#I wouldn’t care so much if they didn’t always do this with characters that have a infamous history of gay subtext

[gothamhappiness]

Love me like in a dark fairytale (knight!Jason Todd x princess!reader) - Part I

I dreamt about this AU. It is my first time writing something like that (taking the characters and putting them in another setting); it was a lot of fun and I'm proud of how it turned out.

Jason Todd becomes reader's knight, in a heroic fantasy universe. This series is about their forbidden love turning into something even darker.

Dom!reader x sub!Jason (who falls first and harder) through the whole series.

I really hope you'll enjoy it <3

Warnings: no proof reading, an assassin attacks reader, obsessive!Jason, mentions of being unhappy, a little bit of angst, but more mostly fluff

You couldn’t admit it to anyone, but being a princess was actually a pretty boring life. 

You weren’t the eldest, so you would never be queen, even though you would have loved to rule. You felt like you would have been good at it actually, maybe even better than your big brother, no matter how much you loved Clark. 

You hated that the best thing you could hope for was getting well wedded. But you didn’t want to get a husband. You didn’t like noble men that much; too many words and not enough actions for you. 

That was why you preferred to watch your father’s knights training every morning.

Everyone knew you watched them, and sometimes their captain was offering a show just for you. They were all pretty flattered that a princess enjoyed their skills.

Unfortunately for you, none of them ever dared flirting with you. You were pretty disappointed about it, because you would have enjoyed having one of them on their knees for you. You understood they respected you too much for that - or that they were too afraid of the consequences if your father ever learnt about it. 

It was okay, you could keep watching them. You wished you could learn to use a sword too, but you knew that “war wasn’t a lady game, even less a princess’”.

You loved reading, you loved watching people, you loved discovering secrets among the courtiers and the noblemen and women. But you were growing bored. You were afraid to get married. You wanted to live an adventure.

And it seemed that you wished for it a little too well; one day, an assassin lurked in the shadows and tried to kill you. He said he needed your heart for a dark divinity. 

For a moment, you hadn’t reacted, paralysed in fear, your mind believing it was just a nightmare. Fortunately, you dodged his attack just in time. If you hadn’t watched the knights training that many times, you wouldn’t have known what to do. You ran and started to cry out for help. He still managed to hurt you, blood pooling from your body. You saw his blade glimpsing above your chest just before everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes again, you were safe in your bed. An healer had taken care of your injury, you weren’t even feeling any pain.

No need to say that the whole palace was in a distraught state. After all, you were everyone's favourite, because you were pretty, wittily smart and more importantly kind to everyone, including the servants, their children, and the animals. You never mocked anyone, you never hurt anyone for the sake of it, and you always apologised for your mistakes. You were your teachers’ favourite as well because you learnt fast and were meticulous in your work. 

You were loved and you felt it even more with how everyone, including your big brother, parents, friends and servants, fret over you. 

You would have enjoyed the attention a lot more if you hadn’t realised that you were going to lose some more of your already so thin freedom. 

So far, you had no guard, except when you were leaving the palace. You had convinced your father that inside the palace walls, you were safe. But after the attack, your father couldn’t stand the idea of anything happening to you ever again. 

The following morning, he came to your room and asked for your time. You followed him outside, on a balcony. You could see the courtyard from up there. When you peered down, you noticed his best knights, all standing and waiting. You didn’t understand what was going on. Your father placed a hand on your shoulder and your eyes went back on him, silently asking him what he wanted from you.

“Daughter, I cannot let you roam the palace alone anymore. Even less the gardens. Or the city. You cannot be alone anymore.”

“What do you mean, father?” you asked, fear gripping your throat

“I need you to pick a knight. He will be yours after that, following you everywhere. He will even be allowed to sleep in a room next to yours. He will never leave your side and he will pledge loyalty to you: he shall die for you if the situation asks for it.” King Jonathan explained to you

“Does that mean that I won’t have any intimacy anymore?” you asked with pleading eyes “Father, I’m certain that it is not needed…”

“There is no room for discussion, daughter” the king firmly said “Now choose one. If you need them to fight for you, you just need to ask” you father added

You looked down at the knights expectantly waiting for your decision. It would be a great honour to look after you, they all knew it and wished for it.

“Will Clark also pick one?” you asked

“I have been too confident that nothing could happen to my family and it was a mistake that almost cost us a lot. Your brother will have to get two knights, as the crown prince.” Jonathan explained

Your eyes fell back on the knights.

There was a knight you had always enjoyed watching fighting more than the others. When your eyes met his, you thought that if life was getting to be even more restrictive, maybe you could try and find a silver lining in it.

“I want the Knight called Todd” you replied

“How do you know his name?” your father asked, suspicious

“Captain Bruce always screamed his name during training, to yell at him or to praise him” you shrugged

“Fair enough” your father relaxed a little bit “Todd, my daughter chooses you. Come upstairs”

“Right away, my king!” Jason cried back and he hurried away from the other knights who all quietly grunted.

It was how you started to spend a lot of time with Jason. Well, all your time actually, as his job was to be glued to your side, except when it was time for training. But you were watching him then.

You were quiet around him, feeling uneasy. And he was so tense, worried he was making you feel uncomfortable. He more than once tried to speak to you, but he never gathered the strength to do so. He didn’t want to say something that would make you want another knight.

You didn’t know about it, but Jason had always been obsessed with you. 

He was coming from a poor family, and fighting had always been second nature to him: to protect other orphans and survive. Because of this hard life, he hated the royal family and he hadn’t wanted to be part of the knights, until the day he saw you shopping in the streets of the city. He was about to steal some food, when he caught a glimpse of you. 

It was love at first sight for him. 

He couldn't sleep, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t think about anything or anyone else. He realised his only way to see you again would be to work at the palace, so he engaged himself in the king’s army. He was good so captain Bruce took him in. 

When he saw you again, he felt like he could finally breathe once more. He quickly became one of the best knights because he wanted to show off when you were watching them during training time. And it seemed it finally paid off, because you picked him to look over you. He couldn’t fuck this up. He needed you to start liking him. He was your knight, but he could be so much more.

Your confidant for instance, for a beginning.

Of course, the thought that you would never be his was unbearable but at least he could be by your side.

But you were so silent now he was around, and it was killing him.

He didn’t realise he was staring at you as you were sitting in the grass, doing some embroidery against a tree trunk. You felt his eyes on you - it wasn’t the first time you saw him gazing at you so intensely. You usually blushed and looked away. He always had the good grace to look embarrassed as well, and to turn around. 

“Is there something on my face?” you finally said, trying to be brave, because for the moment having a knight was absolutely unbearable to you, and not the fun you had secretly hoped for

“I apologised, my lady” Jason instantly replied and looked away

“I did not ask you to apologise. I asked you why you are staring at me” you replied, your eyes on your work

Jason stayed silent for a moment and you thought he wouldn’t answer you. Jason was internally panicking and finally the first thing he could think of stumbled from his lips:

“You are the most beautiful woman I ever saw, so it is hard to not stare at you. But I will do better” Jason said, instantly regretting his words until he heard a genuine laughter erupting from your throat

“Is it your way to get out of this, by complimenting me?” you arched an eyebrow at him as Jason’s eyes widened.

He would have much preferred you to be upset at him, than you not believing him. You were the most beautiful woman he ever saw. Actually, you had already ruined him for anyone else. 

“I would not dare lie to you, my lady.” Jason said, his eyes finding yours, hoping you would see how serious he was about it.

“Oh” you whispered before a smile appeared on your lips. You looked him up and down. “Well, you are quite easy of the eye as well” you replied

It took a few times for Jason to realise he wasn’t dreaming. His eyes so prettily lit up, and he smiled at you.

“I am pleased to be an enjoyable view to you.” he happily hummed “However you are very unhappy since I am around, and I am concerned with the fact that my presence is sickening to you.” Jason admitted, a more serious and worried look in the eyes now

You blushed. You hadn’t thought it was that obvious that you hadn’t enjoyed yourself lately.

“I am not unhappy” you tried to counter with a shrug

“Your smiles and laughters never reach your eyes any more” Jason simply explained and you were stunned by how closely Jason had looked over you

“It is not against you. It is just that… I do not enjoy being watched over like a toddler. And I do not enjoy losing my freedom” you told him with a sad smile

“My duty is to make sure you can freely move around the palace, the gardens and the city… or wherever you would want to go. My duty is to follow and keep troubles away from you, not to imprison you.” Jason said as he put a knee on the ground, in front of you. His fingers were itching for touching your face, but he couldn’t push his luck like that

“I… I have got secrets. And if I act like I used to, you will easily see them and…” you trailed off

“Your secrets are safe with me. I would never betray you” Jason promised, looking for your eyes

“Really? Even if my father asked for them?” you hummed as your eyes met his

“I am yours and yours only, my lady” Jason promised again

You shivered at the strength of such words.

You went to sleep that night thinking that your knight might be in love with you.

And you had no idea how right you were.

--

Part 2

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

@randomnamedmira

@winterhi09

@murkyponds

@qardasngan

Taglist for this series <3

@classicsimpforaaronwarner

[cute-little-fly]

I have realized after reading negative comments about Stolas for a while… that some people interpret the scene when Stolas said to Blitzø: “it means so much to me that the person that desires me like this is my first ever friend” as Stolas being intentionally manipulative but… he doesn’t know Blitzø is trying to steal the book, and he was being blindfolded just before. Why would he even think there is a reason to “manipulate”???

It’s so obvious to me that he is being 100 % genuine here. We actually never see Stolas fake anything imo. Even it’s obvious his annoying and a few times kinda disrespectful flirting comes from a genuine place of a folish teenager joy of being with a person you like.

The interpretation they make didn’t even crossed my mind the first time I watched the series and like… at least I would like to feel respected about the way I felt, and the reading I personally do of the series.

This idea of “objectively bad” is WHAT bothers me of the Stolas hate. If they said: “for me he is a piece of shit” I wouldn’t care as much, because they are being clear it’s an opinion and a personal perception. I will clear I don’t agree and explain myself but that’s it. I wouldn’t feel denied.

We should discuss media as fans more from a place of opinions and feelings, because at the end of the day, most of us are not really “critics”. We would understand each other more.

I think you are right in what you say: Human experience it’s not always as universal as we think.

My “bad character” could be your favorite one.

Of course, writing flaws exist. But also… over-criticism and hate bashing exist too.

Everything boils down to some people not being able to believe that you can be as “naive” with how you approach your relationships to others, and this ends up boiling down to how some people have never been as misunderstood, alone, sheltered or isolated on their lives. It can be also a personality thing and his ND coding being there just for some of us.

The reason Stolas works for some of us, is precisely the reason why he doesn’t work for other people.

sometimes i wonder how many "objectively bad" characters are just called that because of difference in experiences. like i've seen stolas being called "objectively bad" but i know his soul. that's me. stolas represents a piece of my heart in a way i never knew others understood so deeply. i understand why he did what he did because i would have done the same.

etc.

i wonder if i've written off other characters that have represented another person the way he represents me. the way so many "bad" characters represent me. maybe it's that those people have never met someone like me and i have never met someone like them

[streetfarterturdstrike]

It would be one thing if it was just a popular headcanon but I’m so tired of fans acting like it’s actually official canon that Ryu is asexual which not only has Capcom has never stated that but there are numerous examples of Ryu fighting off his urdges because he’s trying to save his dick for Buddha

[abyssyby]

sylus's little twins — intro

— meet Lucian & Kyros, sylus’s little energy storm! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: hi hi hi! im so excited to get this out hehehe, a formal-ish introduction to the twin boys i've been writing about in my boydad!sylus au. they were initially passing thoughts, but with all of your continuous enthusiasm towards the littles, they'd grown into these darling characters. i hope you enjoy & love them as much as i do! ❀-urs

kyros & lucian highlight | sylus x reader | parenting hcs/scenarios, little twin hcs, mama!reader, soft boydad!sylus 💕 ft. big twins (luke & kieran)!

general info:

☆ Lucian was born first, Kyros 10.9 minutes later 

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

sylus was there for all the check-ups & ultrasounds but only found out you were having twins during the last check-up. 

Lucian has always been more energetic and drawn to the spotlight, even in the womb— Kyros, sleepier and cozier, has tucked himself behind his brother in all their photos. It wasn't until the final weeks that Lucian decided to reveal his first little surprise to his parents— when he shifted and made way for them to meet the second heartbeat. Sylus had to take a seat. "Beloved, breathe," you chuckled, rubbing his thumb with your own as he blinks away the spots in his vision.

sylus barely slept the first three days they were born, watching all three of you like a guard dog 

not so much worried that something terrible will befall something so wonderful 

but just… taking it all in— something he'd never thought he'd have in any lifetime, and yet here you are. giving, giving, giving— his generous heart.

he walked to your side of the bed, pressed kisses to your forehead as you slept. you’d stir awake to him brushing your hair out of your eyes, feeling your cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. eyes soft and teary like melting lava. you yawn, catching his wrist with your fingers. “you okay? is something wrong?”  he smiles, shakes his head. “no. everything’s perfect.” 

he hovers over the boys constantly. quick to pick one up when he stirs.

"hello, little one, shh..." he murmurs. his voice breaks at the volume, unused to being so careful before. but he is trying. he will try everyday. "papa is here. papa's got you."

cant help but poke on their cheeks as they sleep, or ruffle their hair with his finger (they're so small, he can't believe it)

the first twin to grab his finger and hold on is kyros, and sylus needed several minutes to compose himself 

when one or both cries, sylus is always the first to respond. he checks diapers, gas and if it’s hunger, he wakes you gently (he's master of the night shift atp)

tummy time was difficult for him in the start, fearing the baby wouldn’t like it, that he’d run too warm or he accidentally shifts them the wrong way. but once he starts, it becomes his favorite pastime.

he hums to them, sings to them, reads to them. theres always at least one strapped to his chest as he goes about his day in the base.

when they get a little older and they can roll over on their bellies, sylus spends hours on his belly too, studying their faces and expressions. his sole purpose is to make them react. peek-a-boo is a favorite.

when lucian starts to babble (kyros will follow soon after) sylus is over the moon. he loves talking back to them. 

“ahh-ah. ooo-ea-ea.” kyros coos, pulling his legs up and down as if bouncing. “i understand, but mephisto is made of metal.” sylus says, chin resting on the nest his forearms had formed on the edge of the bassinets. “ah a wi wi waaaghu” lucian counters. “i didn’t see it that way. maybe i will try to change his synthetic fibers.” sylus nods. “ji ji aah! ah!” kyros. “and pre-record wheels on the bus, yes.” 

sylus 🤝🏻 nursery rhymes (he sings them in the shower??)

you and sylus both love watching them discover each other— like, they’d just forget the other exists for a while until they glance beside them and see their faces staring back. the giggles, the smiles, the eventual spit up— magical

the big twins (kieran and luke) sob when they realize their names are inspired by their own 

"Luke, hold Kyros's neck steady," you advise as you hand him the baby. Luke sits excitedly on the couch, arms out, nodding enthusiastically. it was an amusing little position he was in— he'd cocooned himself between all the throwpillows in the living room and looked like a bird in his nest. "Yes, got it." he says. he's done his research. he and Kieran practiced on cantaloupes while you were away. "Cradle the baby to support his hips and back." Kieran quotes from the LinkiHow, sitting on the other side of the couch, also cocooned in all the pillows. Sylus gave them tired but fond looks. "This is Lucian." Sylus says, placing his son carefully in Kieran's awaiting arms. It takes a minute, but you can always count on them to make a connection. Luke says it jokingly, "Hey, boss man, they both have our initials." You smile unironically. "Do you like it?" Kieran freezes, getting the implication almost immediately. "What?" It snaps into Luke a second later. "What?!" It's very difficult to cry with newborns in their arms. Good thing the pillows minimized the trembling.

never lets you and sylus hear the end of it

"When Lucian climbs on my shoulders, we're a giant robot called Lu-lu." Kieran snorts. "Lemon?" "Can you shut up for once in your life?"

"Boss man, how's mini me?" "Boss hunter, can we borrow the little twins? Namesakes have to bond." and the famous "Hey, dad," one too many times to Sylus. (sylus never corrects them)

steals them away when they’re able to sit up on their own, stays within the base, but at the sight of the masks, the little twins are sent into fits of happy wiggles 

kieran and luke are first to experience the two playing more intricate pretend scenarios (they're big influences)

the little twins’ first prank is to doodle on sylus’s face (sylus was awake, giggling even, but the little twins were 100% sure they got away with it. big twins supervised.)

Lucian the blinding flash of lightning 

pronounced: loo・see・yan

also called “Cian” (see-yan) 

also known as: angel (mama & papa), little boss (big twins), JAWS (kieran when lucian bit him the first time), little dragon (papa) 

has bright, carmine eyes, forever shining with mischief

socialized very early when he refused to be apart from mama or papa 

first word is “mama”. sylus was very excited for you (“papa” followed soon after)

"Say papa." Sylus coaxes, bouncing Lucian on his knee. His boy's bright eyes focused on his mouth, as he made popping noises to emphasize the p's. "P-p-aaa. Papa." Lucian followed the movements with a gummy little smile. But no sound emerged from his mouth. Sylus did everything in his power to make him vocalize, but Lucian's will was stronger than his father's charm. And then you came. Kyros had just gone down for his second nap, and you plop down beside Sylus and Lucian. "It's mama." Sylus points out. And with his full chest, proud and loud, Lucian booms. "Mama!" You scream. Sylus is speechless for a moment but cheers nonetheless. Showers Lucian with kisses and praise. Maybe Kyros will get his p's right.

always strapped on someone’s chest or back in his early days, wriggling in the carrier and testing the bounce

kieran and luke’s test gerbil— uh, sorry, play buddy 

Lucian, having been exposed more to people and positive reinforcement, was quick to gain confidence to try things without fear or even consciousness of failure 

so he flips over first, sits up first, crawls first, has his first steps first and is running by the time kyros can put one foot before the other without support

but he has more little scrapes and bruises from being so active 

loves mama! loves loves loves mama. mama gives him kissies and sweeties. and mama says “yay! Lucian!” in the most beautiful voice 

loves papa too. is a little intimidated by him— only because papa is the first to see his mistakes when he tumbles and falls. papa makes that “tsss” noise when he picks him up. 

but then papa gives warm hugs. and his hair is soft. and papa is tall, and lucian likes sitting on his shoulders. 

lucian loves the sky. you'd "sun" them often when they were little, just sit outside in the shade for the warmth and the nutrients. it was lucian's favorite thing, having developed a Pavlovian response to the words "sun time!" before he even knew what they meant— he'd be wriggling already.

lucian thinks kyros is a little mouse. he adores kyros, always cheers him on like everyone does for him— “ya! go keewo!” 

but kyros looks so small (theyre the same size) 

and lucian is overcome with the responsibility of protecting his brother 

lucian loves hugging kyros (coined the term "squeezy-squeezes"), learning from everyone around him how to treat his brother

sometimes can get a little too rough

made kyros cry once— he cried harder. 

The twins have been in their little playpen for a while, throwing stuffed-balls that jingle at each other as a game of catch. Kyros catches with your help, his back against your belly. Your arms like wings maneuver his to catch the ball in a gentle clap. "Cat!" Lucian says. He's already mastered the act of throwing down to a tee. But somehow a heavier rubber ball had rolled into their soft ball pile, and he'd chucked it at Kyros's nose. "Oh!" you startle first, bending down to see Kyros's face already puckered up in a silent sob. "Oh, darling." Sylus is already at the door at the sound, taking in the scene before him. Your worried fussing, Kyros's reddening nose and... A wailing, louder than the offended's fills the room. Terror-stricken and horrified, Lucian empties his little lungs at the image of his brother sobbing because of him. "Lucian." Sylus sighs, picking him up and rocking him side to side. Mama and papa danced side to side, soothing, as they sang a painful little harmony for them for a while.

absorbs how you and sylus interact. 

⟢ places both palms on papa’s face to look in his eyes — "papa, shmeeties." (sweeties) ⟢ presses his nose to papa’s cheek when he's in his arms and papa is talking to someone else ⟢brushes your hair back from your eyes when you're telling him, "lucian, no more sweeties, okay?" ⟢ kisses your forehead the most ⟢ pokes papa’s lips when he’s idling or reading

likes sweeties (candies, cakes, ice creams, u name it)

loves to climb! loves going up, up high! 

needs that vestibular input when he teeters on the edge of something (effectively giving sylus daily heart attacks)

does not like hats :( 

drags kyros by the hand everywhere (kyros does this too! learns it from lucian)— one time when kyros couldnt quite walk yet, you find lucian dragging him face-planted across the floor. kyros kinda just went with it

started the trend of running up to you or sylus when you get home from missions and throwing himself in your arms

sensitive. doesnt like being scolded but understands to an extent why. sylus is good at explaining discipline to his toddlers.

“papa doesn’t want you to get hurt. so I'm saying it in a strong voice so you listen and remember,” sylus explains firmly. “love lucian? papa?” he asks, snot and tears running down his blotchy red cheeks. sylus softens, huffing the through his nose and wiping his son's tears away with his thumbs. “of course i love you, angel. just, please stop sliding down the bannister.”  oh, sylus is so very tired.

sleeps with his limbs strewn about

sylus is always hit in the eye when they nap together

Kyros the gentle rumble of thunder

pronounced: kee・ ros

also called “kyro” ("kee-ro" as Lucian so lovingly puts it, unable to get that s sound just yet)

also known as: angel (mama & papa), little boss (big twins), KYYYYROSSS (luke, when they lift him over their head like a presentation to the gods), and turtle (papa)

his eyes are a darker shade of red, like a stormy sea of blood. and so his little baby stares are extra O.O when he’s watching everyone around him

kyros was sickly during his first few months, which led to him being a little less socialized compared to his brother

sylus was very doting on kyros, worried immensely, didnt know a wink of sleep for the first three months of thunderous little coughs rattling such a small, fragile body 

he held him more, gave him the medicine, took shifts with you when you forced him to get rest

but kyros pulled through. he’s healthy by the time the third month rolls in, and so he starts rolling, too

kyros watches lucian do his firsts and copies. less trial, less error— the little owl he is

his babbles were quieter, and so you whisper to him hushed words of affirmation 

"ehh? egh ah!" kyros coos, eyes locked onto yours as if actually making conversation at 4 months. "yes, angel, you’re very handsome." you smile back, exaggerated nods, and a lilting voice. "ah-ooo, oo-eeh." "much muuuuch more than papa." you affirm. and suddenly sylus is right behind you. "hm? sorry?"

he does get his p's right!! but first word is “pito” (mephisto -> phisto -> pisto -> ⊹ ࣪ ˖ pito ⊹ ࣪ ˖), his baby monitor

loves papa. oh, sylus really did a number on him by sticking with him during those sick months. now he’s formed an attachment.

most comfortable with papa. likes being held by him, snuggles his messy little hair in the crook of sylus’s neck, mouths gummy little kisses on sylus’s cheeks.

had a phase where he relayed all his thoughts in a whisper to papa. sylus would broadcast it for everyone else to hear. he'd nod in approval with a little "mhm."

loves mama too, of course. loves mama’s voice. mama’s scent. he almost always falls asleep in your presence. never, ever fussy with you. 

has developed very particular sensory needs— preferring deep pressure hugs, dimmer lighting, and more gentle, quieter sounds

he works through most issues, but in his toddler stage, he’s easily spooked and startled— cries often when he is

loves lucian! lucian is eternally amusing to him. his favorite slapstick. lucian, his walking chatty clone— tumbling over and startling him and making him giggle. he loves Lucian.

lucian's hugs! love that!

lucian's games! so fun!

lucian's attempts to string him along (even if he ends up waxing the floor with his forehead)! owwie, but yes!!

kyros feels his feelings deep and slow. disciplining him is like yelling at a baby duck with too-large eyes and a pouty little lip 

it's very hard to stay mad at him (sylus struggles the most)

“kyros? you understand why papa is mad, right?”  kyros doesnt move. doesn't even look at him. sylus swallows.  “kyros, papa is mad because…” kyros starts hiccuping, choking on silent tears. “papa mad.” sylus digs his nails into his palms. “papa... mad because you almost got hurt. got an ouchie.”  kyros nods. “Papa mad. ouchie.”  on second thought, sylus isnt that good at disciplining toddlers. "kyros, say you understand." "un'tad." kyros weeps. "okay." sylus grabs his baby and cradles him to his chest. he peppers kisses into his hair and holds him tight. “no more. all done.”  “all done.” kyros sobs. sylus has to hold his back too.

kyros likes the nighttime, the outdoors. when he was sick, sylus often stood on the balcony and talked to him about the stars. somehow that absorbed. 

kyros thrives in music. you discovered this, when he was fussy one day, and you were tired and aching, and decided to hum a tune into the crown of his head as you rocked him side to side 

he quieted instantly, and you realize the vibrations of your voice have resonated in his skull— effectively calming him by buzzing like a bee

aside from papa, lucian is his next pillar of support. he tends to grasp onto lucian's hand and tug on his shirt when he gets that little bit scared.

likes the kitchen. happy to be in a carrier as you or sylus cooks. he likes the scents and the chop-chop-chop sounds. 

likes hats :) 

the first to bap! lucian when they got into a little argument. big emotions overwhelmed him easily, so when lucian took the stuffie from his hands, his little fist came down on lucian's thigh— it didnt hurt, but they were both told off and both cried 

kyros clung to lucian all day after that — “sowwi, see-yan, sowwi.” 🥺

the big twins still navigate around kyros more cautiously, trying to learn his subtlety, but they get it eventually. kyros reminds them of themselves when they were much smaller, seeking comfort and a safe space. they do everything in their power to provide that for him (and lucian too) 

kyros asks with little words, speech at a slower & steadier rate of development 

"papa home?" "squash! more?" (uses the little more gesture) "pease?" "hug! hug!" "one, two cookie? pease?" (spams the more gesture again)

uses your and sylus’s pet names for each other to address you sometimes

“ma bub (my love), papple juice, pease?” to papa  “peepie (sweetie), up?” to mama “peepart (sweetheart), pease? pease, peepart?” “na-night dadin' (darling)!” to lucian

likes apple juice 🧃💕

is super mesmerized by mephisto, but still gets surprised at his movements— flinches when mephisto shakes, freezes up when mephisto stretches his wings— but is trying to be friends. likes the jingling windchime sound mephisto does when he shakes his feathers.

loves story books. he appreciates whoever reads to him, curling himself around whoever’s arm, chubby little cheek pressed to a bicep as half-lidded eyes follow fingers hovering over words (will eventually learn to read first)

sleeps in this little kitty loaf position, with his fists in his eyes and his body curled in this child’s pose/fetal position 

sylus has to right him in his sleep so he doesnt ache in the morning

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: if youve made it this far, i wish i could give you a big hug. thank you for reading all about the littles. they're full of life & love, and there will be stories where they bring that out of sylus, mama & the big twins too, and i hope you stick around for that <3 ❀-urs

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here | first little twin headcanon | author's pick: little twins & big twins fic | more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

feel free to send in messages/questions/drabble requests about them in my inbox, I'll be happy to gush about them some more hehe ( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾♡

dividers by @saradika-graphics

thank you for reading!

[cressidagrey]

Wait, What?!

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: 

Oscar Piastri managed to keep his wife a secret on accident for nearly half a decade…

Come to think off, that was not the only one he kept a secret. 

Notes: Part 2 of The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse...

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Lando: BRO. EMERGENCY. URGENT. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS.

Max: Oh my god, what now?

Lando: OSCAR. PIASTRI. IS. MARRIED.

Max: …Yeah, that tracks.

Lando: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT TRACKS????

Max: I mean, I didn’t know, but also… not surprised.

Lando: HOW ARE YOU NOT SURPRISED??

Max: Because, mate, I knew Oscar back in the Renault Eurocup days. And he was in love.  Properly, stupidly, pathetically in love. You think Oscar’s all calm and unbothered? You should’ve seen teenage Oscar.

Lando: I CAN’T. MY BRAIN WON’T ACCEPT THIS.

Max: Bro, this man used to sit in the  paddock and stare at his phone, smiling at texts from her. Like, full-on grinning. It was disturbing.

Lando: NO.

Max: Oh yeah. Proper gobsmacked-in-love type of obsessed. We used to rip into him for it, and he didn’t even care.

Lando: WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE DIDN’T CARE???

Max: I mean, you know how Oscar is. He’d just shrug and go “Yeah, and?” Like we were the crazy ones.

Lando: I CAN’T PROCESS THIS.

Max: Mate, he was obsessed with her. Like, actual teenage boy, head-over-heels, no-thoughts-just-Felicity obsessed.

Lando: OSCAR???

Max: YES. You have no idea. We’d finish a race, and he’d be on his phone before he even got his helmet off. Always texting.

Lando: To her???

Max: Always. If he wasn’t texting, he was on FaceTime. If he wasn’t on FaceTime, he was watching her ballet videos like they were onboard footage.

Lando: …Ballet videos???

Max: She’s a ballerina. He tried to do ballet once. It went horribly.

Lando: PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S FOOTAGE.

Max: No, but I will never forget the look of pure pain on his face when he came back from one of her classes. “Max, this is the worst thing I’ve ever done. My calves don’t work anymore.”

Lando: I AM IN TEARS.

Max: And don’t even get me started on the food.

Lando: What food???

Max: Oscar always had the best snacks, and they were always things she made him. Like pandan cakes, curry puffs, some kind of egg tarts. Man was eating good.

Lando: I THOUGHT THAT WAS KIM?!

Lando: YOU’RE TELLING ME SHE WAS PACKING HIM LUNCHES LIKE A LITTLE HOUSEWIFE EVEN BACK THEN???

Max: Not even kidding. He always had food, and it was always from her. One time, I asked if I could have some, and he was like, “No, Felicity made this for me.”

Lando: HE WAS ALREADY A WHIPPED HUSBAND BEFORE HE EVEN TURNED 18.

Max: Precisely. Man has been gone for her since day one.

Lando: Selfish.

Max: To be fair, if someone made me homemade food with that much love, I wouldn’t share either.

Lando: …Fair.

Max: Also, she’s tiny. Like, I swear, I thought Oscar was going to break her just by hugging her. It was actually terrifying.

Lando: Who even is she???

Max: Felicity Lee? Leong? Something like that. She went to school with him. Tiny, startlingly pretty. I’m talking, ‘you do a double take and forget how to speak’ kind of pretty. That girl had Oscar so whipped before they even finished school, it was ridiculous.

GRID GROUP CHAT

Charles: WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE A WIFE???

Charles: OSCAR, EXPLAIN. NOW.

Pierre: I JUST SPAT MY COFFEE OUT.

Carlos: I NEARLY DROVE OFF THE ROAD.

George: YOU HAVE A WHOLE WIFE??? A LEGALLY BOUND PARTNER???

George: I’m sorry, I need someone to confirm because I think I hallucinated.

Oscar: …Yes?

Charles: OH SURE, JUST CASUALLY. "Yes." Like you didn’t just drop the biggest bombshell on live TV.

Lewis: This is the most shocking news of the year, I need a moment.

Alex: You have a wife?

Alex: SINCE WHEN???

Fernando: The quiet ones always have secrets.

Max: Why do I feel like Daniel just screamed somewhere?

Daniel: I AM SCREAMING. I AM SCREAMING IN MY HOTEL ROOM. WHAT DO YOU MEAN OSCAR IS MARRIED??

Oscar: Five years.

Pierre: FIVE YEARS????

Carlos: YOU GOT MARRIED AT EIGHTEEN???

Lando: WHILE THE REST OF US WERE STILL FIGURING OUT HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS, YOU WERE OUT HERE GETTING MARRIED???

Oscar: Yeah.

Charles: WHY DID NONE OF US KNOW???

Logan: You guys didn’t know?

Charles: YOU KNEW?!

Logan: Yeah, met her ages ago.

Lando: HOW. WHY. WHEN.

Logan: Prema? Arthur knows too, I am pretty sure. 

Pierre: YOU WERE HOLDING THIS INFORMATION FROM US.

Oscar: I didn’t think it was that big of a deal?

Charles: NOT A BIG DEAL?!

Carlos: You could have at least mentioned it.

Lewis: Does she exist? Are you lying? Do we need proof?

Oscar: …Yes, Lewis, she exists.

Lando: WHO IS SHE. WHAT IS HER NAME. WHAT DOES SHE LOOK LIKE.

Max: How did you manage this? You are… you.

Oscar: ???

Daniel: I NEED TO SIT DOWN.

Lando: YOU ARE SITTING DOWN.

Daniel: I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

Oscar: You guys are being dramatic.

Pierre: You hid a whole wife from us. We are allowed to be dramatic.

Oscar: You never asked?

George: WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE NEVER ASKED??? HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW TO ASK???

Oscar: I don’t really talk about my personal life.

Lando: CLEARLY.

Pierre: But why doesn’t she come to races?

Oscar: She doesn’t like the circus.

Oscar: It gives her anxiety.

Oscar: And she’s already given up enough for me.

Charles: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S GIVEN UP ENOUGH FOR YOU??

George: Bro, are you hearing yourself?? That sounds serious.

Carlos: That sounds like something from a movie.

Oscar: I don’t know why you’re all freaking out.

Pierre: BECAUSE YOU DROPPED THE BIGGEST NEWS OF THE YEAR LIKE IT WAS NOTHING???

Lando: Yeah, and now we’re finding out your mysterious wife has sacrificed things for you??? OSCAR.

Oscar: Her family didn’t approve of us getting married so young.

Lando: Okay, fair, that’s kind of understandable—

Oscar: So they cut her off.

Lando: WHAT.

Pierre: WHAT.

Carlos: EXCUSE ME???

Daniel: I’M GOING TO FIND THEM AND YELL AT THEM.

Charles: HOLD ON. YOU’RE SAYING SHE LEFT EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND HER FAMILY JUST—DIDN’T SPEAK TO HER AGAIN???

Oscar: Pretty much.

Lewis: …That’s awful.

Oscar: It is what it is.

Lando: NO, NO, IT’S NOT JUST WHAT IT IS. WHAT THE HELL, OSCAR.

Pierre: HOW HAVE YOU JUST NEVER TALKED ABOUT THIS BEFORE???

Oscar: Because it’s not my story to tell.

Carlos: That’s… actually fair.

Max: Her parents are stupid.

Oscar: Yeah, well. Nothing I can do about that.

Lewis: That must have been really hard for her.

Oscar: It was. It still is, sometimes. But she doesn’t regret it.

Lando: BECAUSE SHE LOVES YOU???

Oscar: Yeah.

Pierre: Oh my god.

Daniel: I’m emotional.

George: Okay but we don’t even know her name.

Pierre: DROP THE NAME, OSCAR.

Oscar: Felicity.

Lando: FELICITY????

Pierre: That’s so cute, I can’t even be mad.

Daniel: FELICITY PIASTRI???

Oscar: Yeah.

Lando: WHERE DOES SHE LIVE?? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING HER???

Oscar: We live near the McLaren HQ.

Lando: YOU LIVE TOGETHER.

Pierre: OF COURSE THEY LIVE TOGETHER, LANDO, THEY’RE MARRIED.

Carlos: I feel like I need to lie down.

Daniel: You and me both.

Lewis: Alright, so when do we get to meet her?

Oscar: I’ll ask if she wants to come to Silverstone?

TEXT MESSAGES: Charles & Arthur Leclerc

Charles: ARTHUR.

Arthur: yes brother dearest

Charles: YOU KNEW OSCAR WAS MARRIED???

Arthur: uhhh yeah??

Charles: AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO TELL ME???

Arthur: why would i tell you? i thought you knew?

Charles: WHY WOULD I KNOW??? HE NEVER TALKS ABOUT IT.

Arthur: yeah, he’s private about it, but like… he’s been married for years. i thought it was just one of those things everyone knew??

Charles: EVERYONE??? APPARENTLY NOT ME.

Arthur: ok but be honest. if i told you “oh yeah oscar got married at 18,” would you have believed me?

Charles: …fair point.

Charles: BUT STILL. HE GOT MARRIED AT 18???

Arthur: i know. we were all out here at prema still figuring out how to flirt and oscar was out here being A HUSBAND.

Arthur: like, we were panicking over texting girls back and he was making plans for dinner with his wife.

Charles: HOW DID THIS NEVER COME UP???

Arthur: idk, he’s not the type to bring it up randomly.

Arthur: but if you do ask, it’s game over. bro is OBSESSED with her.

Charles: ???

Arthur: like, i’ve seen him sit through a full engineering debrief completely unfazed, no reaction, zero emotions.

Arthur: but then his wife texts him “good luck” and suddenly he looks like he just won the lottery.

Arthur: prema days were just a bunch of kids losing their minds over instagram likes while oscar was married.

Arthur: like, we’d be debating if texting a girl twice in a row was too desperate, and oscar was over there planning his life with his wife.

Arthur: her family basically disowned her when she married him.

Charles: …what?

Arthur: yeah. they thought she was ruining her life by marrying some kid in motorsport.

Arthur: they told her she was throwing everything away for him. that he’d never make it, that she’d regret it.

Arthur: and when she didn’t back down, they cut her off completely. oscar doesn’t talk about it because he knows.

Arthur: he knows what she gave up for him.

Arthur: and he takes that personally.

Arthur: like, have you ever seen oscar get actually angry?

Charles: …no?

Arthur: i have. once.

Arthur: i walked in on him on the phone with her father.

Arthur: it was the scariest moment of my life.

Charles: OSCAR???

Arthur: YES.

Arthur: he was so calm but also terrifying.

Arthur: like, i swear to god, he said something like, “i don’t care what you think of me, but you don’t get to make her feel like she’s not worth loving.”

Arthur: And then he told the guy that if he ever so much as thought about talking to her like that again, oscar would personally fly across the world and put him in the ground.

Arthur: and the worst part? her dad believed him.

Arthur: like. i could hear it. the silence. the fear.

Arthur: and then oscar just hung up like it was nothing.

Arthur: meanwhile, i’m standing there losing my mind, trying to comprehend that my quiet, nice, mild-mannered teammate had just casually promised to commit murder.

Charles: holy shit.

Arthur: yeah. so next time you see him, just know: that man would burn the world down for his wife and daughter

Charles: ARTHUR. EXPLAIN. NOW.

Arthur: explain what?

Charles: “OSCAR’S WIFE AND DAUGHTER”???

Arthur: ohhh yeah. oscar has a kid. her name’s Bee. cutest little girl ever.

Charles: WHAT DO YOU MEAN OSCAR HAS A KID.

Arthur: i mean oscar. has a kid.

Charles: SINCE WHEN.

Arthur: since like. three years ago.

Charles: HE HAD A CHILD AT TWENTY?

Arthur: yeah, man. wild, right?

Charles: WHY AM I JUST NOW FINDING OUT.

Arthur: idk. you never asked.

Charles: WHY WOULD I ASK “HEY ARTHUR, DOES OSCAR HAVE A SECRET FAMILY”???

Arthur: fair point.

Charles: DOES THIS MAKE ME A GRANDPA.

Arthur: oh my god. wait.

Arthur: it kinda does.

Arthur: papy charles.

Charles: I WILL MURDER YOU.

Arthur: relax, grandpa.

Charles: I AM NOT A GRANDPA.

Arthur: okay, old man.

Charles: FOCUS.

Charles: WHY DID NO ONE THINK TO MENTION THIS TO ME.

Arthur: because oscar’s private? plus, it’s not like it changes anything. he’s still the same oscar. just, y’know. a dad.

Charles: I CANNOT PROCESS THIS.

Arthur: bro, when i first found out, i thought he was crazy.

Arthur: like. imagine being twenty and deciding “yeah, i’m gonna be a dad now.” insane behavior.

Arthur: but honestly? he’s so good at it.

Arthur: like. weirdly good.

Charles: HOW.

Arthur: idk man. some people are just meant to be parents.

Arthur: he’s just so patient with her. like, you know how nothing ever rattles him? that times a hundred.

Arthur: she threw a toy car at his head once and he just smiled and said “nice aim, Bee.”

Charles: ???

Arthur: i’m telling you. completely obsessed with that kid.

Arthur: also she calls him “Papa” and it’s the cutest thing ever.

Charles: I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

Arthur: is it because you’re old now.

Charles: I AM GOING TO END YOU.

Grid Group Chat

Charles: OSCAR.

Charles: I NEED ANSWERS RIGHT NOW.

Oscar: …About?

Lando: What did you do now.

Carlos: This feels serious.

Charles: DO YOU HAVE A CHILD???

Pierre: Excuse me?????

George: What.

Alex: No way.

Lando: WHAT?!?!

Fernando: Interesting.

Lewis: Oscar?

Oscar: Yeah.

Lando: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YEAH????

Lando: THAT’S NOT A CASUAL QUESTION.

Lando: “YEAH” IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE ANSWER.

Carlos: Wait, what.

Daniel: Oh my god.

Pierre: BACK UP.

Charles: HOW DOES ARTHUR KNOW BEFORE ME???

Oscar: He met her.

Lando: HE MET HER???

Pierre: SHE EXISTS IN A FORM THAT CAN BE MET???

George: OSCAR.

Max: Is everyone going to keep screaming?

Charles: OSCAR YOU HAVE A CHILD AND NEVER TOLD US???

Oscar: No one asked.

Lando: OH I’M SO SORRY, LET ME JUST RANDOMLY ASK EVERYONE ON THE GRID IF THEY SECRETLY HAVE CHILDREN.

Alex: Three years, mate. You’ve had a kid for three years and never said a word?

Oscar: Yeah.

Pierre: I am STUNNED.

George: STUNNED.

Lando: LIKE ACTUALLY YOU HAVE A THREE-YEAR-OLD HUMAN CHILD????

Oscar: Yes, Lando.

Lando: I need to sit down.

Charles: WHY HAVE YOU NEVER BROUGHT HER TO A RACE.

Oscar: Because I promised my wife I wouldn’t buy her a kart until she’s five, and if I bring her to a race, that’s all she’ll want for her birthday.

Carlos: …She’s already obsessed, isn’t she.

Oscar: Oh, completely.

Oscar: She watches onboards for fun.

Pierre: Onboards.

Lando: WHAT THREE-YEAR-OLD WATCHES ONBOARDS????

Oscar: Mine.

Logan:  Bee is kinda obsessed lol

Lando: BEE?!?! HER NAME IS BEE?!?

Oscar: Beatrice. But we call her Bee. 

Oscar: She also gives commentary.

George: Commentary.

Oscar: Yeah. She said George is a bit too careful, but she respects it.

George: …Tell her I appreciate that.

Oscar: She thinks Alex is underrated.

Alex: Smart girl.

Oscar: She says Max and Charles are the fastest.

Charles: Oh, she has taste.

Max: A future World Champion.

Lando: WHO DOES SHE THINK I AM THEN????

Oscar: She says you talk too much.

Lando: I AM BEING BULLIED BY A TODDLER.

Oscar: And she also doesn’t understand why you always “let” Max pass you.

Max: I like her.

Lando: THIS IS CHARACTER ASSASSINATION.

Charles: I need to meet this child.

Max: Me too.

Fernando: Same.

Lewis: When’s she coming to the paddock?

Oscar: She’s not, because if she meets Max and Charles in person, I will not hear the end of it.

Charles: Oh, we have to meet her.

Lando: NOT UNTIL I WIN HER OVER.

Lando: WHO DOES SHE SUPPORT????

Oscar: She’s three, Lando.

Lando: THAT DOESN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION.

Oscar: She says she supports “everyone.”

Max: That’s diplomatic.

Charles: No, that’s suspicious.

Charles: Who does she really support?

Oscar: …She says she supports whoever wins.

Pierre: OH SHE’S A GLORY HUNTER.

Carlos: NO LOYALTY.

Alex: A ruthless fan. I respect it.

Lando: I AM SUFFERING.

Oscar: She does like McLaren. She just thinks Ferrari is “prettier.”

Charles: YES.

Carlos: This child has taste.

Lando: I AM LOSING TO FERRARI ON VIBES ALONE????

Oscar: Sounds like it.

George: This is all well and good, but I need to know—what does she think about you, Oscar?

Oscar: …

Lando: OH MY GOD.

Daniel: OH THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD.

Oscar: She says I’m her favorite after Max and Charles.

Charles: YES.

Max: Acceptable.

Oscar: But she also says I have the best helmet.

Fernando: That’s a win.

Lando: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HAVE A WHOLE SECRET DAUGHTER WHO BULLIES ME FROM AFAR.

Oscar: She doesn’t bully you.

Oscar: She just doesn’t understand why you let Max pass you all the time.

Max: A wise child.

Lando: I HATE IT HERE.

Charles: I demand a meeting.

Max: Me too.

Pierre: We’re all uncles now.

Lando: NO. NOT UNTIL SHE ACCEPTS ME.

Oscar: Good luck with that. She also says you sound funny when you yell.

Lando: I’M GONNA CRY.

Lando: I NEED A SECOND CHANCE.

Lando: I CAN WIN HER OVER.

Max: She sounds very intelligent.

Charles: Yes. Clearly, she has excellent judgment.

Lando: STOP SUCKING UP TO HER, YOU’RE ALREADY HER FAVORITE.

Carlos: So what does she think about the other drivers?

Oscar: Do you really want to know?

Pierre: Oh absolutely.

Fernando: I am prepared.

Oscar: Okay.

Oscar: She thinks George sounds like Peppa Pig.

George: …

Lewis: Oh my god.

Alex: OH THIS IS PERFECT.

Lando: WE WILL NEVER LET THIS GO.

George: I AM LOSING TO A CARTOON PIG.

Oscar: She heard you on the TV and asked why Peppa was driving a car.

Pierre: No, you ARE a cartoon pig.

Alex: This is the best day of my life.

George: I hate all of you.

Oscar: Moving on…

Oscar: She thinks Fernando is the “oldest driver ever.”

Charles: At least she knows the history of the sport.

Fernando: I’m taking that as a compliment.

Oscar: She also says Yuki is small and should be allowed to stand on the seat so he can see better.

Yuki: I AM NOT THAT SHORT.

Pierre: SHE SPEAKS THE TRUTH.

Oscar: Oh, and she likes Lewis because she likes his earrings.

Lewis: That is the only valid reason to like me.

Oscar: She also thinks you’re the boss of everyone.

Lewis: That is also true.

Lando: PLEASE TELL ME SHE HAS A TERRIBLE OPINION ABOUT CHARLES OR MAX.

Oscar: She thinks Charles crashes too much but is “really, really fast.”

Max: Accurate.

Oscar: And she says Max is “really good, but scary.”

Max: I am scary.

Charles: No, you just race like a maniac.

Oscar: She also thinks you and Carlos are best friends because you wear the same color.

Carlos: I am okay with this.

Lando: WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO LOSES HERE.

Oscar: Get better PR.

Oscar: She likes Daniel because she says his voice sounds happy.

Daniel: SHE IS SO REAL FOR THAT.

Charles: So she wants to race??

Oscar: Oh yeah. She watches all the onboards. She says the Red Bull looks "like a rocket ship," and McLaren is "super fast now," but Ferrari is "a little bit broken."

Carlos: You HAVE to bring her to a race.

Lando: Okay but actually. Do you think she’ll do karting?

Oscar: Yeah. Probably.

Oscar: She already yells “Lights out and away we go” when she runs down the hallway.

Fernando: Oh, she’s one of us.

Lando: She’s already got the spirit.

George: Unlike Lando.

Lando: I AM GOING TO FIGHT YOU.

Max: No, because you’ll lose.

Lando: I’M STILL PROCESSING. OSCAR HAS A WHOLE CHILD. A CHILD WHO GIVES HIM PERFORMANCE REVIEWS.

Oscar: Yeah, she told me my race suit is “not very pretty.”

Charles: What does she think of Max’s?

Oscar: “It’s blue. That’s okay.” She likes yours more, because Red is good. 

Charles: She has excellent taste.

Oscar: She also said, “You should win more too.”

Lando: Has she ever said that to Max?

Oscar: No, because she thinks he already wins enough.

Max: Wise.

George: What does she think about Mercedes?

Oscar: She likes the silver one better than the black one because “it’s shinier.”

Lewis: Fair.

Oscar: But she said, “It’s not as pretty as red.”

Oscar: She also thinks all our helmets should have “more animals and less boring stuff.”

Lando: SHE IS THE FUTURE OF THIS SPORT.

Oscar: Then she told me, “You need a koala on yours.”

Alex: That’s fair.

Lando: OKAY BUT DOES SHE HAVE ANY RACE STRATEGY OPINIONS.

Oscar: Of course.

Charles: Please share.

Oscar: The other day, I was watching a race replay, and she climbed onto the couch next to me, stared at the screen, and went, “Why are you still on those tires?”

Carlos: HAHAHA.

Oscar: And I said, “Because we haven’t pitted yet,” and she just shook her head and went, “That’s silly. You should get new ones now.”

Lando: SHE’S SO SMART.

Pierre: Does she understand tire compounds?

Oscar: She knows soft tires are fast, medium tires are okay, and hard tires are “boring and ugly.”

Charles: Honestly, she gets it.

Lando: NO BUT ACTUALLY DOES SHE HAVE THOUGHTS ON DRS.

Oscar: Oh, yeah. She calls it the “flappy thing.”

Pierre: I love her.

Oscar: She saw an onboard where I opened it, and she just went, “Oooooh, flappy thing makes you go fast.”

Max: I mean, she’s right.

Alex: Does she like overtakes?

Oscar: Yeah, but she only gets really excited when I do them. Otherwise, she just watches quietly and then claps if it looks cool.

Charles: Does she cheer for anyone else?

Oscar: One time, she saw you make a double overtake and went, “Ohhhhh, I like him.”

Carlos: Betrayal.

Oscar: She likes you too, don’t worry. But I think she just thought that move was cool.

Carlos: I suppose I will allow it.

George: Oscar, have you explained to her why Lando hasn’t won yet?

Oscar: Not really. I just told her, “It’s really hard to win in F1,” and she thought about it for a second and went, “Not for Max.”

Max: HAHAHA.

Charles: She is actually too smart.

Lando: I AM BEING DRAGGED BY A TODDLER WHO DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HER OWN LAST NAME YET.

Oscar: She does know her last name, actually.

Lando: GOOD FOR HER. I’M STILL SUFFERING.

Carlos: Has she asked why you haven’t won a race either, Oscar?

Oscar: No.

Pierre: WHY NOT??

Oscar: I think she assumes I’m too busy taking care of her.

George: Honestly, fair.

Lando: I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE A DAD.

Oscar: Believe it.

Lando: I CAN’T. AND NOW I’M GOING TO HAVE AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS BECAUSE YOUR TINY CHILD THINKS I’M BAD AT MY JOB.

Oscar: She didn’t say you were bad. Just that you haven’t won yet.

Lando: SAME THING.

Oscar: It’s okay, Lando. I’ll tell her you’re trying your best.

Lando: STOPPIT.

Lando: NO ACTUALLY I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS. WHAT ELSE HAS SHE SAID.

Oscar: What do you mean?

Lando: I MEAN ABOUT F1. ABOUT ME. ABOUT YOU. ABOUT ANYTHING. I NEED TO KNOW HOW BADLY A THREE-YEAR-OLD HAS DRAGGED ME BEHIND THE VIRTUAL SAFETY CAR.

Oscar: Well, she’s got a lot of opinions.

Charles: What kind of opinions?

Oscar: She has told me she doesn’t like safety cars because they’re “boring,” and that red flags are annoying because she has to wait.

Max: I respect it.

Oscar: But she does like when there’s a big crash because she gets to say, “Uh oh!”

Lando: NO BECAUSE IMAGINE YOU BIN IT AND YOU HEAR A TINY LITTLE “UH OH” OVER THE RADIO.

Max: I would retire.

Oscar: She also said if I ever win a race, she wants to do the shoey with me.

Lando: THAT’S HORRIBLE. DON’T LET HER DO THAT.

Oscar: Felicity already said no.

Lando: Good. I’m still recovering from the fact that you have a whole wife and a daughter.

Oscar: You’ll be fine.

Lando: WILL I.

Oscar: No.

Lando: GREAT.

Lando: I’M NOT OVER IT.

Carlos: We know.

Lando: YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER.

Oscar: I do.

Lando: A WHOLE DAUGHTER.

Oscar: That is usually how it works.

Lando: YOU NEVER TOLD ME.

Oscar: You never asked.

Lando: WHO ASKS, “HEY, DO YOU SECRETLY HAVE A WHOLE TODDLER?”

Charles: I might start.

Lando: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Oscar: It’s not that big of a deal.

Lando: NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL???

Oscar: She’s just a tiny person.

Lando: A TINY PERSON WHO WATCHES F1 AND HAS OPINIONS.

Oscar: Correct.

Lando: I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS.

Pierre: Bro, breathe.

Lando: NO.

[bucketbueckers]

COME AROUND

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content: language, kinda angsty (but with a happy ending because above all else, i am my own target audience), friends to lovers to exes to lovers, too many gatsby references, teenage awkardness, hopkins!p, sexuality, generational fumble from paige, mental health, slight injury, painfully long

wc: 27.0k synopsis: You were always a little tender-hearted. That’s why your friends told you to stay far, far away from Paige Bueckers. You tried, you honestly did – but Paige was magnetic, and she loved you, and you were just a little too weak to say no. Eventually, you’d have to come to terms with the realization that the both of you were growing up far too fast and that there were many lessons still left to be learned, although you never thought that moment of reckoning would come in the fashion that it did. Despite losing your way over the years, the beautiful thing about life is that you always find your way back home. notes: kinda funny that i thought this was gonna be like 5-6k words long...lol sike 😍 last night's game actually killed me but what do i actually know about basketball. i just work here. this fic came to me in a fever dream and was not planned out at all, is poorly proof-read, and at the end of the day i dont actually know if its good or not cause im sick of reading it. also. please let me know how we feel about the sexuality/process of coming out. i tried to make it as authentic as possible (i did NOT feel like writing homophobia, paige and reader got enough shit going on in this one shot) but lowkey...idk how it works. crazy lore drop but when i realized i liked girls i said "ok" and went on with my day and then eventually got outed to my family so like..oh well. i think that's it though but as always let me know what y'all think and pls pls enjoy 🫶

tags: @unadulteratedcyclepaper @avvwritesstufff @surferandskater5

You were always a little tender hearted — or so you’ve been told. Your heart lives perpetually on your sleeve, bared, bleeding, beating persistently regardless of the way it breaks under the slightest pressure. You’re a patchwork of criss-crossing bandages, an amalgamation of stitches and sutures; nevertheless, you still find the bravery to love and open up your heart in spite of it all. You wouldn’t say that you let people walk all over you. You’re outspoken and proud of it, opinionated and driven. In the same breath, you’re sensitive and trusting – perhaps to a fault, but that’s just who you are.

You don’t think this is a character flaw. Yes, you get hurt, but that’s inevitable. You like to think that if people like you stopped putting love and compassion into the world, then it would all go to shit eventually. You like to think that there is someone out there who will see your effort for what it is and care enough to protect your heart as if it were their own. Platonically, romantically, you didn’t particularly mind – you wanted to forge genuine connections with people. You wanted to love in whatever form that came to be. So, yes. You get hurt. Yes, it would be easier for you to not care so much at all, but if people gave up so quickly, then how would we grow? How can we expect to glean something from the world if it was a depleted resource?

Hopkins, Minnesota, was a quaint little city, but it was where you grew up. Elementary and middle school was… well, elementary and middle school. You learned a lot about yourself, about others, and made a few close friends that have stuck by you for years. Then high school came around and things shifted. Your classmates were confusing mixtures of self-absorbed and altruistic, trying too hard to be one thing or the other, and it was this strange imbalance between finding who you’re supposed to be versus staying true to what you’ve known. It’s that weird thing called growing up, and sure, everyone does it – in a literal sense as they grow older physically, but also as they change their minds and learn new things about the world and themselves, although growing up in high school is just so daunting. It’s like you’re supposed to have all of the right answers, right now, which is scary because you don’t even have the right answers for algebra yet you’re supposed to make life-altering decisions about the person you are?

You digress, though. Freshman year is decent. You get into a steady rhythm, join a couple of clubs that will look good on college applications, and you make a few new friends, ones that feel a little more like you despite the ones you’ve been holding onto since kindergarten. Sophomore year is full of changes, yet again.

But junior year? They weren’t lying when they said it would be the hardest year of high school. You were taking a few AP classes and a dual enrollment class or two to round it out, but despite that, junior year comes with a lot more internal realizations. You weren’t a sports person by any means, but Paige Bueckers soon became a name you were intimately familiar with. She’d led her team pretty far into the playoffs during sophomore year although they ultimately fell short. There was something about her that was magnetic and you wanted to know more, see more. She was a freshman phenom, a generational player.

And when you mention this to your friends, trying to screw up the courage to attend one of the Hopkins girls’ games, you’re adamant that this new shift has nothing to do with the six foot, blonde guard with whom you share a fourth period AP Lit class with. Sure, Paige is ridiculously pretty (even though you’re 100% straight), charming, and she has a way of drawing everyone in. You’d just like to be her friend and that’s all there is to it. You don’t stare at her as your literature teacher rambles on about whatever classic book you’re reading – you don’t remember if it’s To Kill a Mockingbird or The Great Gatsby, but as long as Paige is sitting one row in front and two chairs to the right of you, there probably isn’t a chance that you’ll find it in you to care.

Then, around late October, it’s time for group projects and you’re just hoping you’re not paired with someone who doesn’t want to do the work. When your teacher rattles off your name, pausing once to glance at the rest of the roster, and calling out Paige as your partner, you aren’t entirely sure if this is something you want to celebrate or dread. You look up from your open book, The Great Gatsby, although you’ve read this dozens of times already, and you find that Paige is already turning back to look at you. Her face is a mix of easygoing confidence and gentle kindness all wrapped up in a radiant smile that makes your heart drop out of your ass.

Your classmates shuffle around and she slides into the desk seat next to yours, her knees bumping awkwardly on the sides, but she hardly pays it any mind as she introduces herself to you, as if she isn’t the most famous seventeen-year-old you’ve ever sat next to. You figure that her introduction is more out of humility than anything else. It’s probably daunting to be her, intimidating to bear the weight of countless expectations on shoulders that are barely broad enough to fill out her jersey. You give her your name and she repeats it back to you slowly, testing the pronunciation on her tongue, and grinning when you nod, ignoring the blush that creeps up on your neck.

“A’ight,” Paige says, rubbing her hands together in a way that looks corny as hell, but you can’t help but be amused by it, “What do you think?”

The prompt on the board is simple – by AP Lit standards, at least. Explain the symbolism of the green light. Common interpretations think of the light as a representation of Gatsby’s love for Daisy, the American Dream, or money. Do you believe any of these interpretations (or an interpretation of your own) reflect the themes of the story and Gatsby, or do you believe the narrator, Nick Carraway, has unreliably pushed his own thoughts and interpretations onto Gatsby? How does the green light tie into the broader themes of Gatsby and Daisy’s relationship? Your project must be in the form of a PowerPoint presentation…

You stop reading as the rest of the prompt goes into the rubric. “You first,” you tell Paige, smiling when she huffs dramatically.

“I think it’s supposed to represent Gatsby’s feelings for Daisy,” Paige states. “I mean, it’s constant, like Gatsby’s been in love with Daisy for years. Even before he went off to war. And he’s always starin’ at it at night. I do think Nick is putting his own thoughts into it. Like, by sayin’ Gatsby believes in the ‘orgastic future that year by year recedes before us.’ I’on even know what that means.” You can’t help but laugh at this, drawing a grin from Paige. “But you know what I mean, right? He fell in love with this girl before he went off to war, years pass and he’s alive but she’s married to another dude and he’s rich and lonely and I guess he’s close to her, but they ain’t really that close – I feel like that light just, you know, reminds him that she’s there.” Paige’s voice gets quieter the more she rambles, and when she catches the soft attentiveness in your features, she scratches the back of her neck, shy.

You smile at her. “You know, I wouldn’t have expected that kind of analysis from you,” you admit.

“Bro, what?” she exclaims, choking on a laugh as you dissolve into giggles. “I see how it is. It’s ‘cause I’m supposed to be a dumb jock, right?”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks hurting from the strength of your smile. “No. I mean, like what you said about the light reminding him that she’s there. I always thought I was the only one who interpreted it that way, too.” Paige’s gaze softens as she takes in your explanation. “I feel like Gatsby is trapped in two different times – the past, where he loved her, and the present, where he still loves her but can’t have her. The light simultaneously reminds him of what he’s lost but also what he could have, you know?” Paige nods, encouraging you to go on. “There’s a distance between them, literally, but I think Gatsby feels like Daisy is still within reach. That his dreams are still within reach. I don’t think he realizes he’s chasing a dream from five years ago, or that Daisy eventually moves on as Nick watches Daisy fall in and out of love with Gatsby.”

“That is…really depressing,” Paige says, which makes you laugh again, but the way she’s gazing at you makes you feel as though she’s seeing you in a different light.

You shrug a shoulder, trying to not think too hard about the way her blue eyes sparkle. “I cried over this book a couple of times. I’m kind of a professional now.”

“Now that’s somethin’ I’d expect from you,” Paige teases.

“Okay, jerk!” you gasp indignantly. “You don’t even know me. What makes you so sure of that?”

Paige hums, pretending to think about something, but her expression is undeniably smug. “Call it intuition. How about you let me get to know you and I’ll let you know if it’s true?”

Oh. You were definitely not expecting that one. Your heart thrums a little at the implication, but it softens ever so slightly because you can clearly make out the earnestness reflected in her eyes, the realization that despite the grandeur and the fame and the talent beyond her years, Paige is still human.

“Well,” you say in a manner that you hope is supposed to be coy, “we’re stuck together now for this project. Getting to know me is a little inevitable.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” Paige asks, her lips tugging into a teasing smirk, one that makes you feel exasperated – in a good way. “And what happens after the project? You still gonna let me hang around and annoy you?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, hating the way your pulse races, although you ignore it. “We’ll see if I still like you by then,” you say, which makes her smirk turn into a smile that’s a little more tender, less cocky.

“I can work with that,” she promises. And with that, the both of you start outlining your project. Paige throws in a comment here and there that makes you laugh, keeping the mood light as you work. At the end of the period, you punch your number into her phone, dutifully ignoring the grin on her face and the blush on yours. She texts you immediately after just to be sure, but she texts you during your next class to complain about how boring her history teacher is, too. Conversation comes easy with Paige. It’s like she just knows – knows you – and you’re not sure if that should scare you or excite you. Despite not knowing why your budding friendship with Paige feels so different, you just know that it feels right, and that was good enough for you.

Your last class of the day is a study hall and you’re sitting at a table in the back with two of your friends, Mack and Serena. You can all but feel the mood shift when you recount your day. The mere mention of Paige is enough for your friends to jump on the defensive.

“You need to stay away from her,” Mack says, her tone serious. You frown, glancing at Serena for some help, but she only shifts uncomfortably, finding her online work a lot more appealing than this conversation. “Paige is someone who’s gonna break your heart, okay?”

“It’s not even like that–”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Mack states firmly. “It wasn’t like that when Izy left, was it?”

Despite yourself, your expression sours, and Mack reclines as though she’s made her point. You suppose she has. Izy was your best friend. The two of you were attached at the hip since kindergarten, but in freshman year, she found a new group of friends. She had a lot more in common with them than she did with you – or so it seemed – and she didn’t necessarily cut you off, but it probably would have been easier if she did. The two of you talked sparingly, plans always seemed to fall through, and the loss of that friendship hurt just as much as a break up would.

“Or ‘he-who-shall-not-be-named,’” Serena adds unhelpfully, because all it does is twist your heart again. He who shall not be named, or more colloquially known as Logan, was your first boyfriend. Granted, you only dated him for about three months in the eighth grade, but the break up turned your world upside down. He was your first something. That wasn’t anything to scoff at and he wasn’t kind in the aftermath, so it’s not really your fault for feeling impossibly upset about it. Maybe there was just something about you that made it difficult for people to want to stick around, but maybe there was something about you that managed to pick wrong every time.

“Those are different,” you argue. You can’t help the way your voice wavers, and you feel angry at yourself all over again for getting upset about this. “I was friends with Izy for ten years and Logan was my first boyfriend. They meant something to me.”

“Sure,” Mack concedes. “But you felt a lot for them. Watching you work through that heartbreak…” She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve been hurt by a lot of ignorant people, and, yeah, you always get back up at the end of the day, but I know it weighs on you.” Mack pauses, finding her thoughts as you stare imploringly at her. “People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. You know as soon as she gets an offer, she’s leaving Minnesota and she’s not gonna look back. She’s destined for something a little greater than Hopkins.”

You swallow thickly, Mack’s words hitting you harder than she probably intended. Part of you knows that she’s right. Paige is only a junior but she’s a top prospect coming out of high school. She’s going to go to a great college for basketball. UConn, South Carolina, Notre Dame – one of the dynasties. You’re sure she’d get an offer to stay home and attend the University of Minnesota, but you also know that she’s worth a lot more than Minnesota. The other part of you, the part more connected to that bleeding heart of yours, doesn’t want to listen to Mack. It holds out hope that you wouldn’t be just another part of Paige’s past – maybe you could be part of her future.

Mack glances up at you again, studying your expression, and she softens. “Hey,” she says, gathering your attention. “I’m not gonna make a choice for you. If you wanna be her friend…go for it. I just want you to be careful who you show your heart to. Some people take it for granted.”

You nod carefully, appreciative of the way she looks out for you, and the two of you return to your work. Only moments later, your phone buzzes on the table. A notification from Paige lights up on your screen, then two, and you smile despite yourself and open your messages. You text her back, already pushing your conversation with Mack and Serena to the back of your mind, and you hardly notice their concerned glances as you respond.

Your project isn’t due until mid-December, the Friday before winter break, but you and Paige spend nearly every other day together when she doesn’t have practice. It’s a steady rhythm for the two of you: sitting through your literature class together, exchanging teasing glances and text messages when your teacher isn’t looking, complaining about the other classes you don’t share with each other, and finding yourselves at one or the other’s house to work on your project or simply enjoy each other’s company. You’ll admit that the two of you don’t get much work done most days, instead filling the time with pointless conversations about nothing but mean everything. Hours with Paige feels like mere minutes and you don’t part until a parent texts about dinner and you have to go your separate ways.

She invites you out to one of her games. It’s on a Friday night, and at first, you want to decline, hearing Mack’s words swirl through your brain once more. People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. You don’t want to have to share Paige’s attention, which is a realization that shocks you to your core. It’s dangerously possessive and honestly, it flusters you a little. You’d never been so territorial over a friend’s time like you have been with Paige. Perhaps territorial isn’t even the right word. You have no claim over Paige, nor does she have any claim over you. You don’t like girls and you don’t like her in that way, even if that disjointed flutter in your chest makes you wonder otherwise. You don’t.

Paige seems to read your expression perfectly. That’s a new thing, too. You have been friends for less than a month, although it feels like you’ve known her forever. You know her favorite color, the women she grew up idolizing, the larger-than-life dreams that you know she’s going to make come true because Paige is nothing if not a girl who works hard and believes in herself. You know the messier parts of Paige, her parent’s divorce, her unyielding faith, and the uncharacteristically insecure “I like girls. Does that change anything with us?” that she’d whispered over the phone one night (your heart had raced and you felt warmth creep up your cheeks; you didn’t know what that meant, but you wholeheartedly meant it when you promised her that it wouldn’t change anything).

“You won’t even know I’m there,” you say to Paige, referring back to the game, and her brows furrow in a stupefied confusion. “Are you, like, aware of how many people go to your games?”

Paige rolls her eyes, but the action lacks any real heat as a smile spreads across her face, slow and insufferable in that way only Paige is capable of. “If you’re in the stands, I’m not gonna care about anyone else,” she promises, which makes your heart skip a beat. “I want you there.”

You didn’t really need much convincing after that, so on Friday night, you find yourself in the student section. You’re not even sure who the Royals are playing – probably a district rival – but the one thing you’re sure of is that Paige oozes with confidence, an easy grin on her face as she warms up on the court. She’s chatting with one of her teammates, although her eyes scan the gym imperceptibly. Then, her eyes are sliding across your figure, taking in your – her – Hopkins basketball hoodie that she forced you to wear, showcasing her last name and her number on the back of it, and her grin softens as she waves at you.

That night, Paige plays like she has a point to prove. She’s unguardable from the three-point line, demanding in the paint like she’s prime Lebron James, and she slices through the other teams defense seamlessly as she makes near impossible passes to her wide open teammates. Paige is full of energy, a searing combination of adrenaline and pure love for the game, but the trait that truly captures your attention is the unfiltered cockiness. Off the court, Paige is humble, although you’re still trying to figure out if that’s truly who she is or if it’s her protecting herself from all of the eyes that are on her constantly. But on the court? Paige plays like she’s the best player in the state (which she is) and she plays like she knows she’s the best player in the state (she knows she is). The only word that comes to mind is menace. Paige isn’t a dick, but when she sinks a three, she throws up three fingers as she back pedals for defense. When she landed an impossible buzzer beater to send off the first half, she’d glanced down at her arm, tapping on her wrist as if she were wearing a watch. Then, late in the third quarter, when she stole the ball from an opposing player and took it across the court for the easiest layup of her life and stole the ball again when the other team was trying to inbound it (she scored on that one, too), her celebration was directed at you. She pointed at you in the crowd, a grin on her face and pride in her eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her, shaking your head as the warmth spread through your body.

Seeing Paige play in person is like seeing her in a different light, and honestly, you feel like you know her a little better now. You feel more drawn to her. She offers to walk you home after the game. At first, you want to decline. She just played out of her mind and lead her team to a blowout win against whoever the fuck and your mom is just a call away. Paige insists, reminding you that your houses really aren’t that far apart, and you suppose you can’t really argue against that one.

She keeps you entertained the entire walk back, cracking jokes and recounting some of her favorite plays from the game, and when her knuckles brush against yours as she rambles, you find that you really don’t mind that spark of electricity that runs up your spine at the contact. She tests the waters, pressing closer and closer until finally, she links her pinky with yours under the streetlight; you smile at her, something that’s simultaneously soft and welcoming and laced with the sudden realization about yourself that you’d been putting off the entire time you’d known Paige. You liked her. She glances over at you, mid sentence with a content smile on her face. When she registers the fact that you’ve been staring at her, she stutters, fumbling over her words, and you can’t help your laughter as she blushes bright pink.

It should probably scare you a lot more than it does. Liking a girl is scary and daunting but liking Paige, your best friend, feels like something new entirely. You remember Mack’s words again. People talk, you know. Paige talks to a lot of people. She’s not the type of person to stay in one place. As quickly as they’d popped into your brain, you push them to the back of your mind. Mack doesn’t know Paige like you. That much you’re sure of. And if you get hurt in the process of trying to live and experience things for the first time and giving your heart out to someone, then so be it; you were used to it by now, but the gentleness of Paige’s gaze under the moonlight feels like she’s promising that she wouldn’t hurt you.

The two of you pause at your doorstep. You can hear the gentle thrum of crickets, the drag of the wind across grass and leaves. Paige stands tall over you, her expression soft as she gazes down at you with what seems like a flicker of hope – for what, you’re not sure. The air between you feels charged, electric, like you’re opposite ends of a magnet and it’s only a matter of time before you fall into each other entirely.

“So,” she murmurs, cocking a wry smile at you. The usual sharp edges of her confidence has rounded out, enveloping you both in a sort of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the most confusing and best way possible.

“So,” you agree, drawing a quiet huff of laughter from Paige, who runs the flat of her palm across her jaw, contemplative. You give her the space to find her words – she’s done the same for you many times; she was usually the talker between the two of you, but you’ve come to find that she’s an amazing listener, too. A beat passes and she doesn’t say anything, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, and that’s when you decide to step in. “You played great tonight,” you admit.

Paige blinks, as if she’d forgotten all about the basketball game she spent your entire walk home rambling about. Her brows relax, her smile turning bashful, and you can clearly see the humble pride in her eyes, illuminated by porchlight. “You were there,” she says. “Had to show out.” You roll your eyes fondly, your heart thundering in your chest. “Does this mean you’ll come to more of my games?”

You pause, pretending to think about it, but you’re sure the smile on your face gives you away as you respond, “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Paige sighs, playfully exasperated, and you give in easily. “I’ll be there. I had to make sure you were actually good at this basketball thing.”

“My biggest cheerleader,” she mumbles dryly. The sheer excitement and relief on her face betrays her words and her tone and you can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you say. Your voice is hardly a whisper, but it seems to echo in this little bubble of space that the two of you have created.

“I – yeah, I mean, of course,” Paige stammers. She clears her throat, exhaling a long, deep breath, and you’re certain the fondness shows on your face as you stare at her. Paige quirks a smile, slightly embarrassed. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not!” you exclaim, laughing for real now, which just makes Paige dissolve into laughter of her own. Soon enough, your giggles die down, and you’re both staring at each other with soft, captured smiles. The awkwardness of the moment melts away into something lighter; briefly, you wonder if she’d been standing this close the entire time – you can feel the warmth of her body as she stands mere inches away from you. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move, and neither do you. You don’t shy away when her fingers tentatively brush across your waist, her body eclipsing yours, and the both of you are slowly inching towards each other, breaths mingling when your front door bursts open and your little brother pops his head out with a shout of your name. You and Paige scramble away from each other, feeling like you’ve been caught red-handed.

“Get inside!” you hiss at your little brother, not awaiting his response as you push him back inside, closing the door and leaning against it. Part of you feels like crawling into a hole and never coming out of it. Your gaze returns to Paige, who’s staring at you with a mix of amusement, embarrassment, and a whole lot of affection. You sigh, feeling both resigned and like you’d been cheated out of something, and you press your forehead into the door to curb the awkwardness. “Sorry,” you say, knowing full well why you’re apologizing but also understanding that acknowledging the need to apologize is the same as acknowledging the fact that you and Paige were about to do something that would drastically change the course of your friendship.

“S’okay,” Paige says earnestly. You lift your head to meet her gaze, hoping that she’s not just saying it to make you feel better about yourself, but you find nothing but honesty in her features. Her hand brushes against yours once more, a gentle smile on her face. “I’ll text you when I’m home, yeah?”

You nod, exhaling again, mustering up a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes due to the overwhelming embarrassment. “Yeah. Night, Paige.”

“Goodnight,” she says again, her expression soft, and this time, she does leave, her hands buried in her pockets. You swear she glances back at you but it’s too dark to tell for sure. Tentatively, you make your way inside, unwilling to meet your brother’s eyes. It’s not until you’re getting changed for bed that you realize you’re still wearing the hoodie she’d given to you.

You pull it off slowly, carefully, like it’s a prized possession. To you, it may as well be. After what transpired on your front porch only moments ago – or what almost transpired on your front porch, the fact that you’re in possession of her hoodie feels strangely intimate to you. It feels right, too, which is probably more concerning, but you don’t have time to dwell on it as your phone lights up with a message from Paige, then another one. Both texts are simple with the first one reading “Home” and the second one bidding you one last goodnight with a heart emoji. You respond in kind, and when your eyes find her hoodie again, you can’t help the fond, lingering smile that spreads across your face.

You and Paige don’t talk about the almost-kiss on your front porch the morning after. You don’t talk about it the day after that, or on Monday morning when she meets you in the parking lot at school. In fact, the both of you pretend like it didn’t happen at all. It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You start to wonder if it even happened at all – if it wasn’t for your brain conjuring images of Paige so close to you, her hand splayed on your waist, you would be sure that you had imagined it.

So, while the two of you don’t talk about it, you do a lot of thinking about it, probably enough for the both of you. You have a lot of new things to consider, such as the fact you almost kissed your best friend (and the fact that you wanted to kiss your best friend), the fact that you have feelings for your best friend, and the fact that you have feelings for your best friend who is a girl. There’s nothing wrong with girls liking girls. That wasn’t your concern. The situation as a whole is just new and unexpected and you don’t have a lot of the answers you’ve been searching for – like do you even like like girls or do you just like like Paige? Do you only like girls or do you like boys, too? You and Logan were thirteen. You’re not much older now, but at that age, it’s difficult to determine if you actually liked anyone in a sense that wasn’t completely platonic or if you were just trying to pretend that you did so you could fit in with everyone else.

You’re fine with the sexuality crisis – for now. You have bigger things to worry about, like being attracted to your best friend. You were no expert by any means, but you were smart enough to know that having feelings for your best friend was generally a pretty terrible idea. For starters, you’re not even sure if Paige likes you back. You’re sure that she’d be cool enough to remain your friend after rejecting you, but you’re not sure if you’d be able to handle the embarrassment of going from friends to extremely awkward friends. On the other hand, there is a chance she wouldn’t want to associate with you, either. The one thing you’re certain of is that you could not handle losing Paige – as a friend or otherwise. In essence, you’re stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

The more that you think about your predicament, the more you realize. A week later, you’re overthinking yours and Paige’s most recent hangout. You’d gone over to her house to “work on the project,” but that had actually turned into Paige flopping onto her bed dramatically and complaining about being sore from practice. Somehow, that meant she wouldn’t be able to contribute, and somehow, that meant the two of you would just have to binge the entire High School Musical series. You spent hours curled into Paige’s side on her bed, her hand tracing patterns onto your shoulder as the movie played on, but you didn’t really pay any mind to Travis or Danielle or whoever the main characters were. Paige was intoxicating, casual in the way she held you, and you sat through the entire movie keenly aware of the way her body pressed into yours and the scent of her cologne on her neck – but you’re getting off track. A new fear about your situation has manifested and despite Paige being the one initially worried that her liking girls would make things uncomfortable for the two of you, you’re now the one wondering if your sexuality is a reason for discomfort.

You worry that you’re the one taking advantage of your friendship. Are you overstepping friendship boundaries just because you’re incredibly close with Paige, or is there a subconscious belief that just because Paige likes girls, too, that means you can invade her personal space like they don’t matter? You worry that you’re making her uncomfortable and she’s just too polite to say anything about it. However, you also understand the fact that just because Paige likes girls doesn’t mean she likes you. That’s simultaneously a source of relief and dread. Relief because honestly, nothing has to change between the two of you. Dread because as time goes on, your feelings for Paige only get stronger, and you’d really like it if she liked you, too.

You decide to put your impending mental breakdown on the back burner. You have actual problems to worry about now, such as the due date of your project that’s quickly closing in. Your literature teacher was usually pretty lenient, but the project was still worth a huge chunk of your grade and you’re sure Paige would kill you herself if receiving a bad score on the project meant she wouldn’t be academically eligible to play basketball. The two of you make a conscious effort to lock in during the last week of the project, a little crunched for time as you’d spent so much of your “project time” talking for hours and watching movies. Granted, Paige ends up shouldering a lot more of the work as time passes on although you do your best to help out in between daydreams about her hand on your waist again.

On Thursday, the night before the project is due and two days before winter break, things seem to reach their tipping point.

You and Paige are basically finished with the project – you were proofreading and scanning your PowerPoint for academic content and ensuring your sentences made any bit of sense. Paige was pressed into your side, “quality checking the designs” as she’d said, but you just thought she was full of shit. She’s unnaturally quiet as the two of you work, until she shifts, her legs stretching out next to yours. “Think the only thing this project’s taught me is that this book is depressing as shit,” she says to you once you click over to the slide titled Gatsby and Daisy: Doomed by Time.

You hum, glancing over at her. She’s swamped in an oversized hoodie but looks impossibly comfortable as she reclines on your bed. “Alright,” you say, “I’ll bite. Why?”

She flips onto her side, explaining, “Literally everything was working against them. Time, society, people. Gatsby and Daisy were the epitome of right person, wrong time and there was nothin’ they could do to, like, get around that, you know? He went off to war, she got married, and he missed his shot ‘cause time keeps movin’. Daisy chose stability over love – Tom’s rich and can provide for her. But Gatsby was rich too. I’on get it.”

“Well,” you murmur, “wealth is not usually a good replacement for actual love.”

“You don’t think Gatsby loved Daisy?”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t love her. I’m saying he doesn’t love the version of Daisy that actually exists,” you explain. Paige gazes at you, a furrow in her brow like she’s realizing something new — about you, about herself, you can’t be sure. “He’s so obsessed with this idealized version of her from way back when and he just doesn’t understand that’s not really who she is anymore. I feel like that’s kinda the point of the green light, too.” As you think about your next words, your voice drops to a near whisper, your throat tightening with a sudden, unrestrained emotion that you can’t quite keep at bay. You meet her eyes, your stare unwavering, hoping that she can read between the lines. “Physically, the light is far away, right? It’s out of reach. But also – it’s a light. It’s impossible to hold. It’s a lesson about the impossibility of desire, that some dreams cost too much.”

Paige is quiet for a few beats, her eyes searching yours. You have always been intentional with your words. That was one of the things she knew to be true about you. Now, she seems to fully recognize your words for what they are — a confession for what you’re otherwise too afraid to say out loud. You’ve given her an out. She could sit here and wax poetic about the same topics and themes you’ve been debating over the last two months, about whether or not Gatsby truly loved Daisy, if the feelings Daisy had for Gatsby were worth giving up her life of comfort and peace, if Gatsby were worth it. Her hand brushes your waist again, her fingertips light against the skin of your navel where your sweatshirt has ridden up, and the jolt of electricity that courses through your veins reminds you of just how risky this whole thing was. You’ve all but given Paige your heart on a silver platter, perhaps too foolish or naive in the way you always search for more, more, more. Maybe you’re asking her for too much. You know she’s leaving Hopkins the first chance she gets. All of that is pushed to the back of your mind when her gaze traces your figure. 

Finally, she speaks. “I don’t think it’s too far away,” she says, understanding exactly what you were trying to say. “Not for you.” Her words ease the tension in your shoulders, her thumb brushing against your skin reassuringly. Her voice is firm, full of conviction, like she’s never been more sure of anything else before. She pauses, your eyes locked together, and her features soften ever so slightly. “Not for us.”

You quirk a small, relieved smile, relishing in the way Paige’s face relaxes, too. “You don’t think it’s impossible?” You don’t say the quiet part out loud – the “You don’t think we’re impossible?”

But Paige knows you. You’ve given more to her  than you’ve ever given to anyone in the past, friend or otherwise, and she doesn’t hesitate. “No.” Her hand settles fully on your waist now, squeezing you gently. “And even if it was… you’re worth it.” She smiles softly, her expression vulnerable and trusting despite the fact that she’s opening herself up to get hurt, too. You’re beginning to realize that the chance of getting hurt is just a risk everyone takes.

You can’t help the entire way your face softens at her confession. You realize that subconsciously, she’d said the very words you’d been hoping to hear for some time now although you never had the vocabulary to tell yourself that – that you never had the vocabulary to tell her that. But you watch the way she studies you, the way she swallows her nerves, and you begin to understand that maybe she doesn’t have the vocabulary, either, but she’s trying her best regardless. This is something that the both of you are doing for the first time; granted, you had one previous relationship, but this new thing between you and Paige feels a whole lot different. She’s the first person you think you actually consciously had feelings for, the first girl, and despite your relief and excitement, that reminder is enough to make you clam up.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly, and you pull your laptop between the two of you. “Well, we should probably get this finished,” you say with the grace of an elephant tromping through weeds. You click over to the next slide. “Does this look fine to you?”

Paige goes oddly silent, her brows furrowing in confusion and disbelief. “Uh, what?” she says.

“I said does this–”

“No, I heard you,” Paige interrupts. When you don’t meet her eyes, she sighs, exasperated, and closes the lid on your laptop, pushing it to the foot of your bed despite your protests. Then, her hand is sliding around your waist again, resting on the small of your back and pulling you onto your side so you come face to face. Your mouth clamps shut; the heat of Paige’s gaze feels like it’s enough to pick you apart, to melt you entirely, and you know well enough by now that you’re not getting out of this conversation without explaining yourself to her. “Why’d you freak out?” Paige’s voice softens, tinged with an anxious embarrassment as she adds, “I thought we — did I say too much? Do you not…?”

Instantly, you feel guilt all over. You didn’t realize how bad the situation sounded before now, with you changing the topic uncomfortably after Paige basically told you she liked you. “No, I—” You falter, your words failing you, but Paige stares at you with a hopeful patience. “I’ve never… done this before,” you confess. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever liked.”

Realization dawns on Paige’s face. “Oh,” she says, a mixture of relief and understanding lacing her tone. 

“Yeah,” you agree, a vulnerable smile quirking on your lips. “It’s new. A little scary. I really like you but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“S’okay,” Paige murmurs. Her hand finds yours. “I really like you, too. We can figure it out together.” Her breath catches, eyes widening just a bit. “I mean, if that’s somethin’ you’d want. No pressure.”

You laugh, eyes twinkling as Paige’s cheeks flush pink. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” you tease her. 

Paige huffs, flopping dramatically onto her other side and putting her back to you. “Goodbye!” 

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your cheeks but you do stop laughing. You reach out, resting your hand tentatively over her bicep as you hook your chin over her shoulder. “Hey, come on,” you say. “I can’t be the only one who has to be vulnerable.” You can nearly visualize Paige’s eye roll, but she does shift again, meeting your eyes. “I’d like that. Figuring this out with you, I mean.”

Her eyes light up, a slow smile dragging across her face. You don’t even think she’s consciously aware of how happy she looks. “You’re for real?”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Yes, Paige, I’m for real.”

“Good,” she states, beaming.

“Now can we finish our project?”

Paige groans dramatically, rolling over again until she’s sprawled out over you. She hitches one of her obnoxiously long legs across yours, looping an arm around your waist and making herself at home like she’s done this hundreds of times. You can’t stop the flutter in your chest, smiling despite yourself. “Do we gotta?”

“Do you gotta pass AP Lit?” you retort. 

That prompts a sigh from Paige, who untangles herself from you to reach for the laptop she’d pushed haphazardly to the foot of the bed. You miss her warmth immediately, but she’s not gone for long before she’s leaning back against your headboard, your thighs pressed together. She doesn’t make any move to turn it back on, her eyes finding yours instead. You look at her curiously.

“I just want you to know I’m serious about this,” she says honestly, taking you by surprise. “About us.” You soften. “I know a lot of people have hurt you. I’on wanna be one of them. You’re my best friend, you know? I care about you. So…let’s take this slow for now, lemme know how you’re feelin’, yeah?”

You nod, smiling gently and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Same goes for you,” you say, leaning into her a little. She presses herself into your body, her chin brushing against your temple as she nods her head. 

“Promise,” she murmurs. 

And with that vow lingering in the air, the two of you share private, almost starstruck grins and get back to work. Once you finally call it quits fifteen minutes later and you submit your project, Paige is all too content to push your laptop to the side again as she wraps an arm around you fully and begins her scroll through Netflix despite the fact that you know the two of you will be watching High School Musical sooner rather than later. You grin to yourself when she does eventually put it on, not fighting the way your cheeks burn when she absentmindedly plays with your fingers or the way your heart races when she shifts to get comfortable, your legs tangling together. 

As you watch the movie, Paige’s words circulate on repeat in your brain. A lot of people have hurt you. I don’t want to be one of them. You know better than anyone that getting hurt is just another part of life. Despite yourself, you can’t help but believe her, confident that no matter what, your heart will be safe in her hands. You don’t think much of Mack’s warning, of Paige’s celebrity, of just how young the two of you are to be making these kinds of promises. You’re not thinking of the future at all. Your happiness clouds your judgement, and whether you realize it or not, you and Paige are operating on borrowed time. 

Things with Paige are great. Scratch that, they’re nothing short of amazing. The two of you spend the entirety of winter break attached at the hip, splitting your time between your house where you drink copious amounts of hot chocolate and binge silly Christmas movies and her house where you and Drew, her little brother, gang up on her in snowball fights. She whines about the fact it’s two on one, but you point out the fact she’s got an arm like a quarterback and it’s only fair. She only really understands what you mean by that when she launches a snowball at you hard enough to bruise your side, which cuts your snow day short. Paige apologizes profusely, much to your amusement, and she insists on “nursing you back to health” which, in retrospect, seems to have been a clever ploy to get you away from her family and into her arms in the comfort of her room — not that you really needed much convincing for that. 

Sometimes, your days are spent in the park, when Paige gets too restless being inside and wants to play basketball. The two of you shovel away enough snow to reveal the three point line and you rebound for Paige as she shoots. She only manages to get a couple of shots in before her hands get too cold and she starts complaining that the only way to warm them back up is if you’ll hold them. You oblige, you always do, endlessly endeared by her (mostly because you can always spot her gloves hanging out of her back pocket).

The park becomes a place of comfort for the two of you. It’s late December in Minnesota so you almost always have the park to yourselves. You’re able to talk freely without either of your annoying little brothers constantly barging in or worrying about your parents catching you. Paige is out to her family and the Bueckers support her wholeheartedly. You’re not out to your parents yet. You know they wouldn’t particularly mind, either; if anything, they’d probably just implement a really strict open door policy, but it’s still all really new to you. You like Paige. A lot. You fall for her more and more everyday. She’s goofy, sweet (even when she’s teasing you or getting on your nerves), confident, and she always knows how to make you laugh. She’s attentive and she listens. Liking Paige is something you’ve accepted, but you can’t help but be scared of the fact that you don’t really know anything about yourself. 

You can’t figure out if you like girls or if you just like Paige. You can’t look at anyone that’s not her and before her, you’d never even looked twice at another girl. Sure, you always averted your eyes when you passed Victoria’s Secret in the mall and you were really obsessed with Shego from Kim Possible and Starfire from Teen Titans, which could mean nothing. You can’t figure out if you like boys, either, if Logan was a one time thing or if you’d just confused yourself because you wanted to fit in. You don’t know if you’re a lesbian, or if you’re bisexual, something in between or nothing at all. You should be fine with knowing that you like Paige. People always say you don’t have to label it, but labeling means that you know and that it’s real and you can’t help but think that because you don’t know what you’re doing, that you’re doing it wrong or you’re just faking it all.

So you don’t tell your parents. You’re still trying to make sense of it all and you tell Paige as much, honestly a little fearful of her rejection. Part of you feels like you’re leading her on because you can’t give her a straight (no pun intended) answer.

“You don’t gotta have it figured out right now,” she tells you a few days after Christmas. The two of you are back in the park, savoring the peace in the emptiness as you sit side by side on the swings, swaying gently.

You groan a little. “I hate when people say that,” you respond. “I feel like I should know.”

Her eyes find you, warm and patient despite the chill and the fact you’ve been going back and forth on this for days now with you stressing out and Paige being endlessly reassuring about it. “Maybe you do know and you just can’t, like, put it into words?” she offers, drawing your attention. “Sexuality is a spectrum. It doesn’t have to be difficult. You don’t gotta look back on your life for evidence to prove it or whatever. Just be you.”

You fall silent, her words hitting home, and you hate the fact that you’ve been losing your mind over this and all it really took to find some clarity was a conversation with Paige on a swing. Maybe she was right. She usually is about things like this. But you can’t help but feel like you’re missing something. You were the type of person who needed a reason or an explanation for everything. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” you rush out, barely registering the raise of Paige’s eyebrows. “I know we said slow. I can do that. But I really like you, like really really like you, and that’s all I’m certain of. I don’t know everything else and I feel like I should because you know everything else—”

“I don’t,” she interrupts, but you keep rambling.

“—but I like you. You’re sweet and you’re kind and you understand me when I don’t understand myself. You always make me feel secure and I hate that this is so confusing!”

Her gloved hand slides into your hoodie pocket. Her fingers tangle with yours, calming a tremor you hadn’t realized you were harboring. She murmurs your name, pulling your gaze to hers, and she squeezes your hand. “Breathe,” she instructs. You do, calming the incessant thrum of your heart. “There we go.” When you’re feeling a little more stable, she continues. “You’re overthinking it.”

“I don’t wanna mess up with you,” you confess, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders when it’s out.

“You won’t,” she promises. “We agreed we’d figure it out, remember? And even if you do mess up, it’s not gonna change how I feel about you. I like you, like really really like you.” This makes you laugh, your breath steaming in the air. “That’s what matters. You like me. I like you. You don’t need to explain why you feel a way and you can’t fake how you feel. I know you.” The expression on Paige’s face is unbelievably fond and you can’t help yourself when you smile, your cheeks heating up. “See?” Paige says with a grin, poking your cheek. “Can’t fake that blush, ma.”

“You’re impossible,” you huff, pushing her hand away, unable to curb your grin. But your rejection does little to stop Paige. Her hands find your sides, tickling you, and you immediately begin squirming in the midst of your giggles. “Paige! You are so annoying—!”

You lose your balance on the swing and you fall off, tumbling safely to the bed of snow beneath you with a slight oof sound. Paige follows you down, the both of you smiling as you try to catch your breaths. She wipes a tear off your cheek that had slipped out in your fits of laughter and it’s only then that you register your position. She’s straddling you, the beanie on her head lopsided from your scuffle, but the joy on her face is radiant despite the blush on her cheeks — whether it’s from the cold or her feelings for you, you don’t know, and when her hand lingers on her cheek, her expression softening, you find that you don’t care. “Paige,” you murmur. You feel your heart slamming against your ribcage, but for different reasons now. 

“Can I kiss you?” she blurts. Judging by the way her face contorts, it seems that she hadn’t expected to say that out loud, but you’re nodding, hands reaching up to grip the collar of her coat and you bring her down to your level. 

When your lips meet, you feel warm all over, like you’re not laying in the snow with Paige’s legs bracketing your thighs. It’s tentative, uncoordinated, and it’s clear that neither of you really know what you’re doing, but it’s your first kiss and it’s with Paige and it’s nothing short of perfect. Your lips move against hers slowly, her hands gentle on your cheeks. Your grip on her coat loosens, wrapping around her neck and pulling her a little closer to you. Her nose brushes against yours and you gasp from the chill of it, which causes her to sigh against you. You’re not really sure who’s leading, but for once, your brain is blissfully quiet; your heart pounds, feeling nothing but a nervous excitement and unfiltered adoration.

You break away for air. Your breaths mingle, clouds of steam fogging between you two and Paige grins down at you, her expression full of fondness and something electric that makes you want to drag her back down again. So you do, your hands a little more insistent this time, and she responds eagerly. Despite the intensity, Paige is unbelievably gentle and each and every press of her lips against yours is sweet. And it’s corny, but your brain feels a little clearer after having Paige’s lips on yours, like you no longer have to search for answers. Like she’s the answer.

She pulls away, her forehead against yours, and you press a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her eyes open slowly, a blush and a smile simultaneously appearing on her face in response. “What was that for?” she asks.

You smile, shrugging a little in response. “It felt right,” you respond, which only seems to make her smile grow. “Someone once told me I don’t always have to have an explanation.”

Paige huffs out a quiet laugh, her eyes crinkling in amusement and fondness. “They sound really smart,” she jokes. 

Your hand finds her cheek, your thumb stroking her dimple. “She is,” you say seriously. Paige’s expression softens, leaning into your touch. “She’s the best person I know.”

“I bet she thinks the same about you,” Paige whispers. 

Despite yourself, you grin, connecting your lips again. The chill nips at your cheeks but the weight of Paige on top of you grounds you, her warmth stabilizing and comforting, and you know in your heart that you’re doing something right.

New Year’s comes and goes and before you know it, school is starting back up in January. Between you and Paige, a lot of things stay the same. She still drives you to school in the morning, often stopping by Dunkin’ and buying you your favorite coffee. On days she doesn’t have practice, she’ll either drive you home or take you to her place where you either work on homework together (although you don’t get much done, most of the time) or binge television together. Paige has you invested in Grey’s Anatomy now, but the two of you have promised to not watch it without the other.

On the other hand, some things do change. Paige walks you to all of your classes now, even when hers aren’t anywhere near yours. Arguing with her was useless, so you learned to suck it up. She kisses you in the empty hallways, something chaste and sweet and sneaky that leaves you wanting more – that was a new thing. Before her, you never realized how nice kissing can be. You’re sure it’s mostly because you’re super into her regardless, but there’s also something about the casual intimacy that you fall for each and every time. She’s gentle and considerate and you’re just so hopelessly attracted to her that you really should have known that kissing her for the first time would alter your brain chemistry. For now, the two of you are content to appreciate the peace and the privacy that you have. Neither of you tell your friends or your family, though you’re sure Mack and Serena are starting to have their suspicions. They’ve asked you a few times, and while you’re not a very good liar, they seem to accept your rejections as they are and they don’t push any further.

Although you do have one, teensy-tiny problem. Paige hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about that, but there is a lingering nervousness and you’re a little hesitant to ask her about it without sounding obsessive or clingy or insecure. In mid-December, you established that you liked each other, although neither of you really did much about that until you kissed in late-December after Christmas. Did kissing her mean the two of you were dating now? Since then, the two of you have kissed a lot. It reminds you of the scene from Glee where Brittany says, ‘Sex isn’t dating. If it was, Santana and I would be dating,’ and granted, while having sex and just kissing are two different things, you’re starting to feel a little worried by the fact that you and Paige are conventionally girlfriends but not technically.

You convince yourself that maybe you and Paige were just being mature about it. High school relationships have almost redefined what dating actually means. You can’t just ask someone to be your boyfriend or girlfriend and then start the ‘dating period’ per se. You should probably do the ‘dating period’ first and then make it official once you’ve figured out if you’re compatible. You and Paige, however, have been friends for a little over three months, been in this weird ‘dating’ phase for a little less than one month of that time, and by now you’re pretty certain that you and Paige are very compatible. She’s your best friend. But you really want to make it official with her. You’re just not sure how or if she’s on the same page yet.

Making it official with Paige also means making it official to your parents. That thought doesn’t intimidate you as much as it used to. You’re a lot more comfortable in your sexuality now. You’re pretty much head over heels for Paige, you like girls, and you couldn’t care less about boys. Whether that makes you a lesbian or Paige-sexual as Paige had cracked herself up calling it is a discussion for another day. You’re secure in the fact that Paige’s parents aren’t going to care, that your parents won’t mind, either, and that your classmates are worried more about themselves than whoever you of all people are dating. Being out just means you don’t have to stress about sneaking around or if someone’s going to walk into the girl’s bathroom when you’re making out with Paige. Not that you make out with Paige in the girl’s bathroom, because that would just be kind of insane. But hypothetically if you were making out with Paige in the girl’s bathroom, then you wouldn’t have to be scared of getting caught by a classmate. Hypothetically.

The first Friday night home game after winter break is one that you were looking forward to. You knew the Royals were playing a weaker team, so you were excited to see Paige show out, especially after getting to witness first-hand a lot of the effort she’d put into honing her skills over the break. She gave you a ride to school, forced you into her hoodie (yes, the one with her jersey number and her last name on the back and yes, you didn’t really need to be convinced, but you really liked the warmth of her hands on your skin as she helped you into it), and kissed you over the center console of her stepmom’s SUV. It was enough to short circuit your brain. You didn’t need to see her expression to know the reaction she’d elicited from you had made her incredibly smug, but you could visualize it all the same as she made her way to the locker room with her duffle bag slung over her shoulder. Paige Bueckers was going to be the death of you. That much you were sure of.

She’s pure electricity that night. You knew the game was going to be a blowout, but this was next level. If you weren’t so distracted by Paige and the way she was slicing through their defense, you would probably feel bad for the other team. She was putting up insane numbers – 15 points in the first quarter alone, six assists – but she was doing her thing on defense, too. She was clamping the offense, forcing their shots to bounce harmlessly off the rim, and late in the second quarter, she even had a clean block that ricocheted off of the offense and awarded the Royals with the ball. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her. Judging by the glances she’d shoot your way anytime they’d line up for free throws, you’re positive that she knew of your evident distraction, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be ashamed by it. Watching Paige play was a source of pride for you. She was so good at it and she works so hard everyday to show up and show out. It honestly makes you a little emotional in a good way. You’re just proud of her, of her successes. You admire her dedication and her love for the spot, the care she puts in day in and day out to be the best.

Once the game ends, you make your way out of the crowded gym and out to her mom’s SUV, starting the ignition and settling into the passenger seat. You knew that Paige would have a long line of people to greet and that she was adamant about showering before getting anywhere near you after a game. As much as you would love to see her and hang out right after, the both of you knew that you wouldn’t be able to get in a word edgewise. This arrangement, however, did have its positives. The two of you cherished the time you got to spend alone without dozens of eyes on you and you appreciated being able to speak freely. You pull out your phone, scrolling through social media as you wait for Paige.

She doesn’t keep you waiting too long. You spot her walking your direction, bag slung over her shoulder again and her hair thrown up in a loose bun. She’s illuminated by the streetlight but you know well enough by now that the glow on her face is from the sweetness of the win. You smile, your heart thrumming a kind of anticipation that only Paige has ever been able to draw from you. She opens the driver’s side door, sliding in with a happy grin, and tosses her bag into the backseat before she’s leaning over the center console with a murmured greeting, planting an easy kiss on your cheek. You don’t fight the heat on your cheeks, your smile growing bigger when her hand finds yours.

“Good game, superstar,” you tease, relishing in the bashful smile that overtakes her face.

“Thank you,” she says. She gives your hand a gentle squeeze, her eyes finding yours. “There was a pretty girl in the stands. I had to show out for her.”

“Oh?” you ask, feigning curiosity. “Where is she? Not just anyone captures the Paige Bueckers’s eye.”

Paige grins at you again, mischievous and wicked and fond all at the same time. “She’s right where she needs to be,” she retorts, which makes your smile soften into something more tender. “You’re right, though. She’s not just anyone. She’s kind, and funny, and smart, and she’s got this heart of gold. And she’s got this smile that makes you weak in the knees and she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

“Get a grip,” you say, trying to regain your dignity and trying to ignore the blush on your cheeks to the best of your ability. Judging by the way Paige’s smile turns smug, you don’t think it’s working. “You know I like you. You don’t have to woo me.”

“I do,” Paige insists, finally giving you a moment of reprieve when she puts the vehicle in drive and begins making her way out of the parking lot. Once the two of you became friendly and you started showing up to more of her games, a trip out to Dairy Queen became your post-game tradition. She’d buy the two of you a blizzard and she’d park in a quiet, empty lot while you chatted for what felt like minutes but would quickly turn into hours. You know the night’s only over when your spoon hits the bottom of your cup and Paige starts losing her filter. Now, it’s something that you look forward to. “Gotta keep you on your toes. Romance is lifelong, baby. You don’t stop once you got the girl.”

You can’t stop your sudden laughter, amused by her antics. “You got the girl?”

She shoots you an indignant look. “Don’t play. You know I got it like that. I’m all romantical and shit.”

“Total lady killer,” you deadpan. “I’m swooning.”

“You will be,” she agrees. “You make fun of me now but you keep on comin’ back. You just can’t resist Paige Buckets.”

“Maybe I just feel bad for you.” Paige huffs at this, but a smile is quirking on her face. “And nobody calls you Paige Buckets.”

“I do,” she retorts. “Which makes it real. I think therefore I am. That’s Shakespeare.”

“It’s not – you know what? Sure,” you snort, knowing full well that the two of you will sit here for hours arguing about it. “Don’t quit basketball.”

Paige smirks at you as she pulls into the Dairy Queen drive-thru. “Never,” she affirms, only looking away from you when the speaker crackles to life. Paige rattles off your orders (knowing yours by heart, which doesn’t make you feel a little soft) and pulls forward when requested. You make light small talk while you wait for your ice creams and Paige pays – as always; you’d tried once and she confiscated your card until she dropped you off at your house. Then she’s driving off in search of the parking lot you always chill at, her ice cream in the cup holder, her hands firmly on the wheel and eyes on the road. You feed her bites of yours when she stops at red lights, the sheer domesticity of it all feeling so right.

When the vehicle is safely in park, she moves the seat back a few inches, stretching out her legs as one of her playlists echoes through the speakers, a mix of The Weeknd, Brent Faiyaz, and Bryson Tiller. The energy in the car, mellowed out and calmer, still sparks with a sort of electricity that always encompasses you and Paige. Her smiles feel a little looser, more purposeful, and her eyes linger on your face when she looks at you. You talk about everything and nothing, recounting the game and Paige’s insane plays, the homework you’ve neglected to make the most of this time with her, and the date she was taking you on tomorrow night. You’re both nearing the bottoms of your cups, spoons scraping against plastic, and with a soft smile, she offers you the last bite of hers. Her thumb swipes at your bottom lip to clean a bit of ice cream that had run astray. It makes your heart beat a little faster. Paige always had this uncanny ability to make you nervous, to make all of your neurons fire at the same time. You came to the realization long ago that you were hopelessly attracted to her, but it’s times like these that remind you of just how magnetic she is.

The two of you have been here for over an hour now. A glance at the clock tells you that it’s nearing midnight. It always surprises you how easy it is to pass time with Paige. You know that it’s time for the both of you to start making your way home, but Paige doesn’t make any move to shift the car into gear, and you honestly don’t want the moment to end either. You also know that Paige is reaching the end of her sensibilities, her laughs a little brighter and delirious, her fingers restless in how they twist the ring on your thumb.

“You okay?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something that’s keeping her here, if she needs you to drive home or if there’s something else weighing on her. She meets your eyes, a tender smile on her face, her expression soft and sleepy and enamored.

“I’m perfect,” she whispers. “Can we just…sit here a little longer?” The last part is even quieter, if that was at all possible, and you nod. Her fingers tangle with yours fully. And then she starts rambling. “‘M really glad Mr. Mattson partnered us up for that project,” she admits. “It brought me to you. I’on know if I woulda had the courage to talk to you otherwise.”

You giggle, a little in disbelief. “You, nervous?” you repeat. “No way.”

Paige nods emphatically, completely serious. “Yes way. You’re…you’re beautiful, you know that? Like scary beautiful. Like make a girl get super rich during Prohibition, build a mansion, and yearn for you from afar beautiful.”

She grins at you as you roll your eyes. “You are so full of it.”

“And yet,” she murmurs, her thumb rubbing soothing circles across your knuckles, “you put up with me, anyway.” You nod, conceding, and she continues. “Point is, you kinda make me nervous. In a good way. I just… I feel like I need to impress you and do right by you. Guess what I’m tryin’ to say is you make me be the best version of myself. And I, you know, I really like doing this with you.”

You smile softly and squeeze her hand. “I like doing this with you, too,” you admit, drawing a smile from Paige.

Then, she’s shifting in her seat, angling her body towards yours, and her face is pensive, like she’s debating with herself internally. You almost ask her if she’s okay but her next words steal the very breath from your lungs. “Will you be my girlfriend?” she says, and your jaw drops slightly, unsure if you’ve even heard her correctly. Then, she’s sighing, clearing her throat and trying again. “I mean, can I be your girlfriend?” The clarification does little to calm the thumping of your heart. The words get stuck in your throat, emotions swirling through you. Excitement. Relief. Anticipation. An overwhelming amount of affection. Paige seems to mistake your stunned silence for rejection because she starts rambling again. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I had this whole thing planned out and it was supposed to be really romantic. I was gonna ask you at dinner tomorrow, like I already called the restaurant and I was gonna get you a slice of cheesecake because you hate the other kind of cake and it was gonna have the, you know, the question on it and I wrote you a letter ‘cause I can’t talk around you, and–”

You curl your fingers in the fabric of her hoodie and you pull her across the center console,  shutting her up with a kiss. She relaxes instantly, melting into your embrace as her hands find your hips, trying to minimize the space between your bodies. She breaks away, huffing because the center console is in her fucking way, and before you know it, she’s lifting you by your waist and drops you on her lap, kissing you again with a different kind of urgency that’s equal parts relief, gratitude, and so much unrestrained fondness. You wrap your arms around her neck, trying to angle your kiss so you can regain some control because her pace and intensity is honestly making you a little dizzy.

When you run out of air, you plant both of your hands on her chest, pulling away from her with considerable difficulty. You have to stop yourself from kissing her again because you know you’re not going to get another word out. You lean back, smiling when you take in the unmistakable shine in her eyes, the dopey grin on her lips. Your noses brush when you finally respond with a simple, “Yes.”

“Yeah?” she repeats, her arms looping around your waist to hold you a little closer to her body. She looks up at you, her happiness evident, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning in to plant one more lingering kiss to her mouth, humming an affirmative. “Knew you’d say yes. I’m irresistible.”

You pull away from her to laugh in disbelief. “Okay, I see how you’re forgetting the whole ‘I wrote you a letter ‘cause I can’t talk around you’ business. Which, by the way, I wanna see, but you’re so lucky you’re cute because you’re kind of a loser.”

“Loser?” she exclaims, indignant. “Nah, that’s actually crazy!”

“No! Like, you’re this badass athlete and you just dropped like 40 points–”

“43,” she cuts in.

“–40 points tonight and you’re over here nervous about asking me to be your girlfriend–”

“I wanted it to be perfect! It was gonna be perfect but you looked so pretty and I couldn’t wait!”

“Babe,” you say, laughing under your breath, your expression fond as you cup her cheeks, drawing her eyes up to yours. “It’s perfect because it’s us, okay? Us, cramped in your mom’s Honda Pilot, our half melted Dairy Queen and your freaky ass R&B.”

“S’not freaky,” she huffs, but you don’t pay her any mind.

“This was perfect,” you reiterate, your voice softening. Paige exhales under you, taking your words to heart. “Being with you is perfect. But is the cheesecake still on the table for tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Paige says, a furrow in her brow. “Just pretend to be surprised when it comes out.” You hum against her again, kissing her cheek, and she squeezes your waist a little, her voice suddenly a lot more nervous. “Uh, what does this mean for us? I mean…like our parents?”

You’re surprised by how calm you are by the question. You play with the stray hairs at the back of her neck, shrugging an unbothered shoulder. “You wanna tell them?” you ask her.

“I wanna do what you want,” she deflects.

“I want you to answer my question,” you retort.

Paige rolls her eyes, amused. “I would…like to be out. With them, at least. I’on wanna hide forever…but I know this is still kinda new for you. And we don’t have to do nothin’ serious at school, either. Seriously. Whatever you want.” Her hands are warm as they slip under your – her – hoodie, and the touch makes you feel more grounded.

“We can tell them tomorrow?” you offer, hesitant, but when Paige’s face lights up, you know you’ve made the right choice. “As for school, I think I wanna enjoy this while it’s still ours, you know? Just us. I wouldn’t mind being public eventually but I do mind the attention. I guess what I mean is we can be out but I don’t want everyone in our business.”

“Private, not a secret?” she asks, and you nod, relieved because she understands exactly what you were trying to say. “That works for me. And we can tell our parents tomorrow before we go out? Together?”

“Together,” you confirm, a smile lighting up your features.

She leans in to kiss you again, her own smile growing against your lips. Her nose brushes yours when she draws back enough to speak. “Just want you,” she promises. “Nothing else matters to me. Other people, the internet, nothing. Just lemme know how you’re feeling and we’ll handle it, okay?”

“Promise,” you swear. Paige grins at you again, drawing you in for a hug. You sit there in her arms for a while before you find your way back to the passenger seat and she drives the two of you back home.

She bids you a goodnight in the car, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before you stand on your porch to unlock the door. She doesn’t drive off until you’re safely inside. When you’re finally in your room, you don’t take the hoodie off, comforted by Paige’s scent encompassing you, and you fall asleep with an unshakable happiness in your heart and a smile on your face.

(The next day, you and Paige tell your parents, officially. You start with the Bueckers’ first and it goes as well as you were expecting. You and your girlfriend sat them down, explaining, we’re dating and we’re very happy. Moe gave the two of you comforting smiles, but Bob cleared his throat and admitted, “Uh…yeah, we saw you kiss on the Ring doorbell.” You wanted to crawl into a hole and die, to be honest, but Moe and Bob pulled the both of you into hugs and promised that as long as you and Paige were safe and happy, then they were happy for you.

Then, it was time for your family, and you were a little nervous. Granted, they had no idea that you liked girls, let alone would date one. Their reaction was basically the same as the Bueckers’, informing you that they had their suspicions since you and Paige were glued at the hip and that your little brother told them that he was pretty sure he almost saw the two of you kiss almost a month and a half ago. That was objectively worse than the Bueckers’ catching you on the ring doorbell. You were correct in assuming they’d make you keep your door open when Paige is over. And judging by the slightly horrified expression on Paige’s face when your dad finishes talking to her in private, you’re pretty sure he gave her the shovel talk of the century.

And, just so it’s absolutely clear, the date that Paige takes you on that evening is the best date you’ve ever been on – so far. She brings you flowers, pulls your chair out for you, and enchants you all night long with easy conversation. When the waitress brings out your slice of cheesecake with Will you be my girlfriend? written in strawberry puree, you sell your surprise and performance so well that the waitress brings out a second slice, chocolate flavored just for Paige. You’re sure that the night couldn’t get any better, but before she drops you off at home, she reads that damn letter to you and you can’t stop the happy tears. She kisses you goodnight, her expression adoring, and you know that you have the best girlfriend in the world.)

The rest of junior year passes in a blur. You’re the happiest you’ve been in your entire life, your grades are phenomenal, and Paige leads her team to a blowout state championship win. As if that wasn’t electrifying enough, she signed with the University of Connecticut the week after the tournament ended on April 19th. Your girlfriend was officially a Husky and would bleed blue for her college career. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmingly proud of her – playing for UConn has been her life goal, hoping to cement her name as one of the greats next to Sue Bird, Diana Taurasi, Maya Moore. While you couldn’t get into UConn with as much ease as she did, UConn would be the first school you submitted your application for once October rolled around. You weren’t sure who was more excited – you or Paige – at the prospect of going to college together, but what you did know was that you couldn’t wait to cheer her on as she took the world by storm.

With the harder parts of the school year long gone, the time for prom came around in late April. Paige secured your tickets as soon as they went on sale and was dead set on making it the best night of your life. She prom-posed to you with what was possibly the cheesiest sign in the world: it was decorated with lopsided basketballs (although you appreciated the fact that Paige made her sign completely homemade) and read ‘Together, we’re a slam dunk. Take a shot at prom with me?’ and there was no way in hell you’d ever say no to something like that. It took you less than four hours to find the perfect dress, although you spent a week with Paige travelling from mall to boutique to find the perfect thing for her to wear. Dress shopping with Paige proved to be a difficult task, especially for someone who seemed to hate dresses as much as she did. When you suggested she just wear a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, she nearly lost her mind in the middle of the store.

“What kind of date wears jeans and a shirt to prom?” she’d exclaimed, rifling through the dress racks, beginning to ramble. “No, ‘cause that actually pisses me off. Like, you see all these girls walkin’ around in these pretty dresses, make up done to the nines, and their boyfriends can’t even be bothered to iron their shirts?”

“I want you to be comfortable,” you said to her. “What you’re wearing won’t matter to me. You know that.”

She huffed, pulling a black dress off the rack and holding it to her torso, glancing in the mirror with a pensive expression. “It matters to me. I can’t be caught dead next to you lookin’ like an idiot.”

“Well…” you trailed off, much to her chagrin, and she pouted at you dramatically as you laughed. “Get that one,” you advised. “It won’t be super tight on you so you’ll have some breathing room. And I like the way your arms will look in it.” When she tried it on, you walked in on her in the dressing room flexing in the mirror, and, well, you were right.

With the dress debacle out of the way, that meant you had to consider other factors, like your matching corsages and dinner beforehand. Those were slightly less intimidating decisions to make. Paige knew next to nothing about flowers and her only demand was “they have to look nice,” so you found the corsages. You weren’t paying for dinner and Paige knew your likes and dislikes like the back of her hand, so she handled the reservations and promised she wouldn’t dirty Moe’s SUV if the two of you could borrow it for the night. All that was left was prom itself and considering it would be your first and you don’t get another junior prom, you were incredibly excited for it.

Dinner was nice – it would have been hard to fuck up since Paige chose a restaurant she knew you liked and it was hard to not enjoy your time with her anyhow. She serenaded you as she drove, belting Keyshia Cole’s Love like she was a contestant on The Voice. And, sure, it was incredibly off-key and her voice cracked during the vocal flips on “I found,” but you couldn’t help your endearment for her. Making you laugh was one of the things she was a master at. You arrived at the school in good spirits, turned in your tickets without an issue, and entered the gym with high hopes.

The music is thumping, echoing throughout the gym. You can feel the bass in the floor and your body almost immediately vibrates from the noise. Paige curses lightly under her breath, her hand finding yours with a wince, and she glances at you curiously, a simple you okay? visible in her eyes. You nod and she leads you over to the drink table where she gives the two-liter soda bottle a cursory sniff before pouring it in a red solo cup for you. You remember hearing that last year’s prom got cancelled early because someone spiked the punch bowl, which is why they shifted to pouring directly from plastic bottles, but you could never be too sure and you appreciated Paige for her protectiveness.

As you drink, you take in the decorations. The student council was tasked with setting everything up – deciding on the theme, ordering the decorations, putting them up. As you glance around the packed gym, your eyes taking in the streamers and the lights (you pretend that you don’t notice a section of lights that have already been ripped down), you determine that you really can’t tell what the prom theme is supposed to be. A girl and her date pass by you in a 20s flapper dress and a wrinkled button up with Timbs, of all shoes; then you’re passed by a girl wearing polka dots and her date in a graphic t-shirt. You’re getting a lot of mixed signals right now.

“Wanna dance?” Paige asks you and you nod, throwing your cup away, allowing your girlfriend to lead you to an emptier section of the gym. For a while, you’re not really sure what’s playing until the bass drop is over and you realize it’s some remixed version of Zedd’s Clarity. You glance around, watching people dance. There’s a group of students towards the front of the gym near the DJ stand jumping up and down like it’s a mosh pit. There’s another section of people bobbing their heads and moving stiffly. To your right, there’s a group swaying, their phones raised as they capture the moment.

“This is not what I thought prom would be,” you comment off-handedly to Paige, who’s halfheartedly shimmying. 

She shrugs a shoulder, reaching out for your hands with a smile and pulling you closer to her, making sure to leave room for Jesus, as she’d once joked. “We can make our own fun,” she yells over the thump of the music. She drags you into an awkward, uncoordinated and off-rhythm shimmy-dance-shake thing, but her smile is infectious enough that you’re throwing all caution to the wind as you allow her to lead you. You laugh along with her for the remainder of the song before you’re joined by a few of her teammates and their dates. Paige introduces you and together, the small group of you dance to a few more songs. You take a few group photos in varying poses, then find some snacks, and you burn another half hour dancing before the pain in your feet gets to be too much and the music starts giving you a headache.

You don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you have to admit that prom is a weird mix of overwhelming and lackluster. It’s a lot better with friends, though; the short period of time you spent with Paige’s teammates was invigorating but there’s just not a lot to do that’s not eating, dancing, taking photos, or watching people try to dance. You intertwine your fingers with Paige’s, drawing her attention and whispering in her ear about needing air. She nods, leading you towards the door and snagging another drink for you on the way out. The cool breeze and the peace does wonders for you.

“I’on wanna ruin your night,” Paige begins, a little sheepish, “but was this kinda…”

“Lame?” you supply, watching the relief spread across Paige’s face.

“Yeah,” she agrees. You offer her a sip of the soda and she takes it gratefully, holding onto the cup for you as you toe off your heels, lowering yourself to the sidewalk and taking a seat. You stretch out your legs, sighing when the pressure in your feet is alleviated. “Wanna get Dairy Queen after this?”

You groan, leaning your head onto hers as she wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Like you even have to ask,” you murmur, appreciative of the peace. Paige chuckles, her thumb rubbing against your shoulder. The two of you sit there for a while soaking it all in before the music inside dies down. You can hear the echo of the DJ as he tells everyone to partner up for the slow dance. Paige sets your cup on the ground, removing her arm and standing up. You glance at her as she extends her hand for you to take.

“May I have this dance?” she asks, and you laugh, unable to say no. You allow her to pull you to your feet as the opening notes of Taylor Swift’s Crazier bleed through the gym walls. She navigates you both to the grass, your feet bare against the cool ground, and she wraps her arms around your waist as yours go around her neck.

I'd never gone with the wind, just let it flow

Let it take me where it wants to go

The two of you sway, the sound of chirping crickets serving as the perfect background to the gentle hum of the music through the walls. Her hands are warm on your side, her chin pressed to the top of your head, your face cradled gently against her chest. If you were being honest, this is probably the most content you’ve been since dinner – being alone with Paige has a way of cheering you up.

I was trying to fly, but I couldn't find wings

But you came along and you changed everything

Paige starts humming the lyrics, the vibrations of her voice soothing you as you follow her lead. Your fingers smooth some of the flyaway strands at the back of her neck, hands mapping the expanse of her toned shoulders, content to just feel her and relish in this tender, unexpecting intimacy.

You lift my feet off the ground

You spin me around

You make me crazier, crazier

It’s then that you’re hit with a gentle realization, the lyrics resonating with you. You and Paige have been together for close to four months at this point, although it feels closer to five months since you admitted your feelings to her back in late December. Every day since then has been full of nothing but pure enjoyment, a whole lot of care, and some of the best times of your life. Paige has this way of always making you smile, even when the day gets hard, this way of making you feel so appreciated and cared for. You’re young and you really weren’t expecting her to come into your life the way she did, but you really can’t deny this overflow of emotion that you feel when she’s around. You know exactly why you feel this way.

You lift your head off her chest, your hands resting on the tops of her shoulders as you pull back far enough to look her in the eye. She gazes at you curiously, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips, and you can’t help your smile as you kiss her tenderly. She responds, pulling you flush against her, and you know that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“What was that for?” she whispers, an enamored little grin on her face, cheeks bright with a blush.

You don’t hesitate. “I just love you,” you confess.

You expect her to freeze up. You expect her jaw to go slack, to ask you to repeat what you said. Love wasn’t something you should just drop so casually – the both of you knew that. But Paige’s smile only grows, a lone dimple popping out as her eyes shine under the streetlight. She cups your cheeks in her hands and leans down to kiss you again. It’s soft, barely-there brushes that you can still feel in your heart; her lips ask you a simple question that you can’t help but answer. You lean into it, into the love that has built between the two of you over the months you’ve been together and the months you’ll be together in the future, into the shared promise of I’m yours.

“I love you,” Paige whispers, punctuating her words with a squeeze. “So much.”

You smile against her lips, letting her pull you back in. The music fades into nothing, your focus entirely on Paige, on the way her lips move against yours, the way her hands cradle your face, the way she loves you. You’ve given your heart over to her completely and she cherishes it like it’s her own. Sometimes, there are things you’re just born knowing, and right now, you know that everything in your life has led you to being here now, to being Paige’s. You couldn’t think of anything better than that.

SENIOR YEAR – 2019-2020

Senior year is the beginning of the end.

You and Paige spend summer break attached at the hip, but not overbearingly so. You’d gotten a part-time job mostly to make some extra money and to make your resume look a little better, so you were occupied by that four days a week. Paige, on the other hand, was spending extra time in the gym and running drills with private trainers and coaches. She was committed to one of the best colleges in the country for basketball – summer was not the time to be slacking off. It was the time for her to get better, stronger, faster; if you wanted to celebrate with the best, you had to be the best, and Paige turned that pressure into motivation.

Above all else, you still made time for each other, even when she was exhausted from practicing and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die because food service sucks (seriously, you were a cashier – what makes people think you of all people fucked up their food? Your job was to hit buttons and ask if they wanted fries with that). At the heart of it, you and Paige were each other’s remedies. You were a source of peace, comfort, and relaxation. Honestly, much of the time the two of you shared over the summer was spent napping, but you weren’t going to complain. You were busy and she was busy and you’d take whatever you could get, even if that meant being the big spoon every other night.

Things weren’t harder by any means. They weren’t any easier, but they were just different. You had to get used to managing your time, learn how to effectively maintain a relationship when the only time you really get to see each other is once or twice a week (and when Paige is snoring for most of it). You’d argue that this is just making the two of you stronger. The two of you would only be busier in college. Now is the time for growing up and realizing that you couldn’t reasonably spend every waking moment together, as much as you would like to. You were fine, Paige was fine, the two of you communicated, and you were very happy.

Well, there was one slight issue.

Following Paige’s commitment, your Instagram messages and comments had been blowing up. It started small. There were joking comments (or so you’d hoped) with messages of ‘You better not distract Paige next season!’ and their variations. It all ramped up from there. Trolls accusing you of only dating Paige because she’d become a millionaire once she’s in college, accusing you of keeping her out of the gym. Someone even said that UConn wouldn’t win a national championship anytime soon considering their starting point guard would be too busy playing the part of a doting girlfriend.

You won’t lie. All of the comments and the messages were really heavy. Here you were, barely 18 and you had crazy fans of varying age levels all in your business and saying awful things. There were comments you wouldn’t even dream of repeating. You talked to Paige about it and she’d held you as you cried. It was less of the content, but it was more about the spam and the constant onslaught and the amount of people tearing you down for no good reason. Paige posted on her socials requesting for people to leave you alone. While there was an outcry of support from the kinder folk, you’d somehow gotten even more harassment in your messages. You eventually caved and privated all of your accounts, scrubbing the nasty comments and trying to go about your life.

The damage had already been done.

Senior year was supposed to be your best year thus far, yet everything was bleak. It was nowhere close to the academic rigor of your junior year, but you were taking a few more dual enrollment classes and a lone AP, which means you were spending a lot more of your time studying so your grades wouldn’t slip. You ended up having to drop one of your clubs, too. You were less upset about that one considering it wasn’t doing a lot for you anyways. The fact that everything started piling up and you had to make all of these ultimatums was weighing on you.

Paige was incredibly busy, too. Coming off of a championship win from the year before, her coach was determined to get them back there again this year. Practices were longer, more grueling, and as if those weren’t enough, Paige was spending more time in the gym alone to get shots in and run drills, like she had something to prove. Maybe she did. She needed to show that she wasn’t an overrated high school player, that Geno Auriemma didn’t make a mistake in recruiting her. She needed to prove that she has what it takes to go from a high school championship contending team to a collegiate championship contending team. Combined with her own classwork, she was running out of time to devote to you, so the two of you were honestly just stuck.

The time you did get to spend with one another never felt like it was enough. You tried your best to fit in dates that had nothing to do with school or basketball, just the two of you. You loved each other. You would go through worse things than this, and you were dedicated to making it work, damn it. You communicated – or tried to, at least. You could tell Paige was under a lot of pressure, you knew her well enough by now. Anytime you brought it up, she’d always say that she’s just tired or that she needs to lock in because the pressure is only going to increase when she’s in college. You tried to help, but you just didn’t know how, and you were terrified of pushing her too far. She didn’t need you to be this clingy, obsessed girlfriend who can’t function without her, and maybe you were worried about becoming too much, too. It’s just a hard pill to swallow when you go from being all over each other in junior year to whatever the fuck this is now. You have to remind yourself that you and Paige need the space to be your own people. You’re changing, she’s changing, and you can’t hold onto a past version of her – if you force her to be something she’s not, you’ll just lose her, and that’s not something you can stomach. So you take her word for it, letting her be her own person, even if it feels like you’re still losing a battle you could never have won in the first place.

Growing up is hard, isn’t it? 

And it’s weird – because it’s not like everything is bad. There’s a lot of good times, too. Paige still drives you home after her games, making sure to stop at Dairy Queen, making sure to fit in some time at that parking lot just to chat with you. Sometimes it gets a little heavy when she’s a few hours past delirious and her kisses become a little more insistent, sloppier against your skin and you both have to remember to chill out because your first time is not about to be in the backseat of her stepmom’s Honda Pilot. She still smiles at you like you’re her everything, because you are. It’s hard, but she moves mountains to make time for you, even if that just means spending the night at your house and in your arms and you do nothing but sleep because you’re both just exhausted from life.

You still wear her hoodie, the one with her number and her name on the back and the one that’s starting to smell like the perfect blend of the two of you. You leave your clothes at her house and she leaves hers at yours. You and Paige integrate so seamlessly into each other’s lives that the slow-forming rift between the two of you is unexpected when it eventually cracks, sending the two of you tumbling into a bottomless chasm. Somehow, you miss it entirely — the fractures, the shifting of tectonic plates. Maybe the hard truth is you don’t miss it at all, but you ignore it in hopes that you can patch up the lacerations. 

But that rift doesn’t actualize for another few months, for for now — you’re fine. Unknowing of what’s ahead of you, too busy and too in love to focus on anything but the present. 

The holidays are a much needed reprieve. Thanksgiving and Christmas back to back means your classwork finally lessens and Paige isn’t spending every waking moment in the gym. That doesn’t mean that she didn’t try to spend every waking moment in the gym, though. On the very first day of Thanksgiving break, you could feel her shifting around in your bed at an hour that was definitely not appropriate. She was apologetic for waking you up and said that she just wanted to get some shots in before the local rec teams took over the courts. You weren’t having any of it. Half-asleep, you’d dragged her back into bed with you, climbing on top of her and resting your head on her chest, murmuring nonsense about missing her. The details are fuzzy, but you do remember waking up some hours later after the sun finally rose and Paige was still in bed with you, her arms wrapped tight around your waist.

Spending so much uninterrupted time over break reminded you why you fell in love with Paige in the first place. It wasn’t like you were starved of reminders while you were both in school – she texted you good morning (although this was anywhere from 5-6am) and she texted you good night (anywhere from 12-1am); the knowledge that you were the first and the last thing on her mind made your heart race. She walked you to and from your classes, carried your bag for you, but it was that time outside of school that you were truly missing with her.

When you brush your teeth together in the morning, she flicks water at you teasingly and wipes the foam off your lip when you miss a spot. She’ll sit atop the counter and watch as you do your skincare or your makeup with an enamored look on her face. Most days, she allows you to do her mascara or apply some new skin cream on her face, although the latter usually ends with Paige whining about how it burns and you reminding her that just means it’s working. You spend time with each other’s family, you go on dates, open presents at each other’s house, and a few days after Christmas, she takes you back to the park where you’d shared your first kiss. It’s not your one year anniversary since Paige was, ugh, a gentlewoman and “courted” you (well, as well as high schoolers can “court”) prior to making it official, but it’s close enough for you. The realization that you’ve shared your life with Paige for a year fills you with an indescribable emotion and all you really know is you can’t wait to share more and more years with her.

After New Year’s, everything shifts again. You get busy with school and Paige locks back in for basketball. Her team has been undefeated the entire year and they’re on the right track to make it back to the championship, which seems to ignite a fire under her. She spends her time in the gym, practicing and practicing and practicing. You can tell it’s wearing on her. Her texts become sparse and you often find yourself making your way to the gym at night just so you can drive her home. When you ask why she’s burning herself out like this, her response is always a variation of I need to be better or We’re so close – I can’t let the team down but you know her. You know she’s not telling you the complete truth and that kills you.

What had you done so wrong that Paige doesn’t trust you with her feelings anymore? What had you done so wrong that you’ve forced her into locking herself in the gym until her fingers bleed and her feet blister? Perhaps if you were a little more online, you’d understand why. Between the trolls and your mass amounts of homework, you hardly had the time for Instagram. You don’t see the comments under Paige’s posts, claiming you’d just be a distraction in college. You don’t see the comments arguing that Paige’s uncharacteristic performance in a recent game is your fault.

It’s in mid-February that you grow tired of the overthinking and the ache that’s made its home in your chest. It’s nearing midnight but you can’t sleep. You’ve been staring at Paige’s location on the Find My map for nearly four hours now – she’s been on the court ever since practice ended. You tried to give her space. You didn’t want to be overbearing. You know that she’s under pressure but God you just wanted her to confide in you, to feel more like a girlfriend rather than an afterthought. So, you slide on a pair of shoes, tucking your keys into your pocket and you begin the quick walk to the park.

You hear the rhythmic bouncing of the ball before you see Paige. You hear the dribble, the swish of the net, the clang of the rim. The basketball rolls towards you and you pick it up, coming face to face with Paige, whose face is a picture of surprise.

“Hey,” she says softly. You pause to take in her appearance. She’s dressed in a pair of athletic shoes, ball shorts and a loose tank top. She’s soaked in sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead and her eyes a wild mix of exhaustion and pure determination. Your heart constricts in your chest. Why is she doing this to herself? “What are you doing here?”

“It’s late,” you say, quirking an unamused smile. “Almost midnight. Couldn’t really sleep without knowing if my girlfriend was alive or not.”

She stares at you like she’s trying to read your expression. A slow wave of realization rolls over her and she sucks in a deep breath, knowing she’s in trouble. “I’m okay,” she says but you know she’s not. “Just–”

“‘Just trying to get some shots up,’” you interrupt. “‘Just wanna be prepared for the championship.’” Paige’s jaw ticks and she runs a frustrated hand across her jaw. You soften a little, knowing that you’re not the only one with shit going on. That consideration would get you in trouble one day, but you don’t really care right now. “Can we talk? Please?”

“I need to–”

“Paige,” you breathe out, your voice firm despite the way it cracks. You feel the tears prick at your eyes and you can’t help but feel frustrated at yourself for getting emotional. “Please stop running away from me,” you beg.

She looks like she’s about to argue again, although she thinks better of it, nodding her head and taking a seat on the bench where her bag rests. You sit next to hear, placing the basketball on the other side of you. Paige is silent, her hands folded together and her brows drawn in. You speak first. “I’m worried about you.” That draws her attention, confusion and guilt and hurt lining her expression, but you swallow, continuing. “I hardly see you outside of school and you spend every waking moment with a ball in your hand. I know you think that you need to work harder or train harder, but it’s killing you, Paige. You say you’re fine and I wanna believe that but we’ve been dating for a year now. I know you better than that. This is wearing you down and I just don’t understand why you can’t be honest with me about why you’re doing this to yourself.”

The distant chirp of the crickets is all you can hear. Then, she heaves a shuddering sigh. “I’m not good enough for this,” she confesses in a murmur. “That’s what everyone says. I’m overrated. That Coach Auriemma shoulda recruited someone else – someone better, faster, stronger, taller. Basketball is my future but lately it just feels like that’s another thing I have to prove to people who watch me from behind a screen. There’s so many people relying on me, watching me, investing in me and I can’t – I can’t let them down. I can’t lose. I am so fucking afraid of losing that I forget how to win.”

“Paige,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to hold hers. She intertwines your fingers so tightly that it hurts your hand. You don’t care. “You are so much more than what people have to say about you, okay? Isn’t that what you told me?”

She huffs, something akin to amusement, but there’s no enjoyment in her expression. “You didn’t sign up for that,” she retorts. “They were hurting you ‘cause of me.”

“No one signs up to be an online punching bag,” you state. “Least of all you. You don’t deserve that.” She shakes her head, disbelieving. You lean into her, trying to ground her, and she shivers against you. “You know it’s not true, right? There is no one better, or stronger, or faster than you. Maybe taller, but I love you the way you are.” That’s enough to draw a real laugh from her and you squeeze her hand. “Listen to me. Geno didn’t recruit you because of your strength or your speed or whatever else. Geno recruited you because he knew you had the heart of a Husky and because he knew you had what it takes. And – I know it’s hard, but sometimes you’re going to lose. What’s important is picking yourself up afterward and doing it all over again. Win or lose, you’re always gonna have me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that?”

“I do,” she murmurs. “And I’d do the same for you.” Her words sound more like a grave realization more than a reassurance, but you don’t catch it. You don’t notice the solemn look on her face, the way she looks like she’s coming to terms with something difficult. You don’t notice the determination that reads something like I’m going to win another state championship this year and prove everyone wrong.

“Come home?” you plead. Paige nods slowly, collecting her gear almost robotically, but she presses a kiss to your lips and all you feel an overwhelming amount of relief. Everything will be okay, you tell yourself. This was just a small bump in the road.

Wishful thinking.

Paige’s state championship gets cancelled due to a global pandemic.

She’d been in such high spirits, excited at the prospect of competing, of taking home the trophy one more time before she went off for college. In March, everything shut down. You were out of school for what you believed to be an extended spring break, but the rest of the year was cancelled entirely. The state championship game was quick to follow. You weren’t expecting Paige to take the news as bad as she did.

Your texts go unanswered, again. You know she’s stuck in her house, which was always a recipe for disaster for her. Paige gets too restless, too impatient, always itching to be moving. You let a day go by of radio silence. Two days. By the third, you’re beginning to lose your mind. You simply weren’t built for online education and your little brother makes focusing impossible. On the fourth day, you send another message to Paige, which ultimately gets left on read.

You show up to her house, tired of being iced out like this, of being treated like you’re something disposable when Paige is upset. Bob lets you in, grinning, and you wave at Drew as you walk upstairs, your footsteps echoing like your heartbeat in your ribcage. You knock on Paige’s door, not getting a response, but you walk in anyways.

Her room is a mess. Clothes are strewn about, one of her comforters lying on the ground. You nearly trip over a loose basketball but your eyes lock on her – lying in bed with an almost catatonic expression on her face. Maybe the aftermath is your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Paige wasn’t in the best headspace. While you were her girlfriend, showing up to her room invited while she’s spiraling would make her meltdown make sense. The ensuing argument is a blur.

Paige is frantic, her hands gesturing wildly as she chokes back sobs, exclaiming confessions of “I’m nothing without that championship,” or “I can’t handle this anymore.” It’s the first time you’ve actually been a little fearful – not of her, but for her. You knew the pressure was getting to her and you just let her deal with it instead of intervening. You were too scared to upset her and now the both of you are paying the price of your insecurity.

You tried to comfort her, but it was like something shifted. She told you to go home. That you were too much right now and that it’s obvious at this point that you’re only going to get hurt if you stay with me. You were willing to ignore her words even if they were like knives to your heart, but what truly destroyed was how she flinched away from your touch like it was burning oil. Go home, she’d said again. I don’t need you here. I can’t keep hurting you like this.

Maybe showing up in the first place was a mistake, but so was leaving her. You walked back to your house with tears in your eyes, wondering how you fucked up so bad.

The next day, Paige shows up at your doorstep with flowers. You couldn’t ignore the hurt in your heart and you didn’t want to forgive her so easily, but it was hard to stay upset with her. No matter how mad you were, you were still in love with her. She apologized, describing how the championship cancellation and the lockdown and the pressure was making her go insane. She acknowledged those wrongs didn’t make a right and she’d spend the rest of her life making it up to you. You didn’t want to fight, or argue, or hurt anymore, so you wrapped her in your arms as the both of you cried. You had a lengthy conversation full of more apologies, and foolishly, you’d thought the worst of it was over. It wouldn’t come until much later.

Miraculously, you still have graduation that month although everyone has to wear masks and you have to sit five feet apart on the football field. You and Paige graduate with honors, you take photos, and your combined families have a huge dinner at the Bueckers’s household. That evening, right before you say grace, your phone lights up with an email from the UConn admissions team.

You got in.

As your families cheer, your eyes are too full of tears to notice the expression of pure dread on Paige's face as you throw your arms around her neck. It feels like everything is finally going your way. You and Paige would be going to college together. It would be easier – it has to be. You didn’t really care about what anyone had to say about the two of you. You had Paige and that was enough for you.

You go to bed that night blissfully and ignorantly happy. Two weeks pass and that’s finally when the worst happens.

You feel your phone’s vibration before you hear its ringtone.

Groggily, you open your eyes, hands blindly fumbling through your sheets and under your pillow as you try to locate your device. At first, you think it’s your alarm waking you up for class, but remembering the fact that you’ve just graduated two weeks ago hits you like a sack of bricks. There will be no more morning alarms, not until you’re in Storrs, Connecticut and starting the fall semester. You also realize it’s far too dark outside to be morning, so the ringing of your phone can only mean one thing.

“Hello?” you answer without looking at the caller ID, knowing that it was Paige on the other end. You couldn’t think of anyone who would call you at 1:55 in the morning. The fact that Paige is calling you at 1:55 in the morning, however, is a cause for concern. She had an early flight around 8am – summer practices and conditioning were already starting up for the Huskies, as well as other freshman athlete orientations.

“Hey,” Paige says. Her voice is quiet on the other end of the line, tight and weak like she’s fighting to stay composed. Immediately, your heartbeat picks up, fearing for the worst. “I’m at your front door. Can I – can you come down please? I need to talk to you.”

“I’m on my way,” you respond, already throwing your blanket off of your legs and leaving your room. “Are you okay?”

Paige is oddly silent for a few beats. Your socked feet thump lightly against the stairs as you make your way down, your pulse racing like you’d just ran a marathon. Her name falls from your lips in a murmur and she heaves a shuddering sigh from the other end of the phone. “Please,” she begs, “just come outside.”

“Okay,” you promise, and the line goes dead as you unlock your front door, opening it to reveal Paige standing on your front porch. She’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and crocs like she’d made the last minute decision to show up to your house. Her shirt is rumpled, the UConn logo emblazoned on it – one she’d gotten from her official visit however long ago. Her hair is disheveled, too, pulled up into a loose ponytail with loose strands at the front. And her face. You’ve never seen Paige look so miserable before, but what truly shocks you is the guilt clouding her eyes, the frown on her lips. “Hey.” Your voice is quiet, opening the door wide enough for her to come in. Paige merely shakes her head, her hand finding your wrist as she guides you onto the front porch. The door clicks shut behind the two of you. “What’s going on?”

Under the porchlight, her features come into focus. Her expression is downcast, eyes red as if she’d been crying, shoulders high and tense with some monumental weight bearing down on them. You know she has a lot going on – the two of you have talked about as much. She was the number one high school recruit and she’s been committed to one of, if not the best college for women’s basketball. There’s a lot of pressure on her to live up to those expectations, to be the best in the game. You also know Paige hasn’t been the same since the beginning of the year, but she’d assured you that it was just exhaustion and the need to lock in. When you come face to face with her, you’re wracked with a near insurmountable quantity of guilt – why hadn’t you tried harder to get her to open up?

“I’m sorry,” is what Paige says. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your mind conjures up thousands of reasons why Paige could be apologizing to you at two in the fucking morning. “I know this timing is super fucked up and this is such a shitty thing to do to but I can’t get on that plane later and not –” Paige’s words trail off, the sound getting stuck in her throat.

You blink, feeling the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes, the tightness in your chest. Part of you knows exactly where this is going, but the other part of you refuses to consider it. “Not what, Paige?”

Her hands fidget nervously with the hem of her shirt. She throws her head back, suddenly finding the roof of your porch very interesting as she takes a deep breath. “I don’t –” her voice cracks before finally, she meets your eyes, guilt and dread and something that looks strangely like atonement filling her irises. “I don’t think we’re gonna work out,” she says. Your heart all but drops out of your ass and onto the ground, but she keeps rambling in that Paige-esque way that you’ve spent months falling in love with. “We’re not gonna work out in college. I have basketball, and you – you have so many great things ahead of you. You have dreams and aspirations and I can’t…I can’t let you lose sight of those if you stay with me. I love you, so much, but we’re just gonna keep hurting each other if we keep trying to mend something that’s just gonna keep on breaking.”

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Something ugly twists in your gut, something that feels like a painful mix of despair, desperation, and a deep-rooted anger you’d never realized you’d been harboring. You weren’t an angry person. Sensitive, sure. You were understanding and kind. Never angry. “Why do you get to decide that?” you manage, your voice rough with emotion. Your voice rises in pitch as you continue. “Why do you get to decide that we can’t be fixed? What–”

“We’ve been tryin’ to fix this for months,” Paige points out hoarsely, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

“Because you’re not trying!” you exclaim, arms flying out. Paige flinches, but you don’t stop. “You just – you keep pulling away from me and I don’t know why but I can’t do this on my own, Paige. And when I ask you always say you’re just tired or you’re just busy but I know you. I know you and I know that you weren’t giving us your all and I still trusted you because fuck, I just wanted you! I would never make you choose between me or basketball but I’d like to at least be considered once in a while.”

“It’s not like that,” Paige argues. “I’ve done nothing but consider you–”

“Bullshit.”

Her face falls. “See?” she murmurs, laughing a little despite the hurt in her expression. “We’d never work out in college. We can’t even do this right.”

You seethe. “Because you’re trying to break up with me when we can fix this.”

“I’m trying to break up with you because I can’t fucking protect you!” Paige cries. Her words hit you like a truck and you clamp your mouth shut as she wipes her eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I can’t protect you when we’re both at UConn. Do you even know what they’re saying online? They’re saying I can’t hoop because I’m too busy playing house with my girlfriend. They’re saying that her girlfriend is trying to leech off of her success, that you’re ruining my life, that my girlfriend needs to leave me alone. Everyday I’ve worked harder to get stronger, faster, better, just so there wouldn’t be anything about me they could use to hurt you but they always find something to say. I can’t protect you from that when you’re with me. I can’t let them ruin your life because you love me. You have so much ahead of you and they’ll tear you down. I can’t bear that.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you say, but even you know that’s a lie. You take in the look on Paige’s face, the commiseration, the resolution. Your anger melts away into sheer desperation when you begin to fully realize the gravity of your situation. It feels like your entire life is slipping from your fingertips and you’re running out of time to do something about it. “Paige…” You hate the way she flinches at her name.

“Please,” she begs again. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Just let me do this for us and we can both try to be happy.”

You don’t mention how there won’t be an us if you let her walk away now, but you do step forward, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as you plead, “Don’t do this to us.” A tear slips down your cheek and Paige shudders as she wipes it away with the pad of her thumb, an inexplicable amount of guilt in her eyes. “We can fix this, okay? I swear. I promise you won’t even know I’m there. I won’t say anything and I’ll watch your games online – whatever it takes, I’ll do it, Paige; just don’t fucking do this to us.”

She murmurs your name, her face falling as she brushes your hair out of your face, but you’re shaking your head, pressing on. “Just give us some time. Please. We can work this out. I don’t want anything but you. And…and – last year, you said nothing else mattered, right? What everyone else thought, what the media thought. We can be private again, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” she whispers, voice broken. “You don’t deserve to be hidden away. I can’t do that to you. It’ll kill us before we even got a chance otherwise.”

Your lip wobbles as you say, “You’re killing us now, Paige.”

She nods, a tear of her own falling, and she wipes it away before you can even raise your hand. “I know. But at least it’s on our terms and not theirs.” You shake your head, fingers tightening in her shirt, and Paige crumbles. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling her into your chest as your body heaves with sobs, your tears soaking her shirt. You can hear the tremble in her voice as she fights for her composure. “I’m sorry. Being with me will just hurt you more. I can’t put you through that,” she chokes out. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you were the only one trying. I thought it would change things but it didn’t. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t save us.”

The irony makes you ache – Paige killing you just to save you. Deep down, you know she’s right. Your social media have been private for months now, but there’s nothing you wouldn’t do just so you could keep Paige. But right now? All you’re truly able to process is the heartbreak, the way the criss-crossing bandages fall off, the way the stitches and the sutures come undone, revealing a festering, open wound that after all this time, you’ve never been able to repair. No matter what, it always comes back to this – your heart on the ground, stomped out and bleeding and ruined. You just never thought Paige would be the one to crush it under her heel.

You’re tender-hearted. You always have been.  That’s why your friends told you to stay far, far away from Paige. You tried, you honestly did – but Paige is magnetic, and she loves you, and you were just a little too weak to say no. Now you’re faced with the ugly realization that maybe you should have listened, that when they told you ‘She’s leaving Minnesota and she’s not going to look back’, they were right. Despite it all, you’re naive enough to say that you’d go through with it all over again. You love Paige. You would give up a lot of things in the world if only you could keep her, but her decision is made and it’s time for you to make yours.

That’s why you forgive her. You sniffle, trying your best to compose yourself as her hand rubs soothing, apologetic circles on your back. “It’s okay,” you manage, your voice impossibly soft and broken down.

“It’s not,” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking.

“It will have to be.” You feel her nod at that, her arms tightening a little, like she’s trying to savor this last moment with you before it’s gone forever. You do, too, pressing your head against her chest, listening to the rhythmic thump of her heart that you’ve spent hours memorizing the cadence of. You’ve spent so many months of your life learning everything there was to know about Paige Bueckers – her favorite color, her dreams, the parts of her that she keeps hidden. You wish you didn’t know what she looked like when she was walking away but you should have known that you and her were doomed by time from the very beginning.

You don’t want to let her go. Eventually, you have to, and looking at her face makes you want to cry and beg all over again. Her hands find your cheeks as she kisses you one last time. You can taste the salt on her lips, hear her shuddering breath, feel her forehead as it presses against yours gently. You know this kiss is more of a goodbye than it is a gesture of affection. That’s enough to make the ache in your chest return tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. It doesn’t do anything to fix what’s broken. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you promise. You hate those words because you know they’re true – Paige has just broken your heart on your front doorstep and despite it all, you still love her and you always will.

She releases you, her hands trailing down your arms, trying to commit you to memory. Then, her hands leave your skin entirely and she takes a step back. “Guess this is goodbye.”

You bury your hands in your pockets, knowing that if you don’t do something with them, you’ll try fighting for her again. “Guess it is.”

She stares at you for a long while before nodding, her final goodbye a soft murmur under her breath. You watch her go as she walks down the sidewalk, her figure illuminated by the streetlights. It feels strangely like reaching for a light, something you’ll never be able to physically grasp. It’s like watching your entire future crumble in the blink of an eye, like reminding yourself that some dreams are too costly and that sometimes, desire is impossible. Right person, wrong time.

Your lip trembles as you walk back inside, locking the door behind you. When you turn to head back upstairs and go back to bed, hoping that this is all some kind of fucked up fever dream, you find your mother waiting for you, worry etched on her face. That’s when you crumble again, sagging into her confused arms and sobbing.

“She’s gone,” you manage to get out in between heaving sobs. Your mom understands instantly, hushing you and smoothing out your hair, rocking you back and forth as you cry. You’ve hurt a lot, but never like this. You want this terrible feeling to go away but you know this is a loss that’s going to stick with you for a while.

Later that night, when you’re sure you’ve cried all you could, you lie in bed bundled in Paige’s hoodie despite the heat. On the UConn application portal, you only hesitate a little bit before you click on the Cancel Enrollment button. Then, you navigate over to the University of Minnesota application portal, hesitating a lot longer before clicking on the Confirm Enrollment button. You power your phone off entirely, unwilling to spend the night staring at the picture of you and Paige on your home screen. All you feel is a devastating emptiness and this time, you’re fully on your own now and there’s no one else to help you pick up the pieces.

FRESHMAN & SOPHOMORE YEAR – 2020-2022

To no one’s surprise, you absolutely hate the University of Minnesota. There were a lot of reasons why it wasn’t your first choice. The program it offered for your degree wasn’t the greatest. You hated the dorms. You hated campus life, too. UConn had a lot of things that UMN didn’t. A better sports scene, better programs, your ex-girlfriend who you’re still hung up on, everything. You knew you’d be just as miserable at UConn if you’d gone there, too. Paige was everywhere. The freshman phenom who could truly do it all. The work she’d put into becoming better had paid off and it led to her having an electrifying first season.

Even though your heart ached, you couldn’t help but be proud of her. She was doing everything she said she was gonna do. She’s breaking records and making a name for herself – you’d just wished you could be there for it.

It’s almost pathetic how you’re unable to get over her. You stay off of social media but the knowledge that she’s just one text message away fucks with your brain more than you’d like to admit. It reminds you all too much of Gatsby and Daisy and that stupid project the two of you partnered for in AP Lit, only you’re some weird inverted version of them. Paige is the one with the riches, the grandeur, the mansion, yet she’s the one with the green light on the dock. You spend hours gazing out and hoping that she’s looking back at you, too. You’re the one who wishes you could go back into the past where you were still together, even though Gatsby’s story taught you that you’re only yearning for something that doesn’t exist anymore. You’re Gatsby, unable to move on, unable to fully come to terms with the fact that your dream wasn’t truly attainable, that you desired for too much and you couldn’t reach it.

There’s a scary thought in the back of your head that sounds like you just weren’t worth it. Gatsby’s story also taught you that Daisy’s feelings for Gatsby weren’t worth losing her social status, her life of comfort. Were you not worth it? You would have gone to hell and stayed if only to keep Paige, but perhaps that’s just something you need to work on.

So, you do. You find yourself a therapist in Minneapolis. You’ve been unhappy for a while now, but it’s also become increasingly obvious that you need to work on setting boundaries and unlearning emotional attachments that have done nothing but hurt you. You fall in love (romantically or platonically) far too quick, too easily, and you’re too forgiving. You were told from the start that you should be taking care of your heart and you suppose it’s better late than never.

Your therapist is an older lady who has seen some shit and been through some shit. She’s blunt and honest and exactly what you need. She tells you that you can protect yourself and still give to the world, to others. She also tells you that if you’re so unhappy at UMN that you should probably transfer. You put that piece of advice on the backburner because you’ve barely been here for a semester. Maybe you’ll have more fun and make new friends come spring. Maybe everything will turn around if you give yourself the chance to grow and be happy without constantly looking over your shoulder, hoping to see familiar blue eyes and that teasing smile you’ve all but memorized.

(Spoiler: you don’t.)

The spring semester of your freshman year rolls around and you’re honestly burned out. Your first semester was rough and you had a straight C average, which was quite the culture shock after being a straight A student throughout highschool. You try to show up to all of your classes, but registering for an 8am was honestly the worst decision of your life. You miss a few, your grades remain horribly consistent (more C’s!), and you can’t hold onto anymore friends, not for lack of trying. Your clubs fall through and nothing feels right about UMN. Sure, you’re close to home and you visit your parents twice a month, but UMN isn’t home at all. You know that there’s a piece of you in Connecticut somewhere.

Therapy is helping a lot, though. Fixing yourself emotionally is really taxing, but you’re making progress, and that’s good enough for now. Although it takes a couple of weeks, you manage to make a friend in one of your classes and you study together often. Her name is Krista. She’s a pre-med biology major and quite possibly the smartest person you’ve met in your semester and a half at UMN. She introduces you to some of her friends, too – an assortment of med-school hopefuls and the lone English major. Slowly but surely, UMN doesn’t feel as lonely and your grades start improving.

Eventually, the heartbreak starts to ache a little less. Seeing Paige’s picture plastered everywhere doesn’t hurt as much. You tune in for some of the UConn games during March Madness to cheer her on. It will probably take you a long time to be fully over Paige, but you’re at least mostly over the hurt. You reach out to a couple of your mutual friends just to see how she’s doing. Maybe you’ll regret that decision one day. Maybe not. Hearing that she’s doing okay settles your heart some. That turns into weekly check-ins. It’s something.

You and Paige were friends for a long time before you made it official. You’re not mourning the loss of a relationship, but you’re mourning your best friend, too. Nobody ever told you how devastating it was to go from sharing everything with someone to watching their life in pictures. Part of you wonders if she’s doing the same as you, if she even thinks about you like that, if she thinks about you at all or if she regrets the decision she’d made.

Your first year at UMN is nothing special. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your head that urges you to transfer. If you’re not fully happy after a year, then you’re not going to be happy this year. You think about the friends you’ve made – Krista and the others. Something about them just isn’t right. You may never have the vocabulary to explain it, but no matter how nice and welcoming they are, you still feel like an outsider looking in. Things aren’t all that bad, you tell yourself. Your grades are better and honestly, maybe this is just life. You aren’t always going to have a bunch of best friends. So, you decide to stay at UMN.

(How many bad decisions can one person possibly make before you start getting concerned?)

Sophomore year isn’t any better. It doesn’t suck, but you’re still unhappy. You’re surviving, not living. You start going home every weekend rather than the twice a month schedule you’d originally planned on. Being back in Hopkins reminds you of simpler times. It reminds you of late night Dairy Queen runs, of chatting in an empty parking lot, of that time Paige accidentally honked the horn in her stepmom’s SUV when she tried to pull you onto her lap. Hopkins reminds you of your junior prom, where you and Paige slow danced to Taylor Swift outside the gym, where you told her that you loved her for the first time and she told you that she did, too. Hopkins reminds you of happiness.

In December that year, your mutual friend — Amaya Battle — informs you that Paige fractured her tibial plateau and tore her lateral meniscus. None of that sounded good, but you felt like shit once Krista explained what that all meant. That injury would bench Paige for a couple of months. Despite the time, you still knew Paige well enough to know that she’s not happy about that. You open a long abandoned text thread with her, your last message reading happy birthday! and hers reading Thank you, and begin to draft out a new message. Saying that you’re sorry doesn’t feel like enough, but anything else feels like too much. You settle on simply expressing your condolences and you let her know that you’re praying for her. You’re not surprised when you don’t receive anything more than another “Thank you” in return.

Spring semester is long and uneventful. You still tune in for some of Paige’s games, but once finals are said and done and you’re not feeling any differently, you know that it’s time to move on. You apply as a transfer student for UConn.

JUNIOR YEAR – 2022-2023

You get accepted into UConn. Reading the Welcome to UConn Nation email feels as good as it did the first time you opened it surrounded by your family. It feels like coming home all over again. The break in between semesters feels painfully short and far too long at the same time, but before you know it, you’re moving into your dorm on campus, laughing along with your new roommate Livya like you’ve been friends forever. She helps you get settled in. Then she shows you around campus, pointing out all of the best study spots and the best dining halls. You meet up with a couple of her friends for lunch and it’s like everything just clicks. You know in your heart that this is where you’re supposed to be.

The news, however, comes to you in the form of an ESPN headline rather than a text from your mutual friend. Paige had torn her ACL nearly a week ago playing a game of pick up. Your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t help but feel terrible for Paige. This was supposed to be her healthy season back after her previous injury in December, but here she is on the bench again, healing from an injury she didn’t deserve to get. You feel the strangest sense of deja vu when you message Paige again, extending your condolences, but what you’re not expecting is the phone call from her that comes a few seconds later.

It rings once and all you can do is stare at it, jaw on the ground. On the second ring, your thumb hovers over the answer button. And on the third ring, you commit to it, bringing your phone to your ear. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest as you greet Paige. “Hey.”

Her voice is soft when she responds. “Hey.” It’s a little rough around the edges, mature, but there’s a lingering tenseness to it like she’s trying to keep herself together.

“Wasn’t expecting you to call,” you admit.

“Me neither,” she agrees.

You sit in silence for a few moments before you shift, clearing your throat. There’s so many things you want to say to her, but you know this moment is too fragile, too new. You know you’re not talking to the same girl you once knew. She’s changed. She’s older and she’s wiser and she knows what she wants now. You don’t know how to say what you want to say, although it’s evident that Paige is a little lost, too. “How, um…how are you?” you say finally.

The noise she makes on the other line sounds a little amused. “Well,” she murmurs. “At least it’s not both knees, right?”

You can’t help the choked laugh that draws from you. “God,” you say. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at that.”

“Nah, s’okay,” she promises. You can hear the slight smile in her voice. “I missed that.”

Your heart thumps against your ribcage. “Missed what?” you ask, but you know what she means.

“Your laugh,” she confirms. “Still the same as it once was.”

You hum. “We’re not the same,” you say softly. “We’ve grown up.”

“Have we?” she asks. You swallow. “We’re older. Learned a lot. Doesn’t mean we’ve changed. Just evolved.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

“Pikachu evolves into Raichu but he’s still Pikachu, isn’t he?”

Despite yourself, you grin. “And you’re still an idiot.”

That makes her laugh. “C’mon,” she drawls. “I got a bum knee and you’re making fun of me?”

“Some things never change.”

“They don’t,” Paige agrees. “Heard you transferred to UConn?”

“I did. UMN wasn’t right for me. It didn’t feel like home.”

“It does here?”

You don’t hesitate when you respond. “Yeah. It does.”

The line falls silent again. You can hear the sound of Paige breathing on the other end. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says finally. Your grin melts into something a little more tender. “Do you wanna come to my dorm? We can catch up.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not,” she concedes. “But I’m injured and I just spent two years missin’ you and I wanna see you.”

You should feel embarrassed at how little it takes to convince you. Before you realize the words coming out of your mouth, you’re saying, “Send me the address.” She does. Paige’s dorm isn’t too far away from yours. “I’ll be there in ten.”

When you do arrive, the girl who answers the door is not Paige. It’s Azzi Fudd. She knows you by name, offering you a gentle smile and pointing you down the hall to where Paige’s room is. You thank her, your heart caught in your throat, and you make your way through the apartment. You knock and you enter.

Paige glances up immediately as you walk in, her face softening immediately. She’s sprawled out across her bed, her knee secured in a heavy brace and propped up in a pillow. She’s wearing a loose pair of shorts and a long-sleeved UConn shirt. The first thing you notice is how different she is. Her time on the court and in the gym has treated her well. Her shoulders fill out her sweatshirt, muscles taut against the fabric. She’s bulked up and she scraped her old ponytail for a slick back bun, although the ‘slick back’ part is messy, strands flying haphazardly. Her eyes are disarmingly blue, not like that’s changed from the last time you saw her, and her smile is just as you remember. It’s enough to soften you instantly.

“Hey,” she says as you close the door behind you.

“Hi, P,” you murmur. Her face shifts, taking you in, and you know she’s cataloging everything that’s different about you, too. You wear your hair in a new style and the way you carry yourself is unlike the way you carried yourself in high school. It’s not confidence, it’s surety, more you. Behind the curiosity, you can see the lingering guilt, the realization that she broke your heart two years ago yet you still dropped everything to come and see her because she’s injured. You glance around the room, breaking your eye contact, scanning the basketball posters, album covers, and pictures of her and her teammates strewn about. Her comforter is purple, which makes you smile. Some things truly never change. “Nice room.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you fight a wince because of how awkward it sounds.

“Clean, right?” she jokes, drawing a short laugh from you – you’d always teased her for being messy, often having to motivate her to pick up her room. Her dorm is clean, but obviously lived-in as evidenced by the jacket slung over the arm of a gaming chair and a water bottle or two on the nightstand and the desk. “Nice hoodie.”

It’s only then that you glance down and your face flushes when you realize what you’re wearing. HOPKINS is emblazoned on the front, the number 1 below it. You don’t need to turn it around to know you have BUECKERS stitched on the back. Your eyes find her face again, noting that she’s not upset about it. She’s a little amused, if anything, although there’s something softer in her expression. You shrug a little. “Wasn’t brave enough to get rid of it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Her voice is a soft murmur. You meet her eyes, sharing a soft smile. Then, she clears her throat, shifting, and she nods to the spot next to her. “Come talk?” she requests.

You open your mouth, ready to decline. You know that if you fell into these patterns with Paige again, then you’d truly never get over her. Part of you wonders if you want to get over her in the first place, but you know you can’t put yourself through this again if she’s not in it for the long haul. “I don’t think–”

“Please?” she asks softly, her voice catching in her throat. “I just…don’t wanna be alone right now.”

You’re moving before she even finishes her sentence. She moves the blankets for you as you kick off your shoes, sliding in next to her like it’s second nature. When you do, you’re enveloped by her, the scent of her cologne, her body wash, that same brand of shampoo she’s been using since she was seventeen. You can feel the warmth of her body so close to yours and your breath hitches. You can hear the stutter in her breathing, too, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s missed you in the way you’ve missed her. Her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to hold you, like she’s reminding herself she doesn’t really have that right anymore.

“So…” she starts. “Why’d you transfer? Really?”

You sigh. “I couldn’t really find my place at UMN. I struggled in my classes for a while and I had so much trouble making friends. I found a group, but it always felt like I was a plus one. My psychologist and my parents told me to transfer. Even Drew told me to transfer.”

She cracks a small, surprised smile. “You talk to Drew?”

“Our parents still talk, you know,” you say, nudging her, listening to her laughter. “Plus, Drew and my brother are like best friends.” You pause for a moment, twisting the ring on your finger, and hesitantly, you admit, “Drew told me I should transfer to UConn specifically. For you.”

“For me?” Her voice is pitched, her expression unreadable, and you nod.

“Yeah. He said we were happier before the break up.”

Paige chuckles, rolling her eyes. “He’s such a little shit.”

“I wonder where he gets it from?” At that, Paige half-heartedly shoves you, but there’s no force or malice behind it as you laugh. “But I didn’t transfer for you.”

“Of course not.” Her expression betrays her feigned nonchalance, like she thinks you’re full of shit.

“I didn’t!”

“Okay,” she says insufferably and you shake your head. “I, uh…I’m sorry for how I ended things.”

Your smile drops instantly, features softening. “Paige,” you murmur, but she ignores your words entirely. 

“I’ve thought about it for two years,” she admits, “and every day I wish I could go back in time and undo it. I thought I was protecting you but all I did was hurt us both. In the end, it didn’t even change shit. That’s the fucked up part.” She scoffs a little. “And here we are. I broke your heart yet you text me on my birthday, reach out when I injure myself, drop everything to come see me ‘cause my knee’s fucked? Why?”

You swallow thickly, not really needing to think about your response. “It’s you,” you whisper. You hear her breath catch, see the tears welling up in her eyes again. It’s always gonna be you, is the part that goes unsaid, but you wonder if Paige understands it all the same. “I would watch your games sometimes,” you confess. Paige makes a noise that sounds like it’s in between a sigh and a whimper, like hearing you speak is hurting her. You continue anyways, needing to get it off of your chest. “I’d watch your games and I’d cheer you on and wonder what it would be like if you didn’t change your mind, if I was sitting courtside like we’d always talked about. I’d probably be wearing this fucking hoodie or maybe you’d give me some of your UConn gear. Every week, I would talk to Amaya Battle just to ask how you were, and –” Paige interrupts you with a soft whisper of your name, but you shake your head, feeling the long restrained tears drop. “I missed you and all I wanted was you. You were so close yet so far – impossible and out of reach.”

“Not impossible,” she says firmly, her voice rough with tears. Instantly, you’re transported back nearly four years ago when she’d uttered words not too dissimilar. I don’t think it’s out of reach. Not for you. Not for us. “Never impossible. Not you, not me, not us.”

A tear slips down your cheek and she wipes it away. The brush of her finger against your skin, no matter how small, is pure electricity in your veins and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason now. “Aren’t we?” you ask, your eyes on hers. They’re alarmingly blue, brightened by the pool of tears that’s found home in them. You can’t help the way your feelings come rushing back. You were always going to be in love with Paige Bueckers. That’s not a feeling that goes away overnight or even two years after breaking up with her. She’s ruined you for anyone else and you can’t even be mad about it. “We’re different. You’re different.”

“Not different,” she argues, desperation lacing her tone as she squeezes your hands in between her own. “Evolved. I’m still me.”

“That’s the scary part,” you say. It’s scary because you know you’ll never be able to say no to her. You love her too much for that, and deep down, you also there’s nothing more right than you and her.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Her thumb finds your cheek again, clearing the wetness, and your lip trembles when you look at her.  Paige’s expression is unguarded, a clear promise reflected in her eyes. If this all went to shit, you wouldn’t have the energy or the resources to pick your heart up again, but what are you if not brave despite the ache? What if it’s different this time, if you and Paige have grown, not changed, and you’re better for each other? You know better now than to make those same mistakes. You know Paige well enough to know she means what she says. So maybe you’re a fool, or you’re naive, or too trusting for your own good, but you can’t help but believe Paige. “A lot of people have hurt you. I was one of them,” she continues, uncomfortably vulnerable as she swallows. “I will never forgive myself for that but somehow, you did. Whatever it takes, I’ll prove to you that you didn’t make the wrong choice like I did. Give me time and the chance and I’ll show you. I swear.”

Your heart knows your decision long before your brain has made it. That’s just how you work. You nod at her, watching utter relief and gratitude seep through her features, and honestly, when you look back at it, you’re not completely sure who leans in first. But what you do know is that you’re tangling your fingers in her sweatshirt, pulling her impossibly close as you initiate the kiss, something intense and deep and desperate and everything you’ve been wishing for over the past two years. You know it’s a bad idea, doing this out of order, yet you can’t bring yourself to care because Paige shudders against your lips, her hands finding your hips and dragging you impossibly closer. You’re cautious of her knee, trying to minimize the amount of space between your bodies, and you loop your arms around her neck when you pull away to trail your lips down her jaw, the column of her throat. She tilts her head back, granting you more space, and you don’t sober up until you feel one of her tears fall against your cheek.

You pull away from her immediately, feeling as though you’d been submerged in an ice bath. Paige must not register that she’s crying because she chases after you with a noise of dissatisfaction, her hands pressing into your sides. You push her away gently, smiling despite yourself, brushing her tears away with your knuckle. “Maybe we should, um… not make out when we’re crying and emotional?” you suggest.

Paige clears her throat, leaning away from you with great difficulty. “Yeah,” she agrees quickly. “Probably for the best.” You can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes from your mouth. Paige’s lips quirk up, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “We’re okay?” she asks, a little hesitant.

“We will be,” you assure her, not missing the way her face lights up. “But we should probably…”

“Slow down?” Paige finishes.

You nod. “Yeah. Be friends first. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“I can work with that,” she murmurs, her words a direct echo of the first promise she’d ever made to you.

You smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. You breathe a little easier knowing that you’re still you and Paige is still Paige – you’re not the same, but you’re something a little better, more improved, and you have the knowledge to take better care of each other’s hearts this time around. You and Paige have grown up and matured. You lost your way for a while but as you lay in bed next to her like no time has passed at all, you know somewhere deep inside of your body that this is where you’re truly meant to be.

(You and Paige do commit to slow. You know each other like the back of your hands and the love is still there, but you’re determined to do this right this time. So, you keep things friendly, strengthening the connection between the two of you – she introduces you to her teammates, helps you study while she’s out for the season. In turn, you help her with her rehab and you motivate her on the days that feel more bleak.

When the both of you go back home for Thanksgiving break, both of your families are ecstatic to see that you’re “back together” and you don’t think anyone believes the two of you when you say you’re just taking it slow for now. Your little brothers tease you, your dads share knowing glances, and your mothers smile like they know exactly where this is going.

However, when the two of you return to Minnesota for winter break, Paige takes you to the park that the two of you used to spend your time at, leading you to the swings. You talk about anything and everything and nothing, content to just enjoy the moment, but when Paige asks you to be her girlfriend officially – again, but second time’s the charm, right? – you truly have no choice but to say no, kissing her gently as the Minnesotan snow falls around the two of you.

You’re home now.)

[confused-wanderer]

The villains are utterly confused.

They remember the first robin. They remember how bloodthirsty the little gremlin was, how he appeared out of the darkness with a “HIYA FOLKS” that gave people near heart attacks with PTSD so bad they flinched everytime they walked into a dark corner. They remember his grin, baring few too many teeth with a glint in his eyes whenever the bat wasn’t around to curb him. They remember the death stare, the brooding that made no one doubt this was the Bat’s son. They remember how a punch would land a lot harder than it was supposed to, or the screaming that followed. Oh they remembered him alright.

The second one thank the stars was better. The second robin was giggly. He would hop around town, offering his help to everyone who needed it. Sure he was rough with abusers but hell no one cared about them. Matter of fact, the villains were glad because those assholes deserved no sympathy. They remember his puns, his wonder, his innocence and his spark. They remembered his laughter, his concern - the kind that only comes from one who’s been on the streets. This one was better, and the villains thanked their lucky stars. They remembered him alright.

But now, as the years passed and new characters emerged, the crime city saw the rise of two characters - a sunshine happy nightwing and a ready to kill red hood. And naturally, from their experiences in the past, the villains ended up making an honest mistake that ruined the two vigilantes’ reputation:

The villains assumed the first robin was Red Hood and the other was Nightwing. And BY GOD Gotham has not seen unhinged chaos like this.

SCENE 1

Red Hood *drawing his pistol* : Please, reach for your weapon. I’m itching for an excuse for my intrusive thoughts to become extrusive.

Two-Face: You dare mock me little bird?! Well.. I may not have my weapon.. but I have something I know you’d like..

Red Hood: Oh yeah?What’s that?

Two-Face: TAKE THIS! *slams button and coconuts start falling from the sky, all cracking and spilling as they hit the ground*

Red Hood:

Two-Face:

Red Hood: .. the fuck was that supposed to do?

Two-Face: .. HOW ARE YOU STILL STANDING?! YOU HATE COCONUTS ROBIN!!

Red Hood: The fuck- .. wait did you call me robin?

Two-Face *grins* : Yea.. robin. The first one. Thought I didn’t notice?

Red Hood: The first one? Does this *gestures vaguely to himself and his weapons* seem like something the first robin would do?

Two-Face:

Goon 1: I mean.. yeah

Red Hood: What! The first robin was nice!

Goon 2 *guffawing*: I beg your fucking pardon??

Two-Face: .. you took my coin and attached a magnet beneath it so everytime I flipped it it wouldn’t stop spinning. Do you know how long that took me to figure out?? Do you know how insane it drove me?? Joker had to help me out of pity. OUT. OF. PITY.

Red Hood:

Goon 1: ..Also you did steal some of our bones

Red Hood: hedidfuckingwhatnow-

SCENE 2

Nightwing: Hey there buddy! You look frostyl!

Dr. Freeze: Aha! You are too late to stop me robin!

Nightwing: .. robin?

Dr. Freeze: why yes! Don’t act coy, I know it’s you there. Now that we’ve got that clear.. I was wondering if you remembered all those years ago when you gave me a source for electricity to power a hospital keeping my Nora?

Nightwing:

Dr. Freeze: well you weren’t careful enough and never told me how much I could take from it.. so I used it to power so many of my inventions that came after

Nightwing *remembering when Jason was robin and every damn time he came to visit Wayne Manor his room would always run out power and the countless cold showers in freezing winters he had to take because of it*: .. oh? Well, sorry to break your bubble, but that wasn’t me Elsa.

Dr. Freeze: no? You joke around, make puns and I’m supposed to believe it’s NOT you?. The first one brooded like there was no tomorrow. He pissed me off so bad once I overheard him saying his favourite ice cream flavour and I made sure it wouldn’t be available in Gotham for YEARS. You’re not as bad as the first one. I’d remember if you were him.

Nightwing:

Nightwing *firing up his escrima sticks to maximum voltage*: Oh let me jog your memory then :)

[fadeintosatoru]

Satoru is soooo friends to lover

tysm for the support, i want to start writing other characters so lmk who i should write! ps. ignore any typos :/

───────────୨ৎ───────────

just think about it, that disgusting slow burn, like as you gradually grow with him. he knows you like the back of hand, he knows you.

he knows when youre upset, or when youre uncomfortable because you bite the inside of your cheek, and your eyebrows slightly furrow.

and he knows when he should step up and back down. He'll let you have your space if you ask for it but he also knows you need someone to lean on, and if thats hititng his chest angrily, crying on his shoulder, ranting your ass off, hell be there.

Satoru took a liking to you because, for once in his life, someone saw him. Not the prodigy, not the heir to the Gojo legacy—just Satoru, your best friend.

you never treated him any differently, even when everyone else put him on a pedestal. You were the one person who kept him grounded, and he didn’t even realize when he started falling for you.

maybe it was the way you’d laugh at his stupid jokes, or the way you’d roll your eyes at his antics but still always have his back. Maybe it was the way you challenged him, called him out when no one else dared to. Or maybe it was just… you.

and how could you not fall for him, too? He’s Satoru, your best friend who defends you no matter what, who lets you see parts of him no one else does. The one who’d do anything for you—even if you told him to jump off a cliff, he’d probably ask, “How high?”

but there’s always been this line between you, this unspoken agreement to keep things platonic. Until… it starts to crack.

it starts with the little things—like the way his jaw tightens when you talk about your dates, or how he goes suspiciously quiet when you get dolled up for some guy he already knows is a waste of your time. He hates seeing you walk out the door, knowing the night will only end with you disappointed yet again.

and when you come storming back, heels in hand, muttering, “You would not believe the nerve this guy had,” Gojo’s sitting on the couch, grinning like he knew it all along. Of course he did. The guy probably asked to split the bill or talked about himself the whole night. Gojo always hated the way these guys never saw you the way he did.

because if you were on a date with him, you wouldn’t need to bring a purse. He wouldn’t even let you think about paying. He’d take care of everything, because he’s just that guy.

but he knows he can’t—he shouldn’t. It’s a line he’s not supposed to cross, no matter how badly he wants to.

and yet… he catches himself thinking about the way your eyes light up when you look at him. Those big, doe eyes that make his heart stutter in his chest.

he hates when you’re mad at him, but at the same time, you look so cute when you’re all fired up that he can’t help but push your buttons, just to see you pout.

he'll beg for your forgiveness afterward, of course, but there’s a part of him that loves how your attention is all on him, even if it’s because you’re annoyed.

his feelings are a fragile balance, always sitting just at the edge of his tongue.

it only took one moment—one crack—and it all spilled out. He told you everything. How much you mean to him, how the thought of a life without you is unbearable.

and now that you’re officially his girlfriend, it’s like a dam has broken. He wants to spend every waking moment with you, like he needs you to fill his lungs, his thoughts, his everything. He needs you bad.

and, it’s no surprise to anyone—not Shoko, not Geto, not Nanami. They all saw it coming from a mile away. Everyone knew. Everyone but you.

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[yandere-writer-momo]

Thinking about a yandere werewolf, but not just any werewolf… a bounty hunter. And he has it bad for his you. Cowboy Werewolf!

Yandere Shorts: Like I Love You

Yandere werewolf x fem reader

TW: obsession, delusional themes, abo dynamic, horror, gore (mentioned), death of characters, neglectful husband, betrayal, cheating husband, forced relationship, mention of baby trapping, and behavior that should not be romanticized

Rolfe was currently on a hunt… his target is a sickly preacher’s, one that should be easy enough. Her own husband had paid him quite the pretty penny to off her. Poor little lamb didn’t stand a chance in the wilderness of this world. Not when she had enemies close to her side such as an unfaithful husband and a conniving best friend. He almost felt sorry for his prey

He arrived a day later, his clawed fingers dragged through a lock of her hair as he inhaled her scent. She smelled… delicious. And she was so vulnerable too with her nape out that just begged for his teeth to be driven into…

Rolfe shook his head before he went back into a trance when she subconsciously leaned into his touch. His hand moved up and grazed her temple that felt as if it were ablaze. Poor woman had a fever…

“Darling? Did you finally come to me?” Her voice was a bit delirious with sickness as she kissed his hands. Each kiss made him feel as if he was her beloved. It took everything in him not to loudly whine like a dog. “I missed you so much James. I’m sorry I got sick again.”

Rolfe didn’t say a word before he continued to drag his rough palms through her hair. His heart hammered in his chest and his wolf clawed inside his brain to be released. It seemed this woman before him… was his fated mate.”

Rolfe bent down and buried his nose into the crook of her neck to deeply inhaled. Oh yes… this lassy was his for the takin.

Rolfe began to slowly nurse her back to health rather than off her. An action that made his employer question him. Why on earth would a monster nurse such a nuisance back to health? She was always near death’s door. What use was such a delicate woman in the Wild West?

“When are you going to off (your name)? She’s an easy target.”

“I have honor as a bounty hunter. It must be a hunt.” Rolfe snarled at (your name)’s husband, James, the man who dared to keep her sick due to his lack of care. Had that scrawny man have no pride as a man? The pastor made him sick.

“She’s easy to pick off right now. I’d really like this to be over and done with so I can marry Helen. This is why I hired a monster-“ Rolfe picked James up from the ground by his throat as James gasped for air.

“You are a foolish, greedy man. Are you sure you are truly a man of god?” Rolfe growled, showing his fangs. His dark, muscular form largely towered over James’s lithe frame. “You’re a pathetic man.”

Rolfe soon went back to the care of (your name). The werewolf rubbed his cheeks all over her bed and her body to scent her… he needed to get rid of James’s scent. Rolfe wouldn’t let another have her and hurt her again… he’d spirit her away.

Rolfe wondered how many pups she’d want. If they’d be pretty like her but strong like him… if she’d pepper him with nips and kisses everyday. If she’d beg him for his knot on the next full moon as he properly mated her?

“Darling?” (Your name) reached for his face and Rolfe was quick to put his face in them. A needy whine escaped his throat while he nuzzled her. She was his precious mate…

He snarled when he saw Helen enter. The woman scoffed at him in disgust.

“Ugh. James and I are tired of waiting. You have been here over a month! We want you gone beast. We’ll do it ourselves.”

“So you’re cancelling the contract?” He hummed while he continued to tenderly kiss (your name)‘a palms. “Are you sure? Did you read the fine print?”

“Yes. We don’t need your kind here, true love will prevail-“ Helen didn’t even have time to scream before a giant black wolf hybrid had dug it’s fangs into her throat and ripped it apart like wrapping paper. Blood splattered all over the floor and walls as Helen could only helplessly choke on her own blood.

“Yes… true love will prevail.” He muttered with a a satisfied hum. “My mate will be so happy.”

Meanwhile, James fled into the forest for dear life. That beast had gotten Helen! The two of them couldn’t believe the werewolf would turn on him.

James loudly leapt when he heard something large chase him through the underbrush on all fours. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his sweat pool down his back in puddles. He needed to get to the church! A demon such as the bounty hunter couldn’t possibly enter there-

But James was knocked to the ground as an agonized shriek fell from his lips. The werewolf began to shake and mangle his leg like the bloodthirsty beast it was…

“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything-“

Rolfe chuckled darkly. The black werewolf dropped his legs and glanced his beastly head at James. “Oh but she never did anything either… all she did was foolishly love you.”

“W-what do you mean? Are you talking about-“ James’s words were muffled by the paw like hand that covered his mouth. Rolfe shushed him.

“Shhh. You may have failed to pay me and cancel my contract but I had gotten something far more valuable from this transaction. Something most werewolves dream to find in their lifetimes… a fated mate!” Rolfe sighed dreamily. “You may have failed as a protector and provider, but I surely won’t! You have given me something more valuable than any coin could offer… yet you were neglectful to her. Such a shame really.”

“I… I’ll do anything! Just take her and let me live.”

“Ah but I can’t do that. Not when she still calls for you at night. No… you have to be eliminated. Destroyed, really. You can no longer exist on the same planet as her! You are in the way of my love!”

Loud screams of terror ringed out throughout the crisp night air and then it was silence.

Rolfe returned hours later scrubbed clean of blood while he crawled into the bed with his darling mate. He sighed in contentment when she cuddled him. Yes… it may take time to train her properly, but he was sure he could do it. He could make her love him. Just like he loved her.

[mellowyellow236]

How would the TWST boys act when they’re jealous?

This is Heartslabyul and the Misc Characters section- Links are all here: Savanaclaw/Octovinelle, Scarabia/Pomfiore/Ignihyde, and Diasomnia. All characters are meant to be interpreted as romantic. The reader is gender-neutral. There may be mild spoilers as to who overblots and other facts. Some of them might have Yandere tendencies, though nothing graphic or descriptive and always very mild, they’ll be marked with a ‘Y’ if they do. Mainly because sometimes the boys are calm and talk through their feelings… And sometimes they go down possessive insecurity-included spirals. If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave a reblog or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants.

Heartslabyul:  

Riddle Rosehearts - Y (For pre-overblot section only) 

Pre-overblot, Riddle manages to fit a lot of jealousy inside his tiny body. 

Talking with someone he doesn’t like? He’s declaring that it’s off with their head because they broke a rule. Someone else is flirting with you? Oh no, the hedgehogs aren’t in order, he needs you to come help him fix them. Is someone doing anything in your presence that he dislikes? THE RULES STATE THAT ONE MUST NEVER TAKE THE KING AWAY FROM THE QUEEN! 

He’s willing to make up new rules just to keep you there with him. He’s lost so many friends because of his mother, but this is a feeling just for him. You understand, don’t you? You know what he feels and you’re willing to stand by his side? Forever? You’re the only one who can. You need to promise you’ll be his king, you’ll never leave him. 

Post-overblot and he’s much more calm. At least, he’s calm by his standards. He’s still… A bit over the top at times. He wants to make sure that you actually love him, that you’re not going to leave. 

But more than that, he’s worried that he’s too clingy. Are you tired of him focusing on you? Are you thinking secretly that he needs to grow up? Do you think he’s sidetracked, as his mother does? Do you think that he needs to change again? Is he too lax this time, is he boring? Is it a chore to entertain him? Are you planning on leaving? 

Just reassure your poor redhead. He wants to be the best he can be, and he wants to be that with you. He just needs to be told that you really do love him and want to be around him. Maybe give him some kind of signal so he can tell you how he feels without needing to outright say it and listen to his concerns whenever he comes to you. 

Trey Clover - 

Trey wouldn’t get jealous under normal circumstances. He trusts you, assuming he’d like to or is dating you, and that’s that. He’d only get jealous if someone was genuinely hitting on you, and you just… Didn’t notice or care. 

While he prides himself on his ability to keep a cool and level head, the moment he sees you with someone else, watching them touch you on your arm and compliment you the same way he does. No, he compliments you even better! 

“You’re so pretty…” He can call you beautiful, jaw-dropping, stunning, or awe-inspiring! “My dear,” You’re his sweetheart, his life, his heart and head, his darling cookie! “I think we should go somewhere more private…” Okay, maybe he’s too much of a gentleman to tell you that- he believes you should take the relationship st your own time and he’s never said that to you around others where you could be pressured- but he could at least say it with more class! 

Trey’s annoying, maybe even seething. But still, tell the person you’re uninterested and take a step back. Even punch him in the face, if you’re that pissed! Trey would do it if he weren’t vice-housewarden! Just don’t tell Riddle and it’s all good! 

If that doesn’t work, or if you don’t do anything, he’ll easily swoop in to ‘save you’. He’ll hand the guy a treat, wrap his arms around you, and pull you off to the kitchen with him to “help with some baking.” He will even use his unique magic on the guy if he doesn’t get the hint- Well, on the treat he gave them. No one likes gross-tasting foods, especially ones catered to the thing you hate the taste of the most. 

Cater Diamond - 

Outwardly, he’ll come up to you and chat. Who’re you with? Hey, Cay-cay’s got a quick Magicam post to take, could ya come over here real quick? Just take the photo, you don’t have to be in it or anything! Unless you wanted to! 

He’s calm and collected and barely bothered. Why would he be? He’s got nothing to worry about and he knows you like him and that you’d never do anything to cheat or be with anyone else! At all! 

Internally he’s curled into a ball and crying. Is he not good enough? He can be. He promises! He’ll be whatever you need, whatever you have to get! Please, just stay with him! Don’t leave! 

He needs some reassurance. Don’t let him sweep it under the rug, no matter how hard he tries. Please, just tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Thank him for being there with you. Please. 

Cater’s terrified you’ll leave him. Is it slightly unhealthy? Yes. Maybe. Totally. He’s been begging for crumbs of your attention every chance he gets, in his own way. But if you find it in yourself to be charitable… Please, just put up with him? 

Ace Trapolla - 

If nothing else, Ace is a brat, in every sense of the word. He’s a bit rude, obnoxious, and naive to certain social cues. He doesn’t follow rules and he’s not interested in learning them. He’s selfish, too. But especially selfish with your time. 

Ace will try to call you away at any time if you’re with someone else. What do you mean, Jamil needs some help preparing dinner? You’re going to need some help getting out if things go like they did last time! So, you better invite him along, too. He’ll be a great help! Besides, Jamil’s in the basket with him, they’re wonderful friends! There’s no way that you two will get kicked out with Ace here, considering how you’re a major klutz with anything sharp and would get totally sent away without him. 

He’ll come up behind you if you’re talking to someone. Snaking an arm around your midsection, dipping his hands to clutch your hips, and watching the person who was once talking to you. He might be laughing, but he’s also squeezing you and subtly insulting them. Or, he thinks his being subtle, but if you weren’t being held by him, the other guy would have punched him by now. 

His fingers dig into the skin around your hips as he pulls you away from them, the smirk on his face slightly darker than the lighthearted boy you normally know. Once you’re all alone, he stuffs his face into your neck, taking a deep breath. No matter what you tell him, he only savors you for a second, before giving you a little push and telling you to thank him for saving you from such a jerk. 

But if you were to pull him back in and thank him… Maybe he’ll tell you what’s bothering him- If you’re lucky. Maybe. Or you’ll just get an extra long and tight hug. 

Deuce Spade - Y 

Duece is a sweetheart who tries his best not to get jealous. Really, he tries! He’s on track to be an honor student, and honor students can calmly talk about their feelings with the person they like. So, that is what he will do… After he roughs up the perpetrator a bit. 

Just a little! Or a lot… Or just until you stop him, or Riddle’s nearby… Don’t worry, he wouldn’t hit someone just for flirting! They were trying to touch you… They had a hand on your waist, and were pulling you closer… It looked like they were even trying to kiss you! What was Duece supposed to do? Let them? He couldn’t bear it if anyone did anything to you! 

Deuce is protective. You can handle yourself, he knows that! But he used to fight a lot, so he could do it better. Besides, you’re new to this world! You might not even be able to tell when someone’s flirting with you until it’s too late! He has to be there to protect you, or else what could happen? Could you be hurt? Emotionally or physically harmed? He can’t bear to think about it! 

He’ll pull you away, much like Ace, if he can’t control himself most of the time. But the moment you’re touched? He’ll fight whoever does it. Tell him not to and he’ll tone it down, yes, but the glare from a former delinquent is still enough to send most people back with their tails between their legs. Of course, when you’re looking, he’s all smiles and rainbows. He’s your guard dog, don’t worry about it! He’s just making sure no trash gets close to you! 

Besides, you have him, and all of your friends! Like Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, and maybe even Riddle! You two share a friend group, isn’t that great? If anyone ever bothers you, he’ll always be there to stop them! No one will take advantage of you while he’s here! 

RSA+NBC: 

Neige Leblanche - 

It all starts when Neige sees you at a shared event. He’s been so excited to see you, but before he gets there, he finds Vil’s there with you. He bites his ruby lips and his hands are shaking as he watches the other man wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close enough to whisper something in your ear. Normally, when you laugh he’s so happy, but now it feels like there’s something yucky about it. 

It takes a while before Neige even knows what he’s feeling. It’s like something is slithering around his insides, pitting at the bottom of his stomach and sometimes threatening to come out his throat. Even when he goes up to talk to you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

It isn’t until you pull away from Vil to hug you himself that he realizes it’s jealousy. Only once it’s away does he know that your affections were its only cure, and its cause was always when what he so desperately wanted was flung off to be given to someone else. 

He stays very close to you for the rest of the night. He tries to make sure those feelings that he knows but doesn’t yet understand how to tame don’t come back. He gets your number and whatever social media you’re willing to give over, and he’s overjoyed from it. It’s his own little prize, his own little gift from the world now sitting in his pocket. 

He doesn’t get jealous often after that- After all, he knows that you’ll take care of him if he needs it. He can trust you, after all, you’re his one true love. The royal he was always looking for, the person to rescue him like a knight in shining armor, riding in on a snow-white horse. He can trust you, right? 

Rollo Flamme - Y

Rollo gets jealous very, very easily. He’s seething, filled with rage and misplaced care, attempting to tie you down or up or any other way. Trying to tie you to him, no matter how much you kick and scream. 

You know that he needs you, don’t you? Well, he does. Honest to the god he worships, he does. He’d swear on his name faster than yours, if only because his honor means nothing while yours is a pure as mountain snow. He’d write you name into his skin if only you let him, he’d steal every inch of you away and keep it all pure, forever and ever. 

So when he sees you with a mage, he can’t help but get jealous. How could he not? You’re wondrous. Illuminatingly stunning, bursting his heart as fireworks do in the sky, filled with beautiful, burning passion. And he is merely a magic user. He is no more worthy of you than they are, but for them to think otherwise… He will not turn a blind eye to those who desire to do something horrid to his darling.

[sunfairiess]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 || 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | sarah cameron’s pov | childhood best friends to lovers | brother’s best friend | best friend’s sister | fluff | soft boy jj

synopsis: sarah cameron meets her boyfriend’s sister for the first time, and understands what being soulmates means.

warnings: cursing, slightly mention of violence

wc: 2.9k

it’s my first time writing a character x reader (and actually writing a ff in years lmao) so i really hope this turned out well! also, i apologize for any typos or grammar errors but english is not my first language <3

song rec: about you - the 1975 ♡

“c’mon guys, time to go back. it’s starting to freeze out here.” pope said, placing his fishing rod by his side before getting up and walking towards the helm of the boat, kiara following him to keep him some company. he was right: the temperature had started to drop, and honestly he didn’t even know why the pogues decided to go fishing at the end of november.

they were all there, except for the pogue princess as they liked to call her. she was john b’s younger sister, just by one year; and even though she was definitely a pogue down to her core, she actually almost looked like a kook: she was always composed, never drank too much, never even touched a cigarette or a joint, and she worked her ass off every afternoon at the country club to help john b with the bills and to afford a few of the things she liked.

she was smart, kind, the type of girl to lighten up a room with the sound of her laughter. she was also one of the reasons why the ‘no pogue-on-pogue macking‘ rule was made: everyone kind of had a thing for her, and jj maybank was the first in line.

“i seriously regret coming, i think i’m going into hypothermia.” jj said, shuddering a little bit. yes, it was cold, but it wasn’t that cold. jj just liked to be dramatic.

“gosh, you’re such a pussy.” john b laughed, smacking his best friend behind the head. they’ve know each other for more than ten years now. they weren’t friends anymore, they were brothers. they loved and cared for each other very deeply, even if they were acting like jerks most of the time.

as pope started the engine of the hms pogue, ready to go back to the château, john b took his sweatshirt off to pass it to sarah, his new girlfriend. she was a kook, but she was different. she didn’t care about how dissimilar their lives were, she loved spending time with the pogues because they were real. they were amazing friends, they were funny and smart, and the kind of people you could have a serious conversation with. they weren’t superficial like the kooks, and she loved them for this.

she felt a little tap on her leg, catching with her vision her boyfriend’s sweater. she gave john b a smile and slid the blue piece of clothing on. “so, i’m meeting your sister for the first time today, uh. big step.” sarah joked, slightly pushing his arm.

since the first moment they started dating, john b had always talked about how he wanted her to meet his sister. she was the most important person in his life, especially after his dad went missing at sea during a storm. he actually wanted sarah to meet her right away, but she asked him to wait a couple of months, just to see if they were solid about this relationship. “yup, and trust me you’re gonna love her. she’s like a little ball of sunshine, she wouldn’t even hurt a fly.” he said, smiling at the thought how of sweet his sister was with everyone.

“he’s right. i don’t think i’ve even ever seen her mad.” jj stated, shifting his seat from john b’s right to sarah’s left.

“she seems really nice, but i’m not worried about me liking her, because, by what you guys always say about her, i already do. i’m just worried she won’t like me, you know because of the whole pogue-kook thing.”

everyone bursted out laughing at sarah’s words, her face more confused than ever. “what? what did I say?” kiara left pope at the helm of the boat, and went to sit in front of her, crossing her legs together. “you don’t need to worry about that, she doesn’t give a shit about the rivalry. trust me, she looks like she walked out of a cruise brochure. the only thing she wants is to see her brother with someone who makes him happy, which you do, so she’s totally gonna be fine with it.” sarah smiled at her words, feeling a bit more relieved now.

even though pope wasn’t seating next to them, he could still perfectly hear their conversation and see sarah’s tensed body. that’s why he decided to lighten up a bit the discussion. “you know, one time she made jj dress up as a reindeer.” he said getting out a chuckle at the memory of jj dressed as one of santa claus’s reindeers.

kiara followed him with a loud laughter “oh my god it’s true, i almost forgot it.”

sarah gave them an amazed look. she was enjoying this too much to not say anything. “okay, this is actually the funniest thing i’ve ever heard. did you had a red nose like little rudolph, too?” she said with a smirk, turning her head towards jj’s.

“oh shut up, all of you. i only did it because she asked. besides, she looked so happy when i changed into that costume. i would honestly do it again.” jj let out an involontary smile at the thought of y/n. it was like this all the time: wether he wanted it or not, the only thought of y/n made him feel like he was the happiest man on earth, even if he wasn’t. she just had that effect on him.

“god, it’s sickening how whipped you are for my sister.” john b said, mimicking a gag reflex.

jj rolled his eyes at his words. sarah switching her gaze between the two boys sitting one to her left, and the other to her right. she then stopped to look at jj. “wait- you like y/n?”

“like? hell, he loves that girl. he’s been in love with her since he was six. the random hook ups he has? that’s all for show. he only does it to not draw suspicion, since the only girl he’d like to fuck— and sorry john b— is y/n.” pope said, fully exposing his friend’s feelings.

not that jj cared anyway. everyone knew how he felt about her, he didn’t even try to deny it anymore.

“and you’re completely fine with it?“ sarah asked john b, knowing how protective he was when it came to his sister.

“i wasn’t always. first time he told me he loved her? i punched him. not my finest moment but i was kinda mad.” john b replied, slightly chuckling, reminiscing his right fist hitting jj’s jawbone. “i mean, the day before he tells me he sees her as a little sister and then that he wants to sleep with her? hell nah, i wasn’t having that.”

“and what changed your mind?”

“because it’s jj. i know my best friend, and i know how much he cares for her. i knew he was never going to hurt her, i’m actually pretty sure he would die for her.”

sarah nodded along. the look on jj’s face confirming that what john b had just said was a hundred percent true. in that moment a thought crossed her mind, making her think about how what jj and y/n must’ve been something truly special.

“bubba, we’re home.” john b shouted, as he opened the château’s door. the house was silent, except for a light melody coming from the bathroom and the sound of the shower running. “shower! be right there!” sarah heard y/n shout back, as every one of the pogues sat on the couch: her ending up between her boyfriend and kiara, next to who was seated pope; and a bit far away from them jj. she figured he left the space empty for y/n.

about ten minutes later, while the pogues were having a conversation about an upcoming party at the boneyard, a sixteen year old girl came out of the bathroom, wearing a pink sweater and long white sweatpants. white socks at her feet and long wet hair cascading down her back. she walked up to them, bending slightly to place a kiss on her brother’s cheek, and proceeding to do the same with all the others.

she then retraced her steps and stopped in front of sarah. “so you’re the reason why my brother stopped being a cranky old lady.” she smiled, offering her her right hand. “i’m y/n, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“sarah. it’s a pleasure to meet you too, john b’s always talking about you.” sarah replied, shaking her hand. y/n let out a small laugh, as she walked towards the end of the couch were jj was seated.

she plopped down next to him, tucking her legs under her bottom and leaning into him. he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and gently leaving a kiss to the side of her head. “he’s always talking about you too. i swear the other night he woke me up around 3am just to tell me how amazing your date was. which, don’t get me wrong, i was very happy to hear about.”

“you literally throw a pillow in my face.” john b said.

“duh, because you woke me at 3 fucking a.m. i love you bird, but for gods sakes let a girl sleep.” she replied, making everyone laugh at her comment.

the conversation resumed pretty quickly, this time through with jj paying way less attention to it, more focused on the girl next to him.

the entire evening, between laughters and bottles of beers, sarah observed how jj and y/n were always caught up in their whole world. jj’s hands being constantly on her body, wether it was a arm around her shoulders or his hand on her leg. they were glued to each other, sometimes even whispering between them words only they could catch.

for the second time that day, sarah thought about how jj and y/n’s bond was special, going beyond simple friendship.

it was almost two a.m. when kie and pope left, both returning to their respective houses to avoid their parents storming out on them. sarah instead was going to spend the night there, so since jj and john b were on the front porch smoking a joint, obviously a jj’s idea, she and y/n were the only two people moving around the living room, cleaning up the mess of empty beer bottles and pizza boxes.

the whole night she noticed how jj and y/n acted around each other, so since they were now alone, she just felt like she had to ask. “so what’s the deal between you and jj?”

“there’s no deal, we’re friends.” y/n said calmly.

“bullshit, i noticed the way you look at him and how he looks at you. that’s the look of love, sweetie.” sarah decided not to mention how jj actually felt about her. it wasn’t her place to say tell the truth.

“nah, jj would never go for someone like me. he only sees me as a little sister, besides i’m not even his type.” she replied, giving her a kind smile, even though she felt like a lump was stuck right down her throat. y/n always knew she wasn’t the kind of girl jj would want, the were total polar opposites, and truthfully she never even considered herself that much beautiful to have a chance with him.

“since when jj has a type? doesn’t he hits on every breathing human being?” sarah knew this probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but sometimes people needed a little push to blurt out their feelings. to her surprise though, y/n laughed, most likely because she knew how their friend had a habit of flirting with almost every girl he met. it didn’t matter if they were pogues or tourons, or hell even kooks sometimes. a pretty girl is a pretty girl, doesn’t matter where she comes from.

“kinda, but he always hooks up with victoria-secrets-models type of girls, if you get what i mean. and apart from that, we want different things. he doesn’t do relationships and i don’t do random hook ups. not to mention how the possibility of me and jj being together would probably give an aneurysm to my brother.”

“eh, i wouldn’t be so sure about that, ya know. either way though, you like him, don’t you?“ sarah said, remembering the conversation she and the other guys had on the boat.

busted. y/n stayed silent, sailing her lips in a thin, straight line. she then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, getting ready to spill everything out. she figured it was time to tell the truth anyway, since sarah clearly figured everything out.

“i met jj when i was four, we were in kindergarten and some older boys were picking on me. i was smaller and basically on the edge of tears, until i saw this blonde boy running towards me and putting himself between us. even if he was younger than them he still took my defense. after that he walked me home and told me he was a friend of john b’s. since that day, i don’t think i’ve ever liked someone that wasn’t him.“

she took a small pause, just to catch her breath. but she was so caught up in narrating the whole story, that she didn’t notice john b and jj leaning against the doorframe.

jj’s eyes almost bursting out of his face at her words, not expecting to hear her confession. john b, very aware of how his best friend was going to lose his shit any minute now, he places his finger against his mouth, mimicking him to shut up.

“as we grew older the roles kinda reversed and i started to look out for him: when he would come here bruised because of his father i would hug him and clean him up; even if younger than him i helped him study, you know just avoiding he would fail some subjects. at night, dad used to let him sleep next to me or john b because he didn’t want to be alone, thing that of course dad prohibited when i turned twelve. that didn’t stop him though: he would sneak out as soon as john b would fall asleep and come under the covers with me.”

she let out a laugh. “would sir. freud love this? probably yes, but it doesn’t matter. he deserves someone that cares for him, everyone does. and it’s not pity or mercy, i genuinely want to be there for him, because he deserves the best. yet, because of his father he’s convinced he’s worthless, but he’s not. gosh, he’s so funny and smart, which i know sounds weird but he is. he would die for his friends and cares so much for us. and i’m sure he could make it out of obx if only he wanted to. and he’s always so supportive and gen-“

she could’ve kept going on, but she suddenly noticed the two boys staring right up at her. jj’s eyes were watery, like he was going to cry any second now. he didn’t cry much, only when really fucked up things happened in his life, but for the first time he felt like crying not because he was sad and tired but because he was happy. because finally he could’ve had something great going on in his life. he could’ve had her.

without saying anything he launched himself into y/n’s arms, letting her stumble back due to the rushed impact between their bodies. he hold her tight, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck. his face placed in the space between her shoulder and her neck, breathing in the smell of the coconut soap she always used. he didn’t care about sarah and john b still being in the room, he wouldn’t even care if a freaking zebra walked in the house. she was the only thing that mattered. she was his whole universe.

“you shouldn’t eavesdrop, maybank.” she said with a smirk, putting a bit of distance between their bodies so she could look at him in the face, but still managing to play with the of hair at the nape of his neck.

“did you actually mean it? like for real?”

“every word, jay. you know me, i would never lie to you.”

jj maybank was impulsive. half of the time he never thought before acting, which pretty much resulted in him dealing with the aftermath of his stupid decisions. that’s why he didn’t think twice in grabbing y/n’s face with his hands, pressing his lips against hers.

at first he felt her stiffening, probably surprised by his gesture, and for a moment he really thought he had just screwed everything up. but then her hands went to his shirt, yanking him even closer if possible, and he sensed her relaxing, her lips moving against his.

after what seemed like hours, he pulled back, only because they both needed air. if it was up to him, he would’ve spent hours kissing her without getting a break.

“i’ve been loving you for a long time, princess.” she smiled, her cheeks almost hurting because of all the happiness she was feeling.

“well, you’re very lucky then, because i’ve been loving you for a long time too.”

“i can’t watch this, i think i’m gonna throw up.”

sarah nudged her elbow into her boyfriend stomach, giving him a look that said ‘shut the fuck up or i’m killing you’. john b raised his hands in the air, admitting defeat.

and, as they watched jj starting to kiss y/n again, sarah thought of how her own relationship was truly amazing. but in her opinion? what y/n and jj had was the true definition of soulmates.

[niilue]

—when vi finally speaks, it’s not just her words you hear, but the weight of everything she’s too scared to lose.—

part i.

cw: female reader, vi x reader, angsty, jealousy, emotional hurt, hurt-comfort, vi’s emotional struggle, vulnerable vi, mention of caitvi's relationship, slow burn, spoilers s2. this is long writer's note: guys this is long!! i didn't even know how to do this part, i tried to make it as canon as possible to vi's character, and remember this is fiction, not hate <3-

vi didn’t move immediately after ou left. she stood there, in the middle of the alley, listening to the sound of your footsteps fading away and feeling like with each one, something inside her broke a little more. your words still echoed in her head, louder than any punch she had ever taken in the ring.

"why are you acting like this is personal?"

she had said those words reflexively, without thinking, in an attempt to protect herself. but now, as she remembered them, all she felt was a sharp pang of shame. she had seen the pain in your face when she said them, had felt the weight of your emotions and how your words had been filled with anger and something deeper, something vi couldn’t quite understand.

"why did it matter so much to her?"

it was the only question she could ask herself as she stood there, motionless. she had faced fights, betrayals, even death, but she had never dealt with something as confusing as this. she had never had to look at someone and realize she didn’t understand what they were feeling.

caitlyn approached, breaking the silence with a tone that seemed to carry more judgment than compassion.

“vi…”

“not now, cait,” vi replied automatically, with a harshness that wasn’t aimed at her, but at herself.

but caitlyn didn’t stop.

“vi, you have to let her go. it’s clear that this… whatever it is that’s going on between you two…”

“you don’t understand!” vi raised her voice, turning toward caitlyn. her eyes were red, full of frustration and something caitlyn hadn’t seen in her before: fear.

caitlyn raised her hands in surrender, but the damage was already done. vi felt the explosion of emotions inside her, a chaos of unanswered questions that pushed her to act, to move, even though she didn’t know where to go.

"why does she care so much?"

vi started walking aimlessly, her footsteps echoing in the empty streets of zaun while her mind raced. the image of your face, of your eyes full of tears and pain, wouldn’t leave her alone. you had said you were nothing, that you would never be anything, but even so, your words had been full of something more: broken hope, a love that seemed too strong to ignore.

"why does she look at me like that?" vi thought, clenching her fists. she wanted to hit something, wanted all that noise in her head to stop. but she couldn’t. your words were still there, like an echo that wouldn’t fade.

“i never asked her to stay,” she muttered to herself, her voice heavy with self-defense.

but as soon as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

vi stopped in a dark corner, leaning against the wall as her breathing turned erratic. the streets around her were empty, but inside her, everything was full of noise.

“she’s the one who decided to stay,” she whispered again, trying to convince herself. but she couldn’t.

every time she tried to come up with an excuse, your image came back to her mind: you, taking care of her on the days when she didn’t even want to get off the floor. you, following her steps even when she yelled at you to leave her alone. you, looking at her like there was still something in her worth saving.

"why did you do it? why do you care so much?"

vi closed her eyes, her hands trembling as she tried to recall every word you had said. you had mentioned the darkest moments, the days when she punished herself in the ring, the days when alcohol was her only companion.

you had said you were there. that you had always been there.

vi felt something inside her break. you had been there, yes, but she had never seen it that way. she had never allowed those things to matter because… because if she did, she would have to face something she wasn’t ready to feel.

"why did you do it?" she murmured, as if speaking to you, though you weren’t there to hear her.

the answer came slowly, like a current breaking through the chaos in her mind. you hadn’t done it for her. you had done it because it was what you felt. because you wanted to save her, even when she didn’t want to save herself.

"you took it personally because it was always personal."

vi felt the air leave her lungs. it wasn’t just that you cared. it was that you had always seen something in her that she couldn’t see in herself. and now that she finally understood, now that the pieces were falling into place, you were gone.

she closed her eyes tightly, letting her head fall back against the wall. tears began to stream down her cheeks, hot and silent. she didn’t try to stop them.

"i’m such a coward."

that was the only conclusion she could come to. you had been there, enduring her worst, taking care of her when no one else would, and she had ignored it all. and when you had finally laid your feelings bare, when you had exposed the full weight of what it meant to love her, vi had responded with doubt, with silence, with words she now knew she should never have said.

"why are you acting like this is personal?"

because it had always been personal.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

vi turned the corner into the alley and saw you. you were sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around your knees, with your hair falling over your face, hiding your eyes. she knew you’d been crying. she knew because she recognized that posture, that way of curling up when the pain consumes you and you don’t know how to keep going.

vi took a deep breath, forcing herself to take a step toward you. then another. and another. her boots echoed softly against the damp ground of the alley, but you didn’t lift your head. not until she finally spoke, her voice low and tense:

“i’m here.”

those two words made you lift your head, though slowly, as if every muscle in your body weighed too much. your eyes, swollen and red, met vi’s, and she felt something inside her crack at the sight of all the pain she’d caused.

“why?” you asked, your voice broken but sharp enough to cut deeper than any shout.

vi swallowed hard, looking at the ground before forcing herself to meet your gaze again. her hands trembled at her sides as she tried to find the right words. but there weren’t any.

“i can’t leave you like this,” she admitted at last, her tone so low it was almost a whisper.

you laughed, but it was a bitter, joyless laugh. “you couldn’t leave me like this? that didn’t seem to matter when you let me spill everything i was feeling, and you didn’t do anything.”

vi pressed her lips together. she couldn’t defend herself from that because it was true. she had left you alone, not because she didn’t care, but because she didn’t know what to do with what she felt. because she was afraid.

“i didn’t know how to react,” she confessed, her voice still tense. she took another step toward you, though you didn’t move. “i don’t know how to handle this… how to handle you.”

your brows furrowed, your eyes shining with a mix of disbelief and anger. “and what does that even mean, vi? what the hell does that mean?”

vi took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair, tugging at the short strands as if that would help her think.

“it means i care about you,” she finally said, and though her voice was low, every word came out with an intensity that seemed to fill the entire alley. “it means you matter to me more than i know how to handle.”

the weight of her words hung in the air between you, and vi lifted her gaze to yours, searching for some sign that it wasn’t too late. but there was no response on your face, only a mix of emotions she couldn’t decipher.

“if i really mattered to you, you wouldn’t have done this,” you said, and your words were like a direct blow to her chest.

vi clenched her fists, but she didn’t look away. she knew you were right. but that didn’t make it any easier to face.

“it’s not that simple,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to hold herself together. “not after what happened with caitlyn.”

the mention of her name made your expression harden, and vi noticed.

“what does she have to do with this?” you asked, though you knew the answer might not be what you wanted to hear.

vi closed her eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the truth hit her before forcing herself to speak. “cait… made me believe i could trust someone again. that i could be more than a broken fighter.”

your chest tightened at her words, but you didn’t interrupt.

“and then, when things got bad, she left. she hit me, insinuated i was a monster, and walked away,” she continued, her voice cracking slightly at the end. her eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in her before: fear. pure, absolute fear. “it wasn’t just what she said or did. it was… that she made me think something i’d never believed was possible. and then she took it away.”

vi’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath for too long. “i don’t know if i can trust someone like that again. i don’t know if i can let myself feel that again.”

her words fell over you like a weight, but you didn’t let your expression change.

“then why are you here?” you asked, your voice filled with pain and defiance. “if you can’t trust anyone, why do you keep coming back to me?”

vi lifted her head quickly, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. she took another step toward you, this time lifting a trembling hand, though she didn’t touch you.

“because it’s different with you,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, there was something in her tone that made it sound louder than any shout. “because you saw me when no one else did. because when i wanted to destroy myself, you wouldn’t let me.”

vi lowered her hand slowly, her shoulders sagging as her voice softened even more. “but you scare me too. because with you, i can’t pretend. and i don’t know if i’m ready for that.”

the silence that followed was deafening. you could see the internal struggle in her gaze, the way she was caught between wanting to move forward and the fear that kept her anchored to the past.

finally, you let out a shaky sigh, turning your eyes away. “then i don’t know what you want from me, vi.”

vi pressed her lips together, her eyes filled with something that looked like a silent plea. “i want to try. even if i don’t know how.”

your chest ached as you listened to her, but you couldn’t just give in. not after what you’d seen, after what you’d felt hearing her call her “cupcake” as if nothing you had done for her mattered.

“this doesn’t erase what you did, vi,” you said, your voice low but firm, trembling under the weight of the emotions you had tried so hard to hold back. “it doesn’t change how i felt when i saw you call her that, like… like i didn’t mean anything to you.”

vi blinked, her face contorting into a pained expression. her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but you raised a hand, stopping her before she could start.

“you don’t get it, do you?” you continued, your words laced with restrained anger. “it’s not just the nickname. it’s what it represents. it’s how it makes me feel, like everything i did for you wasn’t enough.”

vi opened her mouth, but her voice broke before any words could come out. finally, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to respond. “i didn’t mean for you to take it that way. it wasn’t because you don’t matter to me.”

“and how am i not supposed to take it that way, vi?” you shot back, taking a step closer to her, letting the intensity of your words fill the space between you. “you always say you don’t know how to handle this, but it seems so easy with her.”

vi shook her head quickly, her eyes filled with something that looked like panic. “it’s not easy with caitlyn. it never was.”

the mention of her name made your teeth clench, but you forced yourself to let her continue.

“with her it’s… it’s different,” vi admitted, her words clumsy but honest. “cait was always… what i thought i needed. someone who made me feel like i could be more than what i am. but with you…”

she trailed off, her gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again.

“with you, i feel exposed. and that scares me because i don’t know if i’m made for something like this.”

you stood in silence, your breathing shaky as you processed her words. the anger burning in your chest still lingered, but there was something in her tone, in the way her hands trembled at her sides, that made your defenses start to crack.

“that doesn’t make it hurt any less, vi,” you finally murmured, your eyes shining with tears you refused to let fall. “but at least now i know why.”

vi nodded slowly, swallowing hard as if admitting all of this had drained every ounce of energy she had. she took another step toward you, her voice lowering even more.

“i want you to trust me. i know i don’t deserve it yet, but i want to try. i want this to mean something.”

for a moment, the weight of her words filled the space between you. it wasn’t a perfect promise. it wasn’t an immediate solution. but it was something.

you took a deep breath, looking away for a moment before locking your gaze back onto hers. “then show me, vi. because if you ever make me feel like i’m not enough again… i won’t stay.”

vi nodded again, more slowly this time, and though her eyes still held uncertainty, there was something new in them: determination.

you didn’t say anything else. you turned toward the alley’s exit, your footsteps echoing softly against the ground as you walked away. vi didn’t stop you this time, but she didn’t take her eyes off you until you disappeared into the darkness.

she stayed there, motionless, her chest tight and the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. she knew that this time, words wouldn’t be enough. she knew she would have to show you that you could trust her.

for the first time in a long time, vi felt like she had something to fight for.

[speed-world]

do you think you could do one with Shadow milk cookie x reader, where reader is like his stage assistant, hypeman, supporting role kind of thing, reader is like fully fine with atrocities shadow milk

maybe something with like reader also having been sealed separately from the beasts so shadow milk would probably have to try and find where reader was sealed while the brave and others were running around

- :D

His partner in crime

You and Shadow Milk Cookie were almost like The Joker and Harley Quinn (minus the cycle of abuse-)

He always loves and appreciates whenever you help him out in setting up a play. Whether that be designing the characters with him, arranging the props and stage in the best condition, and even just rooting for him!

There are even times when you help him write out the script for his plays, which he adores so so very much!!

He’ll always make a point to credit you in the most dramatic and loving manner whenever you help him. And boy do I mean dramatic-

“Thank you all so so so so much for enjoying the show! But the real star that deserves the glory is my dazzling, extraordinary, and adorable~…Y/N Cookie!!!”

A giant spotlight was cast on you as confetti and ribbons popped out all over the audience. You smiled and bowed as Shadow Milk applauded you, and after a while, everyone started applauding you!! If they didn’t, then the jester made sure they would cheer for his assistant…”

There are times where in the middle of his performance, he allows a pause for you to applaud and cheer and for him!

Of course, all of the audience is free to do the same whenever that brief moment comes, but usually it’s only you. Granted, all he cares about is your praise and appreciation, so he doesn’t care if you’re the only one clapping for him.

When he was imprisoned by the Witches, you were…displaced. The Witches knew your connection to Shadow Milk, and sealed you to the far ends of Earthbread outside of the Beast-Yeast continent.

Shadow Milk was furious beyond belief when he saw you being sealed up too. You weren’t a Beast or did anything wrong like he did, so why were you being punished like this?!

It hurt him so much, especially because he couldn’t do anything but sit in that dang tree…

Granted, this wouldn’t stop you from doing everything you could to get back to Beast-Yeast, or more get back to Shadow Milk

When you two were finally reunited in the Faerie Kingdom, after both your seals were broken down, you both ignored GingerBrave, Elder Faerie, and everyone else there and went to a discreet place to yourselves.

While you were reconnecting the lost time, he told you about Pure Vanilla and the Witches, and you’d be right there to hold him if he got shaken up or cried when mentioning them. You hated the witches and Purr Vanilla Cookie just as much, if not more than he did.

When Pure Vanilla and his company caught up to you, it was you who personally a play where certain caricatures would reference the witches, Pure Vanilla, or any others that Shadow Milk wasn’t fond of. You wouldn’t have any mercy in disrespecting said caricatures in the plays, which Shadow Milk loved and cheered for!!

No matter what, you were always there to support Shadow Milk and his crazy antics. He would do the same, loving you and being with you through every single thing.

[musicalnobody]

The Ghost You Fed - Ch. 1

bunny hybrid!reader X cane corso hybrid!simon "ghost" riley ⋆ Call of Duty ⋆MDNI⋆ 4.2k words ⋆ 18+, explicit in future chapters ⋆ tags to be added as story progresses ⋆

⋆ pinterest board ⋆ AO3 link ⋆ next ⋆

Summary: Being a service animal is all you've ever known, being spoiled as a treat for all you do for your owner. So what happens when you see something, or rather someone, you can't have? (Inspired by 'it will come back' by hozier)

Tags: pov second person, no use of y/n, eventual smut, kind of icky simon, stalking, past character death, reader is so spoiled, drug dealing, dog fighting, breaking and entering, semi-public masturbation

A/N: WOOOO NEW FIC TIME!!! To give a little heads up, I will be using italics to indicate sign language between the reader and her owner. There isn’t going to much of a description for the reader, but your hair is fairly long, and your ear and tail color are mentioned, you are also chubby bc come on, a little old lady with a hybrid? She’s gonna fatten you right up. In this universe hybrids have ears, tails, and some have claws and canine fangs. Heats and ruts also exist within this universe but without the whole omegaverse thing. The rest you’ll figure out along the way!

Being a service animal was easy enough. Tell her when someone was at the door, translate when you were out in public, comfort her when she was having a rough day, and in exchange you got pampered. It truly was an easy life.

Agnes had adopted you when you were just a kit, only five years old. She wasn’t fully deaf at the time, able to start teaching you sign language at a young age. She was the kindest woman you had ever met. Her hearing had fully deteriorated when you were 12 years old. Crying for hours at a time when she finally broke the news to you, never being much of a tough one.

She still tried her best to teach you all that she could, cooking and cleaning as well as hobbies like reading, writing, and crocheting fun little projects. You were quite spoiled, and you knew it, having you own room but preferring to sleep at the end of Agnes’ large bed, having a whole closet filled with frilly outfits, getting to be paraded about outside.

Your crème-colored fur doesn’t get dirty anymore, baths becoming a part of your routines. Agnes brushes your hair afterwards, having you sit in front of your vanity while she does. You always feel so special when she does this, especially when she gently grabs your droopy ears to brush out as well, leaving them all fluffy for you. When Agnes starts entering you in beauty pageants, you’re over the moon, pleased that your owner thinks so highly of you. You learn tricks, you show them how competent you are, how nice your coat is.

You display the awards proudly in your room.

Despite being out so often, Agnes didn’t have many friends. Just a couple childhood friends who would visit every now and then, her kids living on opposite sides of the country. They would have tea parties, none of them having hybrids of their own so you were left to bask in their attention. The scratches at your ears and tummy were what you lived for.

You were never bad, always following the rules and orders around the house, helping when needed. You were an easy bunny to take care of, Agnes couldn’t of asked for better. You had gotten your service animal papers the day you turned 13, and Agnes had given you a frilly vest that she had hand-sewed so everyone would know that’s exactly what you were. You wore the vest until the day the seams ripped, and it wouldn’t go over your arms anymore. That’s when she made you a new one.

It was a rainy day, one reserved for baking. Today, you had decided to surprise Agnes with Manchester tarts, some of her favorites. These bite sized deserts had a shortcrust pastry shell spread with raspberry jam, covered with a custard filling and topped with flakes of coconut and a Maraschino cherry. They made the whole house smell like warm raspberries and pastry, something you certainly weren’t complaining about.

You sat up in your room, brushing out your hair after deciding what to wear. Since you weren’t going outside, you decided on a frilly pink top with flowers decorating it, a short white layered skirt with white bloomers under it, and two pink lacy garters sitting atop your thighs. You wore dangly earrings with pink raspberries on the end, as well as a pearl necklace with a matching charm that went well with your pink collar sitting around your neck, proudly displaying your name. You quickly put some mascara on and some lip tint, popping your lips in the mirror. A chill went up your spine and you flicked your eyes to gaze behind you in the mirror, attributing it to the wind from your open window.

You walk downstairs, seeing Agnes knitting you a pink and white striped sweater on the recliner. Going up to her and tapping her on the shoulder, you tell her what you’re doing.

“Going to make us treats today” You signed as you smiled. You watched as Agnes returned the smile and nodded, indicating that she was going to continue knitting. You skipped off to the kitchen, since you were a bunny hybrid, you were only about 5 feet, and that was on the taller side. This meant that you often had to use the stool to grab different ingredients. You looked behind you again as another chill went up your spine, but this time there wasn’t a window open. You chalked it up to the heating not being high enough after not seeing anything.

Throwing the flour, diced butter, white fat and icing sugar together, you began the pastry. Mixing in the water, you then let it set for 30 minutes, idly watching the tv. When the timer finally went off, you leapt up, running to the kitchen. You opened the window behind you so the kitchen didn’t get too hot when you turned on the oven, setting a towel in front so that rain didn’t get on the floor.

After pre-heating the oven to 190°C and putting the baking beans in the tart, you twirled around and put the tart in the oven for another 20 minutes. After taking the baking beans out and letting it cook for another 7 minutes, you took it out and spread the jam along the bottom, sprinkling the coconut atop of it.

You made the custard, boiling the mixture and adding vanilla to taste before pouring it through a sieve. You stirred it for a few minutes, letting it cool, before pouring it into the tart. You sprinkled the top with the rest of the coconut before setting it out and letting it cool. These desserts were something that Agnes had spent plenty of time teaching you how to learn, so much so that you could do it by heart at this point. You set the timer for four agonizing hours and then pranced over to Agnes, kneeling beside her chair to receive the occasional pet as you began your own little crochet project.

⋆🐾⋆

Simon had known the streets long before he knew the regimen of the military. When his mother had passed and his brother fell into drugs, he left. Hybrids like him weren’t treated too kindly, as he wasn’t easily trainable, he wasn’t as obedient and desperate to please like some of the others. Simon found spots in alleys, abandoned buildings, and the occasional hybrid-friendly motel if he saved enough money. But that never lasted long.

When the military found him, he’d had a run in with some old “tamers” that were trying to capture him, he had fought back and paid the consequence, long lashes scattering his arms and back. Price had taken him right under his wing. Teaching him how to be a proper K-9 unit, watching him surpass that and being let on the field without a handler. Being able to be trusted with gun. Everything was going great for Simon. Until the death of his best friend.

Soap’s passing had left such a vengeance in his heart that he was forced to be honorably discharged, they feared what a man like him would be able to do if set off. They had tried to get him housing but nowhere would take his breed. The only option being those damned trainers and underground hybrid fighting rings. Simon quickly realized he could make a quick buck by entering these fights. Learning that he didn’t need a handler when he already knew how to fight. He had plenty of offers, but always snarled at them, telling them to fuck off, that he knew what he was doing.

So, there he was, a world-class soldier now turned into a common stray. Resorting to illegal fighting and other ventures to line his pockets. There was a fresh bruise blooming under his eye, the last fight ending just a couple hours ago. Simon would find a place to sleep for a few hours before moving again, not wanting to stay in one place for too long.

When he woke up to the rain, it was just another day for him, though he noted he would have to stop by a laundromat for his current clothes, thankful for the extra outfit in his backpack. It was early in the morning when he was hopping the roofs of the city. Most of the lights down because of the weather. It wasn’t until he stopped to catch his breath that he noticed the house across the street.

A small baby blue house sat in his line of sight, a lamp illuminating a room on the second story. Having been perched at the far end of the building across the street, he crept closer to the edge. That’s when he saw it, or rather, you.

You were brushing your hair with a brush that looked straight out of the Victorian era, like you were a princess. You were sitting in front of your vanity in an outfit that had Simon snarling. The garters that were sitting on your thighs were things he wanted to take off with his own teeth. He sat there, staring at you as you brushed out your, oh. Oh. You were a little bunny hybrid. He hadn’t noticed your tail tucked under you before, or your floppy little ears until you pulled them out to brush. If your window wasn’t open, Simon would’ve started to howl, but for fear of scaring your owner, let alone you, he didn’t.

He watched as you shivered, ducked as you turned to look out the window. His call sign proving its significance at this moment, his ability to disappear within a blink of an eye. He peeked his head back up, watching as you left your room and bounced down the stairs, truly getting a grasp of how small you were. He groaned, long and heavy. You were perfect. Your skirt was tantalizingly short, bloomers covering what he wanted to see most.

When he lost sight of you in the living room? Well, it was time to move. He snuck down, thankful for the bushes that surrounded your house, and peered in. He noticed your hands moving animatedly until it actually hit him. You were signing. Your owner was deaf. Simon quickly thanked whatever God was out there that he had less of a chance of being caught if he was howling, less chance of getting caught when sneaking around. He watched as you went into the kitchen, moved to the window next to him so he could see you better.

Simon was aware this made him nothing short of a creep, but he was addicted to you. He watched as you stood atop your stool, watched as your body realized someone was staring at you while he ducked down. The thrill was enough to get his breathing ragged, grateful that there weren’t windows open next to him. Popping back up to watch you throw together the dough, hiding when you opened the window next to him. Staring intently as you waited right next to your owner, wanting it to be him giving you all the desperate pets you wanted. The smell of your baking was starting to become more prominent as you put the pastry in the oven.

He could smell the raspberry jam being spread on the tart, matching your cute little earrings that he was getting a close eye of. He watched as you sprinkled the coconut on the tart before starting on the custard. The smell was fantastic, and Simon had a pretty good idea of what you were making by now. A Manchester tart. He hadn’t tasted one in years. His mother had used to make them when he was younger, holiday dinners and such. He was damn near ecstatic when he realized that’s what you were making, already looking for the weak points in your house.

⋆🐾⋆

Waiting for the tart to cool was agonizing. No matter how much crocheting you could do or how much music you could listen to, you were moping around the house bored. Agnes took pity on you, looking down at you as you tapped your foot against the ground,

“Impatient, love?”

“I just know they’re going to taste so good!” You signed back, emphasizing your words by making fireworks with your hands. Agnes simply chuckled before ruffling your hair.

“Good things come to those who wait” Her famous line being signed as you went to lay back down, continuing your little project as you waited for the timer to go off.

When the timer finally pinged, you jumped to your feet. Grabbing the pie slicer, you cut the tart into 10 equal pieces, dishing out you and Agnes a piece. Grabbing your signature mini fork and handing Agnes her piece, you dug in.

Your teeth sunk into the tart, a happy noise coming out of your mouth, it was delicious. The buttery crust melted on your tongue, the tart raspberries pulling it together, and the coconut adding a hint of extra flavor. “It’s so good” You signed to Agnes as you continued to eat. Agnes simply smiled at you before grabbing a slice of her own, making her own noise of happiness when she sunk her teeth in.

“I think you’ve learned how to make it better than me.” Agnes signed back at you, a look of proudness on her face. You smiled, big and wide, happy to please your owner so much. This was the best Manchester tart you’ve ever made, and you knew it. Putting the rest in Tupperware and putting it into the fridge, you shut the door gently.

“I’m going to go take a bath!” You signed to Agnes before bouncing upstairs, opening the door to the bathroom. Opening the window a tad, you started to strip your outfit off, making sure you had 2 fluffy towels to welcome you when you got out. You started filling the tub with hot water, just a bit hotter than comfortable so it wouldn’t get cold too fast. The large claw-foot tub held you easily as you stepped foot in the hot water. You sighed heavily and swung your other foot over, gently setting yourself down.

You began your routine by shampooing your hair and ears, the strawberry shortcake scent starting to permeate the room. You lathered your hair until it was soapy, scrubbing at your ears gently. You went to rinse your hair and felt the familiar chill down your spine despite the water being hot. You wanted to close the window, worrying that that was the problem, but you know the room will get too steamy if you do, so you decide to leave it open.

You then moved onto conditioning your hair, the matching scent adding to the smell in the air. Your hair and fur instantly felt silkier, the bubbles now surrounding you. You grabbed your scrubbing brush and put your vanilla scented soap on it before beginning to scrub yourself down. Using your hands on more sensitive areas, you traced over the area lightly, mewling softly.

Draining the water and closing the window, you pattered over to your room. Putting on a cute little matching set with a sheer pink nightdress on top, you pranced around the house feeling like a princess. You skipped down the stairs to see Agnes. Who simply smiled at your appearance, your hair still drying.

“You look beautiful my dear.” You smiled right back at her, all teeth and giggles. You pranced over to the cabinets, once again grabbing the stool to grab one of your pink bowls with white bunnies all over it. You set the bowl on the counter before grabbing the tub of neapolitan ice cream and scooping 3 large spoonsful into your bowl. Putting the tub back before grabbing a spoon and glancing at what Agnes was watching

It was one of her soap operas, a tale of a hybrid and her handler who lived out in the country, escaping from the crime they were used to. In this particular episode, the avian hybrid was being approached by a large feline hybrid from the opposing organized crime group, you tried to avoid the screen, the scene starting to cause you anxiety.

“More sweets?” Agnes signed as she smiled warmly at you, making sure you knew she wasn’t being judgmental. You nodded, offering her a bite before trotting back upstairs.

Sitting on your bed watching tv, you were kicking your feet in the air as you shoveled spoonful after spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, letting out little mewls and moans at the delicious taste. The movie was just starting, an old silent fairytale that you had seen over and over. Despite the film being old, there were still hybrids in it, having them be the two helping hands that assisted the soon to be princess in getting ready. The scene made you happy, not often getting good representation in the media, hence why this was a comfort film.

But your mind started to become occupied with other things, the movie not holding your attention very well. You tried to write in your diary, writing about how you had baked for the day, coming up with ideas on how to modify the Manchester tart. You wrote about how nice your bath was, how you needed to get more bubble bath solution. You wrote about all the mundane things that happened throughout your day, talking about how you were excited for the summer trip only a few months away, really trying to wind down.

That was until a too familiar chill slipped down your spine again, and you had enough. You stomped overed to your window, thankful that Agnes wasn’t able to hear your steps, and glared out into the open sky.

“Will you stop that!” You said loudly, looking at the moon as the rain that had been pouring down all day continued.

⋆🐾⋆

Simon crept around the house for another hour, successfully finding the back door unlocked and a way to access the upper roof so he could peek into your window. He would come back once the Manchester tarts were done cooling off. For now, he had stuff to do. At least, that’s what he told himself as he tore his body away from the window.

He was a simple man; he had to make money somehow. At least, that’s what he told himself as he gave the next sorry soul another dose of whatever high they were after. If the military could see him now, they’d be ashamed, but pushing drugs was an easy and quick fix. It wasn’t weird to wear hoods that hid his ears and masks that obscured his face, especially when he was dealing with heat suppressants, some of the most illegal drugs on the market.

When hybrids first started appearing in the general market, heat and rut suppressants were encouraged, often being prescribed when a hybrids cycle was especially rough or aggressive. But as more side effects got added and other alternatives were created, they slowly withdrew from popularity, now only being used as heavy birth control. There were also multiple brands that were illegal, brands that Simon was all too familiar with.

While he also pushed “normal” drugs such as coke or weed, there was a much higher demand for suppressants. The more he sat and thought about his profession, the more he thought about you. Wondering if you even had a heat anymore, or if they took your glands away from you when you were deemed unfit to be anything more than a pet, yet another solution they had come up with.

Simon had been offered the surgery when he first entered the military, but he flat out refused. He didn’t like his ruts, as they often fell under the aggressive category, but he would often have someone accompany him or at least keep him locked up. He had found someone that he consistently spent his ruts with, and that’s when the military’s offer came to taunt him, asking after the death of—

He shook himself out of his train of thought, busying it with you again. How your room had been covered in bows and frills, pink and cream, florals, a princess’s dream. How although not in a great part of the city, your house was still perfectly put together. So fitting for the two of you. The yellow and white kitchen looked like it came straight out of a 1950’s nostalgic catalogue, and suddenly he was imagining himself behind you as you baked sweet treats for them.

He was yet again getting too far ahead of himself, hell, he didn’t even know your name. Strays like him weren’t welcome in homes like that, he didn’t have the manners to stay within that little home. He would sink his teeth in to rip and tear at the seams. He would destroy anything he touched. And with him not being a proper working dog, well he just couldn’t let you into this life. That’s when he decided he would stay far, far away from you. Watching you only when it was safe to do so.

After three agonizing hours of wandering around the city collecting clients and thinking to himself, Simon realized that he could return to your neighborhood, return to his bunny. Ducking into his position in the overgrown bushes, he watched as you placed the first bite into your mouth, hearing the faint sound of your overjoyed squeal at the success of the pie. Your voice was a melody he was already getting accustomed to, wanting to be the reason why those sweet sounds came out of your mouth.

He watched as you finished your slice of the tart before signing something to Agnes and bounding up the stairs. It was his time to strike. Pushing open the window his was ducked under, Simon hastily climbed into the kitchen, his hulking body making too much noise for his comfort, once again grateful for Agnes’ lack of hearing.  He quickly swung open the fridge door to grab one of the Tupperware containers before dipping right back outside.

It wasn’t until he made his wander into the backyard that he realized what you must have signed to Agnes. A bath. You were bathing yourself. He couldn’t see much from the backyard, thanking the cramped alleyways of Manchester allowing him to climb the roof of the house behind yours. Giving him a perfect view into— Oh.

The bathroom window was slightly ajar, enough for the faint smell of strawberries to drift over to Simon’s nose and fuck was he already planning how many pups he was going to give you, wondering if they would be little kits or pups, wondering how you would look so round and— Christ you had a way of doing that to him. Making him space out and dream about realities that could never happen with a mutt like him. Not someone so dirty. Nor someone so depraved.

He watched as you washed your hair, taking extra time with your ears, not being able to rip his eyes off you. He glanced away when you washed your body, still wanting to be respectful to you, but you made it difficult. The second he smelled that sweet vanilla body wash he came undone, writhing on the roof before tearing himself away from the picture of you, finally giving you privacy.

He walked back to the house that was across the street, perching on that roof as he ate the Manchester tart. He had to bite his tongue from letting out an overjoyed howl at the first bite, it instantly bringing him back to his childhood. He devoured it in only a couple bites, not having the patience to savor the treat. He would have to remind himself to take another slice tomorrow, before the two of you ate it all.

When he was finished with the tart, he glanced into your room, only to be shocked to see you sprawled out on your stomach in a sheer pink nightgown, kicking your feet back and forth as you ate your ice cream, one treat not enough for you. He growled quietly; you looked simply divine. Cream colored bikini cut underwear with rows of frills caressing your ass, a matching bralette holding in your pretty tits. The sheer nightgown did little to cover you, having little accents of cream-colored lace as well. It just barely covered your ass, leaving so little to the imagination that it had Simon fuming.

But then you were writing in that diary, and all Simon could think of was those pouty lips around him, how silky your hair would be around his calloused fingers, how soft your skin would be. And when you called out into the night? Trying to get his prying eyes off you? Well, he just couldn’t stop himself from cuming right into his hand, wishing he had cum into your pretty little mouth instead.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

taglist:

@hughjackmanadict

[sapphiccup]

SFW MDNI :D soft sevika/goofy headcannons

-I feel like Sevika would give the best hugs, she always kisses your shoulder and sometimes has cute aggression for you so yes she’s gonna bite that very shoulder she just kissed. You don’t ask why and she doesn’t ever bring it up, you’re just chill about it (giggling and kicking your feet that she’s that comfortable with you though)

-She refuses to share her last piece of her favorite meal. Like absolutely not she is not giving it to no one. She don’t care what’s going on that’s hers to keep. If anything else she will gladly feed you or give you half of her portion so you stay full.

-Sevika would let you know new things about health requirements you should tweak for your routine of life. Because she fucking loves you like duh. She wants you to live comfortably and well, and longer with her.

-She hates icecream, she used to love it but now its just too damn cold for her teeth so why bother? But she does love it when you eat ice cream and kiss her afterwards, loving the sweet taste coming from your lips, and if it’s her favorite flavor that kiss is going to be longgggg

-You have separate blankets, she runs hot, and steals the covers OFTEN somehow? Regardless of her being hot asf she loves taking the covers. So instead of arguing every night about it and her apologizing in a delicious way (morning head) you both decided it’s time to just get separate covers. You sleep with your many pillows and she sleeps with her cooling cover. Ofc you still get morning head whenever you’d like to she’s not taking that away from you unless you would like for it to stop. She will stop as long as you tell her.

-Sevika loves kittens, she sometimes nurse them back to health when she sees an abandoned kitten on the streets of Zaun. Always coming home with a stray in her arms and you prepping the kitten nursery again, cause you just can’t say no to her puppy eyes.

- She pouts often around you when you haven’t paid attention to her as much as she’d like you to. She respects your space but trust and believe me she pouts somewhere in the house that she either hasn’t gotten a kiss from you or flirting.

- She likes keeping you on her lap a lot, arm around your waist and her resting her head in your neck, inhaling you in.

- She talks fast when she’s nervous around you and mistakenly bites her tongue.

-She loves kissing you but she especially loves kissing your ears so you giggle in her arms.

- Sevika loves hearing you yap you have a nice comforting voice to the point where she finds herself falling into a deep sleep. It makes you upset and you think you’re boring but genuinely it’s not that.

- Sevika seems like she listens to asmr 😗

- She sneaks around the house watching your favorite shows to get to the good parts without you knowing, so she can threaten to spoil the show if you try to spoil her favorites

- She has these monster claw slippers that she walks around the house, they are so cute she adores them to bits!

-She likes being pampered and especially pampering herself to regain some control in her very busy life. Her favorite part to do is her skin care routine and she likes painting her toe nails black

- she sleeps with a neck pillow 😚

-Sevika pinches your cheeks whenever the opportunity arises

- and lastly Sevika likes playing the walking dead series, and wants you to watch her play as she shit talks about the characters,

“This bitch molly just took my battery.. fuck molly. Bitch ass. Taking my shit like I didn’t just almost get unalived several times for that. —-Baby, this why we don’t fuck with people named molly”

“I wouldn’t trust her anyway look at how she act” You’d respond sharing the same distaste for her disliked character.

You have had arguments over her choices though because you know you be dead right about something and Sevika doesn’t like being wrong when it comes to her favorite game (that she just started playing but hey it’s her favorite now)

A/n: I was up all night again so I wrote this ‘bout sleepy asf writing this 🥱😴 I’m sleepy rn lmao. I didn’t proof read this so I’m slowly going to edit this! (I lied I am not editing this LMAOAOOAOAOO )