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bueckets · 1 month ago

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The Prophecy | Part 1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One (you're here) | Two

Description: They call her The Prophecy—basketball’s impossible phenomenon, rewriting what it means to be perfect on the court. With a near-flawless shooting record and a mind just as sharp in aerospace engineering as it is in breaking down defenses, her name sparks awe, envy, and relentless scrutiny. But perfection has its cost.

But even legends have weak spots. When a high-stakes matchup against LSU draws the attention of Paige Bueckers—the golden face of college basketball—The Prophecy’s flawless world starts to crack. On the court, they’re rivals, locked in a battle for supremacy. Off the court, late-night texts and shared moments blur the lines between competition and something much harder to define.

WC: 11.9k

Authors Notes: Slow Burn, Competitors to Lovers, SLOW, I'm heavy into world building so expect a lot of story, SMUT in next chapter. I've like proof read 70% there's already 40k words written and I've changed shit up like 40 times by now lol

They say there are two kinds of impossibilities in basketball: the ones you laugh at, and the ones that make you hold your breath. Your entire career has been about the second kind.

The numbers shouldn't exist: 847 shots attempted in college. Two misses. A percentage that makes statisticians check their math and then check it again. The first miss was a seventy-footer your freshman year that hit the rim so perfectly the sound echoed through the arena like a bell. The second? Sophomore year, caught an elbow to the face that had blood streaming down your jersey—the shot still almost went in.

Two misses in three years. They call you The Prophecy because watching you miss is like seeing a meteor strike, so rare that people mark their calendars by it.

Every sports network has tried to explain you. ESPN did a special called "The Prophecy: Breaking Down Basketball's Perfect Player." Sports Illustrated put you on the cover: "The Future Came Early." The New York Times ran a feature: "Harvard's Double Threat: Engineering the Perfect Game." They all tried to capture what makes you different. None quite managed it.

Because how do you explain someone who turned down every basketball powerhouse in the country—UConn, Stanford, South Carolina—to study Aerospace Engineering at Harvard? How do you rationalize someone who spends mornings in advanced fluid dynamics classes and afternoons making impossible shots look like a simple routine?

Your teammates get it, though. They've nicknamed you "Rocket”— partly for your major, partly for how you launch yourself through defenses. You're the heart of a Harvard team that's won three straight championships, turning the Ivy League school into a basketball dynasty that no one saw coming.

But that legacy isn't built on game days alone. It’s forged in moments like these: the hum of anticipation, the camaraderie, the banter that cuts through the tension as the team gets ready to take the court.

They say the silence before a storm is the loudest. But whoever said that never sat in Harvard's women's basketball locker room before a big game.

"I swear to god, if you try to explain zone defense using thermodynamics one more time—" Sierra launches a rolled-up sock across the room that you catch without looking up from your pre-game ritual: left shoe, right shoe, double-knot both, check laces twice.

"That was ONE time," you protest, but Maria's already cackling.

"One time? Girl, last week you tried to break down UNC's press using some dynamic—“

"And it WORKED, didn't it?"

The locker room erupts in laughter, the kind of easy joy that only comes from three years of championships, late-night practices, and inside jokes that no one else would understand. Taylor's already started your pregame handshake sequence; each title has added new moves until it's practically a full choreographed dance.

"Speaking of Carolina," Jasmine pipes up while adjusting her headband, "did y'all see their point guard tried to claim she's almost as accurate as you?”

"How'd that work out for her?" Sierra grins.

"Shot 3-for-15 against Duke." Taylor shakes her head. "Meanwhile, our girl over here—"

"845 for 847," the team chants in unison, then breaks into laughter again.

You roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

"Yo, check this out though," Sierra's scrolling through her phone. "LSU's talking mad shit on Twitter. Their center says she's gonna 'expose the myth’ tonight."

Tonight's game against LSU has been circled on calendars since the schedule dropped. Defending national champions versus the team that's rewriting what's possible in college basketball.

The banter continues as everyone goes through their pregame routines. Maria's got her headphones in, mouthing the same Drake lyrics she's been using since freshman year. Taylor's meticulously re-taping her ankles for the third time. Jasmine's practicing her crossover in front of her locker, adding a little extra flair each time.

That's when Coach Matthews steps in, game face already set. The room doesn't exactly go quiet- this team's never been good at that, but the energy shifts— focuses.

"Ladies," she begins, but Sierra can't help herself.

"We know, we know, sold out crowd, national TV, time to show them why they call us the best team in the country."

The locker room buzzes with the easy confidence of a team that knows what they're capable of. You've all been together three years, grown from underdogs to unstoppable.

Coach tries to look stern but fails. "I see three rings have made you cocky."

"Nah, Coach," Jasmine grins. "We were cocky before the rings. Now we’ve just proven that we were right all along.��

The team cracks up again, but you catch something in Coach's expression, a mix of pride and concern. Her eyes find yours across the room. You know what she's thinking: LSU's not here just to play basketball. They're here to make a statement. To prove that Harvard's dynasty, your perfect record, all of it, is just smoke and mirrors.

You peek out at the arena as you head to warm-ups. Every seat filled, signs everywhere:

"The Prophecy Has Spoken: Harvard by 20"

"845/847 ≈ Perfection"

"Future WNBA GOAT"

"Rocket Science + Basketball = 🐐"

The student section erupts with enough thunder that you’d think there was an earthquake outside as you step onto the court. Three years, and the roar still hits different every time. Your teammates spread out for warm-ups, but you can feel every eye in the arena tracking your movement.

"Remember freshman year?" Sierra bumps your shoulder as you start stretching. "When you were still trying to convince everyone you were just 'pretty good' at basketball?"

You laugh, remembering that first practice. You'd shown up in glasses and a Harvard Engineering t-shirt, trying to downplay the high school highlights that had ESPN calling you the next Sue Bird. Then you went 50-for-50 in shooting drills.

"Pretty good," Taylor mimics, feeding you the ball. "Meanwhile Sports Center had a ticker counting your made shots."

The ball feels alive in your hands as you start your warm-up routine. Crossover, behind the back, step-back three. Swish. The Harvard crowd counts each made shot, a tradition that started your freshman year. They're at "thirty-seven" when a murmur ripples through the stands like a shift in the air pressure.

That's when you see them.

The entire UConn women's team, filing into their seats behind your bench. Their presence is magnetic, commanding, like the world has suddenly shifted to center on them. Your breath catches for just a moment, but you keep moving. Eyes forward, muscles loose. Don’t look. Don’t look.

Your gaze flickers up, and that’s when it happens. Paige Bueckers—UConn’s golden child, the face of their dynasty—locks eyes with you. The briefest of seconds, but it feels like a spotlight on your skin. She's not just watching; she's studying. Calculating.

Without breaking stride, you add a little extra spin to your next move. A crossover that’s sharp enough to slice, a step-back three so effortless it’s almost insulting. Swish.

"Showing off for UConn?" Maria teases, but her voice feels distant, barely cutting through the thrum in your chest. You don’t answer. The crowd is at "forty-two" now, and so is Paige. You can feel her counting.

"Please," you roll your eyes, draining another three. "They're the ones who showed up to our house."

The arena's practically vibrating now. LSU's warming up on the other end, trying to look unbothered. Their coach keeps glancing your way, everyone knows their game plan will revolve around stopping you. Good luck with that.

"Rocket!" Jasmine calls out. "Give them the space shot!"

It's another team tradition. End of warm-ups, you launch one from near half-court, high enough to clear the International Space Station. The crowd holds its breath as the ball arcs through the air—

Bucket.

The place goes absolutely nuclear. Even some LSU players stop to watch the replay on the jumbotron. You don't celebrate, just turn and jog back to the bench, but you catch Paige Bueckers leaning forward in her seat. Yeah, she felt that one, too.

In the huddle, Coach Matthews keeps it simple. "They're going to try to get physical. They're going to try to get in your heads. But what do we do?"

"Let the scoreboard talk!" the team responds in unison.

You look around the circle—these girls who've become family. Sierra, who's never met a defensive assignment she couldn't lock down. Maria, whose no-look passes seem telepathic. Taylor, who crashes boards like gravity's just a suggestion. Jasmine, whose trash talk is almost as legendary as her three-point shooting.

The starting lineups are announced. LSU's players get scattered applause, but when they call your name, the sound is deafening. "At guard, a junior from Boston, Massachusetts, averaging 32.5 points per game, shooting 99.8% from the field—The Prophecy!"

You high-five down the bench, each teammate adding their own flourish to the routine. The crowd's chanting now:

"M-V-P! M-V-P!"

But you're already in game mode, that familiar calm settling over you. You can feel Uconn’s members watching from the stands, feel the weight of every expectation, every camera, every scout with an NBA team's future in their hands.

The referee holds the ball at center court. LSU's center—all six-foot-five of her—tries to stare you down.

You just smile. They have no idea what's coming.

The game opens exactly how LSU planned: double-team before you even touch the ball. Their guard and forward shadow your every move, leaving gaps all over the court. Rookie mistake.

You catch Maria's eye, give her the smallest nod. She drives right, drawing attention, while you slip backdoor. The defender realizes too late—you're already airborne, catching the lob one-handed. The rim's still shaking as you get back on defense.

"That's my point guard!" you shout, giving Maria her props. The crowd's already going wild, and you're only thirty seconds in.

LSU tries to establish their post game, but Sierra's having none of it. She strips their center clean, and suddenly you're off to the races. The ball finds you at the three-point line. One defender recovers, rushing at you with a hand up.

Time slows. You see every option: the drive, the pass, the shot. But there's something poetic about making the hardest choice look easy. You rise up, release. The defender's hand grazes your wrist—doesn't matter. Swish.

"And The Prophecy strikes first! Two possessions, two baskets!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "She's making this look like a shoot-around!"

Your teammates are feeding off the energy. Taylor's owning the glass, Jasmine's picking pockets, and Maria's threading passes through impossible angles. By the six-minute mark, you're up 18-7, and LSU calls their first timeout.

"They can't guard you for shit!" Sierra laughs as you huddle up. She's right—they've tried three different defensive schemes already.

Coach Matthews keeps it tactical. "They're getting frustrated. Gonna start trying to bump you off your spots. Stay composed."

You nod, taking a quick swig of water. Your eyes drift to the UConn section. KK Arnold shoots you a smile which you return. Sierra’s shown you enough of her Tik Tok’s for you to recognize the Freshman.

Back on court, LSU switches to a box-and-one. Four players in a zone, one dedicated to face-guarding you. Cupcake stuff compared to what you see in practice.

You set up on the wing, let them think they've got you contained. The defender's playing so tight you can smell her shampoo. Maria starts her drive, draws the zone's attention. You wait... wait...

Then it happens. Quick as thought, you plant your back foot, cut hard to the corner. The defender's still turning when you catch and release in one motion. The ball hasn't even hit the net before you're heading back on defense.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" The announcer's losing it. "The Prophecy with another! She's 5-for-5 to start the game!"

The Harvard student section's going ballistic. Even your teammates are shaking their heads—three years, and you still find ways to surprise them.

LSU's getting chippy now. Their forwards are throwing elbows on screens, talking under their breath. You've seen it before: when skill isn't enough, they try to get physical.

"Yo Rocket," Taylor mutters after a particularly hard screen. "They're hunting."

You just nod. Let them hunt. You didn't get here by backing down.

With two minutes left in the first quarter, they try to trap you at half-court. Two defenders, both bigger, trying to muscle you into a mistake. You hit them with a crossover so nasty the crowd gasps. Split the double-team, euro-step around the help defense, and finish with a finger roll that looks like it defies gravity.

The LSU coach is screaming now, face turning purple. Nothing's working. Every scheme, every adjustment, every physical play, you've got an answer for all of it.

Ten seconds left. You let the clock drain, waving off the screen from Taylor. Your defender's in perfect position, textbook stance. Doesn't matter.

You rise up from NBA range, the defender's hand right in your face. The ball arcs high, the crowd holding its breath—

Swish. At the buzzer.

Harvard's bench explodes. Your teammates mob you as you head to the sideline, perfect quarter in the books. 15 points, 6-for-6 shooting, 3 assists. Just another day at the office.

"Show off," Sierra teases as you sit down.

"Actually," you grin, slipping into your best professor voice, "according to my calculations, that was just the warm-up."

The team cracks up. This is what the cameras miss, what the stats can't show. The joy of playing the game you love, with people you love, at a level few have ever reached.

But LSU's huddle looks different now. There's an edge to their expressions, a darkness in their eyes. They're not just losing—they're being embarrassed on national TV.

You've seen that look before. It usually means someone's about to do something stupid.

Second quarter opens with LSU trying something new: they're running a full-court press, getting extra physical on every possession. Their coach has clearly given them the green light to push boundaries.

"They big mad now," Jasmine laughs as she inbounds the ball to you.

You weave through the press like it's a morning jog, finding Maria with a no-look pass that has the crowd buzzing. She drains the three, and you make sure to flex for the LSU bench on the way back. Their coach calls for a substitution, sending in Williams—their enforcer, known for walking the line between aggressive and dirty.

"Heads up," Taylor mutters as she runs past you. "Number 32's got that look."

You've seen players like Williams before. They show up in every big game, thinking they'll be the one to throw you off your rhythm. They usually learn.

The next possession, Williams tries to bump you off your cut. You absorb the contact, spin away like water, and catch the ball in perfect position. She's still recovering when you rise up for three. Nothing but net.

"That's 20 for The Prophecy!" The announcer's voice carries over the roar. "Still perfect from the field!"

The Harvard student section starts a new chant: "YOU CAN'T GUARD HER!"

You spot some NBA scouts courtside, furiously taking notes. There's already talk about you leaving early, being a top pick. But that's future stuff. Right now, there's just this game, this moment, this next possession.

Williams is getting frustrated. Each bump gets a little harder, each screen a little later. The refs are letting them play physical, and LSU's taking full advantage.

"Yo Rocket," Sierra says during a free throw. "Want me to accidentally trip her?"

You shake your head, smiling. "Nah. I got something better planned."

Next play down, you call for a clear-out. Everyone knows what's coming, your teammates, the crowd, even the UConn section leans forward. Williams squares up, trying to look tough.

The move is pure poetry: crossover so quick it looks like the ball's on a string, between the legs, behind the back. Williams lunges, trying to stay in front. That's when you hit her with the step-back, creating just enough space to rise up.

The shot is perfect before it leaves your hands. Williams can only watch as it drops through, pure silk. The crowd absolutely loses it.

"SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!" Jasmine screams, running past Williams, tongue out in mockery. "But not for her!"

Even some of the LSU players are trying not to smile. What else can you do when you're watching someone operate on a different level?

That's when you notice Paige Bueckers isn't just watching anymore—she's studying. Taking in every move, every counter, like she's downloading your game for future reference. You catch her eye for a split second and there's something there: not just respect, but recognition. Game recognizing game.

The half continues like a highlight reel. You're seeing everything in slow motion: every cut, every screen, every defensive rotation. It's like playing basketball in IMAX, everything crystal clear, every possibility visible.

With three minutes left in the half, Harvard's up 45-28. The game's starting to feel less like competition and more like an exhibition. That's usually when things get dangerous.

You see it coming in slow motion: Sierra bringing the ball up court, Williams setting up for what looks like a normal defensive position. But there's something in her stance, something in her eyes.

Williams launches herself at Sierra, sending her crashing into the scorer's table with a sickening crack. The crowd gasps as Sierra crumples, blood already streaming from her nose.

The arena goes dead silent.

Then everything happens at once. Your teammates rush to Sierra. Jasmine gets in Williams' face. The refs are blowing whistles. But you, you're standing perfectly still, a different kind of calculation running through your mind.

Three years of friendship. Three championships. Countless late-night study sessions where Sierra helped you with orbital mechanics homework while you ice your knees. All those moments flash through your mind in an instant.

You start walking toward Williams, and something in your expression makes everyone—teammates, refs, even the crowd—go quiet.

The silence in Lavietes Pavilion is deafening. Blood drips from Sierra's nose onto the hardwood—each drop echoing like thunder in your ears. Your teammates are surrounding her, but your focus is laser-locked on Williams, who's still trying to act tough, shoving Jasmine.

"Get the fuck out my face," Williams snarls, pushing your teammate back.

You cross the court in long, measured strides. Your teammates part like the Red Sea, something in your expression making them step aside. Williams turns just as you reach her, and for the first time tonight, you see fear flicker across her face.

The crowd holds its breath. Every phone is up, every camera pointed at this moment. Even the refs seem frozen, waiting to see what happens next.

You step right into her space, close enough that only she can hear you. Your voice comes out low, deadly calm. "Touch my teammate again," you say, each word precise as a scalpel, "and I promise you'll regret ever stepping foot in this fucking gym."

Williams tries to maintain her tough act, stepping forward. "Oh yeah? What you gonna—"

"Try me one more time," you cut her off, voice even quieter now, "and when I catch you outside this gym I’ll make sure you don’t get back up.”

The refs finally restore order, whistles blaring. Technical fouls all around. As you check on Sierra—her nose definitely broken but she's insisting she can play—you hear the murmur rippling through the crowd. Nobody's ever seen you like this. The Prophecy's always been about grace under pressure, about making the impossible look easy.

This is something else entirely.

Coach sends you to the bench to cool off. You end up near the Harvard section, your teammates who aren't on the court surrounding you like a protective wall. Behind them, the UConn section hasn't made a sound, but you can feel their attention like a physical weight.

"I've never seen you like that," Taylor whispers, a mix of awe and concern in her voice.

"Nobody touches our people," you say simply, eyes locked on the court where LSU is shooting their free throws.

Sierra's getting patched up beside you, tissues stuffed up her nose. "You know I've taken worse hits in practice," she tries to joke.

“That’s beside the point." Your voice is still deadly quiet. "They came into our house thinking they could punk us. Thinking what—because we're Harvard we're soft? They can suck my dick.”

The energy in the arena has shifted. Your teammates are fired up, talking amongst themselves. The crowd's still buzzing, cameras alternating between you and Williams. But you're not playing for them anymore. This isn't about highlights or SportsCenter or draft stock.

When the buzzer sounds for you to return, your teammates stand as one. "Light them the fuck up," Sierra says through her swollen nose, and the team erupts in agreement.

You step back onto the court, and the ball finds its way to your hands like it's meant to be there. Williams tries to meet your eyes, but she flinches when she does. She knows what's coming.

They all do.

The ball leaves your hands before their defense can set. Swish. 34 points.

Maria screens Williams hard—legally, but with extra emphasis. You curl around it, catch, release. Swish. 37.

"The Prophecy is taking no prisoners now," the announcer's voice carries over the chaos. "This isn't just basketball anymore, folks. This is personal."

Each possession is a message. No more fancy moves, no more style. Just pure, devastating efficiency. Catch and shoot. Drive and score. Again and again until the numbers blur together and the only sound in the arena is the whisper of the net.

Williams tries to guard you on a switch. You look her dead in the eye as you rise up. She knows it's good before you even release. 45 points.

The fourth quarter becomes a massacre. Not just because of your scoring, but the way your whole team moves now—like sharks that have tasted blood. Every screen is a statement. Every cut is a challenge. Harvard basketball isn't just winning anymore; they're sending a message.

With thirty seconds left, Harvard up by 35, Coach tries to sub you out. You wave her off. There's one more thing to do.

You catch the ball at the opposite baseline—ninety-four feet from your basket. The crowd realizes what you're about to attempt and rises as one. Williams is still trying to guard you, bless her heart.

You don't even look at the basket as you launch it, eyes locked on hers the whole way. The ball soars through the air, high enough to scrape the rafters. Time seems to stop as 4,000 people hold their breath.

Swish. As pure as a layup.

The arena explodes. Your teammates storm the court as you take off on a victory lap, tongue out, arms spread wide. The Harvard band is playing, the student section is losing their minds, and somewhere in the chaos, you catch Paige Bueckers standing up, shaking her head in amazement.

December hits Boston like a cold slap to the face. Three months since the LSU game, and Harvard's still undefeated, 12-0, ranked #2 in the country. Tonight's the game everyone's been circling: #1 UConn at Harvard. The Game of the Year, ESPN's calling it. Every headline is the same story in different words: you versus Paige, like the rest of the teams are just here to watch.

You haven't spoken to any of the UConn players since that night in your locker room. Sure, you see the occasional Instagram story when Jasmine reshares KK's posts (they're dating now, apparently, something that started with DMs and turned into weekend visits), but, that's about it. You don't even follow Paige Bueckers on social media. Why would you?

"Earth to ____,” Sierra waves a hand in front of your face during warmups. "You good?"

"Yeah," you snap back to reality, draining another three. "Just locked in."

The arena's packed to the rafters, twice as loud as the LSU game. During layup lines, you catch glimpses of the UConn players, especially Paige, who moves with that same fluid confidence you remember. She's got that look in her eyes, the one you recognize in your own reflection: the quiet certainty of someone who's never doubted their greatness.

Your pregame outfit, fitted black turtleneck under your warmups, gold chain catching the light, has already made its rounds on social media. “She looks SO good!!” is trending on Twitter, complete with fire emojis. Not that you care about that stuff. (But okay, maybe you spent an extra minute on your appearance today. Professional reasons only.)

The game starts like a prize fight, both teams trading blows, neither willing to blink first. Paige opens with a three; you answer with a step-back jumper. She hits a floater; you counter with a drive that leaves her defender spinning. It's not personal, you tell yourself. Just basketball.

By the first TV timeout, you've both got 8 points and the crowd's already losing it. The energy's different from the LSU game, no cheap shots or trash talk, just pure, elite basketball. Almost like you're speaking the same language, even if you're on different teams.

"Yo," Maria whispers during a free throw, "is it just me or is Bueckers playing extra hard when she's guarding you?"

"Everyone plays hard against me," you shrug, but you've noticed it too. The way she locks in, the extra intensity in her defense. Like she's got something to prove.

The second quarter is where you start to take over. UConn tries everything, double teams, box-and-one, even a triangle-and-two. Nothing works. You're seeing the game in slow motion again, every passing lane, every defensive rotation crystal clear. By halftime, you've got 24 points on perfect shooting, and Harvard's up 48-39.

In the tunnel heading back out, you pass Paige. There's a moment— brief but loaded— where your eyes meet. She gives you this little nod, competitor to competitor. Nothing more. (But why does it feel like something more?)

The second half is a masterclass. You're not just scoring anymore; you're conducting an orchestra. No-look passes to Sierra for corner threes. Behind-the-back feeds to Taylor for breakaway layups. And when UConn makes their inevitable run in the fourth, you shut the door with a sequence of moves so filthy they'll probably end up on SportsCenter's top 10.

Final score: Harvard 89, UConn 78. Your stat line: 38 points, 9 assists, still haven't missed a shot this season. The handshake line is respectful, none of that LSU energy, and when you reach Paige, her grip is firm, professional.

"Good game," she says simply.

"You too," you respond, and mean it.

After the media obligations, your phone buzzes. It's Jasmine: 'Bar. Tonight. Both teams. No excuses.'

You consider begging off, you do have that Thermodynamics problem set due Monday, but something makes you change your mind. Professional courtesy, you tell yourself. Networking.

The bar is one of those trendy spots where the grad students pretend they're not drowning in student debt. You show up fashionably late in black jeans, a cream-colored silk shirt, and boots that add an extra inch you definitely don't need. The teams are separate at first, Harvard at one end, UConn at the other. Only Jasmine and KK bridge the gap, wrapped up in their own world.

You stick with your teammates initially, nursing a Moscow Mule and trying not to notice how Paige looks in a baggy jeans and a button up when she arrives with some of her teammates. The groups slowly start to mix as the night goes on, pulled together by Jasmine and KK's gravitational field.

"So," UConn's shooting guard, Emma, ends up next to you at the bar. "You always play like that, or were you just showing off?”

You arch an eyebrow, a light smile tugs at the corner of your lip. "Just playing my game."

"Right," she smirks, ordering another drink.

You change the subject, asking about their upcoming schedule. Basketball is safe. Basketball makes sense.

The night continues, groups shifting and reforming. You end up in a conversation with some UConn players about the WNBA draft, carefully maintaining your distance when Paige joins the discussion. But you can't help noticing things: how she commands attention without trying, the way her laugh carries over the bar noise, how she seems to know exactly where you are in the room at all times.

Or maybe that's just in your head. Maybe, you’re just down bad.

"Paige is single, you know," KK says later, appearing at your elbow with the subtlety of a brick through a window.

"Good for her," you say neutrally, even as something flutters in your chest.

"Good for you, you mean," KK mutters, dodging the half-hearted shove you send her way before melting back into the crowd.

The night winds down, groups splitting off for Ubers, some players already making plans for late-night food. You're standing near the door, tugging your coat tighter around you against the Boston chill seeping in, when you hear your name.

You turn, and there she is, bathed in the hazy glow of the bar's neon sign, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. For the first time all night, it's just the two of you, the noise of the bar fading into a distant hum.

"Good game tonight," she says, and it’s almost funny how understated it sounds after the week of media buildup and ESPN countdowns.

"Thanks." You pause, letting the silence stretch. "You too."

Her smile tilts, like she knows exactly what you’re doing. "You don’t have to play it cool all the time, you know."

"Who says I’m playing?" you counter, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, quirking up just enough to give her the edge.

Paige steps closer, the space between you shrinking but still electric. "You’re good, Rocket. Even better than the headlines give you credit for."

"Don’t tell me you came out here just to boost my already inflated ego," you say, leaning back just enough to keep the balance of power from tipping entirely her way.

"Maybe," she says lightly, though the way she holds your gaze feels heavier than that. "Or maybe I just wanted to see for myself what all the hype’s about."

"And?"

Her smile deepens, slow and deliberate. "I wasn’t disappointed."

The air between you crackles, her words lingering in a way that feels deliberate, intentional. But before you can decide what to say—or if you should say anything at all—one of her teammates calls her name from the curb.

She glances back, then at you again.

"Don’t overthink your game plan," you say.

"And you don’t underestimate mine," she calls over her shoulder, her voice light but the glance she throws you anything but.

You stay there a moment longer, the cold biting at your skin but your chest feeling oddly warm. As you finally step outside, something about the night feels unfinished—like a play halfway through its best scene.

As you slide into the car, you realize your heart's racing—and it has nothing to do with the cold.

Maybe KK was right. Maybe this is good for you.

Later that night, lying in bed, you find yourself replaying moments from the game. Just the game, you tell yourself. The way she moves on court, like water finding its path. Her defensive intensity. Her competitiveness that mirrors your own.

Your phone buzzes: a follow request on Instagram from Paige Bueckers on your private Instagram.

You stare at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Finally, you press accept. No big deal. Just professional courtesy.

But you can't help smiling as you set your phone down.

March suddenly feels very far away.

That night, sleep feels impossible. The win keeps looping in your mind—every play, every shot, every moment after the final buzzer. You’re still riding the high, but it's the interactions off the court that keep replaying, too. The way Paige’s eyes locked on yours during the game, that quiet intensity between you two. It was almost like there was something unspoken, an invisible thread pulling you together.

You try to shake it off as you lay in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Eventually, you post a late-night story: just you in your Harvard champion sweatshirt, hair a little messy, looking tired but satisfied. Caption: “some nights hit different 🏀✨"

You're not thinking about anyone in particular when you post it. Really. No, seriously.

But a couple of minutes later, your phone lights up with a notification: "paigebueckers viewed your story."

You freeze. Your heart does that annoying skip, the one you wish you could ignore. You try to play it cool, but the small smile on your face gives it away.

Before you can stop overthinking it, another story pops up from Paige. It’s her on the team bus, the weariness on her face somehow just makes her look even more perfect. Caption: “good games make you better. great games change you. 📈"

You stare at the story longer than you should. Three times, maybe four. Then you catch yourself. No, you're not doing this. You’re being professional. Totally. You swipe past it, but not before watching it once more—just for, you know, "research purposes."

Wednesday practice, you’re on the floor with Sierra, trying to explain orbital mechanics while stretching out your legs. The routine’s familiar, your voice calm and focused, like you’re explaining a simple layup. "So basically, if you account for gravitational force and initial velocity—"

"Rocket," Sierra interrupts, "you've been checking your phone every thirty seconds."

You look at her, feigning confusion. "Have not," you protest, but your fingers are already reaching for your phone, like they’re on autopilot. You can’t help it. Paige posted a drill video this morning, just pure basketball content—nothing that special, just her hitting a perfect jumper, maybe some footwork drills, nothing groundbreaking. You dropped an eyes emoji in response. Professional admiration only. That's it. Nothing to see here.

"Right," Sierra raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "And I'm sure you've watched every other point guard's practice clips fifteen times too."

You give her a deadpan look. "I have no idea what you're talking about," you say, reaching for your foam roller and throwing it at her.

Thursday afternoon finds you in Advanced Fluid Dynamics, usually your favorite class. The equations and concepts feel like second nature to you, but today, your thoughts keep drifting elsewhere. You keep finding yourself thinking about basketball — about how certain players move like water, finding the path of least resistance, flowing through defenses with a grace you can’t help but admire.

You’re not sure if it’s the subject of the class or the strange pull you’re feeling, but your mind is elsewhere.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glance down discreetly. It's a notification from Instagram: Paige has liked your last three posts.

Including one from six months ago.

You blink. The screen feels like it’s glowing too brightly in your hand. You immediately glance around, making sure no one saw you checking, before quickly hiding your smile behind your textbook.

Because yeah, you definitely didn’t mean to feel this giddy. But here you are.

Friday night, you're in bed scrolling through film when you get the notification. Paige posted a new story: her at the gym, late night shooting session. Caption: “late-night grind. gotta stay sharp for what’s ahead. 😤"

Before you can overthink it, you reply: "living rent free in that head huh? 😌"

Three dots appear immediately. Your heart rate picks up.

just practicing for march 😘

You stare at that emoji for a solid minute. Professional rivals don't use kiss emojis. Right?

Saturday morning practice rolls around before you can even process what happened last night. Your mind’s still buzzing, trying to dissect the interaction with Paige, but you push it aside. Focus. You can think about that later.

As you’re stretching before drills, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When Coach catches you grinning at it, she narrows her eyes.

"Whatever’s got you distracted better help us win games."

You quickly stuff your phone back in your bag, fighting to keep a neutral expression. "It’s just a text. No big deal."

"Sure, sure." Coach raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

You try to shake off the grin still tugging at your lips. Definitely not in the middle of a debate with Paige about whether Kobe or Jordan had the better footwork. No. Definitely not.

Sunday night in the library, you're supposedly working on your Thermodynamics problem set. But your eyes keep flicking back to UConn's schedule page, calculating when they’ll be back in the northeast. You try to focus, but you find your thoughts drifting back to Paige.

A message pops up: "Shouldn't you be solving rocket equations or something?"

You bite back a smile, tapping out your reply: “shouldn't you be working on your left hand? Saw that weak drive yesterday 😴"

A few seconds pass. The dots appear, then disappear. You try not to let your heart race.

Finally, the response comes: “wow. and here i was about to say your last IG fit was 🔥"

You stare at your screen, biting your lip. The banter is easy, but there's something else there—something electric. Your pulse thuds louder than usual as you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keys. It feels like there's more hanging between you than just jokes. Did she feel it too? You quickly swipe back to your notes, trying to shake the feeling

Something that makes your skin buzz.

Tuesday, 2AM. You can’t sleep. Again. But this time, it’s different. The nervous energy swirling in your stomach isn’t from the game. It’s... something else.

Your phone lights up with a message:

you up?

Your breath catches in your throat. Two words. That’s all it takes.

You hesitate for just a second, fingers poised over the screen, and finally reply: “depends who’s asking 👀”

A beat. Three dots.

just your future march matchup.

You feel a grin tug at your lips, even as you try to keep your response cool.

bold of you to assume you’ll make it that far.

guess you’ll have to wait and see.

You can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out. There’s something about these late-night exchanges that feels different.

You roll over, pulling your blanket tighter, trying to convince yourself it’s just another game, just another rival. But when your phone buzzes again, you’re already looking forward to her next message.

A month after the game, your phone buzzes again as you’re reviewing game film late at night. You glance at the time—1:47 AM. Too late to be analyzing, but you can't help it. The game keeps replaying in your head. Then another message appears:

you always study film this late?

You glance at the reflection of your laptop in the dark screen of your phone. It’s like she knows. You smirk, replying.

how'd you know i was watching film?

saw your laptop reflection in your glasses in that last story

Something warm settles in your chest. You didn't think anyone had noticed those details.

stalker much? 🤨

just scouting the competition ��

You're about to reply when three dots appear again.

want company? i'm looking at our clemson tape

Your heart skips a beat. You weren't expecting this. You pause before responding, a nervous twinge running through you. "facetime?"

Seconds later, the call comes through. You almost hesitate, but there’s something about it that pulls you in. You accept, suddenly hyper-aware that you're in your oversized Harvard hoodie, glasses perched on your nose, hair tossed into a messy bun.

When her face appears on the screen, you’re momentarily struck. She’s wearing a UConn sweatshirt, hair tied back, no makeup. She’s raw, real—like you’ve caught her in an unguarded moment, and for some reason, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"So," she starts, then seems to lose her train of thought. "Um. Basketball?"

You laugh, some of the tension breaking. “Uh-huh.”

"Listen," she grins, "I'm better at talking with a ball in my hands."

The conversation shifts easily into basketball, the two of you sharing screens and breaking down film together. She catches things you miss, and you point out nuances she hasn’t noticed. The back-and-forth flows—something about it feels natural. Like you’ve been doing this for years.

Hours pass without you even realizing it, and suddenly you’re talking about other things: favorite movies, worst recruiting stories, childhood dreams.

"Wait," she's saying through laughter, "you really wanted to be an astronaut AND a basketball player?"

"Still do," You shrug, trying to play it cool, even as something inside you aches with the lightness of the moment. "Who says I can't be the first WNBA player in space?"

Her expression goes soft for a moment. "You know what? If anyone could do it..."

There's something in her voice that makes your skin tingle. You clear your throat. "Anyway, uh, it's late."

"Yeah," she says quietly. "This was... this was nice."

"Yeah," you agree, not quite meeting her eyes through the screen. "Maybe we could do it again sometime y’know?”

"I'd like that."

Neither of you moves to hang up. The silence stretches, full of things unsaid.

Finally, she breaks it: “Well, goodnight, Rocket."

The nickname hits different in her voice at 4AM.

"Night, Paige."

You end the call, staring at your screen for a moment before you finally fall back onto your bed. The silence is deafening, but your mind is racing. You force yourself to calm down, to let your heart slow to a normal pace.

Then your phone buzzes again:

sweet dreams 🌙

You definitely don’t replay the entire call in your head. Definitely not.

And you certainly don’t dream about the way she looked when she laughed at your space joke.

Definitely not.

You’re sprawled on the couch in the apartment you share with Jasmine and Sierra, supposedly reading your Aerospace Engineering textbook. Actually, you're doing everything you can to avoid looking like you're grinning at your phone. The cursor keeps blinking in the reply box, like it’s daring you to type something stupid.

"earth surface temps are literally insane rn"

"why are you even awake?"

"says the girl who's also awake 🤨"

"homework doesn't count"

"nerd 🤓"

"bet you won't say that to my face"

"bet i will. next time i see you"

"when's that gonna be? 👀"

A part of you knows you should be focused on the problem set in front of you. But instead, your thoughts keep drifting back to the screen, to her messages. You bite your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. There's something different about this—about her—that you can't quite put into words. Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast for it to just be casual.

"Oh my GOD," Jasmine’s voice startles you, making you jolt and nearly drop your phone. She's leaning over the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with that grin that’s a little too knowing for comfort. "You're texting Paige!"

"What? No, I'm—" you fumble your phone, nearly dropping it. "I'm doing homework."

"Mmhmm." Jasmine vaults over the couch to land beside you. "That's why you're making the same face I make when KK texts."

"I do not make a face."

"You literally look like this—" Jasmine demonstrates an exaggerated dreamy expression that makes you throw a pillow at her.

"I'm going to KK's this weekend," she says after dodging the pillow. Her voice is deliberately casual. "UConn has a home game Friday. You should come."

Your heart does a little flip. "I have that Physics midterm Monday..."

"Right, because you definitely weren't just texting about wanting to see her."

"I wasn't—" you start, but your phone buzzes again, Paige’s name lighting up the screen in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.

"Girl," Jasmine says, softer now. "It's okay, you know? To want something besides basketball."

You stare at your phone, fingers hovering again over the keys as those three dots show up. Paige is typing, and your chest tightens. Your heart’s racing now, too fast for this to just be some rivalry. You’ve never felt this way about an opponent before.

"It's complicated," you finally manage, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

"When is it not?" Jasmine squeezes your shoulder as she gets up. "Think about it, okay? KK says the whole team's been asking about you anyway."

Later that night, Sierra finds you on the roof of your building. It’s your thinking spot—the place where you go to clear your head when the world feels too loud or when the equations refuse to make sense. Tonight, though, the equations have nothing to do with physics.

"Spill," Sierra says, sliding down to sit beside you.

"What?"

"You've been different lately. Good different, but different." She bumps your shoulder. "And I saw you smile at your phone six times during practice today."

You let out a long breath. The city lights blur below you, and somehow it feels easier to talk without making eye contact.

"I think... I think I like her," you say finally. The words feel huge in the quiet night air. "Paige, I mean."

"No shit," Sierra laughs softly. "I figured that out when you watched her coffee story four times."

You blink, feeling caught. "You saw that?"

"Girl, everyone saw that." She pauses. "The question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

You lean back against the roof, your gaze on the stars that are barely visible through the light pollution of the city. "I don’t know. It’s complicated," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "We’re rivals, and we’ll probably face each other in March. If the media got wind of us, it’d be a circus. Not to mention—" You cut yourself off, because it sounds even worse when you say it out loud.

"Okay, forget all that for a second." Sierra interrupts, her voice quieter now. She turns to face you, her eyes soft. "How does she make you feel?"

Your breath catches in your chest. How does Paige make you feel? You think about those late-night video calls that always start with film study but end with laughing over something stupid. About how she remembers little details about your life—like your favorite late-night snack, your favorite places on campus, or how you sometimes still get nervous before big games.

"Like I can be both," you say finally, the words tumbling out before you even realize their weight. "Like I can be The Prophecy, but also just... me."

Sierra's quiet for a long moment. Then: "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you've spent three years being perfect. Maybe it's time to be happy instead."

You stare at the stars, trying to find your footing in this new reality that feels both foreign and exciting. "I don’t know if I’m ready for that."

Sierra nudges you, her tone playful again. "Then at least try. You deserve it."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. You pull it out, heart skipping when you see the name on the screen: Paige. The message.

miss watching film with you

Sierra leans over to peek at the text, a grin spreading across her face. "Smooth," she says, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Is that why Jasmine invited you to Connecticut this weekend?" Sierra asks, an eyebrow raised.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "She told you?"

"Girl, I’m not blind," Sierra says, standing up. "Please. She’s been planning this whole setup for days. And you know what? You should go."

You look up, your gaze meeting hers. "I don’t know. The physics exam is coming up, and—"

"Physics will still be there when you get back," she interrupts, her voice light but serious. "But this? This might not be here forever."

You chew on that for a moment, the weight of it settling in.

"She’s waiting for you to say something," Sierra says quietly, her gaze flicking between you and the screen.

You hesitate, then smile softly to yourself. This is your chance.

You type back: "guess you'll have to come study in person sometime."

Sierra gives you a teasing look. "Oh, it’s on now."

Your phone buzzes again, and this time, Paige’s response comes quickly: "is that an invitation?"

Your fingers hover over the keys for a moment, and then, with a deep breath, you reply: "maybe. you gonna show me around campus?"

The message comes back almost immediately: "only the important spots. like where i practice my weak left hand drives 😏"

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter, your heart light and carefree for the first time in what feels like forever. Sierra shakes her head, smiling fondly at you.

"You’re totally down bad, huh?"

"Shut up," you laugh, feeling the warmth of it rush through you. But even as you tease her, you feel it too—this rush of excitement, the anticipation of something new, something that could change everything.

Sierra heads for the roof door, pausing just before she goes inside. "Hey Rocket?"

"Yeah?"

"Just... be careful, okay? Not because of basketball or rankings or any of that stuff. Just... because your heart's on the line too."

You nod, your chest tight as the weight of her words settles in. "I will."

She gives you one last look before disappearing inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your phone, and the lighthearted texts you’ve been sending all night.

Another buzz from Paige lights up your phone: "but seriously. come this weekend? i want to see you."

Her response makes your whole body warm: "can't wait 💫"

You stay on the roof a while longer, letting the night air cool your flushed cheeks. March feels both too far away and too close, but right now, in this moment, you let yourself focus on a different kind of countdown:

Three days until Connecticut.

The minute you step onto UConn's campus, you remember why being The Prophecy is complicated.

"Oh my god," you hear someone whisper. "Is that—"

"Holy shit, that's really her—"

"The Prophecy is here—"

You pull your hoodie up, hoping for some anonymity, but it’s futile. Jasmine’s already ditched you to find KK, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos, awkwardly clutching your duffel bag. You check your phone, hoping for a distraction, when you see a text from Paige.

how’s campus so far? are you surviving the hype? 😂

You type back quickly, trying to act casual.

surviving. But UConn is like a zoo. 🙄

Before you can put the phone down, a text buzzes again.

i’m in the quad, come meet me? i’ve got your escape route ready 🏃‍♀️

You smile at her message, your nerves a little lighter now, but that doesn't make the reality of the situation any less surreal.

"Should I just text her when I get there?" you mutter to yourself, typing out a quick reply:

on my way. see you soon.

The crowd's whispers grow louder, and as you move through the sea of students, your phone buzzes again, this time with a message that makes your heart skip a beat.

turn around

You turn, and there's Paige, looking unfairly good in joggers and a UConn hoodie. For a second, you both just stare at each other, all those late-night texts and video calls suddenly feeling very different in person.

"Hi," you manage, hyper-aware of the growing crowd pretending not to watch. "Um. Nice campus."

"Thanks, I—" she starts, just as you say, "Should we—"

You both stop. Laugh nervously. God, where did all your game go?

"Yo, Paige!" some guy calls out. "Is that The Prophecy? Can we get a picture?"

Before either of you can respond, the crowd swarms in like a tidal wave. Students materialize from every direction, phones out, voices overlapping, and it’s all happening too fast. You’re caught in the whirlwind of questions and flashes.

"Can you sign my jersey?"

"Is it true you haven't missed a shot since high school?"

"Are you really majoring in rocket science?"

"Can you do the space shot right now?"

It’s nothing new. You've done this a thousand times, but today, it feels different. You're hyper-aware of Paige standing there, watching, her gaze unreadable. Her eyes flick from the crowd to you, amusement playing at the corners of her lips, but there’s something else there too.

You keep your composure—signing autographs, taking selfies, answering questions—but it’s harder when she’s so close. You try not to look over at her too much, but you catch her looking at you once. And her smile? It makes the whole world feel lighter, even in the chaos.

Then someone from the crowd asks, “Yo, did you come to see Paige?”

You freeze. All eyes are suddenly on you, the crowd waiting for your response.

“Just checking out the competition,” you say smoothly, though your heart skips a beat. But then you catch the subtle curve of Paige’s lips as she tries to hide her smile.

“She's already kicked our ass once,” Paige adds, her voice playful. “Maybe I’m trying to learn her secrets.”

The crowd laughs, and the tension in the air eases. You finally manage to break free from the swarm, and Paige leads you out of the madness, pulling you toward a quieter part of campus. She glances over at you as if to gauge how you’re holding up, and then says, “Sorry about that. I probably should’ve warned you… You’re kind of a big deal here.”

“Here?” You raise an eyebrow. “Not just at Harvard?”

She rolls her eyes with that charming little smirk of hers. “Please, you know what I mean.”

She bumps your shoulder lightly, and for a second, you’re both frozen in that little moment, and then—quickly—she steps away, as though surprised by the contact. She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly before continuing, “The perfect record? The space shot? Your major? You’re like basketball mythology at this point.”

The words settle over you, like a weight that makes you stand a little straighter. It's odd, but you can't deny the truth in what she’s saying. You pass a group of girls, and they absolutely squeal when they spot you. One of them is wearing a t-shirt with your number and "The Prophecy" written on the back, and it's like you’ve stepped into some weird alternate reality.

"That's..." you start.

"Weird?" Paige offers.

"I was gonna say flattering, but yeah, weird works too."

She chuckles, a little breathless, as you continue walking. You can’t help but notice how she looks at you—like she’s caught between admiration and something else.

By the time you reach the athletics center, the crowd starts to thin, but there's still a palpable buzz in the air. Students part for you like you're some kind of celebrity, whispering as they pass.

"—never misses, like ever—"

"—turned down every WNBA scout—"

"—heard she's already got a NASA job lined up—"

"—next GOAT for sure—"

You can’t hear it all, but enough of it sticks to your skin. You make eye contact with a few of the UConn players as you pass, and they do double-takes. The whispers don’t stop. The world still hasn't figured out how to react to you, and you’re still trying to wrap your head around it yourself.

When you get inside the locker room, you spot KK, draped over Jasmine on a bench. She sits up as soon as she sees you, and a wide grin spreads across her face.

“The Prophecy graces us with her presence!” KK announces, her voice carrying through the room.

You and Paige both turn to each other, saying “Shut up” at the same time. You exchange a glance, and immediately, you both look away, your cheeks heating up.

“Oh my god,” KK stage-whispers to Jasmine, her voice dripping with mischief. “They’re actually awkward. This is adorable.”

“I will literally murder you,” Paige threatens, but her face is flushed, the playful tone in her voice not matching her serious words.

You drop your bag, trying to act casual despite your racing heart. "So, this is where the magic happens?"

"Something like that," Paige responds, her voice quieter now. Then, her tone shifts, just a little, as she adds, “Want to see where I practice those trash left-hand drives?”

Her smile is nervous but hopeful, and something in your chest flutters in response. You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes meeting hers.

"Lead the way, Bueckers."

The gym is quiet, empty this late—just the two of you and the space stretching out around you like a vast, hollow echo. The squeak of your sneakers against the court floor seems louder than usual, and the rhythm of the ball bouncing between you is a steady heartbeat in the silence.

You grab a ball, the motion automatic, instinctual. Some habits don’t break just because your heart’s doing backflips.

"So..." you start, dribbling slow, almost hesitant. Your palms feel too hot on the ball, like everything about this moment is too much, too close, but you can’t pull away.

"So..." she echoes, her voice low, mirroring your movements with a fluid ease that makes your pulse pick up a little faster.

"This is..." you trail off, looking for the right word. Something that fits the electric tension hanging in the air.

"Weird?"

She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. "I was gonna say nice," you add, voice a little softer, but still trying to brush it off, to keep control. "But yeah, weird too."

She laughs—just a soft sound, but it breaks something between you. You feel your shoulders loosen, and the tightness in your chest starts to ease. "Want to play? Or are you scared I'll ruin your perfect record?" Her words are light, playful, but there’s an edge of something else there. Something beneath the surface.

"Please," you scoff, but the words come out softer than you expected, a little breathless. "You couldn’t guard me with a restraining order."

Her smile widens, but her eyes stay locked on yours, sharp, like she can see right through you. "Big talk from someone who's been stalking my coffee stories."

You nearly drop the ball at that. "I— that’s not—" You choke on your words, heat rushing to your cheeks, the sudden shift in conversation throwing you off-balance.

"Four views," she grins. "I counted."

"Professional research," you manage, trying to ignore how your face is burning.

"Right." She steps closer, her body moving fluidly, effortlessly, still dribbling the ball with that same steady rhythm. "And all those late-night texts?"

"Scouting reports," you shoot back, but your voice cracks, betraying the lie.

"The two-hour video calls?"

"Film study," you mutter, voice barely a whisper.

"And coming to Connecticut?" Her tone shifts—lighter, but with a question in it now. A challenge in her eyes, daring you to say something.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding against your chest. "Would you believe advanced aerospace research?"

She's too close now. You can smell the faint scent of her perfume, feel the heat radiating off her as she steps forward just enough to close the space between you. The ball’s still bouncing, the rhythm matching your heartbeats, and you can hear the beat of her pulse too—steady.

"Try again." Her voice is soft, but the challenge in it is unmistakable.

You take a breath, the air thick with something unspoken. "Maybe... I just wanted to see you."

The ball stops bouncing. It’s almost like everything around you freezes for a second. The echo of the gym fades out, and all you can hear is the steady thrum of your heartbeat, racing now, too fast, too loud.

Her eyes search yours, the gold flecks in them catching the light, and for a split second, everything feels suspended. She doesn’t move. You don’t either. There’s a moment between you, raw and exposed, like you’re both just standing there, waiting for something to happen.

Then, her phone buzzes, breaking the stillness—KK, asking where you both disappeared to. The moment shatters, and you both step back, like you’ve both just been jolted awake.

"We should..." she starts.

"Yeah," you agree quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Team dinner, right?"

"Right." The word comes out like a sigh, a soft release, but neither of you move for a beat.

You both head back toward the locker room, but it feels like the distance between you has doubled, despite being only a few feet apart. You’re careful to maintain some space, but the air around you still crackles with the memory of the moment.

Just before you reach the door, you feel the lightest touch on your wrist. It’s a shock to the system, warm and soft, and you freeze.

"Hey."

You turn to face her, heart still thundering in your chest, your breath caught in your throat.

"I'm glad you came," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air between you, heavier than anything she’s said so far.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, your mind a blur, trying to make sense of the shift in the air between you. Before you can speak, though, she’s through the door, vanishing into the locker room, leaving you standing there, breathless.

You stand there for a moment, your heart still racing, trying to collect yourself. The touch of her fingers on your wrist is still warm on your skin, like an electric spark that lingers long after the contact ends. You can still feel the weight of her gaze on you, the way she looked at you just before she left—open, vulnerable, and for a second, everything in you just... paused.

You’re so fucking screwed.

Inside, KK takes one look at your face and starts laughing immediately. "Oh yeah," she says to Jasmine, her voice full of knowing. "March is gonna be interesting."

You throw a towel at her, but you can't help smiling. Because yeah, March is going to be complicated. But right now, watching Paige try not to look at you while she gets ready for dinner, you can't bring yourself to care.

Some things are worth the complication.

The team’s already piled into the upscale Italian place, the kind of restaurant where the hostess gives your group a double-take, eyes wide as she tries to figure out if you’re all really who she thinks you are. Emma starts giggling beside you, and you can’t help but let a laugh slip too. The entire UConn starting five, plus you, Jasmine, and a couple of bench players, fill up the space like a small parade. The table’s enormous, but somehow, fate—or possibly KK—decides that you should sit next to Paige. You know it's not her doing, but the thought of it makes your stomach do flips. Definitely not subtle.

Your knees brush under the table, and you both jerk away so fast it feels like a live wire just zapped both of you. It’s... a weird moment, but it’s over quickly.

"So," Caroline leans in, practically smirking with that devious look of hers. "We finally get to hear how The Prophecy got her name."

"Oh god," you groan, sinking back in your seat, hoping to disappear into the padded booth. But Paige perks up next to you, eyes lighting with interest.

"Wait," she says, "I don’t know this story."

You shoot Emma a glare, but she’s already opening her mouth, ready to spill the beans.

"Nobody tells it," you warn, but Emma's already launching in.

"Freshman year," Emma begins, her voice a little too loud in the suddenly quiet room, "first practice. Coach put her through this insane shooting drill—"

"It wasn't insane," you protest.

"Hundred shots from five spots," Emma continues, undeterred. "Most freshmen hit, like, sixty percent if they’re lucky. She goes perfect. Coach thinks it’s a fluke, makes her do it again. Perfect again."

You can feel Paige’s eyes on you, her attention sharp and focused. You don’t know how to feel about it, but you try not to squirm under her gaze.

"Third time," Emma's building to it now, "Coach says 'What are you, some kind of prophecy?' And right as she says it, this girl—" she points at you, "—sinks a half-court shot backward without looking."

"I was stretching!" you defend, but the table's already losing it.

"The name stuck," Caroline finishes. "Even before the no-miss streak."

"Speaking of," Tessa jumps in, her voice suddenly a lot more serious, "how do you actually do that? The never-missing thing?"

The entire table quiets down, all eyes suddenly fixed on you. Even the waitress, hovering nearby, pretends not to listen, but you catch her glancing over every few seconds.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of everyone’s attention on you, but the pressure isn’t all bad. You glance over at Paige—she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to focus. She shifts slightly closer, and it makes your heart race.

"I just..." You pause, unsure of how to explain the weird, inexplicable thing that happens when you’re on the court. "I guess I see it differently. Like, you know how some people have perfect pitch in music? They hear things that other people can’t even pick up on?"

Nods around the table.

"I see angles that way," you continue, trying to sound more confident, but you’re still not used to talking about it. "Trajectories, force vectors... like physics and the feel of it—they just... merge in my head, I guess?"

Jasmine, who’s been watching you this whole time, cuts in with a smirk. "She’s being modest. Yesterday, I watched her solve a quantum mechanics problem while sinking thirty straight threes."

You roll your eyes. "Multitasking," you mumble, but Paige’s knee brushes against yours again. This time, neither of you pulls away, and your concentration goes from laser focus to absolute mush. You feel heat rising in your chest, but you try to keep your voice steady.

The conversation shifts, but you’re barely listening anymore. Every little movement from Paige, every time her hand brushes your arm as she reaches for her water, every time she leans in a little closer to hear you speak—your mind is barely keeping up. Her perfume is subtle but intoxicating, making it impossible to think straight.

"Y'all should see her in class," Jasmine's saying. "Professors literally use her as an example in physics."

"One time!"

"Three times," Jasmine corrects. "Remember when Dr. Peterson used your jump shot to explain projectile motion?"

KK, who’s been silently watching you both like this is her personal reality TV show, grins. "No wonder half the team has a crush on you."

You nearly choke on your water. Paige freezes next to you, and you can feel the shift in the air.

"I mean," Caroline chimes in, clearly trying to smooth over the tension, but only making it worse, "who wouldn’t? Best player in the country, genius-level IQ, and look at her—"

"Okay!" Paige cuts her off, a bit too loudly. "Who wants dessert?"

The change in pace is enough to shake everyone out of the sudden tension. But as dessert menus are passed around and people start laughing again, your mind is still racing.

Later, as the group walks back toward campus, you notice how easily the team starts to scatter. KK and Jasmine vanish into the distance almost immediately, making some excuse about practice. The rest of the team drifts off to their own plans—study groups, dorms, whatever—but you and Paige end up walking together, side by side in the cool night air, the sound of your footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.

"So," Paige says, her voice soft but a little uncertain, "the hotel’s that way."

You glance at her. "Yeah."

Neither of you turns toward it.

"I have, um," she starts, then stops. Takes a breath. "I have a single. In my dorm. If you wanted to watch a movie or something."

Your heart goes into overdrive, doing flips and twists like it might just leap out of your chest. The words feel stuck in your throat, but your mind is running wild.

"Or something?"

Even in the dim streetlight, you can see her blush. "I didn't mean— I just thought—"

"I'd like that," you cut off her rambling, and the smile she gives you makes your knees weak.

Her room is exactly what you'd expect - basketball posters, team photos, neat desk with game notes spread out. What you don't expect is how intimate it feels, being in this space that's so completely hers.

"Make yourself comfortable," she gestures to her bed, then immediately looks panicked. "I mean, you can sit— I'll take the chair—"

"Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Breathe."

She laughs, some tension breaking. You sit on her bed, back against the wall, and after a moment she joins you, careful to leave space between you.

"So," you say.

"So," she echoes.

"Half the team has a crush on me, huh?"

She groans, covering her face. "KK has the biggest mouth—"

"Just half though?" You're pushing it, you know you are, but something about the way she's blushing makes you brave.

She lowers her hands, looks at you directly for the first time since dinner. "You know exactly how many people have a crush on you."

"Do I?"

Her eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second. "You must."

The air feels thick, charged. Your hand is on the comforter between you, and slowly, so slowly, her pinky finger hooks over yours.

Just that small point of contact sets your whole body on fire.

"Paige?"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't come to Connecticut for film study."

She turns her hand, letting her fingers intertwine with yours properly. Your breath hitches.

"I know," she says softly.

You sit there for what feels like hours, neither moving except for her thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles. The touch is so light, so careful, but it feels like the most intense thing you've ever experienced.

"I should..." you start reluctantly.

"Stay," she says quickly, then blushes harder. "I mean, it's late, and the hotel's far, and—"

"Okay."

She blinks. "Okay?"

You squeeze her hand gently. "Okay."

Later, lying in her bed (she insisted, taking the floor despite your protests), you stare at the ceiling in the dark. Your hand still tingles where she touched it.

"Rocket?" her voice comes softly from below.

"Yeah?"

A pause. Then: "I'm really glad you're here."

You close your eyes, smiling into the darkness. "Me too."

Neither of you mentions March. Neither of you talks about rankings or rivalries or what any of this means. For now, there's just this: her steady breathing in the quiet room, the lingering warmth of her touch, and the feeling that something huge is beginning.

Just before you drift off, you hear her whisper something that might be "perfect." But you're already falling asleep, wrapped in her blankets that smell like her, dreaming of basketball and physics and the way her hand felt in yours.

Some equations, you think hazily, don't need solving.

Continue to part two.

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harrysfolklore · 8 months ago

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home hero - charles x reader

gif by @princemick <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Monaco is Charles' home. Growing up, he had watched the Grand Prix from the balconies and rooftops, dreaming of the day he would stand atop the podium. Each year, the pressure mounted as he came so close, only to have victory slip through his fingers.

Today felt different. There was a determined glint in his eye this morning as he kissed you goodbye and headed to the track. You could tell he was ready, more focused than ever before. You had to believe this was his year.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen counter asyou watched him get everything he needed before heading out.

"More than usual," he admitted, flashing you a quick smile,"But I feel good. I have a good feeling about today."

"You’ve got this, Charles. I believe in you," you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you," he hugged you tightly, resting his chin on top of your head.

"You'd still be amazing," you said, looking up at him,"But I'm glad I get to be here with you."

You arrived at the circuit, the familiar roar of engines filling your ears as you made your way to the paddock. You found your usual spot in the Ferrari garage, the team bustling around with last-minute preparations. You exchanged nervous smiles with the crew, all of you hoping for the same outcome.

You watched as Charles went through his pre-race routine, meticulously checking everything himself even though he trusted his team completely. He looked up at you and smiled, his nervous eyes softening the moment they landed on you.

"Hey, come here," he called softly, waving you over.

You walked over, taking his gloved hand in yours. "You’re going to do great, you know that, right?"

"I just," he sighed, "Really want that win, you know? Not just for me, but for my family, my friends, for us," you smiled fondly at his words, "This is my home and everyone believes in me, I don't want to keep letting them down."

"Charles, you've never let anyone down," you squeezed his hand, "You've given everything you have, every time and that's why everyone believes in you. No matter what happens today, you're already a champion in our eyes."

"You're too sweet," he teased with a small smile, pecking your lips quickly, "I need to go. I'll see you after the race."

"Be safe out there," you said, giving him one last lingering kiss.

You watched as he made his way to the car, taking a deep breath before climbing in. The race was about to begin, and the anticipation was palpable. You found your seat in the garage, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding with every lap.

As the race progressed, it was clear that Charles was driving with everything he had. Lap after lap, he maintained his position and defended his lead against the competition.

With only a few laps to go, the tension in the garage was at an all-time high. You could barely breathe, every fiber of your being focused on Charles and the car.

And then, it happened. Charles crossed the finish line and the checkered flag was waved, securing his first win at the Monaco Grand Prix. The garage erupted in cheers, and you felt tears of joy streaming down your face.

He did it. He actually did it.

Before you even knew what was happening, you ran to the pit wall, heart soaring with pride as you watched Charles climb out of the car, his face a mixture of disbelief and pure elation. He waved to the crowd, taking in the moment before making his way over to the barrier, his eyes searching for you.

You pushed through the crowd, your heart racing as you made your way to him. When he finally saw you, his face lit up with the brightest smile you'd ever seen.

"Charles!" you called out, your voice cracking with emotion.

"We did it!" he shouted, pulling you into his arms and hugging you tightly, his voice full of joy and relief.

"You did it," you corrected, laughing through your tears. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," he said, pressing his forehead against yours. "Fuck! I can't believe this is real."

You kissed him, a sweet and lingering kiss that held all the words you couldn't say in that moment. When you pulled back, you saw the love and gratitude in his eyes, and it made your heart swell with even more pride.

"Now go stand on top of the podium, you deserve it."

The celebrations were in full swing as it was time for the podium. Charles was greeted with cheers and applause from the team, his family, and the fans who had supported him through thick and thin. The Monegasque flag waving proudly above him.

The national anthem played, and you watched as tears of pride and joy rolled down Charles' cheeks. This was the moment he had dreamed of, the moment he worked so hard for. And now, it was finally here.

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gaia-prime · 5 months ago

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PARIS, Aug 9 (Reuters) - Afghan female athlete Manizha Talash, a member of the refugee Olympic team at the Paris Games, displayed the words "Free Afghan Women" on her cape during her breaking routine in the competition's pre-qualifiers on Friday.

Political slogans and statements are banned on the field of play and on podiums at the Olympics, meaning Talash could face a potential sanction.

source

#olympics #paris 2024 #women’s athletics #Manizha Talash #feminism

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aeth-eris · 18 days ago

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★ majors/higher education | signs in the 9th house ★

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

★ aries in the 9th house ★

majors tied to action, leadership, and bold thinking—aries energy thrives in fields that require initiative and innovation. think degrees in law (debate, litigation), sports science (coaching, performance training), or military science (strategy, defense). you might also pursue something competitive like entrepreneurship or pre-med, where you’re constantly challenged to stay ahead. aries’ restless energy makes hands-on, fast-paced majors appealing, so engineering or mechanics could also fit. their love of adventure means international relations or global studies might appeal, especially if you want to explore different cultures or engage in diplomatic work. creative fields like film production or performing arts (theater, dance) might call to you, as aries loves self-expression and commanding attention. expect a major that keeps you moving and doesn’t confine you to routine; aries doesn’t do well in stagnant or overly theoretical environments. you might also gravitate toward activism-based studies, like political science or criminal justice, where you can champion causes and fight for change. your education could take unexpected turns, as aries energy often thrives in challenges and chaos—possibly leading you to switch majors mid-way when something more exciting catches your attention.

★ taurus in the 9th house ★

majors rooted in stability, beauty, and value-driven work. taurus energy is practical yet artistic, so degrees in interior design, architecture, or fine arts (sculpture, painting) align well with their aesthetic sensibilities. you might also find satisfaction in agricultural sciences or environmental studies, connecting with the earth and sustainable practices. taurus’ practical mindset leans toward finance, economics, or business—majors that ensure long-term security and tangible rewards. culinary arts or nutrition could appeal, especially if you enjoy creating or nurturing through food. degrees in real estate or hospitality management might align with taurus’ love of comfort and luxury, allowing you to curate beautiful spaces or experiences for others. taurus in the 9th craves knowledge they can use practically, so hands-on fields with clear career paths are key. psychology or social work might also resonate, especially if you’re drawn to steady, nurturing roles that help others build better lives. you could lean toward something like cultural studies or anthropology if there’s a focus on the sensory aspects of different traditions (food, art, craftsmanship). whatever you choose, it’ll likely be a slow, deliberate decision, as taurus takes their time to find what truly aligns with their values.

★ gemini in the 9th house ★

majors focused on communication, ideas, and variety—gemini thrives in fields that stimulate the mind and offer flexibility. journalism, creative writing, or media studies are strong fits, as gemini excels in storytelling and connecting with others. degrees in education (teaching, curriculum development) might appeal, especially if you’re drawn to sharing knowledge in dynamic environments. gemini’s curiosity could also pull you toward marketing, public relations, or advertising—majors that let you craft messages and explore trends. linguistics, foreign languages, or international studies might resonate, allowing you to learn and communicate across cultures. gemini’s love of tech and information could lead to fields like computer science, digital media, or data analysis. their versatility means you might combine seemingly unrelated interests, like a double major in psychology and graphic design or sociology and creative writing. gemini doesn’t thrive in rigid or overly specialized fields; they need variety, collaboration, and intellectual stimulation. philosophy or political science could also align, especially if you enjoy debating and exploring complex ideas. gemini in the 9th house often means your education will involve constant learning and adapting—expect internships, networking, and possibly changing majors to keep things fresh.

★ cancer in the 9th house ★

majors that center around nurturing, emotional connection, and building safe spaces for others. cancer energy thrives in fields like psychology, counseling, or social work—anything where you can provide care and emotional support. education might also appeal, particularly in early childhood development or special education, as cancer loves nurturing young minds. degrees in nursing, midwifery, or healthcare align with cancer’s caregiving nature, especially if you’re drawn to maternal health or pediatrics. cancer’s connection to home and history could lead to majors like interior design (creating comforting spaces) or history and anthropology, focusing on family lineage or cultural traditions. culinary arts or hospitality management could also resonate, especially if you love bringing people together through food or creating warm, inviting environments. cancer in the 9th might draw you toward majors that focus on healing or personal growth, like alternative medicine, holistic therapy, or even spiritual studies. film and media studies could appeal if you’re interested in storytelling with emotional depth. whatever you choose, it’s likely tied to themes of care, protection, and emotional resonance. you might also feel pulled toward studying abroad in places that feel familiar or tied to ancestral roots, seeking deeper connections with your personal history.

★ leo in the 9th house ★

majors centered around creativity, leadership, and self-expression. leo thrives in fields where they can shine, so performing arts (theater, dance, or music) might be at the top of your list. film studies or directing could appeal if you want to create bold, visual stories that captivate an audience. degrees in business, entrepreneurship, or leadership studies might also resonate, as leo loves being in charge and inspiring others. if you’re drawn to communication, public relations or marketing with a focus on branding and storytelling could fit. leo’s dramatic flair might pull you toward law—especially areas like courtroom litigation where your charisma and presence can shine. education, particularly as a professor or in roles that allow for mentorship, could also appeal, as leo loves to teach and lead. graphic design or fashion might be your calling if you’re drawn to creating visually impactful work. majors involving performance, creativity, or roles where you can stand out will feel most fulfilling. study abroad programs in culturally vibrant or artistic cities might inspire your studies. whatever you choose, it’ll likely be something where your natural talent for commanding attention and creating joy takes center stage.

★ virgo in the 9th house ★

majors grounded in precision, practicality, and service. virgo excels in detail-oriented fields, so degrees in healthcare (nursing, medical technology, public health) or environmental science could be strong fits. you might also thrive in majors like biology, chemistry, or nutrition, especially if you’re drawn to solving real-world problems. virgo’s analytical nature makes them well-suited to data-heavy fields like statistics, economics, or information systems. education is another natural fit, particularly in curriculum design or teaching science and math subjects. virgo’s focus on improvement could lead to degrees in psychology, especially counseling or behavioral analysis, where you help others refine and improve their lives. technical writing, editing, or publishing might appeal if you’re drawn to language and its meticulous application. environmental studies, agricultural science, or urban planning align with virgo’s interest in sustainable systems. virgo in the 9th house often seeks practical applications for higher learning, so your education might focus on how to create order and efficiency in the world. internships or research opportunities are likely to play a key role, as virgo thrives on hands-on experience. you’re also likely to be drawn to majors where you can serve others and create meaningful, measurable change.

★ libra in the 9th house ★

majors tied to beauty, harmony, and interpersonal connection. libra thrives in fields like art history, design, or fashion, where aesthetics and balance play a central role. degrees in law, especially focused on mediation or human rights, align with libra’s natural sense of fairness and justice. if you’re drawn to communication, public relations or marketing might appeal, particularly in industries like luxury goods or entertainment. libra’s love of people and relationships could also pull you toward psychology or sociology, exploring how humans connect and interact. education, especially in arts or humanities, is another natural fit—teaching subjects like literature, philosophy, or visual arts could fulfill your love for beauty and intellectual stimulation. majors like international relations or cultural studies align with libra’s global perspective and interest in diplomacy. libra in the 9th house also points to a strong desire for study abroad experiences, especially in culturally refined cities like paris, florence, or tokyo. you might also be drawn to interior design, event planning, or hospitality management—fields where you create harmonious and beautiful spaces. whatever you choose, it will likely involve collaboration, creativity, and a focus on creating balance in the world around you.

★ scorpio in the 9th house ★

majors steeped in intensity, mystery, and transformation. scorpio’s fascination with the unseen might lead you toward psychology, especially fields like forensic psychology, trauma therapy, or psychoanalysis. criminology, law enforcement, or investigative journalism are also natural fits, as scorpio thrives in uncovering hidden truths. degrees in medicine or research, particularly in areas like oncology, genetics, or pathology, align with scorpio’s need to transform and heal. scorpio’s deep, transformative energy might also pull you toward majors like philosophy, theology, or occult studies, where you explore life’s profound questions. anthropology, archaeology, or history with a focus on ancient civilizations could appeal if you’re drawn to uncovering buried secrets. scorpio’s intensity lends itself to creative fields as well—screenwriting, film directing, or novel writing in genres like horror, thriller, or fantasy might resonate. scorpio in the 9th house might also gravitate toward environmental studies or activism, especially if there’s a focus on regeneration or fighting for underrepresented causes. your educational journey may feel transformative and even karmic, with pivotal experiences that challenge your worldview and deepen your understanding of life’s complexities. you’re drawn to majors that let you explore the depths and create profound change.

★ sagittarius in the 9th house ★

majors focused on exploration, freedom, and the pursuit of knowledge. sagittarius in the 9th house practically screams for degrees in international relations, global studies, or cultural anthropology—anything that allows you to explore different cultures and philosophies. you might also be drawn to majors in philosophy, religious studies, or political science, as sagittarius loves diving into big-picture questions about morality and society. education is another natural fit, particularly higher education, where you could thrive as a professor or academic researcher. travel and adventure are key themes, so tourism management, hospitality, or even adventure filmmaking could appeal if you want to combine movement and creativity. sagittarius’ connection to optimism and growth might also lead you to fields like motivational speaking, public relations, or even sports management. if you’re drawn to physicality, degrees in physical education, sports science, or outdoor recreation could align with your adventurous spirit. study abroad programs or internships in foreign countries might feel essential to your academic journey. whatever you choose, it’ll likely involve expanding your horizons, chasing new experiences, and finding ways to bring a sense of inspiration and adventure to your studies and career.

★ capricorn in the 9th house ★

majors rooted in structure, ambition, and long-term success. capricorn in the 9th house suggests a preference for fields that offer tangible career paths and clear rewards, such as law, business administration, or economics. you might also excel in architecture, engineering, or urban planning, as capricorn thrives on building systems and structures that last. degrees in political science, public policy, or governance could appeal if you’re drawn to leadership roles and creating societal impact. capricorn’s disciplined energy might also lead you toward accounting, finance, or real estate—fields that align with your pragmatic mindset and interest in material security. academia or teaching might also appeal, especially if you’re focused on rising to leadership positions, like becoming a dean or head of a department. capricorn in the 9th values practicality, so you may prioritize internships, certifications, or degrees with clear professional applications. environmental science or sustainability studies could resonate, especially if you’re drawn to creating lasting change in ecological systems. your educational journey will likely be marked by hard work, steady progress, and a focus on achieving long-term goals, with a major that reflects your ambition and desire for mastery.

★ aquarius in the 9th house ★

majors centered around innovation, social change, and intellectual freedom. aquarius thrives in unconventional fields, so degrees in computer science, information technology, or artificial intelligence are natural fits. if you’re drawn to the social sciences, majors like sociology, political science, or human rights might appeal, especially if there’s a focus on progressive or revolutionary ideas. aquarius’ love of innovation might also lead to engineering, especially aerospace or renewable energy, where you can create futuristic solutions. degrees in environmental studies or urban planning could resonate if you’re interested in designing sustainable communities. aquarius in the 9th house suggests a fascination with global movements and humanitarian efforts, so international relations or global health might align with your vision for creating change. you might also be drawn to fields like psychology or neuroscience, exploring how the mind works and how it shapes behavior. aquarius values intellectual freedom, so you could pursue interdisciplinary studies that allow you to combine multiple interests, like technology and ethics or science and art. your educational journey might involve unconventional paths, like online programs, self-directed learning, or studying abroad in innovative or forward-thinking countries.

★ pisces in the 9th house ★

majors infused with imagination, spirituality, and emotional depth. pisces in the 9th house suggests a pull toward fields like creative writing, fine arts, or film studies, where you can channel your dreams into storytelling or visual expression. degrees in psychology or counseling might appeal, especially if you’re drawn to helping others navigate their emotions or uncover deeper truths. pisces’ spiritual energy might also lead you toward religious studies, theology, or even alternative medicine, focusing on healing and connection to the divine. majors in marine biology or environmental sciences might resonate, especially if you feel called to protect and explore the natural world. pisces also thrives in fields like music, dance, or acting, where emotional expression takes center stage. humanitarian studies or social work could be a fit, particularly if you want to help underserved populations or work for global peace. pisces in the 9th house also points to a love for escapism and exploration, so degrees in tourism, hospitality, or cultural studies might align with your wanderlust. your educational journey may feel fluid and intuitive, with shifts in direction driven by inner callings rather than external expectations.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #9th house

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love-that-we-were-in · 9 months ago

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betting on all three for us two

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: you think you like being a little more friendly and a little less competition with luke castellan this year. a sequel to this fic word count: 3.1k warnings: none

author's note: frat luke my dearly beloved loser son who studies pre-med this is for you you know who you are i love you

The fall semester comes at you faster than you’d like, this rapid change from a golden summer to the crisp air of being back on campus. You’re rooming with someone from an old anthropology elective you took, Silena finally moving into her sorority house. It should feel weirder, how everything has changed since spring break.

You take the opportunity to build new habits. Early runs, no caffeine after 2pm. Little things that make the day go a tiny bit faster, building blocks to fit around your class schedule. Silena schedules weekly lunches for the three of you and there’s this gravity to it all that you want to study.

It had been nice to be home for a few months. Your mom had missed having you there, being able to show you the new flowers she planted, how the lemon tree in the yard is twisting weirdly. Board games and family dinners and friends who never left your town. Being back home was resetting. Being back on campus was restarting.

Lee catches you as you leave the gym, offering to walk you to class if you’re heading in that direction. You smile, telling him that you have a late start and pretend he doesn’t frown when your phone buzzes. He mentions that he’s thinking of starting a study group for one of your classes and you tell him you’ll think about joining.

While he heads towards the main building, you make your way to the campus coffee shop - caught behind the early risers desperate for something to get them through their first lecture of the day.

“Can I get a flat white and an iced americano with caramel to go please?” You smile at the girl working the counter, stepping aside to glance at your watch.

You run through your schedule for today, ignoring the text that comes through. You know exactly what it says, the same thing every morning, and you don’t even bother to roll your eyes at this point.

“I can’t believe you ignored my text,” Luke says when you reach the courtyard between the library and the medical building. “Not even a flame emoji.”

You stop in front of him, drinking in the jeans and sweater combination he’s settled on today. It’s a really nice sweater, dark blue and a little baggy. You wonder how quickly he’d notice it going missing. Probably not as quickly as he’d notice the stupid hat he’s wearing go missing. His backpack leans against the bench, pristine.

“No one uses those except you,” you shake your head, handing him the iced drink. “What time does your lecture start?”

Luke tells you as if he really needs to. It’s this thing you’ve started doing since the semester began, acting like you don’t know his schedule as well as your own. As if the both of you haven’t fallen into this routine in just a few weeks. Like it’s not a highlight of your day.

Clarisse thinks it’s adorable. Chris thinks it’s hilarious. You think it’s nice to have someone to share your free time with, beyond whatever else you and Luke have. It had been a fear of yours, when Silena mentioned not sharing a dorm with you, that you would fall to the sidelines. That life would come with these new priorities for everyone and you would only be fourth or fifth on their lists, too cemented in the day-to-day that you’d be forgotten.

Morning coffee with Luke stops that fear.

“Did Silena tell you about the party on Friday?”

“I have a study group in the afternoon,” Luke says, swirling his plastic cup around so the ice clinks together. “If I do go, I’m showing up late.”

“Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for you there, Castellan.”

He laughs and it’s like summer again. There’s something insane about hearing Luke laugh like this, unbroken and loud, nothing like it had been over the phone while you were back home.

“You’ve got dinner with Silena and Clarisse tonight, right?” He asks, swinging his bag over one shoulder. You throw your empty cup into the trash can as you both start walking. “Is there any point in asking if you want to come round after?”

You knock his arm with your shoulder, laughing, and, instead of feigning hurt like usual, Luke just takes your hand in his, the skin a little colder than you expect. Gazing down at your linked hands, you bite your lip before sighing.

“If I’m home before eleven, I’ll consider it.”

Last year, when you first met him, you thought Luke only got that determined glint in his eyes when he was competing. That it was a sign of an unanticipated thrill. Since then, you’ve learnt that it’s not that at all. It’s this thing that ignites within him, determined and passionate and a little boyish.

You think it might be one of your favorite things about him.

“I will take that deal.”

You wish you could say you were a little drunk. At least that way you would have something to blame. As it stands, you’re stone cold sober, maybe a little tired from class but nothing that can really be blamed for the lack of weight your actions seem to have right now.

The only thing you can blame, and you will, is the boy next to you, completely engrossed in the movie playing. They’d been watching it when you arrived, all settled on the couches and you assume this is something they do regularly, and at any other time you might’ve called it cute.

Not tonight. Not when you walked in to the discovery that Luke wears glasses and you didn’t know about it. It was something you played off, making a joke and settling into the cushions beside him. In the time since, Chris has left for his date with Clarisse and Charlie has pulled out some work to go through in the corner of the room.

“What’s up?” Luke asks when he realizes you’ve hardly moved in ten minutes, barely even breathing. And it’s the worst possible thing he could do, glance down through the frames with that small smile you’ve gotten used to and curls loose.

“Nothing’s up,” you let your eyes trail back to the screen. “This is a very cute tradition you guys have going on.”

Charlie lets out a little laugh from across the room. You feel the way Luke exhales against the side of your face. You think you’re able to go back to pretending everything is normal, make a joke and enjoy the rest of the movie. The second you feel Luke’s fingertips on the skin of your knee, gentle and warm, you know you can’t.

“You’re swerving,” he whispers, throwing a quick glance at Charlie to see if he can hear but the other boy is engrossed in his work. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” you bite the inside of your cheek when he nods encouragingly, incredibly aware of the patterns he’s tracing on your skin. “I just think it’s interesting that you’d choose to wear a hat all the time when the glasses are right there.”

“What?”

His hand stills and you wait. You wait and you stare at the shape of his jaw and you chuckle when it finally clicks, his adam’s apple shifting as he swallows the conclusion down. “Are you saying you like my glasses?”

You don’t like how uneven this all feels. Whenever you’ve been with Luke so far, there’s been this mutual balance that you’ve grown used to. Even before now, back when you were locked in silly competitions, you did it on even footing, the expectation that everything meant nothing and you wouldn’t be affected.

This, the way Luke grins around the realization, hand moving to rest on your thigh, is different. It’s heavier. It’s a loss after a winning streak and you’re kind of obsessed with the way it could drag you down.

“I just think that hat is stupid.”

“Yeah, okay,” Luke nods and you know, even if he doesn’t do it outright, he’s laughing. He’s categorizing the information you’ve just given him, placing it where it belongs in his mind, and it’s going to bite you in the ass. “Tell me more.”

“Luke,” you mutter, gritting your teeth. His fingertips brush against the hem of your shorts and, when you glare at him for it, he just shrugs. You throw a glance over in Charlie’s direction. Still nothing. “Are you insane?”

He tilts his head like he’s considering the question carefully. If Charlie were to look over, you know he’d assume you were locked in a debate about something silly - a staple of you and Luke - and it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t know for a second that you were holding onto Luke’s wrist, his hand itching to move just a little to the left.

You sigh and the boy beside you raises an eyebrow. You both know that you’ve lost this round.

When you press your lips to his bicep as the film credits roll, warm even through the fabric of his shirt, you mumble, “I really like your glasses.”

You aren’t used to watching things from a crowd. You’re used to focusing on yourself, on your team - not watching from a distance, surrounded by people who are there purely for enjoyment. There’s no winning from the stands.

Luke doesn’t know you’re here. You’d sent him a text that morning wishing him luck, arranging to meet him when his debate was over. You hadn’t bothered to message him when your afternoon class got canceled, choosing instead to race across campus and find a seat in the dim auditorium they’re using.

There isn’t the crackle of energy you get from swimming, or from watching Luke during track sessions. It’s less intense, for sure, a balance between the fire you know exists within him when he’s competing and the confidence he has in his own intelligence. You’ve argued with Luke, stupid things that neither of you care to take too seriously, and this is just the next stage of that.

He’s got his glasses on, you note, when the debate gets underway. He’s wearing his lucky green polo, even if he’d never personally call it that, and he’s switched his smartwatch out for an analogue one. The cheap biro you’re used to seeing him use has been replaced by a fancy silver pen that he still taps against his thigh while thinking. He’s sitting straighter than usual, shoulders back.

It’s almost like meeting him for the first time, focused and confident and sharp at the edges.

You’re kind of obsessed with it.

An hour and a winning handshake later, you make your way through the small crowd leaving to find Luke in conversation with one of his teammates. She smiles as you wrap an arm around his waist from behind, the slight tension still lingering in his bones melting away when he realizes it’s you.

“What are you doing here?” He says, turning enough that he’s actually facing you now. The girl waves you both goodbye. “I thought you had class.”

“Professor Chase had to cancel. His daughter got sent home from school with a fever.”

Luke nods, pressing his lips to the top of your head quickly. “You didn’t have to come to my debate.”

In the few months you’ve known Luke, you’ve learnt more about him than you expected to. You know from summer that Connecticut means looking after his sick mother, that he’s hoping to introduce some new charity events to ksig, that he used to go to a summer camp growing up. You know that his dad never showed up for anything and that he sits in the stands of all of your swim meets regardless of whether it cuts into his study time or not.

More than all of that, you know that the way he’s gazing at you now, a cross between awe and something deeper, is going to drive you crazy one day. You hope he can read the same expression on your face.

“Thank you for coming,” he says when everyone is finally dismissed, an arm thrown across your shoulders as you make your way out of the building. You loop a finger around one of his, just because you want to. “It means a lot.”

“I told you I would,” and you had, months ago, staring at Luke’s bedroom ceiling, back when you were still caught in the casualness of it all. When Luke was just someone you pretended you weren’t trying to bump into at parties. You’d told him that you would show up for him if you ever got the chance. He’d rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket over you both and told you to go to sleep. He’d drifted off with his nose pressed against your neck. “I keep my word, Castellan.”

“I know.”

In the evening light of campus, you think it might mean something more. Buried under the timing and the bitter wind until it’s a promise only you and Luke could translate. Asking him about where he wants to go for dinner, you like that no one else could understand the depth of it.

+1.

Silena catches your attention as you enter the kitchen, grinning wildly and explaining her concept for tonight. Drew gave her permission to throw this week’s party, something themed and fun and it’s something she’s so proud of that you can’t help but grin back at her energy.

“Even Charlie came,” she tells you excitedly, handing you a drink. “I feel like tonight is going to be it.”

In all the years you’ve known her, she’s been counting down to it. You don’t exactly understand the fundamentals of what it is, if it’s a real thing or something she can just sense intrinsically. There have been moments where she’s thought of it before, mentioned it offhandedly before shaking her head - as if knowing she was wrong.

“What even is it?” You ask and, for the first time, she breathes deeply instead of shrugging it off.

“The beginning of the end,” she says and that doesn’t exactly explain anything. “Everything is about to change.”

You still don’t really get it, but she’s as confident in this as she is about her clothes, so you nod like you understand. She sends you away not long after that, turning her attention to the new group that’s just walked through the doorway, mentioning that you need to be in the basement in about an hour and you just accept your fate, moving into the next room and falling into conversation with Rachel.

Luke slips into the basement just as Silena starts yelling for everyone to do so, catching your eye across the room and waving. When you’re all instructed to sit down in a circle, you wonder exactly what Silena has planned for tonight. When she places a near empty bottle down in the center of you all, you laugh.

“Are we actually playing spin the bottle?” Chris asks, prompting a murmured chorus of agreement from everyone else in the room. Silena frowns at him.

“Wanna bet he ends up getting the most into it?” Luke whispers in your ear and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Loser has to buy the coffee tomorrow morning.”

“You’re on,” you bump your fist to his to seal the deal. “I think he’s gonna get bored by round 3.”

“Only boring people get bored of this game. It’s about drive.”

“It’s about power?” Luke lets out a laugh and Silena turns her glare to you. “Sorry.”

She starts to explain the rules of the game, as if you’re all twelve again, and you bite your lip harder with every comment Luke makes under his breath. It’s a little mean, a little stupid, and you wish you were fifteen again, playing a proper game of spin the bottle for the first time.

Nothing much happens for the first few rounds, Chris starting to grumble the longer the game goes on. Luke clicks his tongue when you point it out, cursing his best friend like this was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him.

Lee spins and it’s like cosmic interference when the bottle stops between you and Luke, the two of you glancing at each other and then back towards Lee.

“Should I spin it again?” Lee asks when no one says anything. Silena shakes her head and says, “You can choose or we can vote if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Please let us vote,” Chris shouts, animated and you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the smug smile Luke gives you. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

Lee glances between you both again, at where your knee rests against Luke’s thigh and the beer you’ve been sharing for the past twenty minutes sits between you. “It might be better to vote.”

“Sure,” Silena smiles before silencing you all. “Everyone that wants Lee to kiss Luke, raise your hands.”

You raise your hand and Luke mumbles beside you, flicking your leg and you poke him in return. Anything to avoid kissing Lee Fletcher after two years of avoiding it.

“That is an overwhelming majority,” Silena says and you know, just by the way her eyes slide over to you, that she didn’t even bother to actually count. “Lee, you may now kiss Luke.”

There’s this moment where you think Lee is going to just leave but instead he stares at the boy next to you, the relaxed set to his jaw, the annoying baseball cap on his head, how he’s so unbothered by it all. You watch as something clicks in his mind, you really want to know what it is.

Whatever it was, it makes him grab the bottle again, ignoring Silena’s protests. It lands on the girl from Luke’s debate team and she straightens her back ever so slightly.

“Silena,” Lee says as he leans towards the girl. “I’m not going to kiss Luke or his girlfriend.”

“Damn straight,” Luke mumbles, grabbing your hand from your lap and holding it in his instead. It’s stupid and it really doesn’t matter to either of you, you know that, but there’s this way he says it - almost like it’s the worst thing he could’ve imagined - and it settles in your gut with the beer you’ve been drinking. “Me or my girlfriend.”

“I’d really like to meet her,” you say, laughing when he huffs and pulls his hat down on your head. When you push the visor up to see him properly, all rosy cheeks and compacted curls, you think you might have found it. Whatever it is.

Based on the way Luke’s nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle, you think he understands that too.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x you

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watsername · 2 years ago

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oky it’s fucking TIME to talk about mcc misogyny we are NOT dancing around it anymore .

the community fucking hates women . especially the subreddit but also the general community . i can’t talk about every women bc i haven’t watched the pov of every woman in mcc .

tina kitten. her entire mcc experience was being treated as a nerf tool by the community. she only played in a handful of events but her teams routinely credited as some of the lowest ranked teams in the history of mcc in pre-game prospects . they’ve had the LEAST chance at winning and the community commonly rests that blame on tina’s back . is tina a great mcc player? no, she hasn’t had much opportunity to learn from it or practise much. but the constant backlash she faces for being a “bad player” and a “nerf” is demotivating . and after treating her like shit people treat her like shit MORE to tell her she’s overreacting if she is upset or has a problem with anything .

but scar has similar stats . he’s a relatively new player who hasn’t had much chance to learn from the event yet and hasn’t placed top 20. but nobody ever complains about scar being teamed with anyone as a nerf . nobody complains scar is dragging the team down . same goes for people like quackity and karl who don’t regularly place well. nobody complains they’re nerfs or that they’re ruining the teams chances . and evryone is quick to comfort them if they feel bad for ‘letting their team down’

niki nihachu is a similar situation . she’s been playing in the event for well over a year now and is routinely shunned by members of the community for not playing good enough . you can argue ‘she ranks x out of 40 on average’ all you want but does that warrant the way people treat her in her chat and in the subreddit?? does that warrant the immense pressure she feels to improve and the fact that he feels she’s let so many ppl down if she doesn’t?? does it warrant people talking shit talking her and laughing at her for getting emotional due to stress over the event on stream? the fact that she’s so stressed over the event should tell you everything . people has treated her like shit since the beginning for being ‘too emotional’ .

jojosolos. girl. she came into the event as an extremely strong player. she’s placed top ten 6 out of 9 times she’s played (canon and non canon) . for canon events she has 5/6 top ten placements one win and a first individual placement . purpled has 6/7 top ten placements, one team win and one first individual placement . they have extremely similar track records . so why is it that the s tier committee is trying to hard to designate purpled as an s tier but are adamant that jojo doesn’t deserve the same treatment because she’s yet to prove herself as being an s tier player . they have roughly the same stats .

hannahxxrose . she’s faced criticism for her competitiveness over her entire streaming career . to the point where she recently pointed out that people have been calling into question her mental well-being because of her competitive attitude and loudness. some men in the community (specific ones that are hated before the game even starts) are given similar critiques but not once has their mental health been called into question. but the majority of competitive men in the community haven’t been called out on their ‘bad attitudes’, only the ones that specific mcyt communities don’t like to begin with . typically if a man gets loud or starts screaming during the event it’s funny to you . but for a woman she’s taking it too seriously and needs a wellness check .

both jack manifold and karacorvus have an average placement of 26 . kara has one win and jack has lost every dodgebolt he’s been part of . but kara faces harsher criticism bc she doesn’t have the same following as jack manifold so she doesn’t have ppl who will defend her as being a good addition to the team for something other than her ability . bc ppl will defend jacks bad placement because :o !!!! he’s playing with his friends!!!! despite having the same ability as the women that are routinely shit on .

my point is that you can say what you want about certain mcc players . you’re not gonna like everyone . but the double standards between male and female mcc competitors is very much real and a problem in the fanbase. more people are fans of the male streamers and i get that’s why you want them to succeed. but to overlook the flaws you degrade female plaster for in the creators you admire is to have an internal bias against them . if you’re going to have criticisms they’re gonna have ti be for EVERYONE who uses that kind of behaviour . and i think if we see that enforces you’ll realise that a lot of the critiques were bullshit to begin with .

and this can NOT be chalked up to the behaviour of the dsmp community alone . you’re all just as bad, this focuses primarily on dsmp examples bc i watxh primarily dsmp streamers. ALL of this happens on the mcc subreddit .

#mcc

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mrcrawly · 9 days ago

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Jayvik headcanons

hello jayvik nation im dumping these here bc im almost done with the second chapter of my fic and these have been stewing a while

Viktor

has the most beautiful curly calligraphy handwriting ever but it's so curly and fancy you genuinely can't read it

Ibuprofen allergy. source: my twisted mind

fidgeting with stuff all the time. paperclips, pencils, clips, rubber bands, the buttons on his vest

bonus to that one: he messes with his vest buttons so much that Jayce is constantly having to sew them back on when they come off

chronic nail biter

big sweet tooth

great cook but a shitty baker

"get even" kind of person; probably holds grudges from the second grade

doesn't cry very often but can be sensitive in the sense that he cares very much how his closest friends view him and internalizes their opinions

love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service

likes to be touched but not held (autism)

hates winter because it makes his joints hurt, summer is unbearably hot and he can't stand it, he has spring allergies; default fall enjoyer

animals really like him and strays tend to show up at the lab or follow him around

children like Viktor. Viktor doesn't like children back

kids will sometimes randomly talk to him and tell him things in public and he doesn't have the heart to be mean to them or ignore them so he just sits there like "mhm ☺️" while they talk until their parents apologize and walk off

probably has a pet reptile (a turtle or some kind of lizard methinks)

cold natured and wears seven hundred billion blankets to bed every night no matter the season

identifies as male in the sense that he was born a man and just never bothered to think much about it but doesn't fully grasp the concept or purpose of gender. could tell you what makes a man a man or what makes a woman a woman but doesn't understand why nor care

interested in jayce from the beginning but never felt as if he was in competition with Mel

sorry they can pry the JayMelVik love triangle out of my cold dead hands ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

not very affectionate because he doesn't know how to discuss his own feelings but very good at soothing other people

Jayce

dysgraphia (i think that's the term?) – not many issues with reading but not the best with writing

viktor is hyperlexic so it works out alright

AMAZING at drawing. like if he didn't have the passion for science he would be an artist. he draws out all their diagrams and blueprints and Viktor labels them

can cook pretty well but doesn't like to do it; if he stays at Viktor's place then Viktor always cooks for him

likes baking because he controls every single thing that goes in and it's very exact

both he and Viktor have chronic pain in their hands (carpal tunnel) from spending all their time taking notes and working with small delicate parts

he doesn't complain about his even when it bothers him because it feels silly knowing how bad Viktor's pain is every day 💔💔💔💔

10,000 step haircare routine but Viktor's looks better anyway

used to be prone to acne as a teen (if accutane existed in arcane he would have been an accutane kid)

(i was an accutane kid and im projecting)

shaved regularly pre-hexcore because his father had facial hair and he looks a lot like his dad anyway; he was always a little worried if he grew it out it would remind Ximena too much of his dad and make her sad

took entire days off of work and pushed deadlines back when Viktor got bad just so he could stay with him when Viktor was in too much pain to do practically anything

used to deliberately sleep in the lab because Viktor would stay late and he didn't want Viktor to be alone in case he passed out or something happened

love languages are physical touch, gift giving, and quality time

money doesn't exist to him when he's buying other people things. can't do secret santas at Christmas bc he constantly exceeds the budget

simultaneously one of those people who legitimately cannot accept gifts and feels bad when people give him things

was genuinely so in love with Mel; used to have dreams about marrying her and living somewhere quiet with her

most definitely forgave her for manipulating him on the council and understood her but it was just never the same

bottom. argue with the wall

OUGHHHH my shayla 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

guess my favorite character challenge level impossible (it's so unbelievably obvious)

#arcane jayce #i love arcane it definitely didn't ruin my life #arcane league of legends #jayvik #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #jayce league of legends #arcane #arcane s2 spoilers #mel medarda #mel league of legends #my favorite character is jayce btw #it was definitely obvious #viktor nation

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samkerrworshipper · 1 year ago

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Medication - Leah Williamson

fluff, little bit of angst, anxiety attacks, mentions of depression, 3500 words

balled my eyes out to black fridays by tom odell and then this was birthed.

blurb:

your a rookie on the lionesses squad, who suffers from anxiety and when you stop taking your meds after learning you are starting a game in the euros everything goes downhill for you.

i am so sorry for how vague this was lol i’m writing this and publishing at 2:30 in the morning

I’d never liked gamedays. Everything felt different, all the feelings and emotions heightened. The pressure was insurmountable, especially when you are playing for your nation. Especially when you are one of the youngest, one of the least experienced, one of the youngsters. Today, we were playing Norway, my first game as a Lioness where I was a part of the starting line-up. It was a must win game, the stakes were high for us to win these Euro’s, especially considering it was a home euro’s for us. If we wanted to progress to the finals we couldn’t lose, the pressure was on.

I’d understood that as soon as I’d been notified that I was to start the match, understood that everything changed as soon as you were actually on the pitch. Our one point win over Austria had been great, but we were all hungrier for more, hungrier for the points that we needed to get us ahead in the competition. Sarina knew that there was an expectation for us to win, we all knew that.

I’d been feeling it all week, feeling the anxiety thrumming through my veins as we practised and went about our normal routine for the week. Something was different, it was my first year as a senior Lioness and I’d never been named as a starter. That was a big deal, a really big deal. That was all I could think about. What if I fucked it up? What if I messed up and they told me that I wasn’t going to be welcome back. What if Sarina saw me on the pitch and thought that I was worthless, useless, bad. That was all I could think about as we were standing in the tunnel getting ready to walk out. I was sandwiched in between Lucy and Beth. My hands shaking in my pockets and my breath quickening subconsciously. If I wasn’t aware of it then apparently the defender behind me was, because just as we were about to walk out I felt one of her hands fall to my shoulder, pulling me back into her just enough for her to be able to press her mouth to my ear and whisper,

“You’ve got this amore, you’re going to do perfectly fine,” Lucy’s voice was so strong, but so comforting. She was like an older sister to me, and had been since my first day at training camp. She had been the first person to believe in me besides my Arsenal teammates, the first person to really advocate for my future. She was also the first person on the Lionesses team besides Leah to learn about my struggles with anxiety, adhd and depression. She’d been a light in my life, texted me to make sure I was keeping up with my medication, or just to check in.

In the wake of the Euro’s I’d stopped taking my anxiety meds. I took Lorazepam, which worked really well for me, but it also tended to make me really drowsy and fatigued. Things that are not ideal when you are training and playing almost everyday for your country. It had positive effects, I definitely found it a lot easier to train and play my hardest, but there were a lot of negatives. Like how I was feeling right now. Like my heart was going to beat out of my chest, my hands getting clammy with sweat and shaking non stop like I’d just shot up on steroids. The sound of the crowd at Brighton didn’t help either as we walked out onto the pitch. I struggled to get through the national anthem and the pre game pleasantries, my chest and body hurting from the anxiety that was building up inside of my body.

I was grateful but also not to step out on the pitch properly. It felt like I was on a different planet, my senses overly heightened and my brain short circuiting almost everything.

I could feel Leah’s gaze on me as we all lined up to start the game, she worried about me, a lot. I was also her Arsenal teammate and she’d taken me under her wing beyond football, we’d become very close in our time spent together. I ignored her sidewards glances though, tasking myself with showing our nation that I deserved to be where I was and some jitters weren’t going to affect that.

My first half was rocky, normally with the mixture of adrenaline and endorphins my anxiety subsided when I started playing but this time I must have been too far gone, too much pent up anxiety built up for it to just fade away. It reflected in how I was playing, but our forwards had been flawless, slotting in six goals which put us in a lead that was pretty much untouchable. Clambering into the rooms at halftime was a charade. Everyone besides myself seemed ecstatic and hyped about our lead, I was on the inside but I was also wrapped up in my own bubble. I took a seat on the floor of the change rooms, taking in Serena’s speech about keeping our heads and just continuing what we were doing. I allowed Lucy to pass me a drink bottle, obliging her request for me to hydrate myself. She could tell something was up, she’d been hovering around me on the pitch, covering me. When one of the Norwegian girls had taken my feet out from under me she had immediately been at my side, pulling me up and then yelling at the umpire about how it had clearly been a foul if not a yellow. Leah had to pull her away just to ensure Lucy wouldn’t get carded herself, all whilst I stood there absolutely helpless as result of the amount of effort I was having to put into not collapsing from the amount of pain in my chest.

Leah kept it pretty brief after Serena, sticking to what she’d said and putting an emphasis on a few things before we headed back out. She managed to snag a grip on my jersey though as I trailed with the girls at the back of the group.

“Are you okay?” There was a little bit of captain in it, but it was mostly gentle, her voice a little bit rugged from the amount of yelling she’d done on the field.

“I’m fine.” Her facial expression was enough to tell me she didn’t believe a word I was saying.

“I’m telling Serena to sub you off, you clearly don’t look well enough to be playing.”

“I told you I feel fine Cap, I can play out the rest of the 90, please let me play it out.”

Leah looked conflicted, conflicted with what to do and how to react to my plea. I wasn’t one who begged very often, I didn’t see the point in it.

“Fine but y/n, as soon as anything happens out there, you put yourself in danger or someone else in danger you are going off, understood?”

I didn’t have any other option but to nod at Leah.

“Yes, captain.”

My voice had held some sarcasm as I tore her hand from the bottom of my jersey and started jogging back up the tunnel to catch up with girls that I’d previously been chatting to.

The last ten minutes of the second half was when bad transitioned to really not good. My body began to catch up with my over exertion and every second on the field became a battle. It was a blessing that the ball wasn’t really travelling down my end, Less and Toony had both been substituted in and were having a field day in our forward half kicking it back and forth to run the clock down. The Norwegian girls were giving it their best but you could tell they knew it was over. As the minutes passed though and we went into extra time I could feel my body really starting to get heavier, you could blame it on the lack of hydration and the english heat that we were playing in but I knew it was my body betraying me. I’d been denying my body for too long and it was catching up with me. I didn’t even know how many minutes of extra time we had, my vision was slowly blurring, my steps becoming wobbly and the pain in my chest becoming overbearing.

I could hear my opponent, I think it was Maren, or was it Guro? Asking me if I felt alright. I didn’t really comprehend it though, I couldn’t hear anything properly, it felt like I was underwater, my ears ringing out and my vision blacking over as I fell face first into the turf. Maren managed to catch me before I fully face planted into the grass, helping my limp form down to the ground before starting to yell out for help. It was then of course that the whistles blew and the match ended. I could make out the sounds of the crowd going nuts, maybe even my teammates on the sidelines yelling in triumph. I couldn’t open my eyes though and I definitely couldn’t make out the voice of Maren on the ground beside me trying to ask me questions and attract the attention of a medic. It was all mellowed out as my body succumbed to a coma like state that I’d forced myself into.

Leah and Lucy were the first two from my own team to locate me, passed out on the ground with Maren trying to provide as much privacy for me as possible whilst also pressing her hand to my throat to make sure that there wasn’t anything seriously wrong. It was Maren, Guro had been subbed off at the 84’ minute mark. I remembered that because I’d silently been wishing at the time that Serena would do the same, but she’d made her final changes and taking me off apparently hadn't been one of them.

“Y/n, can you open your eyes for me? Or squeeze my hand?”

I could feel Leah’s own hand fall into mine and I squeezed it as best as I could, it was enough for me to tell her that I was conscious enough to make out what she was saying to me.

“Good y/n/n, the medics are about to be here, can you try and open your eyes and talk for me?”

I tried my hardest to crack my eyes open, when I did finally muster up the will to open one of them I was met with the brightness of the stadium lights. I groaned almost immediately, being forced to take in my surroundings. I was surrounded by our trainers, who were draping different towels over my body in an attempt to cool me down and cover me. My cleats had been removed from my feet and someone was soaking my socks in cold water, something that I was not pleased to be awakened by.

“Good sweetheart, stay focused on me yeah, eyes on me.”

My eyes snapped back up to Leah, who was crouched above my head, Serena and Lucy’s heads were beside her own, staring down at me.

“The medics are going to come look at you and you are going to let them, okay?”

I almost immediately shook my head at Leah but she kept her jaw clenched and her stern face up.

“I’m not asking y/n, you just passed out on the field, you need to be assessed.”

I shook my head again and Leah rolled her eyes at me.

“An-n-xiety.”

I could hardly make out my own words in the stadium full of noise and the words themselves made me realise how much I was struggling to regulate my own breaths.

Leah nodded knowingly, suddenly everything seemed to come into perspective for her.

“You stopped taking your medication, didn’t you?”

I gulped and nodded at her, trying to block out all of the distractions that were happening around me. She looked annoyed at me, I cowered a little bit with the glare that she was giving me. After the last time I went on a sabbatical from my medication I swore to Leah I would never do it again.

As the medics crouched down next to me I shut my eyes again, it all becoming too much for my head. I let the medics fuss over me, I blacked out somewhere in between them putting me on a stretcher and getting me off the pitch.

I reawakened with sweat dripping down my body, all of the oxygen depleting from my body and my chest aching like it never had before. I choked a little bit as I sat up from my spot, gasping for air to enter my lungs. It took me a few seconds to recognise where I was, sitting inside the makeshift medical room at Brighton. My head was pounding and my whole body was aching.

“Y/n, look at me, you're having an anxiety attack, deep breaths.”

“Wh-what.” The words came out in a gasp as I struggled to take in any air, looking at Leah for guidance.

“We’re at Brighton, we just played Norway, you had an anxiety episode on the pitch. You’re having an attack right now, I need you to take deep breaths, follow me, in and out.”

I watched Leah as she exaggerated some deep breaths, if it hadn't been for the circumstance I probably would have laughed at her.

As I slowly started to take in more air she tried a different tactic.

“Good y/n/n, your doing so well my good girl. Can you tell me five things you can see?”

It was deflection, something that Leah had picked up on from her therapist.

“Serena, you, the light, Lucy and a drink bottle.”

Leah nodded at me encouragingly, rubbing slowly up my back as she continued.

“Good, you’re doing so well, how about four things you can feel?”

“Your breath, the scratchy blanket, my wet socks and I don’t know.”

My words were still choken as I used up whatever oxygen I was taking in to get the words out.

“That’s okay, that’s good, you are doing so well for me angel, how about three things you can hear?”

I tried to focus fully on Leah, on her words, her rubbing my back, her breath against my neck.

“Serena tapping her shoe, the heart monitor and the music from the changeroom.”

It was faint but if you focused in enough you could just hear the sound of my teammates in the change rooms, getting up to god knows that with the absence of their captain and manager.

“Perfect, you are doing absolutely perfectly. How about two things you can smell?”

“Antiseptic and your perfume.”

“Good, last one, one thing you can taste.”

I could feel my breath and body evening itself out, it felt like I was a piece of linen that was slowly but surely being ironed out, all of the crinkles and creases leaving my body.

“I don’t know.”

“Last one y/n, I know you can do it.”

“Metal, the iron taste from blood.”

Leah nodded at me, plastering a kiss on my forehead. Her words and actions being enough to bring me back down to earth fully. I very slowly took in my surroundings properly, Serena, Lucy and Keira were all sitting at the end of my bed, watching as Leah did her thing. I was hooked up to a few different things, cords and wires poking out of my extremities. A saline drip, heart monitor and another machine that I wasn’t sure the purpose of.

“Hey my girl, you back here with us now?”

I pushed my head into Leah’s chest, trying to hide from the world that I was now a participating member of.

“No hiding, not here,”

I groaned as Leah pushed me out of her chest, annoyed by the loss of contact and the confrontation of having to be put in front of some of the people I respected most.

“You gave us a fright back there, I think you came close to killing Maren.”

I gulped nervously, hanging onto every word that left Serena’s mouth, just bobbing my head in agreement because what else was I supposed to do.

“M’ sorry, didn’t mean to, just wanted to prove that I deserved to be here.”

Serena’s face held a kind of understanding, like she’d seen girls before me who had been the same, willing to die to prove their worth to the dutchwoman who we all regarded so highly.

“You wouldn’t be here in the first place if you didn’t deserve to be. It’s one thing to push yourself but to the point where you black out on the field is another thing. If it ever happens again y/n y/l/n then I can swear to you now that you will be benched, am I understood.” I nodded meekly at Serena,

“Yes ma’am.”

She nodded at me, she’d gotten her point across.

“Leah tells me this happened as a result of you not taking your medication?”

I pushed my head back into Leah’s chest, grunting at her when she pushed me out of it. I couldn’t do much else but nod at Serena.

“I get side effects ma’am, it makes me drowsy and sleepy, I didn’t want it to affect my game.”

Serena was very quick to fire back at me,

“You take medication to ensure that you feel well, there is no shame in that. If you are having a problem with side effects then you are to bring it up with one of our doctors, not boycott your medication entirely. From now on I am going to be responsible for your medication, you will come to me everyday to take it so I can ensure that you are receiving the correct doses so something like this does not occur again, is that understood?”

I gulped and nodded at Serena. She smiled at me knowingly in return.

“You are an elite athlete y/n, it is imperative that you care for your body. Or something like this happens, something with such magnitude that it can’t be overlooked. Your health and wellbeing comes first, always.”

I nodded at Serena once again, allowing her to give me a hug before leaving the room to give us some privacy. As soon as the door closed behind her I shed a few tears, I hated confrontation, it was one of my biggest fears.

“She’s right y’know, this could have been a lot worse, what if you’d put yourself in a really dangerous position because you were in a bad headspace and ended up seriously injured, you can’t just stop taking your medication randomly y/n, it’s not safe.”

Leah’s voice was murmured against my forehead, her lips staying plastered to the oily and cold skin.

“No one else on the team relies on medication to function, I thought I would be fine, I feel so stupid always being the one having to rely on shit to get through the day.”

I could feel Leah rolling her eyes from above me.

“No one else on the team struggles with intense anxiety and depression like you do, we are all different, we all function differently. There is no shame in needing medication y/n/n, Lucy uses an asthma puffer, does that make her stupid?”

I looked over at Lucy, it was different.

“No but it’s different.”

“How?”

Leah’s answer was fired back at me and I struggled slightly to recover from her sudden reply,

“Lucy has a physical problem, mine’s just in my head.”

“What you went through today seemed pretty physical to me.”

I was stumped by that answer, looking across at Kiera and Lucy who nodded along with what Leah was saying.

“You struggle with your mental health, there is no shame in that. You rely on medication. So what? Good for you for listening to your body and acknowledging that you need that to help you make it through the day. Y/n, there is absolutely nothing wrong with using medication to help you. If I felt sick, with the flu, and I needed antibiotics or whatever, would you think that I was weak for using them?”

I shook my head at Leah almost immediately, the question was a no brainer for me,

“Exactly, because I’d be taking the medication needed to keep me well and functioning. All you are doing is the same thing y/n, keeping yourself alive and well.”

#leah williamson #lionesses #woso #leah williamson x reader #serena wiegman #lucy bronze #fluff #anxiety attacks #medication #angst #i love leah williamson #golden retriever leah vibes #supportive moms #england lionesses x reader #lionesses x reader

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mermaidgirl30 · 5 months ago

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✨Somersaults and Stealing Hearts Part 1: Meeting the Coach✨

Coach! Joel Miller x gymnast! OFC

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @lotusbxtch and @alltheirdamn for beta reading for me, and for @mountainsandmayhem for helping hype me up! I’m really excited about this one ✨

Summary: Welcoming a new coach is no easy task, especially when Joel Miller steps through those doors with his stupid tousled curls and dark brown eyes.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 4.2k

Tags: Eventual smut, enemies to lovers type energy, bitter OFC, a hint of swooning, age gap (Madison is 24, Joel is 39), slow burn, pre!outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Sunlight bursts through the glass windows of the Austin Gymnastics Club as chalk and sweat permeate through the air of the heated gym. The long balance beams seem to shine in the distance, and the white walls with gold medals and trophies in glass cases fill the extensive space. My calloused fingers are numb from the lengthy bar routine I just finished, and my lower back burns from the shaky dismount. I take a moment to breathe deep and fill my lungs with icy water, letting the chill cool the ache of fiery lungs.

Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on deep breaths. Don’t think about the heartbreaking loss that’s about to happen.

When I open my glossy eyes, I take a minute to compose myself. Losing Coach Carr is near devastating when regionals are in a little less than two months. How the fuck am I supposed to be ready when we’re getting a brand new coach who doesn’t know a thing about our routines or training schedule?

Ripping the water bottle from my tight grip, I find my way back onto the blue spring floor and decide to stretch my sore triceps. Wincing in pain, I groan, extending my arms overhead, feeling as if my muscles will split in half at any moment, but I’m used to it. It’s just part of a gymnast’s daily routine. No pain, no gain.

Senior year. Only a little over three months until I’m graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Kinesiology. Granted, I opted for online classes to focus on what’s really important. Gymnastics. It’s what I breathe, all I can think about day after day, and I won’t stop until I qualify for the Olympics. And Coach Carr should’ve been the one to help me get there, but those dreams were crushed like sand beneath the soles of my feet. Go figure. Nothing ever went my way. Especially after I lost my dad…

Having to take a whole year off training and college was rough enough. And close to being twenty-five-years-old? Well, some of the girls still tortured me about it, whispering how I was too old, how I’d never make it. But they were wrong, and I’d prove it.

If they were gentle sheep, then I was a starving wolf. Out for blood.

Another deep sigh leaves my lips, and my shiny pink leotard feels extremely tight, almost like it’s squeezing the breath right out of my lungs. In the next moment, someone is hip checking me, and I almost topple over onto the mat from the unwelcome force. I glare in the direction of where the uncalled action came from, but I immediately drop my frown when I see it’s just my best friend, Cassie.

“Whoa, did you wake up on the wrong side of bed this morning? You’re awfully cranky,” she laughs as she presses down some dark flyaways from her tight bun and smoothes out her violet leotard with the back of her palms.

“Sorry,” I grumble, letting my arms fall down to my sides in defeat. “I’m just on edge today with Coach Carr leaving.”

Cassie blinks twice and looks up with sympathetic emerald eyes. “I know. I’m upset too, but what can we do? She’s already leaving, we can’t stop her now.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t she at least wait until after regionals? You know how important that competition is. If we want to go to the national championships, then we have to bring our A-game,” I huff, stomping my heel into the squishy floor just to show how frustrated I am.

“Ask her husband, he’s the one that got the new job in Denver. Maybe you can talk him into letting his wife stay just for you,” she laughs, pushing against my shoulder playfully to try to get me to lighten up, but it doesn’t work. “And it’s you, babe. You want to go to nationals, and you want to win that championship title. I’m just here to ride it out with you. You’ve got the heart of a lion in this gym. No way you aren’t getting that gold medal,” she says encouragingly.

I give her a fake smile and hip check her right back. “Says the girl who medaled at our last competition. You’re going with me, and that’s final,” I smile.

“We’ll see about that,” she says with bright green eyes.

The room lightens up a little bit as Cassie pulls some of the anger from my tense body, but it all comes crashing back down like shattering like glass the moment I see Coach Carr’s bubbly smile and long blonde hair swaying as she greets a man I don’t recognize by the glass door.

I tip my head to the side and squint, hoping to get a better view of the mystery man with the tight-fitting white t-shirt and dark jeans that hug strong legs. “Who’s that?” I ask, hoping Cassie will have a clue as to who that might be.

“I think that’s our new coach. Joel Miller,” she says, peeling her eyes over his broad body.

“Who is he?” My voice comes out quieter, like I almost don’t want to know. Coach Carr never said anything about a male coach, and she definitely didn’t mention that he’d be older and so… handsome.

“Not too sure, but I’ve been hearing the other coaches talk lately. Heard he took his prior team all the way to nationals,” she voices, making my ears perk up at that.

My eyes grow a little wider, and my back stiffens up at the mentions of nationals. “Nationals, huh? Then why isn’t he still there with that team?” Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, I try to study the tall man, as if I can see inside his mind.

“Not sure,” she shrugs. “Guess he heard we were the best, and maybe it’s a better paid position? I don’t know, but Jesus. Do you see the biceps on that man? He’s hot. Maybe he can help me stretch… if you know what I mean,” she winks, curling a loose strand behind her ear as her eyes go starry.

Oh, for the love of God.

“Cas, stop. You’re being gross.” I scrunch my nose in disgust and hit her lightly in the side of the shoulder.

“What? Like you don’t find him attractive? He’s ridiculously good looking. Just look at him,” she sighs dreamily, her eyes sparkling from the sunlight peeking through the windows.

But I am looking at him. And whether I like it or not, he’s walking straight up to the spring floor with Coach Carr right at his heels, and he’s not too far from where I’m standing.

When he’s only a mere few feet from me, I notice how his biceps hug the soft fabric of his t-shirt and large veins spiral down his thick forearms, spidering along the backs of his rough hands, ending in strong fingers. I gulp when I see how devastating his dark brown eyes are. They’re almost like pure marble, smooth enough to sink into. And his hair. Thick, sandy brown with speckles of gray threading through his lush locks and his clipped beard. Cassie was right; he’s breathtaking.

“Fuck yeah, bestie. He’s taking us all the way to nationals,” she whispers as a fit of giggles leave her pink lips.

I roll my eyes and seal my mouth shut, but I can’t help but keep sneaking secret glances at the man with pretty eyes. Cassie doesn’t need her big ego boosted to know she’s right. He is good looking, really good looking. But that doesn’t mean I’ll accept him here. Coach Carr is abandoning me right when I need her most. She was supposed to be there for regionals which would set me up for nationals. No way will I just accept a stranger, like he knows anything about my routines or moves. No. I’ll just give him the cold shoulder because I’m bitter about this whole stupid arrangement.

“Girls, gather around! I’d like for you to meet someone.” She gestures to the mystery man and beams her white smile to the entire room. The rest of the gymnasts take their place on the spring floor and glance with anticipation at the newcomer. “This has been a super hard decision for me to leave you all, but I did my best to make sure you’ll be in good hands. So, girls, I’d like you to meet your new coach, Joel Miller.”

All the girls’ eyes blow wide, and whispers flit around the room, echoing giggles and gossip that makes me silently groan. Some of them bat their long lashes, some fix their high ponytails and twirl the hair they can reach. Others just stare and gawk, letting their eyes roam the expanse of his broad body, and my stomach drops when I realize all my teammates are going to be swooning over our new coach.

I let my eyes rake over the spongy floor, dragging my heel over a piece of fuzz like it’ll get me out of this awkward situation. I don’t want a new coach, especially one that all the girls won’t stop talking about.

“Now, you might’ve not heard of him before, but he’s coached a few varsity teams, and he even took the Oklahoma Sooners all the way to nationals, which I know is a dream for most of you,” she says proudly, her chin held high as some of the girls gasp and drop their jaws to the floor.

Great. Now I’ll have to hear their stupid lovesick mouths drag on about how handsome and talented he is. Give me a fucking break.

“Nationals? I want to go to nationals!” One of the girls shouts as she jumps up and down frantically, only stopping when Coach Carr tells her to settle down.

“As do most of you, and I’m sure Coach Miller here will do just that,” she smiles wide, letting her long blonde hair fall over her light blue polo shirt. Joel sheepishly smiles and follows Coach Carr’s lead. “Okay, well let me go around the room and introduce you to all the girls. There’s quite a bit,” she laughs, glancing at me and the other eleven gymnasts.

As she makes her way around the room slowly, I can’t help but tune the room out, making a small bubble in my mind where only my thoughts start to tick like the hanging clock above the front glass doors.

You can do this, just breathe. Don’t freak out, you’re only losing your most favorite coach in the entire world. I bite my lower lip and feel the sharp pain sink into my skin.

Breathe.

Just when I start to fade off into the soft blue tones in my mind, I hear my name being called loud and clear across the open room. I snap my eyes up frantically when Coach Carr says my name again. “And this is our shining star right here, Madison Summers. She’s the best of the best,” she smiles proudly, like I’ve just won her the gold medal.

Joel shifts his weight to the left and folds his flexed arms over his broad chest, and I swear he’s about to rip right through that thin t-shirt. “Your shining star, s’that right?” he asks with a thick Southern drawl that floats through my eardrums like a sweet melody.

Fuck. Even his voice is charming. All deep and gravelly and annoyingly enthralling. It’s about to give me a damn headache at this rate.

“Oh, yes,” she replies brazenly. “This girl right here has been bringing us home with first place titles since she started here. She’s the real deal, Miller. I think she might even take you all the way to nationals. Keep her on her toes.” She claps him on the back firmly, and a slow smile expands across his plush mouth, framing his dark mustache. His brown eyes flick over my body slowly like he’s assessing every single inch of me to make sure it’s true, and he parts his mouth like he wants to say something.

Letting my hazel eyes fall to the ground, I adjust my position and keep my arms locked tight around my chest. Maybe I can hide from the red blush that’s building in my cheeks because now all the girls are staring at me with envy, and I despise being the center of attention.

When the sting of embarrassment starts to fade away, I hear him clear his throat. “Impressive. Guess we’ll jus’ have to see ‘bout nationals then. See jus’ what you bring to the floor, Shining Star,” he murmurs with a light voice that spouts off that deep, gravelly tone that makes my insides clench.

Shining Star. The nickname makes the little light blonde hairs on my neck stand straight up and has my crimson cheeks flushed. He needs to stop.

I slowly lift my chin, and then my eyes meet his straight on. Butterflies flit through the pit of my stomach for just a second when his amber colored irises stay locked on mine. He gives me a once over, one eyebrow lifted as if I’ve piqued his interest, and that’s the last thing I want to be right now because these girls will give me hell about it.

Averting my eyes back to the floor to escape that growing tension in the air, I listen to Coach Carr go on about how she’s letting Joel take the reins. I can still feel his dark eyes honing in on me, and the room suddenly feels like the Texas summer heat, stifling and insufferable. I don’t care what it takes, but I will not think of Coach Miller as anything other than my coach. He may be handsome as hell, but there’s no way I’m going to simp like a lovesick puppy over him like every other girl in this gym.

Katelyn’s piercing blue eyes find mine in an instant when I finally find the strength to look up. Her painted red lips are pursed, and her high cheekbones look like they could cut straight through glass with the way she’s glaring. Her too-tight, sparkly white leotard shows off her curvy figure, and I know she’s already jealous of the attention I’m getting.

Great. Just great. That’s the last thing I wanted to happen. She already hates my guts; why did Coach Carr have to make it worse?

I concentrate back on the fabric of the ocean blue floor and pray it’ll swallow me whole. Cassie places a comforting palm on my shoulder and nudges me to see if I’m alright. I give her a tight-lipped smile and again pretend. So much for not feeling overwhelmed and anxious today.

Joel’s voice booms through the room, and my hesitant eyes slowly shift back up to him as he paces the floor and looks out to the sea of eager gymnasts. “Alright, ladies. Coach Carr here has given me a rundown of some of your routines, but I’d like to jus’ walk around the room today and get a feel for them and how your practices usually go. She was kind enough to let me scope the team out a few weeks ago. And I will say, I was very impressed. Some more than others.” His eyes shift to find mine, and I suddenly feel like a deer in the headlights. Blindsighted and paralyzed. He’ll surely collide right into me at the worst possible time when I don’t even see him coming.

He’s been at practice before? He’s watched me specifically? Oh, shit.

Some of the other girls giggle, but I stand frozen like a mouse caught in a trap. How can Coach Carr leave me alone with him? He’ll have me losing my balance over a simple split jump on the balance beam. But I won’t let that happen. Not a chance because I’m going to ice him out, just like I planned to do before I even knew he’d be the new coach.

“Okay, girls. I do have to get going, I'm afraid, but please be respectful to Coach Miller. He is a very good coach, and I expect you all to be on your best behaviors.” She gives all the girls a knowing look that says don’t test her, and then she makes her way over to me as some of the girls disperse around the gym.

“Ahh, my favorite athlete,” she smiles as she pulls me in for a tight squeeze. I breathe in her lemon perfume and memorize what it feels like to be embraced by her because I won’t have any more warm hugs after this. I’ll only have rough hands that maybe high five me for landing a double tuck on the mat, if that.

I squeeze her right back and hold on for dear life. “Please, don’t go. I need you,” I whine, afraid tears might run down my cheeks when I watch her walk out that door one last time.

“I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I hate leaving you, but you know I’ll be there for Regionals.” She gathers my hands in hers and squeezes gently. I feel the sting of fresh tears in the back of my eyes, and they start to gloss over.

“Hey, now,” she reassures me. “You’re going to be just fine without me. You have a great coach to take over my spot now.” She smiles warmly, but it doesn’t quite meet her bright blue eyes.

“But it’s not you. You promised to take me all the way to Nationals,” I pout, letting my bottom lip jut out as a cold tear slips free.

“Hey, no tears now. Everything will be okay. And I know I promised, but marriage and Eric’s new job just got in the way. I can’t tell you how sorry I truly am, but I still believe in you. You’ve got this, and Joel will take you to Nationals. I know he will.”

My eyes flick to him subtly, and I huff out a long sigh as my eyes start to narrow into thin slits. Joel wouldn’t take me to nationals. It was never his job to, and I sure as hell don’t want to put my faith in a new coach I know almost nothing about. I don’t care how good looking he is; he’s not my coach.

Coach Carr quickly picks up on my building anger and irritation to the whole situation, so she steers me back to look her dead in the eyes. “Hey, be nice. I don’t want you giving him trouble just because you’re upset,” she warns with a stern look written over her serious face.

“Who said I was going to give him trouble?” I scoff, kicking my heel into the blue padding of the floor like that will do me any good.

“Madison Summers!” She says my full name sharply like a mother would when their child is getting scolded, and her grip tightens on my hands. “Now, I know you very well. And I know when you’re upset. You can be upset with me, but please don’t take it out on him. He’s only here to help you reach your dreams, and I have no doubt that he’ll do just that. So give him a chance, for my sake. I wouldn’t leave you to someone I didn’t trust.”

I bite my lower lip and nod, turning my gaze back to Joel as he focuses on Giselle’s uneven bar routine, watching the way her sparkly red leotard shimmers in the glistening sunlight that melts through the glass windows. Sighing heavily, I agree to obey her wishes, “Okay, I guess I can try to play nice.”

She gives me a quick hug and squeezes tightly. “That’s my girl.” I let the warm comfort envelop me fully, remembering the scent of spearmint gum and lemon perfume. A smell I’ll soon only remember in my fading memory.

With one more hug, she sends her best wishes to me and says goodbye to the other girls, and then she’s just gone. A vacant ghost that’s disappeared into her new life.

A life that I won’t be in.

I watch the glass window like she’ll come back, like she was just kidding about leaving the entire time, but every second the clock ticks tells me she’s gone. And now I have to suffer without her. First it was my dad, now my favorite coach…

Dragging my feet on the thick carpet, I hold my head high and decide to focus on my balance beam routine today. I’ve been struggling with sticking my landings lately, and I need to focus.

Blocking out all the blaring music in the gym, I pull my head together and spend the next couple of hours perfecting my routine. Firm arms, chin up, jump high, dazzle the crowd, smile. But it’s hard faking a smile when my favorite coach just left me in the dust to deal with him. Coach Miller, the bane of my existence.

Pushing him clear out of my mind, I find my center and complete a back handspring, back tuck combination, throwing all my rolling emotions into quick motions. I think I have it but when I land, I find that I nearly get knocked off my center and almost go crashing down to the blue mat that sits beneath me.

Shit. Almost had it.

“Tuck your knees and point your toes harder.” The deep voice nearly takes me over the edge of the chalky beam.

“What?” I whisper out, looking up under my thick lashes, right at Joel fucking Miller.

“Tuck your knees more next time. It’ll speed up your rotation, and you’ll land solid. Pointin’ your toes harder will give you quicker and sharper movements. And remember, presentation is everything.” He leans against the white wall steadily, right next to one of the chalk stands and carelessly taps his index finger against his tanned forearm.

“My rotation was just fine,” I sneer.

“Could be quicker,” he defaults back quickly.

“I was quick enough,” I snap.

“Is that why you almost fell after your back tuck?” He tilts his head and gives me a contemplative look that dares me to challenge him. I bite my tongue in response and stare right into his big brown eyes, not saying a word.

God. Those fucking eyes.

“Jus’ try again,” he presses, his eyes fixed on me. I purse my lips and dig my hands into my hips, standing my ground as the balance beam becomes my rock. I don’t want to try again. At least not when he’s looking and has his eyes glued on every single move I make. I could’ve figured it out on my own how to perfect my landing.I don’t need him.

“I don’t got all day. The clock’s tickin’.” He points to the black military style watch on his left wrist and keeps his large arms glued across his chest, his thick eyebrows threading together like he expects me to fire off another sharp response.

I huff and get back into position, my toes pointed and resting right on the edge. I take one quick glance his way and then jolt my body backwards. With my toes pointed hard, almost sharp as a pencil, I flip into a back handspring, my fingers meeting the beam for just a second, and then I jump hard and high. Making sure to tuck my knees deeper into my chest, I flip into a back tuck easily. Every rotation seems sharper and faster, much better than the sluggish one I just did before. And before I know it, I’m landing perfectly on the balance beam, not even a single wobble flows through my body as I stick the landing.

Joel’s eyebrows raise, and the hint of a proud smirk shadows his mouth. I want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face because I know just what he’s thinking. He was right all along. “What’d I tell ya? Perfect landin’. Maybe you should listen to me after all, huh? Think I might know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms firmly over my chest, standing with full attention on the balance beam. “I could’ve figured it out on my own.”

“You’re a stubborn thing, ain’t ya?” he chuckles, shaking his head as silver threads and sandy brown curls tousle with every movement he makes. His eyes are basically milk chocolate, the way they glitter in the sunlight when he’s laughing. And I fucking hate it.

“Apparently,” I shrug, giving him a stern look while I lick my tongue against my bottom teeth aggressively.

“We’ll jus’ have to work on that then, won’t we?” He tips his head my way and pushes off the wall, flexing his rock hard biceps as he waltzes away with a stupid grin spread across his mouth.

I clench my fists at my sides and dig my heels into the firm balance beam, trying my best to keep my wits about me. Stupid Coach Miller and his sly remarks.

Stubborn thing, ain’t ya. I scoff at the statement. Of course I’m stubborn. If he thinks he’ll get on my good side and tear down my walls then he’s sadly mistaken. I won’t budge. No. I’ll just have to show him how much more stubborn I can be.

This isn’t his gym. This is mine. And I plan to make that very clear.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x oc #Joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x original character #joel miller fan fiction #coach! Joel #gymnastics au #no outbreak au #pre outbreak!joel

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