzes after a short run, and Joe gets the ball out quick to Justin over the middle. On his way up from the ground, a defender stands over Justin, causing him to have to shove the defender in order to get up. The two get chippy and a referee separates them but a string of nerves runs through you at the thought of an actual brawl breaking out. You don’t need anything else to hurt your chances of this win. Luckily there’s only 20 seconds left in the quarter, so the Tigers let it run and start holding up four fingers to the sideline stadium. As per tradition the Tiger Girls follow, letting the crowd know it’s serious now–we’re in the fourth quarter.
With the final side switch of the evening, LSU is now trying to score in the endzone right in front of you. On the first play of the quarter Joe shoots a deep pass across the middle, and Terrace Marshall Jr. earns a 26-yard touchdown. You jump and cheer with your team, letting out a huge sigh of relief because at least it’s now a two possession game. You don’t let yourself get too excited, knowing there’s still the whole rest of the quarter left and there’s still a big possibility that Texas could come back.
The Longhorns earn a long first down and get up to LSU’s 45-yard line, and the quarterback throws it away on third down making it 4th and two. They decide to go for it, and the safe checkdown play ends up turning into a 43-yard run in for a touchdown, leaving Texas one field goal away from the lead. You and the team all stress on the sideline once again, Tay even grabbing your arm and squeezing a little harder than you expected. Your eyes dart from the field, to Joe, to the screaming Texas crowd, and back to your girls. You believe in the team so badly, and you’re desperately trying to will them to prove themselves.
Come on, guys.
The ball is back in Joe’s hands, and he looks poised as ever in a hostile stadium full of spectators all betting on him to lose. After the offense quickly converts for a first down, your body jolts in fear when Joe eats a late hit on the next play. There’s a flag to show for it, and of course the stadium erupts in an uproar, but you couldn’t care less. Your eyes are glued to Joe who is on the ground under a ridiculously large body, until suddenly he springs up as if nothing had happened. You scoff as the player who hit him throws his hands up, clearly disagreeing with the call along with the rest of the stadium.
Don’t hit him then, You think to yourself, furrowing your brows at the notion that Joe could be seriously injured on a play like that.
The penalty gives LSU a boost towards the end zone, placing them only 23 yards away. The offense picks up another first on a pass, then hands the ball off for Clyde who bends the corner of the Texas D-line to stroll into the endzone. The eleven point lead feels just as good as it did last time, but the Longhorns’ chances of coming back are still just as high. Texas starts inching down the field again, eventually housing another field goal, making the score 37-31. With four minutes left, it’s still anyone’s game. In fact, if the Texas defense gets a stop, their offense will be able to eat away at the clock on their way downfield, score a touchdown, and take the lead by one with essentially no time left. LSU needs to put something on the board right now, or the lead they’ve had all game could slip away in one drive.
The offensive line is surprised by an all out blitz, and the pocket collapses ridiculously quick on Joe as he steps up in an attempt to escape the pass rushers. Your stomach churns as all hope seems lost. You envision the sack, the roar of the crowd that will follow, and the nasty drive the Longhorns are about to pull out. It’s slipping away.
You don’t know how, but Joe keeps his eyes up and finds Justin downfield, managing to still throw right to his receiver’s chest while his leg is being yanked to the ground. The ball is caught firmly by number two, who quickly turns and stiff-arms a Texas safety onto the turf. Justin turns on the jets in the open field as he races down the sideline, arriving right in front of you in the endzone to deliver the knockout punch to Texas. Your mouth hangs open as you and the Tiger Girls go ballistic, jumping and cheering like you never have before.
Holy fuck! They just did that!
Your laughter is uncontainable as Tay basically tackles you, and players from both on the field and on the sideline run up to cheer Justin on. He celebrates with them for a few moments before cutting through the sideline and running up to the Tiger Girls. You notice number nine hot on his tail, both of the men stalking up to you.
Oh god, what is happening?
“Hey, you like that?!” Joe’s screams as his raw football voice comes out, his finger pointing right at you as he approaches.
“Fuck yeah!” You shout back, shoving his shoulder pads with both hands like you did to Ja’marr earlier, except Joe doesn’t go anywhere when you push, he just gets even closer. He slings an arm over your shoulder, pulls your side into his and faces you back towards the crowd, another sweaty body smothering your other side when Justin mirrors him. Both of them shoot out their arms and do the horns down gesture to the now butthurt section of Texas kids, Justin leaning his head down slightly to tell you to “put your fucking hands up.”
You’re thinking only of Cam and his new stupid girlfriend as you pull both of your arms up to match Justin and Joe’s, the Texas fans overly disappointed at their inevitable loss, but still yelling in disapproval of all of your hand gestures. The three of you hold your pose to piss off the crowd until Joe points at a cameraman rushing to get a picture, and you keep still for the photo op. “Fuck you, horns fucking down!” Justin yells out once the camera man walks off, still riding the high of his last touchdown.
“My fucking house!” Joe adds on with a beat to his chest as he removes his arm from your shoulder to walk closer to the crowd and down the sideline towards the benches. Justin follows him and keeps talking to the hostile spectators as well, while you struggle to get the wide grin off your face. You continue to watch as Joe starts princess waving to those fans that were behind him all game, chirping insults and obscenities that surely drove him crazy. Rubbing the dominant win in their faces just feels so sweet, and the cocky look on Joe’s sweaty face under the white lights of the stadium makes your heart beat even faster than it already is.
“That was fucking crazy,” Tay tries to project over the stadium noise and rowdy LSU bench, throwing her arms around you for another big hug. Your laughter just continues to ring as you both sway back and forth in the embrace, until you hear Grace call out another touchdown cheer.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The rest of the game flashes by in a blur. Texas scored another touchdown, which no one really cared about because there was only 22 seconds left and LSU was about to get the ball. The Longhorns’ onside kick was of course not recovered, so Joe easily took a knee to seal the game.
After completing a couple more practiced chants and waving goodbye to spectators for what feels like forever, Grace finally releases the team from formation. Kelia, who is always stationed on the opposite side of you and Tay immediately prances over to the two of you, squealing and hopping around.
“We fucking did it!” She yelps and tackles both of you in a bear hug, hoots and excited screams bursting everyone’s eardrums. Your face is flushed and you can feel your tight ponytail sagging slightly, a few small hairs that have escaped sticking to your damp forehead, but you couldn’t care less. The pure adrenaline and thrill of winning a neck-and-neck away game trumps any tiredness you may feel in your muscles. Tomorrow morning may be a different story, but right now victory is just sweet.
“A hug, without me?!” You hear Grace call out teasingly. The circle opens up immediately and she joins in your mini dance party, everyone's voices overlapping as you call out the most intense moments of the match and marvel at the plot like it’s your favorite movie.
“Grace!” A random voice interjects. You all stop mid sentence, whipping your heads over to the bench to see who could’ve dared to interrupt this moment. A boy in an LSU uniform with a red penny tee over it looks at you…confused. A freshman. “Is one of you…Grace?” He asks quieter this time, looking slightly terrified.
“Um…yeah?” Grace quips back with a hand on her hip.
The freshman doesn’t say a word and just points to the smack dab middle of the field, where most of the cameras have cleared out and now just a few outstanding players and reporters stand. Right where he gestures there are four players standing on the painted Texas logo, the number 1 and 2 frantically waving you over. Only now do you hear a faint, “Grace! Kelia!” coming from their mouths.
Grace practically drops everything to run over to Justin, a goofy grin immediately stretching across her face. You don’t really blame her, because the high you’re riding causes you, Kelia and Tay to quickly follow suit, linking arms and skipping across the field to the 50 yard line. You feel weightless as you fly towards your friends, recognizing Joe and Clyde as the third and fourth bodies, and suddenly Coach Kandace's voice zips through your mind.
I’ve seen you for the past three weeks try to dance your way out of it and around it. Cut that shit out. It’s not going to solve anything. You need to sit with yourself and your support system, and face it.
Breathless and hopeful, flying through the air, you realize how easy it’s been to face your feelings with your new support system. You’d never called Cam your ex out loud until earlier in the week when you told Ja’marr. Kelia’s rage at seeing Cam’s new girlfriend made you feel okay with being angry too. Performing a number you’d dedicated to the breakup for Joe was nerve wracking, but felt natural to show to him.
Maybe the key isn’t broken. It’s just been trying to open the wrong door.
“What’s going on?” Tay giggles as you approach, jittery from the excessive skipping. Coach O’s ragged voice suddenly looms over you, calling the football team to the lockers, and everyone in a football uniform’s eyes go wide.
“Okay we gotta be quick people,” Ja’marr says urgently with a clap. “We wanted to get a picture on the dumbass Texas logo.” Looking to your right, you notice Grace is no longer by your side and is up in the air. On Justin’s shoulders.
“Woah,” You exclaim in surprise, wondering when the fuck she got up there.
“Yep, we’re doing it,” Clyde says with a sly grin.
“And again, we do not have all night,” Ja’marr comments, using hand motions to emphasize the need for speed. “Joe, you got it.”
Two large hands are immediately on your waist with a commanding grip. “Ready?” You hear Joe’s gruff voice behind you. The electric touch and looming presence on your back causes you to flush, and you quickly put your hands on Joe’s to stop him.
“Wait, wait, wait! Do you know how to do this?” You protest.
“Just jump,” He mumbles sassily. “One, two-”
“I don’t know-”
“-three!”
You comply, fully dipping and jumping with a petrified yelp. Joe easily lifts you high in the air, ducking his head under your backside to give you a firm seat on his shoulders, a leg on each side of his head. Your skirt rides up your thighs slightly, and his hands slip to the exposed skin to keep you stable, leaving a frenzy of tingles in their wake. One of your palms instinctively lands in his wavy hair for support, and you let out a big sigh when you realize that you made it up there alive, and that you haven’t breathed since his hands came in contact with your legs.
Girl, stand UP.
“See, you made it,” Joe laughs dryly, causing his chest and shoulders to shake slightly. His thumbs rub up and down your thighs slowly, intending to comfort you but only making you more lightheaded.
You huff and roll your eyes, finally removing your hand from his head and placing both of them on your hips. “I could’ve died,” You retort flatly. “You know, I don’t think the NFL rocks with first degree murder.”
“Hm, I didn’t know.”
“Read up on it.”
“You should read up on balancing lessons. Why does it feel like you’re about two seconds from falling flat on your-”
“Okay!” A cheerful voice rings out, cutting off your banter with Joe. You look around and realize everyone else is already lined up next to you, with Justin and Grace on your right, Ja’marr and Tay on your left, and Clyde and Kelia to the left of them. Luckily everyone seems to have safely made it onto their respective players’ shoulders, and the group is positioned right in the middle of the Texas logo that’s been painted onto the turf.
Cassidy, a sophomore Tiger girl, is in front of you all with an iPhone, ready to snap the picture. “Just do a normal one first,” She calls out to the group. You’re close enough to wrap your arms around Grace and Tay’s shoulders, so you stay there for a couple seconds, then everyone starts to do various “candid” poses with their hands in the air, peace signs, and excited faces.
“Cute, cute, cute!” Cassidy squeals. “Okay, y'all have gotta do it…horns down!”
Everyone laughs and hoots out little jabs at Texas, giving the camera the insulting gesture with one or two hands, and putting on tough faces.
“Love it, yay!” Cassidy smiles, waiting for Tay to dismount before giving Ja’marr his phone back. Joe squats far down enough for your feet to touch the orange turf, giving you his hand to keep you upright.
Joe opens his mouth to speak, but is immediately whisked away by Ja’marr. “We gotta go!” Uno shouts over his shoulder while ushering all the boys into a run. Justin tries to get a quick cheek-kiss to Grace but misses horribly due to Ja’marr’s almost violent tug on his arm. He trips over his own feet for a moment and you all giggle at the guys’ antics, sitting in your amusement until Cassidy’s heavy yawn interrupts.
“Sorry,” She says sheepishly. “This night has been incredible, but I’ve never gotten tired this quickly after a game.”
You laugh knowingly. “Oh yeah. I don’t know when I’ll hit that wall, but I’m riding this high as long as I can,” You respond while pulling her into a small side hug, her tired smile a clear indication of how quickly she’s about to pass out on the bus.
The group treks back to the sideline in search of your poms and other materials, sure to leave nothing behind considering it’s an away game. The chaotic atmosphere is evident given that after a big win, most organizational efforts are abandoned and your coaches just want anyone wearing LSU gear to get their ass on a bus by 11:15. That chaos seems to fade into the background as you begin to depart.
Your body feels like a feather as you float across the stadium and into the locker room, taking your time as you let your aching hair down and gently swipe off your sweaty makeup. The sweet, giddy conversations you have with your girls keeps a soft smile on your face, and you wish you could sit in this glow forever. Eventually most of the room has cleared out, and you figure you should probably start making your way to the buses.
You start rummaging through your packed bag in search of your bright purple LSU Tiger Girls hoodie, which is an essential on the upcoming six hour bus ride. The charter buses blast the A/C, and you’ve learned that to come without some kind of cover up is a death sentence. Unfortunately your demise readily approaches as you realize your hoodie is nowhere to be found, and the image of it sprawled lazily on the floor of Joe’s truck suddenly pops into your mind.
I left it in his fucking truck.
Your shoulders immediately slump and you grumpily zip up your bag, knowing there’s no use in continuing to search. Hopefully you crash hard enough on the bus to fall asleep with no problem, but you’re not sure how well that will work out in only a warm up tank top.
Grace and Kelia are throwing out their makeup wipes when you join Tay who’s waiting by the exit on her phone, an oversized hoodie pulled all the way over her head. You quickly try to pull the strings as a little prank, but your hand is harmlessly swatted away. Tay sticks her tongue out at you mockingly so you fake a pout, shoving a smile down.
“We ready?” Kelia asks as her and Grace approach, both of them also clad in large sweat sets.
“Yeah,” Tay confirms and you all exit the locker room, noticing pretty much everyone else in the entire away team hall has cleared out.
Coach O is standing in the doorway of the football locker room, yelling in his thick southern accent, “Come on now, y’all got five minutes to get your asses on that bus!” All of you jump at the sudden exclamation, not seeing Coach at first, but certainly hearing him. Orgeron looks over at the group and has no problem instructing you as well, as if your team was his own. “Good job tonight girls, we’ve only got one bus left so get on it.” He even throws a thumbs up in there too.
“Thanks Coach!” Kelia sweetly beams as you all nod, about to follow the order until Clyde and Justin come bounding out of their locker room. There’s immediate commotion with Justin and Grace hugging and laughing, Clyde wondering if someone got a picture of his touchdown, and Joe and Ja’marr quickly joining the group seconds later. Kelia’s elbow digs into your ribs and she nods towards Joe mouthing “Mission Rebound!” with wide eyes and a sneaky grin. You roll your eyes, your response getting cut off by the man himself approaching you.
“Hey,” Joe rasps, his voice obviously tired from calling his cadence all night and screaming in victory. Fortunately the result sounds heavenly. He grabs your dance bag from you before you can blink, and hooks his other arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side. You instinctively follow his embrace, leaning into his warm, freshly cleaned body.
Jesus this man smells good.
Another body exiting the locker room causes all nearby conversation to halt. Your eyebrows furrow and you turn around still attached to Joe, your throat catching when you’re suddenly eye to eye with Cam. The tension is evident, and the fact that everyone else behind you is staring like this is their personal reality TV show does not help.
He stops and gives you a hard stare, chest puffed and eyes darting from you to Joe. You watch as realization flashes across his face, and the position you and Joe are currently in causes fury to wash over him. Joe doesn’t even stiffen, only clenches his jaw and stares right back.
Cam lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, that was quick,” He spits out at you, motioning to Joe and tilting his head lower as if he has to look down at you. Trying to make you feel small.
You feel your eye twitch. This motherfucker. “Absolutely pathetic coming from you,” You respond sharply.
Cam just rolls his eyes. “‘Aight,” He quips, giving Joe one last stare before walking off towards the bus.
You let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding, shaking your head quickly to get him out of your brain. Your friends all seem to do the same as you turn back towards them.
“Oh I will smack him-”
“What did he think he was doing-”
“Yikes-”
“Why is he such a laaame?” Ja’marr whines like a little kid, stomping his foot on the ground. Everyone cackles at this, collectively agreeing and starting the trek to the bus.
Joe stays solid next to you, rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder and pulling you into his side tighter. “I never got to ask–how was the show?” Joe asks with a boyish grin, his hair still slightly wet from the quick shower the boys get to take after games (It’s such a crime the difference between male and female locker rooms).
“Insane,” You respond, letting your head fall into his warm chest for a moment, getting another whiff of his calming cucumber body wash. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a game as amazing as that one. I was so so nervous at certain points, I can’t lie, but you all are just…incredible.”
He lets out a throaty laugh when you mention your nerves, and starts obnoxiously swaying the both of you back and forth as you walk, as if you were in a ballpark singing Take Me Out to the Ball Game. You almost fall a couple times, causing you to try and get him to stop, (to no avail) and the both of you snicker like little kids as you goof off down the hall.
“Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but we did it,” He responds, finishing the statement with a broad, cheesy grin. It’s at this moment that you decide post-game Joe is your favorite Joe. You feel like every other time you see him he’s mostly all business, focused on his grind, trying to be a straightforward, picture perfect leader. That Joe is great, but there’s something so special about the guy you’re talking to right now. He’s got a cute twinkle in his eye, an infectious, giggly nature, and a warm, comforting glow that makes you want to package him up with a little bow and put him in your pocket. His touch is soft, his words are sweet, and his smile is youthful.
Aw.
“I wanna do it again, and again, and again,” Joe comments with a happy sigh.
“Justin’s last touchdown was insane. I don’t know why I almost got scared when you guys ran up to me,” You recall.
Joe snorts. “Baby, you looked terrified. What’d you think was gonna happen?”
“I don’t know, you’re these big guys sprinting towards me!”
His cackle rings out again, and your heart starts doing somersaults. “We probably did look a little crazy. But I couldn’t help myself, you looked so beautiful!” Joe announces, grabbing your hand to raise it above your head and unexpectedly spin you a couple of times. Your laughter feels never ending, and a light blush coats your cheeks as you’re tugged back tight into his side.
“Oh you’re too kind,” You joke. Glancing back up at Joe, you wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest. “I am really proud of you,” You confess softly.
He looks so adorable with his crinkly eyes and flushed cheeks, and you can’t help yourself. Your arm reaches up to his neck and you pull his face down to yours, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Joe’s face is immediately redder, and he pulls an arm up to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Thanks,” He mumbles with a wide smile, trying to recover from the break in his facade with a kiss to your forehead. “I’m proud of you too.”
Finally the last bus is in view, with all of the other vehicles clearly already en route back to Louisiana. Coach O and the Tiger Girls’ assistant coach stand on each side of the door, going down the list of players that have yet to be accounted for and crossing off your names as you and Joe climb onto the bus.
You almost always enjoy the bus ride home more than the bus ride to the game, because in all of the post-game commotion, the gender separation bus rules are usually abandoned, and you can sit with whoever you want. When Joe finds an open row and grabs your hand to pull you onto the seat next to him, you’re even more thankful for the chaos. The fiery look Cam’s giving you from many rows back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you make it a point to very obviously follow Joe’s lead.
Watch all you want, bitch.
Joe settles in quickly, shoving each of your bags under your respective seats. It’s pretty spacious because it’s a charter bus, so you can lazily slump in your own space, but the harsh chill of the A/C immediately hits you and your hopes of sleeping peacefully without your sweatshirt are on a swift decline. Goosebumps involuntarily appear on your arms, and you instinctively try to cover them with your hands.
“Where’s your sweatshirt?” Joe suddenly questions, a blank look on his face.
“I left it in your truck actually,” You admit awkwardly, trying to push yourself further into the rough but somewhat woolen seat. Maybe it will provide you a little more warmth.
You can see what’s coming before it happens. Joe wordlessly starts removing the light gray LSU Football sweatshirt he’s wearing, and you’re quick to protest, sitting up and waving your hands. “Don’t even, Joe. It’s freezing in here, and you’re not going to be able to sleep,” You scold. It’s useless, because he just continues his movements and ignores you.
“Blah, blah blah,” He mocks when he gets the hoodie off and places it lightly on your lap. You notice a large 9 is printed across the back, like a jersey. “I have another one.” He raises his eyebrows at you pointedly before rummaging through his duffel to pull out the sweatshirt you saw him wearing to the game.
This comment silences you, and you quickly give in when another waft of cold air brushes across your body. “Well if you have another one,” You mumble, throwing Joe’s large hoodie over your head, his left over body heat immediately warming you up. The hood naturally falls on your forehead, the oversized fit causing it to fall all the way over your eyes and part of your nose. You hear Joe’s squeaky giggle from right next to you.
“Where’d you go?!” He jokes, his dorky smile coming into view when he pushes the hood farther back so you can see.
All you can smell is woodsy musk and fresh laundry, and the aroma combined with the cozy cotton of the sweatshirt causes your brain to slow way down. You can feel the exhaust setting in, your time to crash steadily approaching. The smile you give to Joe is tired, and your response is quiet. “Thanks, Joe.”
“Mmhm,” He hums with a small smirk, watching as you slump back onto your seat. Coach O climbs onto the bus as the last couple athletes make their way into their seats, and the bus driver immediately shuts off the lights. Your limbs grow heavier and heavier, then here’s a moment where your eyes glaze over and observe Joe intently.
He looks so comfy…
“Sweetheart?” Joe calls knowingly.
“Hm?”
“You gettin’ tired?”
“Yeah.”
Warm, large hands grab your waist and you’re slowly being pulled towards Joe’s body. He settles your head right on his chest and guides your arms around his torso, letting you use him as a human pillow. Your legs dangle off your seat until Joe grabs the back of one of your knees and pulls it to rest on his lap between his comfortable manspread.
You want to be surprised, but are too tired to react, and let yourself give in to his rather mundane actions. The freshly washed cotton hoodie rubbing against your cheek and rhythmic motion of Joe’s fingertips grazing up and down your back lulls you to sleep quickly.
“Goodnight, Joe,” You whisper.
“Goodnight,” He whispers back, another soft forehead kiss the last thing you feel before your muscles finally go limp, and sleep drags you under.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A slight shake rumbles through your body, and you twitch in displeasure. A small light clicks on in your brain, your consciousness peeking through a vast sea of utter darkness, until you hear your name being softly called. Your eyes open warily, adjusting to the cool light seeping through the windows, signifying the early stages of a sunrise. You recall your surroundings, clutching onto the thick fabric of Joe’s sweatshirt to make sure everything you’re remembering is real. The familiar pattern of his hand on your back still continues, until his full palm stretches out to shake you once more.
“Y’gotta get up, we're here,” Joe’s rugged voice mumbles, trying to be kind, but laced with sleep. You sigh deeply and force yourself to move, slowly untangling your arms from his torso and throwing them into the air for a nice stretch.
“Good morning,” You yawn out, trying to get your stiff body back to its usual limber self.
“Too early of a morning,” He complains from his sprawled out position, showing you with his phone that it’s about 6:00am.
“Yeah, I’m about to pass out again when I get home,” You comment, retrieving your bag from under your seat and making sure you have all of your items. There isn’t much discussion as the two of you slowly vacate the space, thanking the driver as you hop off the bus and gather with the group you arrived with.
Everyone is half asleep, so the group wordlessly walks to Joe’s truck, all of you clearly feeling major separation anxiety from your beds. You pile in the same way as was before, and Ja’marr doesn’t even bother trying to connect to the aux, leaving the car ride silent but comfortable. Grace takes a picture of the sunrise now perfectly casting over the front windshield, making the sky bluer and bluer by the moment. She smiles and shows Justin the picture from his lap, him responding with a grin of his own and a kiss to her shoulder.
It’s not long before Joe parks in front of your building, hopping out of the driver’s seat to lift up the cover on the trunk. Each of you trudges out of the tall truck, tiredly thanking Joe as he tugs each of your bags out of the back.
“I’m gonna crash, but I’m sure Ja’marr will want people over later for pizza,” Joe mumbles, putting a light hand on your waist while he says goodbye.
“I’ll ask him about it,” You respond sleepily, pulling him in for a quick hug before he nods off in front of you. “Sleep well, Joe.”
“You too,” He whispers, taking one last breath before pulling away. You have to rip yourself from Joe’s arms, your body immediately whining and complaining at his dwindling proximity as you wave and back away. The morning chill creeps up on you while you drag your feet up to your apartment, silent and slightly somber as you click the lock to shut your door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thudding bass can already be felt in your feet from two floors down, so you don’t even re-confirm the address Ja’marr sent to you. You know you’re at the right place.
After a couple more hours of sleep and a rejuvenating Sunday reset, you and all your roomies were not surprised to hear that the two star wide receivers wanted to have a post-game pizza night. As it was explained, this has been their usual routine every Sunday after a win, but they feel that this time it should be special–a little boozier. Tomorrow is Labor Day after all, and you won’t have a single class or practice to go to.
So here the four of you are, clamoring up a couple flights of stairs towards the source of the loud music, dying to get your hands on some greasy, cheesy goodness.
Everyone reaches the top of the steps, now only a couple doors down from Ja’marr and Justin’s apartment. “Damn, who hooked them up with all this?” Kelia pouts, gesturing to the clean, wooden doors with working locks and fancy door lights. Your apartment is better than most dorms, but it’s clear the football team lives in luxury.
“Got me,” Grace scoffs. “Just wait til you see the inside.” She turns and pounds on Ja’marr and Justin’s door with little delicacy, probably so the hooligans inside can hear her knocking. It miraculously works after a few moments, Ja’marr swinging the door wide open with a beer in his hand.
“Ayeee!” He exclaims, beaming and throwing his hands up in excitement. “Come in guys!” Ja’marr steps to the side slightly to let the group into his apartment, giving you all short hugs as you enter. “Grab whatever you want from the fridge, the pizza’s on the counter,” He points out, gesturing to both the double doored fridge and many boxes of pizza laying on the large island countertop.
“Oh you were not joking,” You mumble to Grace, looking around in awe at the spacious two bedroom apartment. The floors are clean wood, with no scratches or dirt hiding between panels. A large kitchen is immediately to your right, with painted cupboards and a modern backsplash, counter space going as far as the eye can see. The living room is just ahead of you, with enough square footage to hold two very comfy looking sofas, a large coffee table, and a huge TV. You can’t even begin to imagine how much space they have in their bedrooms.
Or how nice their bathrooms must be. You pout to yourself.
While the music is pretty loud, you have no problem conversing at a somewhat normal volume. A couple other football players and girls you haven’t met, but recognize, loiter around the living room and kitchen, but it really is a chill hangout. While some of you are partiers and some aren't, student athletes have to limit their alcohol intake to pretty much zero when in-season, so it makes sense it’s such a small group–honestly, you’re grateful for it.
“There you are,” A loud sigh comes from the living room, a tall, broad Joe clad in a cotton black tee and light wash jeans walking towards you with a purpose. His fluffy, dark blonde hair sits messily on his head, a couple strands falling onto his forehead. Sleep did him justice, eliminating his slouched posture and puffy face, and reviving his confident strut and strong facial features.
How did he go from adorable and snuggly, to confident and sexy in 10 hours?
A panty-dropping smile stretches across his lips as he approaches you, pulling you into a strong hug. His woodsy, musky scent sends a small flash of heat between your legs, and it’s in that moment you realize just how dangerous he’s going to be for you tonight.
“Damn, we’re chopped liver!” Tay sasses, crossing her arms at Joe jokingly. He boasts a laugh, giving each of your friends short hugs.
“Hey, guys,” Joe greets. “Please grab food and drinks before Ja’marr and Justin take literally all of it.”
“Oh, we will. In fact, I need a plate right now,” Kelia responds, making a beeline for the stacks of pizza boxes. Everyone scampers after her, eagerly filing through the boxes and asking what toppings are available. You grab a paper plate, your heart almost leaping out of your chest when a warm palm finds your hip and pulls you slightly backwards into a large body. Joe’s arm appears in front of you, grabbing a plate of his own.
You’re a little surprised by Joe’s somewhat forwardness, but the fiery feeling he’s causing overrides any bashfulness you may have displayed in front of your friends. You attempt to ignore some less than subtle reactions from the peanut gallery and casually grab a slice, moving with Joe as his hands guide you to the fridge.
“Want a drink?” He asks while grabbing a Yuengling, presumably for himself.
“Sure, a High Noon if that’s fine,” You reply, taking the cold can when it’s handed to you.
Joe grabs your other hand and guides you over to the living room couch. He casually plops down in the middle, stretching a beefy arm over the back and letting his thick thighs part in a confident manspread. He looks huge, taking up so much space with not only his body, but his demeanor as well. He’s coming off a huge win, looking poised, relaxed, like he owns the place. It’s so hot.
And you’re so horny.
Joe raises his eyebrows at you and nods to the spot next to him, waiting for you to join. You slide into place, daringly closer to his body than you thought you would be, but Joe doesn’t seem to mind because he just scoots even further towards you, leaning into your touch. A whiff of his woodsy scent just further ignites the growing fire of need inside you. You take a sip of your drink to cool down, knowing this is the start of a very long night.
And a long night it is.
You and Joe are attached at the hip, teasing, laughing, and touching all evening. As you both nurse a couple of drinks, the added buzz of a little bit of alcohol makes your words honest, stares heated, and touches lingering. You flirt back and forth for what feels like forever, your anticipation on a steady incline, and you start to wonder if you should make the first move, or if everything you’re feeling is just a result of your clear sexual frustration.
A couple hours in, Joe takes a hit from Ja'marr's spliff, and you watch his strong jaw contract, sucking in. He lets his head fall back and you watch helplessly as the smoke lazily leaves his mouth, creating a dangerous haze of second hand intoxication and pure sex appeal. It’s at that moment that you decide to get to a bathroom and splash some cold water on your face to try to chill your horny ass out.
The water calms your flushed cheeks, but does little to tame the overwhelming need you’re frustrated with. It’s only a matter of time before you act upon it, which could result in you doing something stupid or embarrassing, but could also result in some great sex.
I don’t know what I’m doing. What the fuck.
Your trip to the bathroom comes up short of your expectations, and you leave no better than how you entered.
Joe’s stands at his full height when you return to the living room, seemingly waiting for your arrival. “Hey, I just remembered you left your sweatshirt in my truck again this morning, want to go grab it?” He asks, starting to dig out his keys from his jean pocket.
“Oh, yes,” You respond, actually excited to get your favorite lazy day clothing item back in your possession. Not to mention, your only official Tiger Girls sweatshirt.
“Hey, I know you’re not leaving with keys in your hand,” Ja’marr scolds when he sees the two of you walking towards the door, narrowing his eyes.
“We’re grabbing her sweatshirt, no driving,” Joe clarifies, throwing a peace sign behind his back and strolling out of the apartment.
You roll your eyes at Joe and turn to Ja’marr. “Thanks for checking,” You comment with a smile, shutting the door behind you.
The party music coming from inside immediately muffles afterwards, and the sound of the cicadas chirping in the trees fills the gaps, sobering you slightly. A cool night breeze floats by, giving you a break from Louisiana’s early September humidity, and you feel like you’re in a daze as you lazily follow Joe down the stairs and across the parking lot to his truck.
Joe lets out a long sigh as he unlocks the car. “What’s up?” You ask softly.
“Nothing,” He answers honestly, “I just needed fresh air. It’s getting muggy in there.” He opens the backseat door, revealing your prized Tiger Girls sweatshirt in all its glory.
“Yay!” You cheer, stepping up to the seat and grabbing the clothing, pulling it over your head.
Suddenly, a thought hits you. You realize that if you left your sweatshirt here, the one you wore to bed immediately after that bus ride certainly wasn’t yours.
It was Joe’s.
“Oh shit, I still have your sweatshirt,” You announce, putting your hands on your hips as Joe reaches behind you to shut the door to the truck with a chuckle.
“Yeah…don’t worry about it. I don’t mind,” He trails off, a cocky look flashing across his face.
You narrow your eyes at him questioningly. “Why are you making that face?” You pry.
Joe raises a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Honestly? I’ve been thinking about the look on Delpit’s face if he ever sees you in it,” He admits with a cheeky smile.
“Oh, of course,” You boast with a laugh and an eye roll.
“Hey, it would be funny!” Joe retorts, raising his hands in self defense.
There’s a knowing silence before Joe breaks it, taking a step closer to you. “Though, I’m not so sure he would be very happy with me tonight either,” He says lowly, heat flashing through his eyes. Your mirror his step, and your back comes into contact with the cool, metal truck door, your heart beating a little faster when you realize there’s no avoiding his overwhelming proximity now.
“No, he probably wouldn’t,” You breathe out, losing yourself in his bright blue eyes. Joe stares you down with a light smirk pulling up one side of his full lips, wasting no time making the gap between you smaller and smaller.
One of his large hands finds its way onto your hip, resting comfortably, though the heat it generates makes you anything but. Now that you’re truly alone, desperation strikes you hard, and you don’t know if you want to squirm or climb him like a tree. You’re so sexually frustrated this one touch has you begging, and you can’t help but think of how he’ll have you when he puts in some real work. The images flashing through your mind cause your resolve to slip further and further away, and your body naturally responds to his welcome touch.
You realize you need it.
“What’re you thinking about in that pretty little head?” Joe asks with a sultry tone that tells you he already knows, he just wants to see you suffer. His large frame looms over you now, stormy eyes still locked on you with his chin tipped down and his head tilted in a questioning manner. The smirk still dances across his face, and his eyebrows are slightly raised, letting you know you’re not getting out of the question any time soon.
You try to speak, but your throat catches, and you don’t even know what you were going to say anyway. He knows. You don’t want to say it. But he’s not going to do anything until he hears it.
“You,” You breathe out, trying to steady your breathing a little. You know your answer is far too vague, and your brain starts fishing for something, anything to say next. It’s quite rare you’re rendered speechless.
“Hmm,” Joe’s hum rumbles low in his throat, his small smirk growing larger by the second as his second hand finds your other hip, easily sliding around to your lower back to pull himself even closer to you. “Anything in particular?” His palms circle slowly, easily, from your lower back to your hips and back around, occasionally slipping under your shirt so his fingertips graze your bare skin. You almost whine at the contact, so close yet so far from what you really want from him. Your resolve is still slipping, slipping, slipping…
I need it.
You let out a small huff. Joe’s smirk curls into a full fledged grin, his eyes never faltering. “No,” You finally retort. “Just…” Joe’s eyebrows shoot up when you trail off, still awaiting your response.
His hands continue their torturous pattern, sending wave after wave of need through your body each time they come in contact with your hot flesh. You quickly shake your head for a second to try to rid his intoxicating scent from your nose, but you can’t. It just comes right back, circling in your head, forming a haze and pushing heat low in your belly. “Just you,” You finish, knowing you’re losing this battle, that he’ll just keep teasing you endlessly until that last single thread of restraint is snipped. He doesn’t want this unless you’re begging.
Fuck it. I need it.
“And your hands,” You whisper, finally allowing yourself to grip his shoulders for support as your chest starts to rise and fall quickly. A shadow starts to cast over Joe’s face as you speak slowly, his pupils dilating and eyes turning primal as his hands come to a halt on your hips.
Please, Joe.
“And your mouth,” You continue, your fingers trailing up his neck and to his jaw, one thumb reaching up to touch his plush lower lip, applying pressure until it snaps back into place. The strong hands on your sides push you flush against the car door, and Joe steps into you, your bodies brushing against each other with every movement.
Please…
“And any and every way you can make me feel good,” You whine, looking up at Joe with desperate eyes and praying your answer is sufficient enough to get you what you want.
He groans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back for a moment. When it falls and he sets his eyes on you again, he takes a deep breath and pulls your hips flush against his. He asks one question, with a dark, promising tone. “Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” You utter, both of you falling into each other helplessly. Your first kiss with Joe is electric, and you feel hypnotized by his hot mouth against yours, controlled, relentless, and full of power. One of Joe’s hands leaves your hip and trails up your body, finding the side of your face to allow himself to kiss you deeper. Your hands slide to his bulging biceps, needing some sort of grounding due to the fog you’re falling further into. Joe pulls away slowly, leaving a couple pecks as a parting gift before fully giving you room to breathe.
You’re both panting softly, somewhat satisfied you’ve at least cut the tension, but still hungry for so much more. Joe eyes you like you’re a meal, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips every few seconds. “You’re certainly trouble,” He purrs, dipping his head back down to you and slowly placing wet kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone.
“Joe,” You moan and swing your arms around his neck as he moves back up, not sure if your body can take much more of is slow, tantalizing torture before you implode. “I need you.” The admission is raw, and causes you to flush further.
“I know, baby,” He murmurs against your ear, pressing his mouth under it just after. “I just want you dripping.”
Your pulse pounds, and Joe chuckles when he feels it. He places wet kisses on the pressure point and flattens his tongue before blowing softly, the sudden cool causing you to shiver in pleasure. You pull a hand down from Joe’s neck, grabbing his jaw and pulling his lips to yours, already addicted to the feeling of his soft, yet demanding mouth.
You kiss him with need, letting your hand fall back into his fluffy hair as you scratch his scalp, eliciting a groan from him. The vibration travels down your whole body, causing your heart to jump and your insides to mush. It’s not long very long before the kiss turns feverish, each open mouthed caress radiating through you and down to your core, leaving both of you breathless and moaning.
Joe whispers your name between kisses a few times, eventually restraining himself enough to get a full sentence to you. “Come on,” He murmurs, using one strong arm around your lower back to tug you off of the car and back towards the dorm building. “I’d love to fuck you in my car, but,” Kiss. “Bed’s better.”
“Good call,” You pant, forcing yourself to let him go by telling yourself you just need to get up to his room and you’ll have plenty more time together. Joe quickly turns his back to you to make his way to the building but catches your hand, eagerly guiding you up only one flight of stairs.
You spend your short travel time in a daze, too hot and bothered to think of anything other than when you can kiss Joe next. The only reason your patience doesn’t wear thin while he enters in the code to his door, is because you get to stare at his broad back while he does it.
You enter an apartment that looks similar to Justin and Ja’marr’s, at least with the lights off. Joe doesn’t bother to turn them on, stalking straight past the modest kitchen and living room, down the singular hallway. The layout is different, you assume because it’s a single. No roommates.
You follow Joe hastily, and the second his bedroom door swings shut behind you you’re backed up against it with hands on your waist. Joe’s eyes meet yours with such intensity, adoration, and promise, saying everything neither of you are daring to at the moment. He’s saying, Just give in. I’ve got you.
So you crash your lips against his.
The spell he can put you under quickly returns, needy touches and a punishing mouth causing the resolve a small part of you is still hanging on to to wither away. Your beloved sweatshirt is quickly removed and discarded on the floor, Joe’s hands back on your waist and ass again soon after. He nudges you towards the plush looking king sized bed, your kiss never breaking until you feel a stronger push cause you to fall backwards onto the mattress. Joe hovers over you, confidence and pure dominance oozing out of him as he climbs over top of you and finds your jaw, continuing his pleasurable assault. He gets a firm grip on your T-shirt, pulling away panting a simple command, “Off.”
You don’t have to be told twice, throwing the oversized fabric over your head and tossing it to the hardwood floor. Joe’s eyes are immediately on your chest, eyebrows furrowing like he’s been wounded. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” He groans, tucking his fingers under his collar to lift up his own shirt and discard it, while you quickly remove your bra.
The sight of Joe’s chiseled chest and abs is something out of a Michelangelo marble sculpture, all strength, beauty and valor, and your heart races as you watch the muscles contract with his every movement. You instinctively reach out to touch his warm, hard chest, his eyes meeting yours as your fingers trace patterns across the slopes and ridges. “Jesus,” Joe mutters, leaning down to capture your lips again.
You can feel your body buzzing, anticipating every touch, nervous but excited to just take what he gives you. Joe’s large palm comes to knead the soft flesh of your breasts, causing you to moan under him. He pinches your nipple and rolls it around his fingers, keeping you gasping and heated, craving friction down below.
You reach for Joe’s jeans and unbutton them quickly, detaching your lips from his to undo the zipper and help him shove them off. Before you can find his boxers to get them off, his hands are on your jean shorts, masterfully maneuvering them off of your body. You reach for his boxers again, and this time your hands are swatted away.
“Nuh uh,” Joe scolds firmly, pushing your shoulder lightly so you fall back onto one of his soft pillows. His large silhouette towers over you and you’re pinned by his gaze, his stormy eyes telling you if you move a muscle, you’re in big trouble.
Joe positions himself between your legs and leans back on his calves comfortably, with swollen red lips and tousled hair. His hands start on your knees and travel up your thighs to your hips, hooking his fingers under your panties. Pupils dilated, his blue eyes bore into yours as he drags the lacy fabric down your legs, the light sensation sending shivers up your spine. Joe grabs each of your knees, pushing them apart until you’re opened up completely and the cool air hits your soaking cunt. Your chest starts to heave as you realize how vulnerable you feel, how desperate you look, how much control he has when you’re in this position.
Joe looks down at your pussy, so ready and glistening. “So perfect,” He smirks, basking in the ego boost he gets from seeing you spread, wet and quivering for him.
“I’m so deprived,” You groan. “S’why I can’t focus.”
“No, sweetheart,” Joe laughs cockily. “This is all me.” He nods down to your slick heat, sliding his big hands from your hips, down your thighs, to your knees and back again, leaving tingles in their wake with each stroke.
“Tell me, I want to know. Did Cam ever get you this wet?” Joe purrs teasingly, slowly gathering your juices with his thumb and rubbing small, frustrating circles on your clit.
Your voice trembles. “No, he didn’t.”
“Hm. Has anyone gotten you this wet before, princess?” He asks, easily slipping his long middle finger in your cunt achingly slow, continuing to pump in and out. You gasp and throw your head back at the sudden sensation, the pleasure coursing through you causing you to almost forget about the question entirely. “It's okay baby, you can be honest.” He coaxes you soothingly, teasingly, observing your every reaction to find the spots that are driving you crazy.
“No,” You gasp out suddenly, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in his precise, calculated movements. “Just you, Joe.”
“Ah,” Joe lets out a fake disappointed sigh, and the hand that was so perfectly ruining you quickly pulls from your center. “Shame.”
Your eyes snap open and are immediately on Joe as his betrayal washes over you. You feel your pussy ache, and your hips naturally buck slightly to chase the friction. Joe’s other hand still caresses your thigh softly, and he closes his eyes while he pulls the finger that was just inside you to his mouth, tasting you.
“Oh, fuck,” He groans, furrowing his brows and sending a pleading stare back at you. “I have to taste you. Please.”
A small pang of nerves hits you, having very little experience receiving head. The few times Cam tried you both gave up, because it seemed like your body just didn’t respond to that kind of sex.
“Um, you can try if you want to,” You respond softly, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. “Honestly, it’s never worked for me.”
Joe’s demeanor softens at the nervous look on your face, and he leans over to give you a quick, reassuring peck. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to. How about we try, and see how it goes?” He asks lightly, feathering kisses across your neck and collarbones before moving to your breasts.
Joe looks up for your response, locking eyes with you as you respond breathily, “Yeah, let’s do it.” He smiles and continues tending to your chest, closing his mouth over one peak. Joe’s actions cause you to mentally float in the air, the nerves you just felt dissipating somewhat. He moves to your other breast, repeating his lovely assault and causing pleasure to jolt through you.
Joe’s lips continue to fall lower and lower, leaving kisses and licks and nibbles in his wake as he eventually parts your legs again. You feel your expression contort back into nervous, and Joe notices, gathering your slick with his thumb and teasing your clit. The relief makes your head fall back, dizzying slightly under Joe’s intense gaze.
“Relax, baby. Let me make you feel good,” Joe mutters, rubbing you a few more times before removing his hand and lowering his face even further.
Joe slowly presses feather light kisses to the inside of one thigh, inching closer and closer until he reaches your bikini line, where he falls back to repeat the process on your other thigh. The second time, he finishes by hovering over your heat, locking eyes with you until you feel his lips press on your clit. The anticipation makes you sensitive, and even this small touch sends a jolt of desire through you.
Okay, maybe I do like this…
Joe’s massive hands continue to rub your thighs, building on the heat you suddenly feel everywhere. He flattens his tongue and licks a long stripe up your slit, finishing by sucking gently on your clit.
“Oh fuck,” You moan, instinctively pulling away until Joe grabs your hips and pins them in place, feeling his hot breath on your heat when he chuckles. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.
Joe’s mouth on you is as merciless and precise as he is on the field. Not quite aggressive, but not at all willing to give you any time to breathe as he seamlessly rotates his attention from your entrance to your clit at exactly the right moments. He’s observant, finding what drives you crazy in every way, and making sure to push every single button that will send you spiraling. Every sharp breath and high pitched sigh is quickly calculated into a counter movement, leaving you the writhing mess he wants you to be. He’s taking care of you in every way–something Cam never did–and that thought alone pushes you further into oblivion.
Each movement of Joe’s pulses through your body, making your heart pound and muscles tense. “Joe,” You whine in a haze, not particularly knowing what you’re asking for. You can barely even see straight right now.
“Hmm?” He hums, glancing up at you he continues his work. The eye contact and vibration on your clit shoots pulses of fire through you, sending your clouded brain into a frenzy. It’s so so much.
“I- I think…I…” You breathe out, grasping for words as his methodic patterns keep sending wave after wave of heat through you from head to toe.
“Are you going to cum for me baby?” He asks gently, dipping his tongue into your entrance. The juxtaposition between his nurturing words and demanding, intense actions spur you on.
“Oh my god,” You choke out. “Yes.”
“I know, it’s okay,” He responds soothingly with another quick thrust of his tongue into you. “Relax, you can let it go.” Your mind zeros in on Joe’s words through the fog, your muscles loosening and body relaxing automatically upon his request.
Joe’s mouth feels even hotter on your pussy, your body feeling like it’s on overdrive with how so, so good every touch feels. He starts lapping at your clit, rubbing it over and over again with his icy eyes on you until you feel the searing band of fire in your lower belly snap. “Fuck,” You shout as your orgasm cuts through you, grabbing on to whatever you can. The only thing you know is your pleasure and Joe’s tongue, continuing his delicious rhythm on your heat as he coaxes you through your high, a string of your moans following suit. His hands don’t falter, keeping you exactly where you are, unable to escape.
Eventually your vision comes back, and you feel Joe’s soft blonde locks in your left hand. He gives you a couple more loving strokes of his tongue as you come down, parting from your heat with a light kiss. Your breathing is still heavy as you admire his features in your post-orgasm daze. His back muscles are on full display from this angle, and his facial bone structure even more defined under the moonlight. He truly looks beautiful. Strong. Powerful.
You continue to stare as he looks up at you while climbing forward, now noticing your glistening arousal decorating his mouth and chin. Oh God, you internally groan when the sight stirs more fire within you.
“You want a taste?” He murmurs. You nod slowly, and he brings his hot, slick lips to your panting mouth, letting you suck lightly on his bottom lip. This earns a groan from him, and your eyes quickly dart to his black boxers, where a prominent bulge proves you're not the only one in shambles.
Images mull through your mind of Joe pounding into you furiously, eyes shut and brow furrowed in concentration, his lips parting as pleasure takes over him. “I want these off,” You demand, the sudden urge to have Joe’s cock inside you driving you to take hold of his waistband, helping him tug his boxers down his thighs.
When Joe’s dick springs free, your reaction is unstoppable. “Shit,” You whisper, causing Joe to chuckle softly, bringing a hand up to your face to tuck some stray hairs behind your ear.
“You can handle it, sweetheart,” Joe asserts with a passionate kiss, rubbing his thumb on your flushed cheeks. “You’re my strong girl, I know you can do it for me, hm?” He asks softly, locking his baby blue eyes with yours. His praise makes your heart leap and your brain go fuzzy, a soft hum escaping you as you nod.
A smirk falls across Joe’s face. “That’s right,” He nods with you before spitting into his hand and pumping himself a few times. You watch as his face falls in slight relief and his cock grows even slightly more, his tip becoming a darker shade of pink.
“There are condoms in that drawer,” Joe grunts, nodding towards his bedside table.
“I’m on the pill,” You respond, sliding your hands into his golden curls and pressing your lips to his neck. “I don’t care if you don’t.”
Joe groans, pulling your face to his for a kiss. “You’re fucking perfect,” He mutters against your lips, crashing his mouth back onto yours to guide your head back onto the pillow. After a few more intense kisses, Joe pulls away panting, and lines up his cock with your entrance.
He slowly runs the head from your opening, to your clit, and back down again a few times, your already sensitive center immediately reacting to him. You’re boiling with anticipation, so desperate and so ready for everything he has to give. On the next go ‘round, he pushes in ever so slightly and comes back up to your clit, and just the small taste causes an involuntary whine to bile up in your throat.
“Joe,” You whimper. “I can’t take it anymore. Please.”
“Fucking dripping,” Joe sighs, staring in awe at where you’re about to be connected. His eyes then dart back up to you when he stops right at your entrance, ready to burn the image of you taking him for the first time into his memory.
He slowly starts to push in inch by inch, your face contorting further into pleasure with each passing moment. The friction rubs you just the right way, shooting tingles through you from head to toe. Your pussy practically sucks him further in, every part of you stretching in the most delicious way. Pulses of pleasure and heat crash down on you with each inch, and every time you think you can’t take any more, he pushes deeper, reaching spots you didn’t even know existed.
When he finally bottoms out you’re lightheaded, dizzy and disoriented. It’s so overwhelming, it’s hard for you to speak. While Cam wasn’t the only guy you’d slept with, he was the only one of note, and the size difference was evident. You’re so achingly full you feel like you’re choking on air, your vision spotty until you feel Joe’s large hand softly grab yours and guide it to his warm shoulder, giving you some sort of grounding amidst the pure ecstasy. “I’m right here, baby,” He rasps out. “Are you okay? You feel so fucking good, it hurts.”
You grasp his shoulder tightly as his hand drops from yours, landing back on your hips. “I’m good. So good,” You moan in confirmation, grinding your hips upwards to encourage the sentiment, earning an Ah, from Joe.
“You are trouble,” He mumbles, tightening his grip on your sides as he slowly starts pushing himself in and out, snapping in hard. Every thrust is deliberate, the pleasure only snowballing in your center as his dick brushes against your walls just so. The friction is addicting, and you find yourself chasing it more, needing it harder, faster, rougher.
“Harder,” You breathe out on a high pitch, using your grip on his shoulder to pull your lips up to his ear. “I need it rough. Prove it to me, Joe.” He snaps his head to face you, scrunching his eyebrows in stone cold determination. The look almost makes you cower, for the first time slightly fearful of what you started. He grabs your jaw firmly and plants his heated mouth on yours, pushing you back down onto the plush bed. He brings his hand back down and lets his fingers coil into your hips, taking a bruising hold before setting a relentless pace with his hips. You moan loudly in surprise.
Oh, yes.
The fire in your belly is fueled by the feeling of Joe’s fingers digging into your flesh, the way he’s keeping you at his mercy, with no choice but to be thrown around and torn apart. It’s exactly what you’ve been craving, and as much as you want to hold back your reaction, the fight is futile. You feel your body succumb to it, legs shaking, moans spewing, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’ve never felt this fucked out in your life.
“Look at you baby, finally getting what you need,” Joe’s low voice rumbles, accenting his words with his hip movements. “Just a good- hard- fuck.” You can feel the truth of Joe’s words seep into you, and it pushes you further towards the edge. Just how incredible he’s making you feel, just how long you’ve been frustrated, waiting for months to be completely delirious, and now you’re so close to letting it all go. And you didn’t even have to tell him–he could read your thoughts like a book.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Just lie back and take it,” He groans, sliding one of his hands down to your clit to give it a quick pinch. He then uses both hands to push your thighs against your chest, allowing him to drill his cock into a spot deep inside that sends you absolutely spiraling. You gasp, then uncontrollably moan and blubber as he grazes the spot over and over and over.
“Please, please, please,” You beg in a whisper, though you’re not sure what for. You can feel your body tensing as Joe continues to pound into you, every part of you screaming for release that doesn’t seem to arrive quite yet.
“You can do it gorgeous, just hang on to me,” Joe whimpers, his eyebrows furrowing and bottom lip dropping as his own release approaches. You let out shaky breaths as you continue to hang on the edge, tears about to well up in your eyes from your dizzying agony.
“I-” You gasp. Joe notices, his demeanor darkening as he drags a hand from your thigh up to your throat, easily wrapping around the entire front of your neck with a light grip. He leans down and pins you in place with his gaze, his striking blue eyes now hooded, dark, and blown out in desire.
“Poor thing. So deprived she doesn’t even know what to do next,” He rasps, feigning sympathy. His grip on your airway tightens slightly as you feel jolts of pleasure cut through you again, fire radiating from your throat all the way down to your core. The only thing you can think of is Joe, Joe, Joe.
“You can’t fight me, baby. Now be a good girl and cum,” He commands, and just like that your body responds, giving in to Joe completely. You yell his name and your eyes roll to the back of your head as your second orgasm hits you twice as hard as the first, the fullness you feel skyrocketing you into a state of pure delirium. Wave after wave of heat hits you and your resolve comes crashing down each time, feeling like there’s no end in sight with the way Joe keeps ramming into you, continuing to hit that one spot just right until you can barely feel anything anymore. There’s a point where you’re not sure if you’re even breathing, so you focus on inhaling and exhaling until you feel the high fade. Eventually you find a bicep, latching onto it as if it’s some kind of lifeboat, regaining your senses one by one until you open your eyes.
Joe’s slowed down, but you feel his movements get sloppy and uneven as he chokes on moans, his scrunched up face and closed eyes telling you he’s holding out. You reach out to cradle his jaw, pulling him towards your face for a sweet kiss. “Joe,” You breathe out soothingly. “I’m okay. Let it go.” You finish your sentiment with a particularly hard kegel and a trail of kisses from his flushed cheek, to his set jaw, down to his neck. Starting to buck up into his thrusts, you pick up the pace and push through the light twinge of pain in your thighs to push him closer to the edge.
“Fuck,” Joe whimpers, his groans getting louder. “Just like that baby, please.” He buries his head into your neck and presses his chest to yours, digging his fingers into your hips one last time and finishing inside you. You pull your head back slightly, admiring Joe’s face as he orgasms; eyes closed, brows furrowed, lip pouty and sweat-wicked.
As Joe comes down from his high, your fingers thread through his soft, wavy hair and scratch his broad back lightly, both of you basking in your post orgasm glow for a minute. After a couple long breaths, Joe presses his lips to your collarbone and slowly pushes himself off of your chest, his dick sliding out of you in the process. A sharp, involuntary gasp escapes you at the sudden lack of fullness, your heat tingling and your walls clenching around nothing.
Joe gives you a soft look and brushes your hair out of your face for a moment, running his thumb over your bottom lip before fully rising and getting off the bed. He wordlessly turns to stalk towards the bathroom, and as you stare at his back muscles flexing expertly, you feel the weight of the world return. You’ve been in this situation enough times to understand what’s supposed to happen now, and you silently curse yourself for considering for even a second that this was meant to be different.
You quickly sit up, feeling slightly unsure as you start to scramble around the bed, looking for any of your clothes to cover up. Reality really sets in, and you’re quite aware of the fact that this most likely felt like a quick fuck to Joe. Operation Rebound was successful, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that it’s nothing more.
Hearing you rustling around, Joe suddenly turns with a confused face, his expression falling worrisome as he realizes what you’re doing. “Shh, no, no,” Joe exclaims with the wave of his hand. There’s a small pause as you freeze. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” He whispers, his eyes going soft at your baffled and disoriented look.
Your muscles slowly relax as you watch him turn back around to grab a clean pair of boxers and find the bathroom. Okay…You think to yourself, eyes darting around the room nervously. Luckily Joe is quick, emerging in his new undies with a damp washcloth and a cup of tap water. He heads straight for you, holding out the glass of water which you take gratefully with an unsure, “Thanks.”
“Lie down,” Joe instructs quietly and you comply, allowing him to gently push your knee to the side to open your legs. You jump slightly when he presses the warm cloth to your center, him reacting with a hand rubbing your thigh and a quiet, “Shh, I’m sorry.” He cleans you up diligently and carefully, discarding the cloth in his bathroom when he’s done. Your shoulders slowly release their tension as he continues to cater to you, helping you into a pair of boxers and an LSU football T-shirt that smells like him and feels too cozy. He finally grabs a glass of water for himself from the bathroom, joining you criss-cross applesauce back on the bed after he’s had a couple sips.
You give Joe a soft smile as he keeps observing you, searching for any other signs that you may need his care. He lifts up your shirt slightly, softly caressing your hips and leaning down to observe them. “Hmm. Let me know if they start to bruise,” He says, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows. “I think I dug in a little too hard.” He then murmurs, pulling the shirt back down. One of Joe’s hands comes up to hold the side of your face as he brings your head to his mouth, pressing his lips softly to your hair. “You okay?” Joe asks, using his hold on your jaw to make sure you’re looking directly at him.
“Yeah,” You whisper, giving up and letting yourself fall into his ocean blue eyes.
“You’re just awfully quiet,” Joe comments with a chuckle, dropping his hand from your face and letting it land on one of your thighs, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth.
“Sorry,” You laugh lightly, letting your head hang as you start picking at your nails and looking at your hands for a moment. Eventually you look back at him. “I’m not used to doing all this talking and stuff after. I don’t know. You tired me out.”
Joe throws his head back as he laughs full heartedly. “Aw, come on,” He teases. “And don’t tell me Deavers missed on this too.”
There’s a bitter silence as you shrug, and Joe’s smiling face slowly drops. “He did this sometimes. I just thought it was, like, a relationship kind of thing.”
“No,” Joe says quietly, but sternly. “This is an every time kind of thing.”
You feel a little pang of hurt. A twinge of embarrassment. Your eyes go back to your hands that are still preoccupying themselves in your lap. The more you reveal about your relationship with Cam, the more your friends help you realize that he wasn’t the guy you chalked him up to be. This is just another subtle reminder that even in the times you looked back on that you thought were good, and the things he did that seemed so grand, weren’t even the bare minimum. You’d think this would make you feel better, like you didn’t even lose something that amazing in the first place. But right now, you just feel like a fool. A child who was desperate for any sort of affection. Stupid. Lied to. Cheated. Which technically, is true. He cheated.
Joe’s face is easier to read than Goodnight Moon. His eyes wander over every inch of your body and face, searching for any sort of signs that will indicate how you’re feeling. You can see it all over him–Poor her. I feel so bad. How tragic.
“Stop staring at me like that,” You snap at him. You’ve gotten to a good point with this whole breakup in the past week, and you need everyone to stop treating you like you’re broken so you can stop acting like it. Especially after a hookup. It makes you feel like an idiot.
Joe is taken aback by your sudden sharp tone. He furrows his brows and opens his mouth to counter you, but nothing comes out. Retreating, he slowly removes his hand from your thigh and turns towards his large window, leaning back on his palms. You sit for a minute, letting the twinge of tension you created simmer down, the bit of moonlight peeking in still doing wonders for Joe’s beauty.
“It’s a waxing crescent,” He notes quietly.
You look out at the moon. “Yeah,” You reply, surprised. “You pay attention to the moon’s cycle?”
He nods. “I love space,” He explains. “The moon phases can tell us a lot about our lives.” Your heart squeezes at his statement.
Maybe I was too mean.
Now you’re feeling regretful. There’s another less painful silence that floats through the room while you both swim in your thoughts, until Joe’s hard, flat tone cuts through it, “You’re sleeping here tonight. I don’t care if you had your drinks two hours ago, you’re not driving or walking home alone.”
You’re not sure how to respond. You’re not sure how he’s feeling. He’s still turned towards the window, but you can still tell his face means business, and there is no other option. “Okay,” You reply cautiously.
“Great,” He sighs as he stands, grabbing his water bottle and a few other things, “I think everyone wants to do brunch in the morning. You coming?” You nod in response, but he still isn’t looking at you.
Come on, Joe.
“Yeah, sure,” You say softly instead. “I can sleep on the couch, you know.”
“No,” He responds plainly.
You roll your eyes. “Joe,” You call sternly. He finally turns his head to lock eyes with you. Relief floods through you, knowing you didn’t completely fuck it up. You get under the sheets and pull one side of his heavy, navy blue duvet up. “Just sleep here. I don’t give a fuck.”
He sighs, moving his eyes back and forth between you and the bed. “I don’t want to-” You cut him off with a shush and look at him expectantly. Eventually his feet slowly carry him towards the bed, and you smile at him.
“You were literally just nose deep in my pussy, so you’re fine,” You mumble once he starts pulling the covers over his long body. He lets out an abrupt laugh, one where his eyes shut and his nose crinkles.
“That’s a good point,” He comments as he turns his body to the side and smiles at you. The silence afterwards is comfortable, and you find yourself leaning into it, already drifting off.
“I want to talk to you,” You mumble, knowing you’re fighting a losing battle with yourself.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Joe replies in a whisper. “Talk to me in the morning.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The morning is slow but sweet, with soft smiles and gentle touches. You and Joe lazily gather your friends, floating through a hearty brunch at the local breakfast place “Sunny Side Up,” enjoying the delicious calories of coffee and syrup. Stories and jokes make their way around the table, looking forward to the new week ahead, when Joe gets a text of pictures from the weekend.
“Aye, look at this!” Justin exclaims, pointing to the picture displayed on Joe’s phone. You lean over and see the shot the cameraman took of you, Justin and Joe after the game winning touchdown. It looks straight out of a movie with the stadium in the back, all of your game faces on, and the energy oozing out of the screen.
“Oh that’s Insta worthy,” Joe jokes, immediately swiping over to the app and creating a post. He puts the photo with you and Justin first, followed by a shot of him running to the sideline with his hands up, and the picture of all the Tiger Girls on the guys’ back last.
He takes one last look at the pictures to make sure they’re all there, then clicks the caption box where he enters just two words:
summary: when tyler owens shows up in our meteorology class to give a guest lecture, you are left just as speechless as all the other girls. but, tyler is just as awestruck by you.
word count: 2.9k
a/n: i COMPLETELY made up some science stuff for some dialogue, so if anybody actually knows stuff about meteorology or physics, this may be a little excruciating for you
You flipped through your notes, jogging your memory on last week’s lecture. The lecture hall was silent. Half of the students were falling asleep. The other half were cramming and finishing assignments for other classes.
Your professor came running through the door. Her shoes squeaked on the floor. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught in the rain.” She quickly apologized, setting her bag down at her desk.
You grabbed a pen out of your bag, preparing to start your notes as your professor got settled in.
“We have a surprise guest speaker today for you all, who should be here in just a minute.” She announced to the class. There was a collective sigh from the room. Guest lecturers were notoriously boring and seemed to drag on and on about nothing.
You started doodling in your notebook, mentally preparing for the longest two hours of your life.
“I know as meteorology students, you are all aware of the storm chaser Tyler Owens and his YouTube channel.” She began to introduce the guest.
A few of the students perked up at the mention of Tyler’s name, including you. You were a big fan of Tyler and watched most of his videos. You tried to not get your hopes up, assuming the guest speaker was just going to be someone on his team.
You started to zone out, your thoughts drifting to the marvelous Tyler Owens. He was a mix of supermodel meets daredevil scientist. He’d been a guilty pleasure crush of yours for a while.
You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard your professor say “Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Owens.”
Your eyes snapped up and landed on Tyler walking to the front of the room. You mentally cursed your decision to sit in the third row. You felt too exposed being somewhere that Tyler Owens could see you.
The presence of Tyler at the front of the room grabbed everyone’s attention. The few students who were fans of his work got excited to see one of their idols. The girls in the room that didn’t know who he was perked up because Tyler was the perfect mix of handsome and rugged.
“Thank you, Dr. Hannigan,” Tyler thanked your professor for introducing him.
Tyler’s eyes drifted around the room. As he became more of a niche celebrity, he was getting used to being ogled by a room full of girls. Wherever he went, there were girls waiting and drooling over him.
You sat up straighter in your seat, feeling thankful today was the day you chose to dress cuter than normal.
Tyler’s eyes landed on you. There was something different about you. All the other girls were staring at his muscles, while you weren’t an exception to that, there was more to it. You were hanging on to every word he said. He could see your interest in not just him, but what he was talking about.
His eyes ran over your body before continuing with his next point. You felt your skin heat up under his gaze. You quickly crossed your legs and tried to distract yourself from the aching between your legs.
He made a few jokes relating back to tornadoes. Each one was met with a room full of flirty giggles. Half of them didn’t even sound like they understood the jokes.
You weren’t blaming them for ogling him. His very presence in front of you made you think God was sending you a treat to apologize for how catastrophic midterm week had been.
But, you were at least paying attention to what he was talking. Some were just picturing him naked.
“So, what my team is currently working on is efforts to deescalate, or for lack of a better word, control tornadoes.” He started to explain his work. The facade of a tornado-wrangling cowboy had the entire class enthralled.
All of a sudden, before you knew what you were doing, your hand shot up in the air. You didn’t process that you’d actually have to speak to Tyler if you wanted to ask him a question.
His eyes quickly met yours. He was eager to finally have a question to answer. “Let me guess, you’re gonna say it’s science fiction? That it’s scientifically impossible?” He asked you, anticipating the usual feedback he got.
You just smirked and shook your head. “I was going to ask if your work had anything to do with the Lawson’s theory of balance and imbalance?” You asked, fidgeting with your pencil.
Tyler furrowed his brow and had to stop his jaw from dropping. It wasn’t often that people could debate back and forth with him and challenge him.
The class waited as you caught him off guard. “She’s one of our brightest students.” Dr. Hannigan said, from her desk off to the side. You felt yourself sit up a little straighter as you stumped one of your idols.
You weren’t what was Tyler was expecting at all.
“You know what? You’re absolutely spot on. You want to come up here for a second and help me out?” He asked you. The heat rushed to your cheeks and your palms started sweating.
You quickly walked down the stairs to the front of the room. Tyler eyes stayed glued to you the whole time you walked towards him. “Tyler,” He repeated with a smile, reaching out to shake your hand.
You felt goosebumps as his strong hand grabbed yours. “Y/N,” You struggled to even find the words to introduce yourself. He noticed the electricity as your fingers grazed his.
He turned his attention back to the rest of the class. “So, to accommodate for Lawson’s theory, like Y/N mentioned, we have to do the opposite of what’s expected. Storms expect things. It’s just in their nature, so you have to do the unexpected.” He explained to the class.
He turned back to you, and your heart started beating faster. “Put your hands out in front of you, palms facing down.” He quietly instructed you. You quickly followed his directions.
“So, I’m gonna push against her hands. Since she’s expecting it, she’ll push back.” He said to the class. He took his hands and rested them under yours. He nodded and smiled at you, then he started pushing up on your hands.
You pushed back down against his hands. He was careful to not push too hard because he was much stronger than you. “See, there’s equal resistance.” He said, looking at how your hands stayed in the same place.
“Okay, now we’ll do it again, but this time we’ll use this.” He told you. Then, he fished something out of his pocket, and you realized it was a blindfold. He gently pulled it over your eyes, making sure not to pull on your hair. He placed his hands under yours again.
He softly counted down for you since you couldn’t see him, “3… 2… and 1…”
Instead of pushing against your hands, Tyler grabbed your hands and let you push his hands down with your own. You stumbled forward a step since there was no resistance.
Your hands instinctively reached out to keep yourself from falling and landed on his shoulders. He quickly grabbed your forearms, steadying you. You couldn’t see him, but he was smiling at you with a look of awe. You fascinated him.
He let go of your arms after you regained your balance. “Brilliantly done,” he whispered to you as he carefully took the blindfold off of you. You felt a shiver go down your back as his breath hit your neck.
“It’s all about doing the unexpected.” He said, to the class. Then, the bell chimed throughout the hall. “Alright, see you next week. Don’t forget about the reading.” Dr. Hannigan yelled over the rush of girls swarming towards Tyler.
You hurried back to your seat to grab your backpack. As Tyler was swarmed, his eyes stayed glued on you. He watched you as you walked away, grinning to himself.
Not wanting to get caught up in the swarm of girls, you grabbed your bag and ran off to your next class. Tyler lost you in the crowd, but couldn’t get you off his mind.
You were sitting in your next class when you got an email from Dr. Hannigan. It read: “I know you all had lots of questions for Mr. Owens, so he has agreed to host office hours at 3pm today in my office.”
You felt your stomach do a flip as you thought about being in a room with him again. You debated whether or not to go. You didn’t want to get swept up in another mad frenzy of girls hitting on Tyler, but you wanted to see him again.
Once your class ended, it was like your feet had a mind of their own as you found yourself walking towards your professor’s office.
It was a small office, so you expected to see a line out the door. It was eerily quiet, and you didn’t see anyone.
Turns out, if the words weren’t coming out of Mr. Tornado Dreamboat’s mouth, your peers weren’t interested. So, none of them checked their emails.
You softly knocked on the door and heard Tyler call out, “Yeah, come in.”
You slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Tyler lit up once he saw that it was you. He’d been hoping you’d show up.
You’d expected your professor to be here as well, so your nerves got worse when you realized the two of you were alone.
He was sitting at your professor’s desk. You noticed the playing cards lying on the desk, like he’d been playing Solitaire. “Slow day?” You asked, gesturing towards the cards.
He chuckled to himself and nodded. “Yeah, you’re the first person to show up.” He said, laughing. You sat down across from him and started to feel less nervous.
The giant desk between the two of you was a good deterrent to stop you from doing anything stupid like trying to kiss him.
“Thank you for helping out in class. I was dying for somebody to ask a question. Everyone was just staring. And I’m sorry for almost making you fall.” He started making small talk. The conversation flowed really naturally.
“I’m just really fascinated by your work. I have so many questions.” You said, smiling back at him. He could see the enthusiasm on your face, and he knew you weren’t faking anything.
“Oh yeah, Dr. Hannigan sent me your midterm paper a few weeks ago. It was pretty brilliant stuff. I was trying to figure why your name sounded familiar. I think that’s why. You should come out for a ride sometime. Get some field experience. I’d love to take you.” He praised you.
You couldn’t help but get a little bashful. Your idol, who you had a massive crush on, was praising your work and wanted to work with you. The thought of spending time alone with Tyler out in the field was enough to make your stomach do flips.
“You really read my paper? I brought it with me. I wanted to ask your opinion on some things.” You said, grabbing your paper out of your bag. He nodded, enthusiastically.
He wheeled his chair around to your side of the desk, so he was sitting right next to you. Your nerves that had been starting to fade were back in full force. It was different when Tyler was two inches away from you. He leaned his arms on the desk, his one arm pressing up against yours.
You could smell his cologne, and it was all you could think about. Your mind was just a blur of cedar and hints of vanilla. “So, I umm…what I wa-wanted to show you was…” you mumbled, flipping through your paper.
Tyler softly smirked to himself. He interrupted you and put his hand on top of your paper, forcing you to look at him. “Do I really make you that nervous?” He asked you, barely above a whisper.
Your eyes were glued on his. His deep emerald eyes drawing you in. You couldn’t even muster up a response. You were speechless as you watched how intently he stared back at you.
“Yeah? I make you nervous, honey?” He asked, in a softer tone. The pet name took you by surprise. A muffled whine escaped your lips. You hadn’t realized you made the sound until you heard it. He held your chin, stopping you from looking away.
You quickly crossed your legs, trying to ignore the way he was making you feel. He brushed a piece of hair out of your face.
“I guess we’ll just have to find a way to loosen you up then.” He teased. The words went straight to your core.
Tyler watched the way you swallowed as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I need to know if you’re okay with this, honey. Gotta use your words,” he coaxed you.
“Please, Tyler,” you begged him.
He smirked and grabbed your hips. He effortlessly picked you up and sat you on the edge of the desk. “You were distracting me so badly when I was giving my lecture. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” He said, toying with the hem of your skirt.
Tyler didn’t believe his ears when he heard you whimper. His eyes shot up to lock onto yours. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take real good care of you.” He assured you.
He pressed sloppy kisses along your jawline. You raked your fingers down Tyler’s back. He continued to play with the fabric of your skirt. With a burst of confidence, you grabbed his hand and placed it on your bare upper thigh, under your skirt.
Tyler stopped kissing you. A cocky grin grew on his face. “That was so fuckin’ hot,” he groaned, kissing your lips. You hungrily kissed him back. His thumb caressed the inside of your thigh.
Following your lead, he let his hand sneak higher up your leg. He could feel you getting more desperate. As his hand got closer to where you wanted him most, he could feel your skin growing hot.
He ran his thumb over your panties, feeling a small wet spot. Your moan was muffled as he kissed you.
He started to pull your panties to the side, and you both heard the doorknob start to jiggle.
You both quickly pulled apart, and he set you on the ground. You managed to quickly smooth out your skirt and grab your backpack.
The door opened, and you recognized one of your classmates. “Hey, welcome in,” Tyler waved at them, pretending he wasn’t pissed that you got interrupted.
You watched as Tyler discreetly wiped his hand on the back of his jeans. “Those were all the questions I had. Thank you for your help.” You thanked Tyler before rushing out the door.
Tyler wanted to run after you, but he couldn’t now that someone was watching.
You practically ran back to your apartment. You didn’t want to show your face. Of course, no one knew about your meeting with Tyler, but you felt like everyone knew.
You were worried that other student found the whole thing suspicious. And what if he told your classmates or Dr. Hannigan? Soon, the whole campus would know you were the girl that tried to fuck a guest lecturer.
You spent the evening binge watching your favorite tv show. You hoped it would distract you from your embarrassment, but it didn’t. You were brought out of your thoughts when you got another email from Dr. Hannigan.
“Good evening class. I’m glad you all enjoyed the guest lecturer today. Mr. Owens told me he was very impressed by all of you and your interesting questions. I forgot to mention it in class, but his team currently is seeking an intern to work with them over spring break. I highly recommend that all of you apply. You can email Mr. Owens at [email protected]. Best, Dr. Hannigan.”
You stared at the email address, deciding what to do. It would be a great opportunity. Tyler could really teach you a lot. But now, the thought of seeing Tyler made you want to hide in your bed.
You quickly deleted the email, so you couldn’t change your mind and went to bed.
The next two weeks were completely normal. You’d almost completely forgotten about your almost-hookup with Tyler. The only time he popped in your head was when you were lying awake at night. You couldn’t get the thoughts of his fingers out of your head.
It was all fine. Until, Dr. Hannigan stopped you after class.
“Is this about my assignment? I know it was a few hours late. I’ve just been a little distracted recently. It won’t happen again.” You quickly apologized.
Dr. Hannigan shook her head. “Mr. Owens reached out to me about you.” She told you. You panicked.
“What did he say?” You asked, trying to not sound too desperate.
There was no reason for Tyler to tell Dr. Hannigan about your almost-quickie. What if there were cameras? What if she knew? What if you got expelled? Your mind raced with different worst case scenarios.
“He said he was expecting you to apply for the internship, but he didn’t see an application from you. He was really impressed with your midterm paper, and he said the internship was yours if you wanted it. I think this would be a great opportunity for you, but it’s up to you. So, what should I tell him?” She asked you.
You were extremely flattered. Tyler wasn’t trying to avoid you. In fact, he basically had handpicked you to come work with him. You could turn it down.
“You can tell him I would love the opportunity.” You said, smiling at her.
summary: you’ve had a crush on javi for a while, so it stings when he invites you on a chase and is flirting with other girls. tyler offers to help you make javi jealous, helping you realize maybe the cowboy isn’t so bad after all.
word count: 3.5k
You were sitting in the motel parking lot staring at Javi. When he invited you to come chase some storms with him, you assumed that meant he liked you.
You both had met in college while studying meteorology. You’d remained very close, but your jobs tended to keep you traveling all the time.
You thought his invitation was for you both to reconnect. But now you were sitting alone watching as he flirted with some girl who was fawning over him.
Well not completely alone.
“You got a thing for him or something?” You heard a deep voice ask you.
You looked over to glare at Tyler. Javi had introduced you to Tyler yesterday, and you weren’t exactly seeing yourself becoming fast friends.
He liked to tease you. You were stubborn and didn’t like being teased.
He’d been watching you stare at Javi all night. It was clear to him that you had feelings for Javi.
“No, I don’t have a thing for him.” You lied through your teeth. You weren’t in the mood to confide in the guy who kept bothering you about your relationship troubles.
“So, there’s some other reason you’ve tensed up every time he’s talked to a girl tonight?” Tyler asked you, smirking. You both knew you weren’t fooling him. “Why does it matter to you? You in love with him too?” You joked sarcastically.
Tyler let out a laugh that shook his whole body. He was immediately attracted to your quick sense of humor. He’d never met a girl that kept him on his toes before.
“No, we have more of a rivalry than anything. I was trying to help the damsel in distress, but if you’ve got it handled—” he started to say, baiting you.
He started smirking when you interrupted him. You played right into his hand. “First, I’m not a damsel in distress, got that?” You snapped a him. You thought you’d met a lot of guys like Tyler. Just your traditional fuckboy.
You just hadn’t realized yet that Tyler wasn’t anything like that.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, winking at you. You rolled your eyes at his juvenile sense of humor. “But what did you have in mind?” You asked him.
Tyler could see the way that your eyes lit up with curiosity. He knew you liked chasing tornadoes as much as him, or Javi, or any of the guys there. That meant you enjoyed a little risk. And flirting with your crush’s rival to make him jealous was the perfect kind of risk.
“Why don’t you come over here and I’ll show you?” Tyler said, winking at you. You could feel your stomach do a flip. Why were you feeling like this? You weren’t attracted to Tyler, right?
“Jealousy is your play?” You asked him, pretending like his words didn't make you feel all fluttery. He glared at you. There was a level of nonverbal communication, where you both knew jealousy would work.
He beckoned you over with his hand. You huffed before standing up and walking over to the lawn chair he was sitting in. You felt awkward as you stood in front of him. You didn’t know what to do next.
He held his hands out for you. You set your hands lightly in his, nervously awaiting his next move. You squealed as he pulled you into his lap. He chuckled to himself at your surprised reaction.
He moved your legs over the arm of the chair, letting his hand rest on the back of your thigh. Your breath got stuck in your throat as his hand snuck higher up the back of your leg.
You softly brushed a few stray hairs out of his face. You started to admire him as you saw him up close for the first time. You found yourself getting lost in the small speckles in his eyes.
“Nicely done, gorgeous. We’ve definitely got his attention.” Tyler whispered to you. His voice came out deeper and huskier than you’d heard it before. His words reminded you that all of this was to make Javi jealous.
You felt guilty for how much you were enjoying Tyler’s touch. There was a confidence to the way his hands ran over your skin. You knew it was pretend, but you felt a shiver run down your back every time he touched you.
“Go ahead, look over at him. Let him know you know he’s watching.” He said, taking his free hand and running it along your calf. You coyly looked over your shoulder and saw the way Javi was looking past the girl he was talking to. His eyes were laser focused on you.
You returned your attention to Tyler. Javi was pissed that you wouldn’t pay attention to him for more than a couple seconds. You ran your fingers through Tyler’s hair again.
You watched the way his eyes fluttered softly, almost closing. A soft groan escaped his lips as your nails scratched against his scalp. You couldn’t even admit to yourself how much you liked it.
“If Javi didn’t hate me already, he sure does now.” Tyler said, chuckling to himself. You glanced back over your shoulder. The girl that he’d been talking to had left him. She got annoyed when Javi wouldn’t even look at her.
You ran your fingers over Tyler’s chest, playfully toying with the buttons on his flannel. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?” You asked him. Tyler noticed that mischievous glint in your eye again. The air between the two of you was still as Tyler’s mind raced with possibilities.
“You could drive a man insane with that little mischievous smile, y’know that right?” He chuckled, squeezing your thigh.
You stood up from the chair, pulling Tyler up with you. “Follow my lead,” you leaned in to whisper in his ear. Tyler felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
He noticed how intensely Javi was watching you both, so he wrapped his arm around your waist. You winked up at Tyler and moved his hand into your back pocket.
Tyler nearly choked on the air. He tried his best to hide the blush on his cheeks.
Having seen enough, Javi snuck off to his room for the night.
You and Tyler stopped by the stairwell up to where your rooms were. Tyler moved his hands off of you, and you instantly missed the contact. “I can’t believe your little plan worked.” You said, leaning back against the wall to face him.
“There is one thing no one’s immune to. And it’s jealousy.” He said, kissing the back of your hand softly. His eyes didn’t leave yours. The air between you both felt tight. Neither of you wanted to leave each other.
“Good night, Tyler.” You told him. You went up on your tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. His eyes stayed glued to you as you walked up the stairs.
You walked into your room, but Tyler stayed at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn’t make his feet walk towards his own room. He was stuck in place, watching where you’d gone.
Ignoring everything in him that told him it was a bad idea, he jogged up the stairs towards your room.
When you heard a knock on your door, you assumed it was Javi. You were surprised to see Tyler. He also seemed surprised that he’d worked up the courage to knock. He hadn’t quite figured out what to say yet.
“What’s up, cowboy?” You asked, smirking at how stunned he was. You hadn’t known him long, but you’d never seen Tyler speechless.
He took a step closer to you. Once again, you felt the air get sucked out of you. He was only inches away, completely within your grasp.
You shouldn’t have wanted him the way you did. You had a crush on Javi, right?
“You know, I think it would really piss Javi off if he thought something happened behind closed doors with us.” Tyler said.
You tilted your head to the side. You gulped. Images of Tyler flooded through your mind, dreaming of the possibilities. “What—what're you saying?” You asked, stumbling over your words.
“Can I come in?” He asked, avoiding your question. You hesitated for a second, knowing nothing was off the table once you both were alone together.
You nodded and opened the door for him to step inside. You sat down on the edge of your bed as Tyler struggled to find the words. “He needs to think we slept together or something right? So, maybe just something subtle that makes him spiral.” He hinted.
“Like what? A fake hickey?” You asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Tyler felt his body heat up at the thought of marking you up like you were his. “Yeah…th-that would definitely work.” He mumbled, clearing his throat.
“I have some makeup, but I don’t know how to make it look real.” You said. Tyler chuckled and smirked at you. “I think there’s a real obvious solution here, gorgeous.” He told you. He waited for you to realize what he was suggesting.
He cockily watched as your eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck it, do what you have to do.” You said, moving all your hair over your shoulder.
He sat beside you on the bed. Your palms felt clammy as his thigh pressed up against yours.
Tyler tightly placed one hand on your waist to steady himself. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He said, wanting to make sure you were absolutely sure.
“Please, just do it.” You rushed him.
He buried his face in your neck. First, you felt him lick a short stripe across your neck. Your whole body shuddered. He immediately noticed the effect he had on you.
It gave him the boost in confidence he needed. He attached his lips to your neck and started softly sucking on the skin. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the way your eyes instinctively fluttered closed. He let his fingers weave through your hair, cupping the back of your head.
He mentally cursed himself for noticing how soft your skin was and how your hair smelled like roses. Tyler had gotten a taste of you now, and he didn’t want to let you go.
He pulled away. He was feeling self-conscious that he’d been going for too long. He didn’t want you to realize how much he was enjoying it.
“Does it look convincing?” You asked him, nervously. You also had to remind yourself of the reason you were doing this. Tyler looked at your neck, admiring the dark bruise that was forming. He could almost pretend you were his.
“Not quite, hang on,” he lied, attaching his lips to your neck again. Tyler felt bad for lying to you, but he wasn’t done with you yet.
It caught you by surprise this time. You reflexively reached out and grabbed his thigh.
His thumb rubbed small circles on your hip. You had to bite down on your lip to not moan at how good his lips felt. You sunk your nails into his thigh, trying to control yourself. His touch was driving you crazy.
You didn’t know what was happening. It definitely wasn’t Javi that had you feeling like this though.
You tilted your head away from him, giving him more access. He effortlessly moved his lips against your neck, giving the spot a few playful bites.
After what felt like hours, he pulled away to admire his work. “If that doesn’t piss him off, I don’t know what will.” He said, with a mischievous expression.
“So, you come find me at breakfast tomorrow morning after I’ve made sure that Javi’s seen it.” You told him. It was your pathetic attempt to pretend like this was still about Javi. You both were enjoying yourselves a little more than you cared to admit.
He nodded, standing up from the bed. He slowly walked towards the door. He was wracking his brain for any excuse to stay.
“Oh, wait, there’s something else.” You said, rushing over to your duffel bag.
Tyler looked over your shoulder curiously. His eyes went wide when you pulled out a pair of black lace panties. “Oh, gorgeous, a souvenir for my troubles?” He teased you. He was trying tried to distract himself from the mental images of you wearing them.
“Give these back to me tomorrow when Javi is looking. Act like I left them in your room tonight or something.” You said, handing them over. Tyler smirked and tucked them into his back pocket.
“See you tomorrow, gorgeous.” He said, before leaving your room.
You both had very sleepless nights as your minds drifted to each other.
You made sure to choose a revealing tank top the next day that didn’t attempt to hide the hickey at all. You were one of the first people outside for breakfast. Boone was at the grill, cooking bacon and eggs for everyone.
You anxiously waited for Javi to come down.
You finally saw the door to his room open, and your eyes locked instantly. As he walked down the stairs, his eyes ran down your body and noticed the very prominent mark. You felt cocky as he clenched his jaw.
You’d won. You’d made him jealous. Just like you set out to, but you didn’t feel like you’d won.
Javi joined Boone by the grill. He knew that if you and Tyler had hooked up, Boone would have heard about it.
“Morning, Javi. You look rough, you alright?” Boone asked him. Javi didn’t hide his jealousy well. He had bags under his eyes because he couldn’t get the image of you and Tyler out of his head last night.
Javi ignored Boone’s question. “You’re Tyler’s best friend, right?” Javi asked him. Boone laughed off the question as though it was obvious.
“Who else would his best friend be?” Boone asked, glaring at Javi.
Javi rolled his eyes, wanting to skip over any small talk and just ask his questions. “Whatever. Do you know where Tyler was last night?” Javi asked him. Boone stopped what he was doing and turned to face Javi. “Are you trying to ask if Tyler and your girl were together last night?” Boone whispered.
Boone knew you were sitting a few feet away and didn’t want you to hear him. He wasn’t oblivious to the way you and Tyler had been flirting yesterday. So currently, Boone’s loyalty belonged to you, not Javi, because he could tell Tyler cared about you.
Javi quickly nodded, but Boone was hesitant to tell him the answer. “Well, to answer your question, I’d say she’s not your girl anymore.” Boone said, coyly. Javi swore under his breath, kicking the ground.
“You’re really sure?” Javi asked, double checking. He didn’t want to confront you about it if he was wrong. Boone smirked to himself, knowing he had the perfect opportunity to get under Javi’s skin.
“I promise you, I’m sure.” Boone said, raising his eyebrows at Javi.
The look put a pit in Javi’s stomach. Before he could ask, Boone stopped him. “You care about her. I get it. So, don’t ask me how I know cause you won’t like the answer.” Boone hinted.
He knew Javi well enough to know he couldn’t handle the unknown. Not knowing was eating him alive. “Just tell me, man.” Javi begged him.
Boone had to bite his tongue to not laugh at how easy Javi was to read. “Well, on my way to bed I saw him leave her room last night.” Boone started to tell him, and then leaned closer to whisper, “Tyler had her underwear tucked in his pocket.”
Javi’s face went bright red. He stormed away from Boone. He was pissed. He assumed Boone was lying just to get under his skin. After all, Tyler was a pain in Javi's ass, so it made sense that Boone would be too.
You were sitting in one of the lawn chairs scattered around the makeshift camp. You fought back a laugh as Javi stormed over towards you and sat in the chair next to you. He was pouting like a child.
“Morning, Javi,” you cheerily greeted him. You pretended to be oblivious to his dilemma. “Morning. You sleep well?” He asked, gently testing how you’d respond.
You playfully shrugged. “Yeah, pretty good.” You teased.
Then, you saw Tyler’s door swing open. All of a sudden, you felt giddy again. Javi glared at him as he crossed the parking lot towards you. Tyler had his eyes glued on you, and Javi knew exactly where he was going.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” Tyler said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You smiled up at him.
A few of the chasers were starting to notice the way Javi was glaring at you both. Boone had a giant grin on his face as he watched Javi try to stop himself from punching Tyler.
“Good morning, Javi.” Tyler said, with his signature cocky smile. Javi rolled his eyes and refused to look at Tyler.
Tyler held his hand out for you to grab. You took his hand and let him pull you up out of your seat. The size difference between his hand and yours was still enough to make you weak in the knees.
You heard someone whistle and glanced over your shoulder to see Boone smiling at you both.
Tyler effortlessly interlaced his fingers with yours. You leaned into his side, craving that same closeness from last night.
Last night had given you lots of time to think. In between the dreams you were having about Tyler, you realized the way you felt around him was far from pretend.
Tyler guided you towards his truck. It was only a few feet away from the group, which made it perfectly within Javi's earshot. He opened the bed of his truck.
You almost squealed when you felt his large hands grab your hips. He quickly picked you up and sat you on the edge of the tailgate. You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks from the ease that he picked you up with.
You ran your fingers over his biceps, softly tracing the muscles. “Careful there, gorgeous. You keep lookin’ at me like that, this is gonna quit being pretend real quick.” He told you, softly.
You squeezed your thighs together, trying to ignore how you were aching for him. All your brain could think about was having his lips on you again.
Tyler has very aware that he had Javi’s attention, so he used it. “I had a great time with you last night. Figured I should give these back to you,” he said, pulling your panties out of his pocket. He quickly placed them in your hand, but made sure Javi saw it first.
Javi’s eyes went wide as he realized Boone was telling the truth. He jumped up from his chair and started marching towards you both.
“Tyler, quick, kiss me. He’s coming over.” You whispered.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He teased you. His hands found their place on your hips again. You eagerly slotted your lips against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck.
His lips tasted like spearmint and vanilla. It was like a drug to you. You hungrily kissed him. Tyler playfully bit at your bottom lip, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips. His lips curved into a smirk, telling you that he’d definitely heard it.
Tyler loved how reactive you were to every little touch. You practically melted under his touch. He had to remind himself that it was only pretend.
“He still walking over here?” He mumbled against your lips. Tyler started kissing up and down your jawline, so you could look over his shoulder.
“He’s gone, but don’t stop.” You whispered in his ear, seductively. You were begging him. You were ready to drop the charade.
Tyler pulled away to look you in the eyes. “D-do you mean?” He stuttered.
He felt his knees go weak as he realized the look you were giving him was real. It wasn’t acting. The desperation that he saw in your eyes wasn’t pretend. You actually wanted him.
“Why waste my time on a guy that I have to make jealous to actually get his attention?” You asked.
That was all Tyler needed to hear.
His hands slid down from your hips to cup the back of your thighs. His lips attacked yours, desperately kissing you like his life depended on it.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, which drove him crazy. His tongue ran along your bottom lip before sneaking into your mouth. He tightened his grip on you when he heard you softly moan into his mouth. His hips softly bucked against yours.
“Upstairs?” He asked you, as you both stopped for air. You furiously nodded your head.
Tyler picked the cowboy hat up off his head and placed it on your head. The whole gang erupted in cheers. They’d all gotten invested in the love triangle, and most of them were rooting for Tyler.
Tyler quickly swooped you up into his arms bridal style and raced upstairs to his room.
