#but not enough that I want to tag it as such

[souphamsters]

GIVE IT UP FOR BUTCHFEMME ROMANCE !!!! 👏👏👏

(more of my lesbian ocs that I cannot get enough of these days , chae🍓 and lucky🍋!!)

[buggachat]

Btw if you reply to my posts of me having fun with my show whining and bitching about why you don’t like it then I will delete your reply. And if you keep doing it and I start recognizing your url I will block you. I cannot emphasize enough how much I do not want to see that and how much I do not give a shit about your complaining. Make your own posts. And tag them as salt so I can blacklist them. And to everyone wondering why I keep having to say this: I know right????

[colossrat]

I'm thinking a lot these days about how Batman's "fans" would throw hate at Captain Marvel. because some of them they are like "the hero of my city is so sigma, he only wears black, he is a creature of the night who fights crime in the shadows, he does not have feelings. the hero of your city is a woke idiot with the nickname big red cheese and he openly has a woke family DUH" and it gets out of control and batman goes to apologize to the captain and see if he's okay, but billy is like "your fans would die if they knew you were pro feminist and bisexual, that's enough for me to not take the comments seriously" And Billy starts to be "extra woke" publicly (he's just not being prejudiced and is highlighting good manners towards others) because he dies laughing with his brothers and sisters at these completely angry comments because he said on-live that he does like attending pride parades to support the community and ensure that everything goes well On the other hand, Batman becomes increasingly mortified by his community and how he has unintentionally, AGAINST HIS WILL, become an icon for a horrifyingly conservative community of assholes I can see the league bullying the poor guy

Green Lantern: hey sigma, how are you? Flash: give me some tips on how to be an alpha in society? Please Wonder Woman: I'm so sorry, Batman, it must be horrible to be in your shoes right now.

[the-wolf-files]

GOD I have so many but I'll do like 3 of each

Ratchet (technically 6 but they're from different continuities)

(Only watched prime just to see ratchet i am not a fan of it LMAO)

Qrow

Hobie

Doc

Split

(Art by CanvasCreature)

SELFSHIPPERS PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST WITH YOUR FAVORITE GIF OR PICTURE OR CLIP OF YOUR F/O!! OR YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF MERCH WHETHER YOU OWN IT OR NOT!! ANY FAVORITES!!

i want to see all of your beloveds!!!

[bucketbueckers]

COME AROUND

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

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

tags: @unadulteratedcyclepaper @avvwritesstufff @surferandskater5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not even like that–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t think Gatsby loved Daisy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said does this–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” she states, beaming.

“Now can we finish our project?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise,” she murmurs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“43,” she cuts in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let it take me where it wants to go

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

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

But you came along and you changed everything

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

You lift my feet off the ground

You spin me around

You make me crazier, crazier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SENIOR YEAR – 2019-2020

Senior year is the beginning of the end.

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

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

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

Well, there was one slight issue.

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

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

The damage had already been done.

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

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

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

Growing up is hard, isn’t it? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wishful thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You got in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FRESHMAN & SOPHOMORE YEAR – 2020-2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Spoiler: you don’t.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JUNIOR YEAR – 2022-2023

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” she agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that not the same thing?”

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

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

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

“Some things never change.”

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

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

“It does here?”

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

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

“Is that a good idea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Slow down?” Paige finishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re home now.)

[cutehoons02]

Your favorite hot nerdy boy!

*pairing: hot nerdy idol Heeseung x writer Girl

*trope: brother best friend

*synopsis: What would happen if your crush from 4 years now found out that you wrote an extremely detailed one-shot and a little spicy with him as the protagonist? A disaster! Having a crush on Lee Heeseung was exhausting for you both because he was an idol, but also because he was your brother’s best friend and also because he was always surrounded by beautiful idols and fans who would do anything to attract his attention

*tags: Lots of tension, Heeseung loves to tease the protagonist, slight wrinkling, possessive, jealous, both the protagonist and Heeseung are perverts, false shyness, a lot of kisses, fluff, masturbation (f. receives) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) +18, reading of spicy scenes, fake innocent girl,pet names (good girl, princess,baby) (Hee)

(English is not my native language)

6.8k (🍬)

Sunghoon pt

Heeseung was your favorite idol. He was your brother’s best friend, and to your bad luck, you had seen him debut and grow up with your brother. Every week, you had to see him on your social media, in the subway ads, on TV, and even when your brother made you some video calls. Lee Heeseung was always there.

That night, almost all the members had gone out to an event, and there was only Sunghoon with his girlfriend, Heeseung, and you, who had been visiting T/L Sunghoon’s girlfriend. Now they were spread out on the couch watching a movie, and you did not want to be a comfortable third.

You didn’t know exactly when it started. It was a silent crush, a little secret you had kept for years. You grew up watching Heeseung become more confident and brilliant on stage, always surrounded by beautiful and charismatic idols. Yet, every time you watched him in his natural habitat: the gaming chair, the messy hair, the focused expression while he played, your heart beat a little faster.

That night was no different. Sitting on the couch behind his you stared at Heeseung squatting in front of the computer, headphones that seemed to be glued to your ears, fingers flying on the keyboard as if he was orchestrating a digital symphony. On the table next to him, a tower of empty ramen bowls told the story of another intense gaming afternoon. Your gaze shifted from the figure of Heeseung to the computer screen, where digital characters moved frantically. He was immersed in the game, his hands dancing on the keys with an almost hypnotic precision. You stayed enchanted for minutes, even forgetting to scramble on the phone.

You didn’t understand what was so striking about Heeseung. It wasn’t just his appearance, although he was objectively charming. It was the contrast. The way he went from being the self-confident idol on stage to a simple and shy boy who got lost in video games and ramen.

«Do you like the show?» asked Heeseung suddenly, without taking his eyes off the screen.

You jumped, surprised by her statement. "W-what?"

Heeseung turned around just enough to show you his mischievous smile. «You were staring at me, princess. If you want to learn how to play, I can teach you, you know?»

You blushed and looked down at your phone, pretending to be busy. "I was just curious. It’s not that I’m interested in it so much."

«Mh-hm,» he did, raising an eyebrow as he returned to focus on the game.

Some notifications invade your field of view on the phone and you already know from which app they came: Tumblr. One evening months ago you downloaded the app out of curiosity and found #Enhypen x reader and there were thousands of one-shots on each member including your brother! , but as you were running you just like Heeseung’s and after weeks of reading stories about him you had the unhealthy idea to write one about him and published it on Tumblr under a pseudonym.

It was born as an innocent outburst, but by the time the story went viral - with hundreds of comments, reblogs, and likes you had experienced an explosive combination of embarrassment and pride. But no one knew that you were the author.

You heard Sunghoon’s girlfriend call you from the living room and went to her without taking your phone with you and this thing would have had repercussions that you didn’t even imagine or maybe, yes, only in your dreams.

You got up from the couch, stretching slightly. "I’m going to T/L. I’ll be right back."

Heeseung nodded distractedly, his eyes still glued to the computer screen as he dodged some virtual opponent’s attacks. He didn’t even notice that you had left your phone by the keyboard, with the screen still on; only when a notification sound caught his attention did he look down. The small blue Tumblr logo was shining in the top corner.

Tumblr?

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, more amused than anything. He knew that by now most girls read fanfiction about the famous one-shot, but that you even had an active profile that intrigued him a lot.

Another notification sound. A like. A comment.

"Wow, this story is fantastic! It’s so detailed! It seems the author knows Heeseung really well."

Heeseung slightly opened his eyes. Wait a minute. Like? Comments?

He looked at the screen and found the original post. And then he saw it.

Title: "Your favorite hot nerdy boy."

For a few seconds, he just stared at it, struggling between the urge to laugh and the one to feel vaguely offended. Nerdy. Pervy. Gamer Boy?

The smile spread over his lips as he opened the post. And when he started to read, he had to hold back a laugh.

The plot was simple, but so detailed that he had some doubts about your level of observation.

The story described him in his room, exactly as he was at that moment: sitting at his desk, immersed in video games, with a ramen tower next to it and his glasses slightly lowered over his nose. In the story, the protagonist entered the room timidly, finding him playing, and he, instead of ignoring her like any obsessed gamer, lured her to himself with a smile and then started provoking her.

-You wanna play with me, baby?" had said the pervy nerdy Heeseung, with a mischievous smile, before taking her wrist and pulling it on his knees. -

Heeseung covered his mouth with one hand so he wouldn’t burst out laughing. Baby. Knees. Nerdy. Pervy. What the hell was he reading?

He leaned a little more on the phone, scrolling through the comments.

"This is the version of Heeseung we needed, thank you for this pearl."

"Please tell us you will write a pt2l! We need more nerdy Hee ruining lives with her video games and dangerously sexy tone."

"Wait... why does everything seem so accurate? 🤨 Are you sure you don’t really know him?"

Well, that was the comment that really made him laugh. Because yes, you did know him. Maybe a little too well.

He let himself go on the chair, crossing his arms. So the small and innocent Y/n was not so innocent, eh? Not only did he read these stories, but he wrote them. And not on any generic idol. About him.

He heard footsteps approaching and just got around to putting the phone back where it was before you came in.

"What are you laughing at?" you asked, looking at him with suspicion as you sat down on the couch again.

Heeseung turned slowly to you, with a smirk on his face and eyes shining with fun. «Oh, nothing. I was just thinking...» He leaned against the back, studying it carefully. «Do you like gamers, Y/n?»

You stared at him for a second, confused. "What?"

He crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. «I mean... Do you find charming the boys who spend nights playing, with glasses on the nose and a little bit of a husky voice for too many hours at the microphone? Maybe those who have a bit of a nerd side, but also a little... pervy?»

Your heart stopped. No. No, no, no.

Heeseung looked at you with that damned cunning smile, and suddenly you knew. Had he read? Did you look where you had placed the phone and it was upside down so he had rummaged in YOUR phone?

"Oh my God," you murmured, putting your hand to your mouth.

He chuckled. «No, no, go on. I’m curious. What happens next in the story? The nerdy pervy Heeseung keeps playing or...» He leaned over to you, lowering his voice. «Does he decide to have fun in another way?»

You jumped up, cheeks burning. "You read, didn’t you?! Oh my God, Heeseung!"

He moved before you could hit him with a pillow, laughing openly. «Hey, it’s not my fault that someone left their phone right in front of me. You shouldn’t have written such a good story.»

You were mortified. Destroyed. Could the floor open and swallow you, please?

Heeseung stood up, still with that damned amused air. «You know, if you wanted to write about me so much, you could have asked me for some more details.»

"I’m going to kill you," you hissed.

He laughed again, raising his hands in surrender, you wanted to leave that room and never see him again and you started to get up but Hee looked at you with a look. «Don’t go away Y/n, it’s not over for you!»

You sat on the couch, hands nervously entwined as you tried to concentrate on Heeseung’s computer screen.

The game that obsessed him so much seemed to her a jumble of colors, explosions, and strategies you didn’t understand, but at that moment the problem was not that.

The problem was that you couldn’t face him anymore and the most brazing thing was that you knew he was enjoying every second of your awkward expression, and the tense silence between you two was proof of how much he was having fun.

«Strange, eh?» broke the silence Heeseung, with his voice steeped in amusement.

"W-what?" He turned on the chair, leaning his elbow on the armrest and looking at you with glittering eyes. «You. You are always so sweet and innocent with everyone, the little sister that everyone wants to protect...» He took a dramatic pause before adding with a smirk: «...and then write one-shot hot about me?»

You’d sink into the couch, your face on fire. "They weren’t that hot and then I wrote one, not more!"

Heeseung burst out laughing. «Ah, so you admit that you wrote it?»

You opened your eyes wide, realizing the trap she fell into. "No! I mean, yes! I mean... Ugh!" You covered your face with your hands. "You shouldn’t have read it.»

«And I did but not quite,» he said, in a tone all too satisfied. Then he came slightly closer, folding his arms on the table and leaning towards you. «You know, I could tell your brother.»

You felt a shiver of panic across your back. "You wouldn’t do that."

«Oh, I would,» he replied, holding a grin. «I can already imagine the scene: 'Hey, did you know that your adorable little sister spends her time writing stories in which I’m a pervy nerd boy?'»

"I hate you," you hissed, glaring at him with your gaze.

«No, you don’t hate me», replied Heeseung, resting his chin on one hand. "In fact, according to Tumblr, you love me and have a little obsession with me!» You threw a pillow in his direction, but he blocked it with a laugh. «All right, all right. We can make a deal.»

"What kind of deal?" you said in a low voice because you already knew that it would not bring anything good

Heeseung leaned back into the chair, enjoying the moment. «If you don’t want me to tell your brother... you must read it out loud.»

You were speechless. "You’re joking."

He shook his head, the smile that did not seem to fade. «Not at all. I want to hear with what tone you described me.»

"No, absolutely not," you said, shaking your head in panic.

Heeseung shrugged. «All right. Then I’ll call your brother.»

You stepped up, reaching out to stop him. "Wait! You’re a real idiot."

«And you are indeed a secret writer,» he replied with a grin.

You had two choices: to die of shame in front of him, or to die of shame in front of your brother and probably all the members of Enhypen.

"Okay," you murmured. "I’ll read it."

«Perfect», said Heeseung, chin-leaning on his hands, ready to enjoy the show. «I want to hear every word, from first to last.»

You never thought it would end this way, yet here you are, forced to read your own one-shot hot... in front of the guy who inspired it.

You wanted to disappear. You wanted to take the phone, erase everything, run away, and forget forever that that night ever happened. But you knew that Heeseung wouldn’t let him.

He was still sitting in his gaming chair, phone in hand, scrolling through the words of his one-shot as if it were the best novel he had ever read.

«So... », he said with a small smile as he glanced at her. «Where had I been?»

You came close, trying to rip the phone out of his hands. "Give it back! You didn’t have to read it!"

Heeseung easily leaned aside, lifting his arm and moving the phone out of her reach. «Oh no, princess. Now I want to know how it goes and if you don’t read it I’ll read it for you, you promised otherwise I’ll tell everyone your dirty secret.»

He opened the text and, with a low and amusing voice, began to read aloud.

"He was sitting in his gaming chair, headphones around his neck and the controller still firmly in his hands. But when she came closer, he dropped it on the desk, taking it for life and making it sit on its legs..."

"Heeseung"

He did not stop. With an almost theatrical intonation, he continued:

"As he played, his hands slowly slid on her back, fingers tracing invisible paths across the thin skin of her shirt. It was a distracted gesture, but at the same time so intimate that you can’t breathe..."

Heeseung put down his phone and looked at her with a clever smile. «Interesting.»

"Enough, okay? You’ve had your fun," you mumbled, trying to grab the phone again.

But Heeseung stopped you, gripping your wrist gently. «Wait,» he said, in that low tone he used when he wanted to put you in trouble. «Have you ever been on a boy’s lap while playing?»

"What?!" you pulled your arm back as if his skin was scorched. "Of course not!"

He leaned against the back of the chair, clapping his hand on his thigh. «Do you want to try?» felt your face become glowing. "You are completely crazy."

«It’s not true», said Heeseung, laughing quietly. «I say only that it would be a shame to write these things and not test them in reality.»

Clenched your fists, trying to think of a clever answer, but the problem was that... You couldn’t say no. Because yes, the idea made you die of embarrassment, but it was also what you had written. Why did you write it, if you never thought you wanted it?

Heeseung looked at you, studying you as if he could read your mind. Then he tilted his head to one side. «Then?» close your lips. "No."

He didn’t answer immediately, but he glanced at you, looking at the way you were holding your phone in your hands, and how your breath was slightly more irregular. Then he smiled. «Lie.»

He made you think. "I’m not lying!"

«Mh-mh» he did, unconvinced. Then he reached out to you with a hand, without stopping looking into your eyes. «Come here, little writer.»

You stood still for a few seconds, torn between rationality and desire. You knew it was a bad idea. You knew that if you got close, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this was a game anymore; but in the end... you took a step forward. Then another one.

Heeseung took your hand and gently pulled you towards himself, guiding you to sit on his legs.

You held your breath. You felt the warmth of his body, the solidity of his arms that held you still. He settled down better in the chair as if it were the most normal thing in the world. «See? It’s not so strange.»

you did not answer, too busy to hear the beat of your heart go crazy. Heeseung came back to get the controller, turning on the game screen. With naturalness, without even thinking too much, he let a hand slide on your back, caressing it slowly, exactly as in the story and you shudder.

He smiled, he had noticed. «Do you like it?» he asked, his voice slightly lower.

You looked down, biting your lip. "Yes," you admitted, barely a whisper. Heeseung made a little satisfied sound, returning to focus on the screen and at the same time continued playing as if nothing had happened. But his smile said otherwise. because he wanted to drive you crazy and the game had just begun.

The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of the keys pressed and the ticking of the mouse while Heeseung, with one hand, continued to play. The other one, instead, was slipping lazily down your back, making little circles on your skin through the thin fabric of the mesh.

You were completely stiff in his arms, his cheeks burning, his heart beating so fast that you could hear it in your ears.

«Mh?» he said, as if nothing had happened, the warm breath that touched your neck. «You are so rigid. You must relax.»

"How can I relax if"

«Shhh,» he interrupted you, and with a slow movement, he took back his phone. «Where were we? Ah, right.» He cleared his voice, then began to read aloud:

"As the sound of the game continued to fill the room, he let slip a hand under her shirt, touching the warm skin on her side. Then he bent down and left a soft kiss on his neck, feeling the body shivering under his touch."

You stared and tried to get away, but Heeseung held you with a gentle but firm grip.

«Too?» he asked, with a funny smirk.

"Yes! Too much!" you exclaimed with your face on fire.

But Heeseung didn’t seem to want to stop. Instead, he slowly lowered the phone, tilted his head, and let his lips touch the sensitive skin on your neck just as described in the story.

You held your breath, a shiver passed through your back. "Heeseung... what are you doing?"

«I’m just following the plot,» he muttered against your skin, his voice slightly amused but also lower than usual.

Then, without saying anything else, he let his hand slip under the edge of your shirt, hot fingers touching your side, just like in history.

You wanted to disappear, you wanted to protest, but your body was betraying every single rational thought.

"Hee... I will..."

He stopped for a moment, his lips still close to his skin. «Do you want me to stop?» you stood in silence for a few seconds, desperately trying to find an answer.

Then, with a little voice, you admitted: "...No."

Heeseung smiled at your skin. «Good girl.»

The room was now immersed in an electric voltage. The sound of the game was now a distant memory; Heeseung had turned off everything, but not his fun.

With the phone in his hand, he kept reading the one-shot as his fingers slowly traced your warm skin under the shirt.

«Let’s see what happens next,» he muttered, in a low and slightly husky voice. «Ah, here we are...» 'He took her by the hips and turned her, placing her on top of him in a horseshoe. She stood on him, with her heart beating fast, while he grabbed her face and kissed her with arrogance as if he did not want to let her escape.'

Heeseung paused for a moment, looking down at her with a dangerous smirk. «Interesting. What do you say, princess? Should we try this part too?»

You opened your eyes wide, the body stretching out instantly. "Heeseung, no, it’s an unreal thing, I wrote it so much at random. Let’s finish here."

He chuckled softly, but there was something in his eyes that looked slightly darker than usual. «You always say no, but you don’t move.»

Before you could argue, you felt his hands gently clench your hips. In a moment, with almost humiliating ease, Heeseung lifted you slightly and turned you around, putting you on his horse.

You could feel Heeseung’s warm breath against your face, the way his hands were still resting on his hips, holding you there as if he wasn’t going to let go.

Your heart was beating like a drum. "H-Heeseung..."

He bowed his head, looking at you with those dark eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. «Tell me something, Y/n.» His voice was low and calm but with a shimmering edge of authority. «How long have you had a crush on me?»

You felt the heat explode in your face. No. No, you couldn’t admit it.

You clear your throat, trying to take a more confident tone. "Me? For you?" You laughed nervously, turning away. "Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have a crush on you."

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, his lips curled into a sort of predatory grin. «No?»

"No," you said, crossing your arms to give you a sense of security. "And anyway... I may have also written a one-shot about the other members. You’re not as special as you think you are!"

For a moment, Heeseung said nothing. But then, without warning, your Tumblr profile started to scroll and after a few seconds, the screen lit up with one unique, unambiguous truth and put it in front of you.

There was only one shot on his profile. That.

Over 4,000 likes. Hundreds of comments. All about him.

Heeseung looked at you, and this time his smile was different. Darker. More confident. More... arrogant.

«Here I see only a one-shot and it’s on me, eh?» whispered, the voice steeped in satisfaction.

You wanted to die of embarrassment. "It was an accident," you murmured weakly.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. «Don’t lie, princess». Then, without giving you time to react, he grabbed your chin with one hand and forced you to look him in the eye, and for a moment the world stopped.

And then, Heeseung kissed you.

The kiss was not gentle, it wasn’t sweet. It was pure domination. Arrogant. Self-confident. His lips moved on yours with a confidence that made you tremble, as if he wanted to show you exactly who was in control at the time.

You blew when you heard his tongue asking for access to yours and you instinctively grabbed the collar of his sweater to find a grip. He squeezed you a little more by the hips, holding you firmly above him as his mouth explored yours with an exasperating slowness.

When he parted, he had a smug smile on her lips. «Tell me again that you don’t have a crush on me.» you tried to recover, the irregular breath. "I..." But Heeseung shook his head. «No, you know what? It doesn’t matter.» He came up again, touching your earlobe with his lips. He was very happy. «Because now I know the truth.»

And again slammed his lips on yours with exasperating slowness, as if he wanted to drive you crazy, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to your mad heart. The kiss was a perfect mix of sweetness and mastery. He was determined, sure, but not aggressive if he wanted to take his time as if he wanted to savor every second.

His hands, resting on your hips, held you exactly where he wanted you to, without giving you the chance to escape and you were completely lost in that feeling, in the heat of his mouth against yours, the way every movement made you feel like you were falling into a vortex that you didn’t want to get out of.

Then, without realizing it, you missed a sound. A small, involuntary groan. "Hee..."

Time seemed to stand still.

Heeseung was stuck for a moment, then slightly detached from you, enough to look you straight in the eye and the smile she gave you was something dangerous. Sure. Of cheeky.

«Say it again.»

You felt the heat rise up your neck to your cheeks. "What?" You tried to deny it, but his voice trembled.

Heeseung looked down at your lips, then he looked back at you with that hot nerdy boy look that made you crazy. «You have just groaned my name.» He stroked your back slowly, sliding his fingers along your uncovered skin. «I want to hear it again.»

You clenched your fists against the fabric of his sweatshirt, trying to ignore the way his voice made you shiver. "Stop..."

But he didn’t want to stop. He brought his mouth closer to your ear, his voice low and almost hypnotic. «I want to hear my name on your lips. Only mine. No other boy.» You felt your heart stop for a moment, then start beating even harder and honestly, you didn’t know how to handle that version of Heeseung-too confident, too cheeky, too irresistible.

You were desperate to find a way to shift the conversation.

"I should go..."

He just leaned back, tilting his head with a funny smile. «And the story? You haven’t finished it.»

Bite your lip. "I don’t... I don’t want to tell you what happens next."

Heeseung leaned against the back of his gaming chair, still with you on his lap, and looked at you with a smug look. «Why not? So far we have been faithful to the plot, no?» shook your head with force. " Until here it could also be there, but... after becomes more..."

He raised an eyebrow, amused by his hesitation. «More?»

You looked down, playing with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "More... spicy."

Heeseung’s laugh was low and deep as if he had just heard something extremely interesting. «Oh? How spicy?»

You shrugged. "Enough."

He looked at you for a few seconds, then came closer again, touching your chin with his fingers. «Tell me.»

"The protagonist... I mean, you..."

Heeseung nodded impatiently. «Continue."

"... makes the protagonist feel good with her fingers and mouth."

He laughed softly. «Oh, really?»

You wanted to sink into shame. "Heeseung, I can’t..."

He looked at you with a dangerous smile. «Y/n, you wrote a one-shot hot about me and posted it on the internet for thousands of people. But you can’t tell me to my face, what have you written so forbidden about me?» he said laughing.

Hit him in the chest. "Stop laughing like that!"

He became more serious, but his gaze remained intense. «Ok, I ask you differently.» He took your chin between two fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye. «At the end of the story, you and I... do we have sex or love?»

Your heart lost a beat. The way he said it, in that low and sure voice, made you tremble.

"N-no. We don’t make love."

Heeseung stopped. «No?»

You looked down. "I... knew that you were not in love with me. So, in the story... let’s say we would only have sex."

For a moment, there was only silence in the room. Then, suddenly, Heeseung burst into laughter.

It was a warm, deep, amused... and slightly unbelieving laugh.

You looked at him with a frown. "Why are you laughing?"

Heeseung stared at you with a mixture of fun and something else-something deeper, more dark. «It’s just that...» He shook his head, still laughing. «Everyone sees you as the sweet and innocent girl. And here you are, sitting on my lap, telling me that you wrote a one-shot about me where we 'just' had sex.»

You cover your face with your hands. "Oh, my God, will you stop saying that?"

He smiled, tilting his head. «No. It’s too funny.»

Then he lowered his voice, the tone again full of that dangerous charm. «But tell me, Y/N... in the story, at the end, does the protagonist repent?»

Shook your head without looking at him. "No."

He approached, almost whispering against his skin. «And you? Would you regret if what you wrote became reality?"

Your heart lost a beat before you lost 1,000 years of life when you heard that question from the lips of Heeseung and the boy you had a crush on for 4 years. Without thinking for a moment it was your turn to take the reins and you kissed him, this time the kiss was more passionate, sloppy and you put your arms around his neck to feel it even more and he put his hands around your ass and got up slightly stumbling from his gaming chair and as he approached his bed he said:

«Tell me to stop now or I won’t do it anymore because I want you all for myself from today on» you made no head and Hee put you in his big bed, Hee looked at you with his eyes of children, and said:

«Princess, maybe we didn’t understand each other but you must use your lips and your mouth to speak, to tell me what you want me to do. I don’t want to do things you’ll regret, what do you want right now?»

Heeseung slammed your pants with his big hands and you just jerked slightly because he had a little cold hand.

"I want you to touch me," you mumble shamefully, and his lips rise with a smile of a grin.

«You are so pretty, really, who would have thought that you would ask her sweet and innocent Y/n to touch her.» Hee sighs, smiling fondly, but there is a sneaky gleam in his eyes as he looks at you; Hee begins rubbing his overalls length into the center of your core. You wanted to be touched with his hands not with his cock that pushed and then lowered, the friction made you moan a little "Mm-mm," protesting, but the way your hips move against him, rolling back and forth and rustling brazenly in search of relief, He tells another story, Hee laughed because he wanted to ruin you but at the same time be also cautious with you.

«Don’t you like it? But wait... what did you say before?» he asks, with a mocking cadence in his words. «I want you to touch me,» echoes your earlier request in a very bad imitation of your voice. «Well, I’m touching you, princess, don’t you like it?» When your only answer is a small nod, shake your head with disapproval, and the look becomes dark. «Words.»

"Yes," whimpering, without wasting a minute, slipping his smooth fingers over your underwear band and starting to caress your folds, fingers that slip through your excitement with embarrassing ease.

«You’re a disaster down here», he comments, her eyes lit up with joy and something wild, primordial as it teases you. «Do you like me so much? Hm, when you read and write those dirty things about me you touched?» He seems to need no answer as he smiles at you brazenly, scrutinizing your face intensely to absorb every reaction to his touch, no matter how small.

It slides your fingers up, up, up until it touches the lower part of your clitoris, and you wail, wriggling.

«Answer me Y/n» nodding weakly and laughing with a low voice and husky

«Show me», he croaks, and you blink, too embarrassed by her request. «Show me how you do it when you are alone when you think of me».

"I never did it at all Hee" he shrugged and gave you his hand and with a glance invited you to proceed; with the cheeks in flames, guided his hand to massage your clitoris in circles, Your abdomen stiffened by reflex every time it fingers touch the sensitive lower part of your clitoris.

«Speak to me, princess, don’t be shy», she gently urges you

"I only rub it in circles like this," you mumble, with a slightly husky voice for desire, and the change does not go unnoticed if Heeseung’s intensifying gaze means something.

«Don’t you go in?» he asks softly, and you shake your head.

"I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that to you," you whine, and he breathes in abruptly, swearing quietly, taking your panties off with already some leaks, and your pussy was already excited.

«I want to try something, do you trust me, princess?» you made myself with my head «I want to touch you as you like and at the same time I will touch you, suck and bite those turgid buds that are almost about to escape from the mesh for how hard they are and I will make you come»

"okay," you pulled up your shirt, and with a strong movement you took off the bra and your breast flipped slightly at the sight of your breast Heeseung cursed under his voice, with one hand she wrapped a breast and with her mouth, he started to suck and bite and at the same time with the other hand he taunted your clitoris and without warning you put one of his fingers in your core and you arch your back for the various sensations of pleasure that you felt.

"Hee" He sucks your buds with an almost ferocious ferocity, alternating breasts as if he never had enough, and his hand creeps around your side to draw you closer to him. As she pops your nipple back and forth with her tongue, her fingers pump into your pussy and stroke you closer to your orgasm until you’re so close that you can practically savor the sweet, intoxicating sensation of ecstasy. «Show me what sound you make when you come, princess.»

"It’s so beautiful," you whine, and he hums in agreement.

«Say my name, darling".

"Heeseung," you groan brazenly, and he makes a sound halfway between moaning and growling as he pulls your nipple with his teeth.

Does not stop taking care of your breasts alternating sucking and clicking and rolling his tongue around the buds until you fall, your body cools against the bed to support you as you come, and at the end, pulls out his fingers covered with excitement from your pussy, Sliding them over your lower lip before pushing your fingers into your mouth to suck.

You do it with an awkward look and he was watching every movement of your lips as you suck his finger.

«I bet that wasn’t in your story!» with a little shy smile you did no head and after a while, you saw Heeseung put one of his little pillows under you and push down at the same time your pants and boxer shorts, he spread your legs, fits between them and aligns the tip with your entry

«Ready, princess?» asks, and you nod cautiously, the eyes that come down from his face to where the thick head of its length presses against your core. «Good girl» whispers before slowly pushing into you, covering your mouth slightly with the palm of your hand while breathing loudly, Heeseung was seriously afraid that Sunghoon or his girlfriend could hear him fucking with you but who cared; he heard him groan, and come up with his girlfriend’s name.

"So beautiful," you whisper in amazement, and he chuckles softly into your ear, his lips pressed on the spot just behind your lobe.

«Feel so tight around me, darling, feel how you’re taking me,» he grunts, gasping breath in your ear. «So fucking good...»

"Heeseung, move," you whisper urgently as it touches the bottom within you, and he obeys, pulling out the tip and pushing back into you. A loud hiss of air comes out of your lungs, and he sucks on your ear lobe, making you emit a loud groan.

«God, do you want to make everyone hear who is fucking you? I remind you that we are not alone»

"Mm-! No, I don’t" you insist among your cries of pleasure, and he shakes his head with a mocking smile.

«Yes, you do» he teases you. «You want everyone to hear my name moaning and what will they think of you? The little and innocent Y/n is getting fucked like the perfect little doll obsessed with me and my dick»

"Hee-seung-" stutters, small noises leave you with every powerful push of his hips. It is so good, so big and thick, and it is filling you in the right way and hitting all the right spots, and it becomes too very quickly, an overwhelming amount of pleasure flowing through your body as it fucks you. He was much more good and realistic at all the times you had written, read on Tumblr, or thought about what it would be like to be his. His fingers find your clitoris, rubbing it in quick circles just as you showed him before. "Fuck, stop, too..."

«Stop lying, you said too much today so I should punish you for not letting me fuck you?» Whispers, moving to tilt the hips towards you in the right way so that each shot of the hips sends its tip directly into your G-spot.

You feel heat behind your eyes and the first tear comes down before you can dry it, another tear follows after that as the pleasure consumes you almost completely.

«Princess, don’t cry, I’m making you feel good and I’m giving you all that you wrote about me", he reached out his free hand to wipe the tears.

"So good, too good," you stutter, and he laughs, «Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.»

"Please let me come" plead, and his movements stutter,

«Yes? Does the princess want to come?» he grunts, his eyes closing for a moment as your walls bend again around him. «Fuck, it’s so nice-come for me, baby.»

Without any need, you promptly collapse around him with a series of curses and "please" and you just say his name while your nails stick in the back, making him slightly drool. You sure look disastrous, your eyes moist and shiny as tears run down your cheeks.

«I’m close-dick-» grunts. «I’m coming, where do you want it?»

"Inside me, please..." moans weakly, and he makes a sound that is a mixture of a smug laugh and a groan.

«I can’t believe everyone thinks you’re a saint, an innocent girl and now you’re begging for my sperm. Do you want me to fill you up?» Breathe, the hips that penetrate you.

"Please..." you whine, and he swears to himself.

«Fuck, take it all», he pushes, his hips pressing against yours while he buries himself in you and unloads his load. «It’s all for you,» he says breathlessly as its length contracts inside of you.

It stays inside you for a moment, both of you try to catch your breath until he comes out from you and kisses you.

The room was immersed in a warm and comfortable silence, broken only by the slow and still slightly irregular breaths of you and Heeseung.

The sheets were a messy tangle around your bodies, while the soft light of the lamp illuminated the soft contours of your figures. Heeseung passed a hand through your hair, fingers gently intertwining between the strands, as if he wanted to memorize every detail of that moment. You were still with red cheeks, playing with his fingers, drawing little circles on the back of his hand.

After a while, he spoke in that relaxed and slightly amused tone that always made her heart beat.

«How much?»

You looked up, confused. "In what way?"

Heeseung laughed softly, shaking his head as if it were obvious. «How long have you had a crush on me?»

You flashed your eyes and instinctively covered your face with his hands. "No... I don’t know," the men lied, trying to hide their embarrassment.

He gently extended his hands, forcing you to look at him. «Y/n». His tone was low, amused, almost hypnotic. «Don’t lie to me.»

You looked down, biting your lip, then sighed. "Perhaps... four years."

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, surprised. «Four years?»

You slowly stare, feeling ashamed. "I didn’t know it myself at first, but then it became clear to me when I saw you for the first time on stage."

He looked at you for a long moment, then burst out laughing. «Four years?! Baby, it’s so much.»

You punched him lightly in the chest, sulky. "Here! And stop teasing me."

Heeseung chuckled, holding you close to him. «I’m not kidding, it’s just... absurd. Four years.» He shook his head, then lowered his voice, almost as if he was confessing a secret. «I have had a kind of crush on you for a couple of months.»

You raised your head of the shot, eyes wide open. "What?"

He smiled, stroking your cheek with his thumb. «Yeah. You didn’t really think I hadn’t noticed you, did you?»

You looked down, still incredulous, and he squeezed you harder.

For a while, they just stood there, embracing, enjoying that new sweet silence that spoke more than a thousand words.

Then, with a clever smile, Heeseung whispered against your ear: «So... if it worked so well, do you think you can write more one-shots about me?»

You lifted your head from the shot, hitting it lightly on his chest. "NO!" «Come on, you could at least make me the protagonist of an entire series.»

Shook my head, my eyes glistening. "No, I don’t need to imagine anything anymore. Better to hear it live."

Heeseung looked at you satisfied. «Excellent answer.»

And he kissed you again.

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[nebulaeternal]

「 ✦ Play by Play - Pt.2 ✦ 」

―୨୧⋆ ˚GENRE/WARNING: f!xm, porn w/little plot, guided masturbation, edging, teasing, evol use, size kink, overstimulation, implied marathon sex, spitting in mouth, praise kink, dirty talk, pussy play, vulgar Caleb, absolute brainrot.

―୨୧⋆ ˚SUMMARY: Caleb has you sprawled out below him, voice low and teasing in your ear as the tension builds even further. Find out what happens when it finally snaps.

―୨୧⋆ ˚WORD COUNT: 2.4K

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: Sorry y'all but I'm going to have to continue with ANOTHER part. There's just so much and it's a lot easier to write the whole story in multiple parts. I hope you enjoy this one tho, let me now what you think! If you wanna sign up to be tagged, the link is right below :3

―୨୧⋆ ˚LINKS: AO3 Ver. , Twitter, Taglist Sign-up

―୨୧⋆ ˚TAGLIST: @noone-png, @kicupo, @rafayelsplush, @imissnanami, @zanasoledad, @m00njinnie, @rafayelschewtoy

“You love being called princess, don’t you? Princess.”

A whine escaped your lips, desperation growing with each passing second. “Don’t tease me..” you trailed off. Caleb smirked into your neck, nipping at it, causing you to let out a suppressed moan. He rose to meet your eyes, face close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

You were unsure whether to look away or match his intensity. His gaze on you was hot, it seared your skin like the sun. You had completely forgotten what position you were in till you felt his hard-on pressed right against your core.

It was difficult to ignore, and quite frankly not something you wanted to do anyway. His hands trailed from your thighs to your waist, thumbs resting right below your stomach and he pressed down firmly. Sparks shot to your core as you let out a moan and arched your back.

“There you go. That’s what I like to hear.” He growled lowly. Writhing in his hold, your desperation was now tangible, and you wanted him inside you, badly. One of your legs was hung on his shoulder, his lips meeting the flesh of your calf in a tender kiss.

“Caleb, please I can’t wait any longer.” You ground against his bulge, a sharp grunt came from the man at the unexpected gesture. Involuntary, his hips bucked into yours, both of you sighing in symphony.

He doesn’t know what took over him but he began to roll his hips against yours, slowly. With a satisfied sigh, you threw your head back, feeling the clothed tip flick against your clit when his crotch slid against yours perfectly.

“Hng—Baby..” he couldn’t stop himself, despite needing to be inside you. The feeling of your bare cunt against his restrained cock nearly drove him mad as his hips continued the motion.

“Oh god. Yes~” Your sighs were music to his ears, the energy fueling him to keep going. The rigid fabric created the perfect friction you craved. Clutching the sheets, your hips moved against his own.

The room was hot. A symphony of your moans, his grunts, and fabric shuffling filled the air. You felt that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach as your moans increased in pitch. “I’m-Caleb..” 

He could tell you were close, and like the sick bastard he was he stopped. Your head whipped up, annoyance and desperation written on your face clear as day. He watched your reaction and chuckled, his grip on your hips loosening slightly.

“Caleb, what the fuck?” You let out an exasperated grumble. He only continued to laugh, mocking you “I’ve been trying to get off all day, why would you do that?!” Your exclamation only made his laughter increase, in turn making you more upset as your face burned hot. Not entirely registering what he was doing, you continued your ramble as he placed the most gentle of kisses along your leg, up your thigh, and finally your mound. A gasp slipped from your lips.

Before you could say another word, Caleb’s tongue flicked out, tasting you. A moan was drawn from your mouth, hands grasping his hair desperately as the warm muscle invaded your walls.

“Mmph! Hah..” the desperation and satisfaction in your whines and whimpers spurred Caleb on, his tongue aggressively assaulted your clit. His lips suctioned around you, causing you to buck and arch.

“Caleb!” He caught you by surprise, sucking and flicking the sensitive bud as you wriggled in his hold. It was almost too much, unsure whether you wanted him to stop or keep going. “Haaa fuck—“ 

Your wanton moans fill the air, the slurping and sucking accompanying Caleb’s mouth, all making your head spin. 

The grip on his hair got tighter as you shoved him further into your dripping cunt. “Caleb please~” you begged him. You were so close, not wanting to be denied, you begged him hard. The word “please” fell from your lips like a mantra, feeling that coil in your stomach ready to become undone.

He pulled away with a pop. “Wanna cum, princess?” His words reverberated against your sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, nodding eagerly as his tongue laved over your bundle of nerves. 

“Yes—please, please let me cum.” You sobbed, eyes pricking with tears once more, threatening to spill. “Please~” you whined, attempting to shove his head closer to your core if that was even possible.

Your walls began to convulse as your hips bucked wilder. Caleb held you down firmly and worked you thoroughly, finally letting you hit your climax. His name spilled from your lips while he helped you ride it out.

Even after you had finished, you still felt his tongue drawing lazy circles on your cunt, scrounging for remnants of your release to savor with his tongue. “S-Stop it’s too mu-mmph!” his lips wrapped firmly around you. Giving one final suck before pulling away.

He looked up at you like a hungry animal, pupils were blown out, staring at you almost like he was ready to dive back in, but he stopped himself, for you of course. Rising back up, you could see your slick glistening on his nose, chin, and lips. 

“Fuck...” You exhaled, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Without skipping a beat, Caleb captured your lips in his own, teeth and tongue clashing in a passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, only making your body grow hotter. You both pulled away, panting with flushed faces as you stared into each other’s eyes. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that..” He murmured onto your lips while his fingers wrapped gently around your thigh, pulling you flush against his crotch once more. Involuntarily you bucked into it, earning a groan from him. He truly was trying to do the gentlemanly thing and not fuck your brains out but you were making it so hard for him to resist that temptation. His hips rocked against yours, clothed bulge pressed against your cunt, staining the thin fabric concealing his raging boner, preventing you from feeling him fully.

Once more, you both found yourself grinding against each other like animals in heat, almost scared to rid of the barrier between you both.

Another climax was already en route, still very sensitive from the previous orgasm. “Almost-“ Then he stopped. Again. 

“Caleb, I swear to fucking—I will walk away right now if you do this again. Fuck yo—“The tip of his cock was pressed right against your clit. A gasp slipped from your lips.

He was big. Could it even fit inside you?? 

“I’m trying, princess.” You hadn’t realized it but while you were busy pouting and fussing, Caleb slipped himself from his boxers, a stupid grin plastered on his face because he couldn’t believe he could have you, finally.

“It’s so big—“ he smirked, feeling proud. “I don’t think it’ll fit.” You said exasperated. You could see the smirk on his face droop slightly, faint worry laced in his expression.

The last thing he would ever wanna do is hurt you.

“Do you really want this..? Want me?” He sounded almost pathetic with how he was whispering against your lips, the question carrying a pleading undertone. His breath was warm and fanned against your skin. The tip of his cock pushing insistently against your clit while he waited for your answer.

You felt a little less nervous about the sheer size of his cock. You grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him in for another kiss. “If I didn’t-“ kiss “I wouldn’t-“ kiss “be here. Now stop talking so much and put yourself to use.” 

That was all he needed to hear. If there was one thing Caleb loved to do it was tease, which I’m sure you’ve picked up on by now. He rubbed his length up and down your quivering slit, studying your reactions intently as his lips quirked up slightly.

He loved seeing the way your mouth fell open, bliss completely enveloping your body and senses. “Caleb, please, you’ve teased enough.”

“Beg.” You couldn’t believe your ears. He could not be serious. 

“You’re joking..” to which he tilted his head at you silently. You let out a whine nearly crying with his prolonged silence only caving because you desperately need him inside you. Setting aside what little pride you had left, a string of pathetic pleas left your mouth.

“Pleasepleaseplease, I nee—hng~” he slid the tip of his cock into you slowly. Watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. You were squeezing him like a vice, it nearly choked the air out of his lungs.

“Nnggh..Baby..relax—you’re so tight..” your toes were curling, his cock felt like it was splitting you open. Your nails dug crescent shapes into his skin as he sunk into your walls slowly while you bit your lip to brace yourself.

“Too big—“ you choked out, thumb frantically tapping his arm, to which he stopped his advances. Caleb was about halfway in, straining and doing his best not to fuck up into you.

He brought his lips to your forehead, planting a gentle kiss as he stroked your skin. “I’m sorry baby, it’ll be over soon.” The sensation of his lips fluttering along your face helped you soon forget about the numbing sensation on your lower half.

Testing your comfort, you gave him a squeeze, his hips twitched in restraint as he threw his head forward, hair tickling your nose. Nothing but groans and heavy, shaky breaths left his body, arms braced at the sides of your head.

“Ok..you can continue.” You murmured. Caleb continued slowly pushing his way inside you, fighting against your tight walls before finally bottoming out.

You felt full. You nearly couldn’t breathe. You could feel him twitch inside you, sweat pricking his skin as you both adjusted to the position. After some moments of exchanged groans and sighs, slowly but carefully, he pulled out.

“Oh my god…” you gasped, thinking it couldn’t get any more intense till he slid back inside. “Oh fuck—Caleb…” he let out a sigh of satisfaction, feeling your walls hug his cock with each thrust of his hips.

He continued this slow pace, lips finding yours as he swallowed up every sound that spilled from your mouth.  His fingers slid along your palm and tangled in yours. 

Caleb loved you. He wanted to cherish this moment before his last shred of sanity was squeezed away by your tight walls. So he made love to you. It was a slow, sensual tango of bodies, the steady rhythm of his hips forcing cries from your lips.

His eyes bore into yours, feeling yourself get consumed by him. “You’re so beautiful princess..” he whispered above your lips, eyes full of affection and adoration. 

You could only sigh in response, eyes screwing shut and head thrown back as he found a particular spot inside you. With your throat now exposed, Caleb planted kisses along the column of your neck while his hips moved in tangent.

“Caleb~” Something in him snapped with the way you moaned his name. He’s shown his tender side, now you were in for so much more. He gripped your thighs, hooking them over his shoulder, he stared at your wandering eyes, drinking in the sight of the last few seconds of serenity that would cross your face while he was inside you.

His hips snapped forward, slamming himself deep inside you. The action caught you very off guard as it choked a moan from you. Giving you absolutely no time to speak, he pulled out almost entirely before slamming his hips back, knocking the wind from your lungs.

Your attempts to call out his name were drowned out by the sound of your own moans. The intensity and vigor with which he fucked you was beyond anything you could imagine.

He was practically splitting you open as he bullied his way into your cunt, tip kissing your cervix while you babbled. He gathered your wrists in one hand, raising them above your head before pinning them there with his evol.

You were trapped. His hands slid along your body before reaching your breasts. With his rough padded fingers, he grasped a nipple between his fingers, pinching and rolling it like a toy.

A yelp escaped your lips, the sensation of it all making your head spin. He continued to play with your nipples, making sure to give both equal attention while he stuffed you full of his cock.

Hooking his hands under your knees, he pressed your legs against your chest, folding you nearly in half “HNGG! CA-“ he pulled out, driving deep into you once more, the sound of skin slapping skin was prominent with each thrust.

Your eyes rolled back, feeling how deep he was hitting. Tears pricked your eyes, the sensation causing that knot to form in the pit of your stomach. Spit trickled from the corner of your mouth, moans spilling endlessly while he drove his cock into you. Any sense of coherence left in your body was gone. He watched your mind go blank while you attempted to beg him. The only thing on your mind was his name and his cock. “Open.” his words didn’t register in your mind. Gripping your face firmly, he tilted your head till you looked him in the eyes. You were such a beautiful mess for him. Eyes glimmering, face flushed, lips swollen and caught between your teeth. “H-Huh..?” “Open.” His thumb forced its way past your lips, hooking on your teeth and prying your mouth open. He spit in your mouth. “Now swallow.” You did as you were told and swallowed what he gave you, sticking your tongue out to show him. “Good fucking girl.” his hips slammed harshly against yours. You were such a dirty broken mess for him and he loved it. Feeling your climax draw closer, you could feel yourself nearly forcing yourself away from him. But he only drew you closer, pushing your legs impossibly closer to your chest. “Take it.” The look in his eyes was almost sinister, dog tag hitting his skin aggressively with each thrust. You felt yourself unraveling, the coil in your stomach snapping as you came hard. “There you go~” He cooed watching you break beneath him. “Mmmgh..” you were no longer capable of using words. His pace didn’t let up as you shattered, fucking you through your orgasm. That creamy white ring formed around the base of his cock while he fucked you. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

「 ✦ Part 3. Coming Soon! ✦ 」

[cometconmain]

Personally, when I created the writeup I have on my blog giving a brief rundown of my blog in the description it was less of a "don't interact because I don't know how/refuse to use a block button" in the sense described here and more intended as what I originally thought a DNI was supposed to be:

"I don't tolerate actual bigoted behaviour so don't waste your time coming in here thinking we'll be friends only to spring some bigoted bullcrap on me later thinking that was a normal thing to believe/say/do. Don't waste your time and don't waste mine. Here's where I stand on these real life actual problem things so you can just bail if you're not ready to accept that. If you can't critically consume fictional media and don't have anything substantial to say in your critical consumption, I don't have time for you so save your breath and mine and go back to your purity cult. Also if you're under 18 this blog is not for you. I am an adult and don't wish to have minors running around pretending like we're all chill with having kids on a blog with adult-only content actually when I don't kmow you exist or haven't been told in some way that you shouldn't be here despite how clear I've made it that this is an adult-only space. Leave.

And if I find out you're any of these types of people I WILL be curating my internet experience by blocking you."

You know? There are different ways to use DNIs that aren't "fuck you no you put all the effort in to not expose me to you" and are instead intended more like "Hey look interact if you want but I'm warning you that you're wasting your time long term if you think you can be shitty to real life people right in front of my salad, so to save us both the hassle I'm leaving it up to you specifically because I have no idea you exist and can't block you until I do so feel free to take that first step since you know we won't gel and you know I exist while I have not yet had the displeasure."

That said, people definitely shouldn't put real life issues next to fandom preferences and gripes. It defangs serious real world issues by trying to take the fangs off them and slap them directly onto the fictional things to lend credence to them because the person doing it doesn't know how to express their discomfort well enough to feel heard about it/expect people to dismiss anything they say out of hand so they grab whatever closest thing from real world issues already considered serious which could kind of fit if you do a handstand and squint through a cloud of steam. Which has the opposite effect, because now people are (rightfully) angry at them for trivialising real world issues to make people treat their perspective on fictional media seriously.

If you know how to criticise media and/or make sure you know the difference between actually potentially harmful handling of a theme within fictional media vs something made you uncomfortable and you want to express it and feel heard as part of processing it but don't know how, then you probably won't feel as strong of - if any - need to play up what you have a problem with. Because a) you know how to express your position to get people to listen to you, b) don't need strangers on the internet to validate you to know you're right because you're versed in identifying and talking about how to fix this problem in media causing potential harm to a marginalised group or otherwise teaching potentially harmful perspectives and here's why... and c) you know when something is just bothering you personally and probably have some healthier copes for it, like ranting into the void on your own post without using any main fandom tags and/or ranting to your friends and/or writing fix-it fic and or- you get the gist.

The day we start doing more of that is the day this whole 'anti-shipper' and responding 'pro-shipper' thing will probably calm down a little bit.

i don't respect DNIs not in the sense i go out of my way to break them but in the sense that i don't respect DNIs as a concept and consider them to be something of a red flag in general.

i'm not sure how to explain it but it's the combination of usually putting very serious issues on the same level as fandom stuff, the fact that half the time people don't even know what they're against beyond 'the bad stuff' therefore even further watering these issues down, and the idea that other people are expected to manage your online existence for you.

there's a passiveness to it that i think is actually a problem and it does not surprise me in the slightest that people with DNIs tend to view what media they consume as activism. do you get what i'm saying.

[yelenasbraid]

sports car — joe burrow

summary — You’re needy, but he’s driving. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings — fem!reader, smut MDNI, some fluff, based off of the song ‘sports car’ by tate mcrae

requested by — anon <3

note — wasn’t my best but i here it is hehe :) can’t believe i pumped out two fics in one week

tags — @wickedfun9 @starsinthesky5 @joeyfranchise @ebsmind @willowsnook @blairsworld22 @joeburrowshaircurl @softburrow @iosivb9 @kazsbrckkers (comment/send an ask if you wanna be added!)

YOU AND JOE SETTLED INTO THE CAR, releasing a breath. The event left you both breathless, and not in the ways you wanted to be. Everyone was asking you questions about the season, about your relationship, and about Joe’s activities in general. Eventually it got old and both of you needed some peace and quiet. 

Joe started the car, the rumble of the engine jolting the car. The radio blasted Kid Cudi, and Joe immediately turned it down. He couldn’t deal with the vibes that you both had going into said event.

He backed out of the parking lot, his hand stretched across your seat. You couldn’t help but sneak a look at his arms, the way his neck strained and pronounced his jawline. You shifted in your seat, turning your eyes out the window as he pushed the car into park, starting the drive home.

It was silent for a while, Joe’s hand settled on your thigh, tracing small circles on your skin. His eyes were focused on the road, even if his mind wasn’t. He’s been thinking about you in your dress all day. The way it hugged your curves, how it outlined your ass and your breasts. He couldn’t do anything at the event, but the growing tension in his jeans was evidence enough. It didn’t completely go unnoticed by you either. You could see him shifting in his seat, how his head periodically left your thigh to adjust the crotch of his jeans. 

“You ok, baby?” You asked him, trying to keep the smirk off of your face. 

“You in that damn dress…” He trailed off. He peaked a look, his eyes trailing over the curve of your thighs, how his view was obstructed by the way your dress hung around your legs. You smirked at him curling your arm around his bicep as his hand cupped the inside of your thigh. Your fingers traced his skin, pushing under the sleeve and back down his skin, leaving shivers in your wake.

“Y/N,” He hummed, but he didn’t stop you. The feeling of your fingers against his skin, how your hands felt warm against his muscles. He swallowed to keep himself in check.

Your fingers gently pushed up his sleeve, rolling it over his shoulder. You leaned over, pressing hot, wet kisses to his arm. You felt him flex under your lips, his body tensing. A low groan left his throat as your plush lips met the softness of his skin.

“Babe,” his voice was a low growl, his hand gripping your thigh.

“Hm?” you kissed his biceps, your tongue swirling around his skin. His body tensed, and his hips shifted in his seat. Through the fabric of his jeans, you could see the painful bulge that strained.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he hummed as his other hand gripped the steering wheel. You watched as he navigated the backroads home, since the highway was clogged due to an accident.

“I know,” you hummed as you kissed his skin, “I couldn’t wait until we got home,” you added as you felt his fingers inch towards your throbbing heat. You moaned, and you knew that if anything else were to happen, he’d have to pull over.

“Babe,” he growled, his eyes flickering as he shifted in his seat again. His need for you was painful, it dominated his senses. Your lips stayed firmly attached to his arm, trailing up his shoulder. Your touch sent shivers crawling down his spine and aches shocking his cock.

His eyes fervently scanned the roads for some sort of pull-off, his breaths coming in quick puffs. His chest heaved, his need for you soaking his lungs.

He found a pull-off, and it was far back enough from the road that if anyone drove by, they wouldn’t see. Hopefully.

He parked, and the second the car was off he unbuckled your seatbelt. His need for you was hot, burning his nerves to their very ends. He grabbed your hips and pulled you over into his lap, his lips immediately finding yours. Not without your hips bumping the horn.

"Shit, sorry," you hissed, and he rolled his eyes.

"You wanna get us found out?" He raised his eyebrows at you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Then move your seat back," You stated, and he gladly did so. His seat was pushed back, and he lowered the back of the seat down just enough.

“You’re a damn tease,” he growled as he recaptured your lips, nipping at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue across it. His tongue dipped into your mouth, and you met his hungry kiss with the same dose of passion. Your hips rolled desperately against his, creating a spark of blinding pleasure.

His hands went down to cup your ass, massaging the skin and muscle there as his lips left yours, trailing down the skin of your neck. You tilted your head back, reveling in the warmth of the aches his lips sent cascading down your body. His hands pushed your dress up, tracing up your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Joe,” you whispered, and he could feel your desperation. He pulled his lips from your neck, a dazed and lustful expression painted on his face. He moved his hands to the front of him, and he unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down his hips. You watched, your eyes landing on the erection that strained against his boxers. He shed himself of those too.

Your eyes fell upon the angry, red sensitive tip of his cock. Your mouth moistened with saliva as you watched precum pool at his tip, your desire to taste him making your pussy throb.

His hand came up and cupped your jaw, pulling you close as he kissed you again, soft moans leaving his lips as his free hand fiddled with your panties. He pulled the fabric aside, the feeling of his fingers against your soaked pussy making your gasp and buck your hips against his fingers. He could feel your arousal coat his fingers, sticky and warm.

“So wet for me,” he growled against your lips, biting on your bottom lip. You ground your hips, your pussy sliding across his cock. He moaned, shudders shocking his body. You panted against his lips, your fingers digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders.

“Joey,” you panted, and Joe looked up at you. He flicked a curl from his face, pushing your panties down your hips. He wasn’t waiting for your words. He knew you wanted him. He aligned himself with your entrance and you settled down on him. He gasped and rolled his eyes into the back of his head, bucking his hips, pushing all of his cock inside of you. You felt all of him, stretching your walls, how your pussy throbbed around him.

You started to move, swiveling your hips, shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine. Your eyes slid into the back of your head, every ache, every movement you made making you see stars.

With his right hand cupping your neck under your jaw and his left gripping your hip, Joe guided your movements. Soft grunts left his lips as you started to ride him, feeling your tight, wet pussy suck him in.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his eyes glazed over as he watched you, “riding me so well, taking me so well,” he praised as his hips bucked to meet yours, his body coiling with his heightening climax.

Your moans filled the car, his hand against your jaw strangling them with the gentle squeeze he has around your throat. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you rode him, feeling his cock stretch your walls as he continued to embed himself in you.

Joe’s hand stretched, keeping his fingers on your hip while his thumb ventured down towards your pussy, his thumb immediately finding your clit and flicking his thumb over it. Your reaction made his cock twitch in your body, a moan ripping from his throat.

Your body convulsed as his thumb rubbed your clit, desperate cries leaving your lips as his hand gripped your throat even tighter, exposing the marks he made moments earlier.

“Fuck Joe,” you whined as your thighs quivered, as your hips continued to slam against his. You squirmed, and his hand left your throat to steady your hips, to keep you in place. Your body folded over, but his thumb still worked. Combined with the feeling of his thrusts into your body, you were teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“You’re close, baby,” Joe’s voice was gruff as his lips brushed yours, feeling the ache build in his body, how his cock twitched with his impending release.

“Joe,” you cried out, and he kissed you, hungrily, fervently, as he removed his thumb but replaced it with two fingers, rubbing relentlessly against your swollen clit. You broke the kiss with a moan, your body tensing as you chased your high. He could see it, the way your brow was furrowed together, the way you caught your bottom lip in your teeth. He quickened his pace, both his hands and his thrusts, and watched as the band snapped in your body.

Your release was hot, pulsing out of you every second that passed by. Your back was arched, your hips rolling against Joe’s. Seeing you come, it was what did Joe over. With one, final, hard thrust he spilled into you, hot spurts of cum soaking your walls.

You collapsed your body on top of his, slowly riding out both of your highs. You moaned, kissing his neck as his hands both settled on your hips. Soft pants left his lips, his head thrown back against the headrest.

“You did so well, sweetheart,” he hummed as he brought his lips to your ear, “so beautiful for me,” he kissed the spot behind your ear. You panted, soft whines leaving your lips as your fingers tensed around his shoulders.

Joe’s body thrummed with satisfaction. His blood was pumping, his breaths hot and heavy as he kissed down your neck. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you off of him. He hissed, the sensitivity of his cock icing his veins over. He brought his lips to yours, lazily kissing you. Seeing you so spent, your eyes glazed over with satisfaction, it kept his fire kindled.

“I hope you know when we get home we’re continuing this,” he growled, his voice rough from the desire that coated his throat. Your eyes twitched, a knowing smirk stretching across your lips.

“I don’t expect anything less,” you hummed. He fought the urge to fuck you again right there, but being in a bed would be much more comfortable. He settled you back down in your seat, pulling his pants up and adjusted the seat. He pulled out of the pull-off, winding down his and your windows to clear the steam.

He was far from being done with you.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Plus One

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: panic attacks

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem actress reader

Fandom: UConn's Women's basketball

Summary: it's was a joke til it wasn’t

It all started as a joke. I had no idea who to take as my plus one, so I did what any rational person would do—I tweeted.

"So... I need a date for my first movie premiere. @paigebueckers, what's good? 👀"

Then I posted the same thing on Instagram with a picture of me fake-proposing to an Oscar statue from set. It was meant to be lighthearted, a little funny. I had been a fan of Paige for years, and UConn fans were relentless. I figured a few of my new followers from the movie might hype it up for fun.

What I didn’t expect was for it to blow up overnight.

My notifications were chaos. UConn fans, my own fans, random sports pages—everyone was tagging Paige. Memes. Edits. The whole internet was basically playing matchmaker. It was both hilarious and terrifying.

Then, the next morning, I saw the notification.

paigebueckers: "👀 Sounds fun. You still need a date?"

I had to reread it like five times.

She DMed me. Paige Bueckers actually DMed me.

It felt surreal having Paige Bueckers, actual basketball star, knocking on my hotel room door. She looked casual but effortlessly cool in a tailored lavender suit, her blonde hair pinned up in a way that made my brain short-circuit.

"Ready, superstar?" she grinned, offering me her arm.

Somehow, I managed to function enough to get into the car with her. We chatted on the way, and I tried to act like I wasn’t internally freaking out. But the moment we pulled up and the cameras started flashing, my body locked up.

Paige got out first, then circled around to open the door for me. I wanted to move. I really did. But my chest tightened, my hands shook, and suddenly it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

"Hey," Paige’s voice was soft but firm as she crouched down, reaching for me leaning into the SUV. Her hands gently cradled my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. "Look at me, okay?"

I barely managed to lift my eyes, but hers were steady, grounding.

"Breathe in," she instructed. I did. "Now out."

I followed her lead, mirroring her slow, measured breaths.

"You’re good," she reassured me. "You belong here. And I got you, alright?"

I nodded, and she gave me one of those easy, Paige Bueckers smiles that could probably end wars.

"That’s my girl."

Somehow, I managed to get out of the car and onto the red carpet, Paige right beside me. The rest of the night was a blur of flashing cameras, interviews, and surreal moments, but Paige was the one thing that kept me grounded.

After the premiere, we ended up at an In-N-Out in full glam, eating burgers in the parking lot and laughing like we’d known each other forever.

That night, we exchanged numbers.

We kept in touch. At first, it was casual—texts, FaceTime calls, inside jokes. But then it became something. Paige was the person I called when I was stressed, when I had good news, when I just wanted to talk.

So when my second premiere came around, I didn’t post a joke about needing a date. I didn’t have to.

Paige texted me two days before:

Paige: "I’m free that night. Wanna go together?"

Me: "Like… as my date?"

Paige: "Well, duh. I thought we established that at In-N-Out."

I didn’t even know how to respond, but I smiled at my phone for an embarrassing amount of time.

Somehow, Paige and I had gone from a joke tweet to walking the Met Gala red carpet together—as wives.

She looked effortlessly stunning in a soft bule, black, purpleish,pink, grey suit, her marble-finished wedding band catching the light. I had a sterling silver set with an emerald-cut chocolate diamond that Paige had picked out herself.

As we walked down the carpet, photographers caught the moment we intertwined our fingers, flashing our matching rings. The buzz around us was deafening.

Then came the Glambot.

Paige pulled me close, her hand resting at the small of my back. The camera glided toward us in slow motion, and just as it reached the perfect angle—she kissed me.

Soft, warm, perfect.

I could already see the internet losing its mind again.

But at that moment, I didn’t care about the cameras, the fame, or the flashing lights.

All that mattered was Paige. And the fact that somehow, a joke tweet had led me to the love of my life.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[angelltheninth]

Boku No Hero Academia Men + Teasing Them Under the Table

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya, Bakugo Katsuki, Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima, Tenya Iida, Keigo Takami, Toya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cock tease, under the desk blowjobs, handjob, cum licking, ball massage, semi-public sex, edging

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Got inspired from the Arcane fic about Marcus that I posted the other day.

Izuku looks around like someone's watching him but you're all alone. That doesn't stop his face brum heating up until it's completely red. He doesn't want to make too much noise even if you're the only one who will hear him so he has both hands over his mouth. Moans into them every time he feels your warm tongue licking up his throbbing cock and licking around the sensitive tip.

Bakugo holds your head firmly in place so you don't move away from him. Since you're the one who started this, getting under the desk and lightly sucking him off, you might as well finish it. He'll be pissed off at you if you don't, don't think you can tease him like that and not going all the way. Every time he hears you hold back a choking sound he looks down at you and smirks.

Shoto blushes while he watches you lick the cum off his dick while you're still making more come out by stroking him up and down. You need to hurry up and make him finish, he can't spend all day with you, as much as he would like to. His cock was always a little hotter in temperature than normal, and you teasing him this much really isn't helping any.

Eijiro keeps his hands firmly planted on the desk, his eyes shut and his teeth clenched. All in an effort not to let his Quirk overcome him while his cock is still in your mouth. That could potentially hurt you, which is the last thing he wants. But he also likes this edging sessions with you, they help him control himself better, and when it's all over he can jerk off until your whole face is covered with cum.

Tenya does his best not to drop his serious look even while you're under the desk sucking him off. Little grunts and whines do leave make it past his mouth but for the most part he manages to keep his composure. Safe for a few deep breaths he has to take here and there to help him stay sane. On occasion he will reach down to stroke your cheek, you're doing great, keep it up, and so will he.

Keigo really hates to rush you when it feels so good to have his cock warmed by your mouth, but he has a dumb meeting to get to. Trust him he would much rather stay here, but work is work. However he doesn't complain when he feels your hands on his full balls. Slowly massaging them, pushing them up, licking them before squeezing just enough to make him shoot his cum down your throat.

Toya will make you regret teasing him when you cupped his cock below the desk while he was talking. Those distractions that you thought were harmless, now he'll make you pay for them. As soon as he saw you going under the desk he knew he wouldn't let you get up until you were holding back tears and choking on his cock and cum. Fucking every bit of cum he has down your throat is quite the appropriate punishment.

[yourlocalchronicdaydreamer]

Thanks for the tag!

1. Bridgerton, Arcane, and A Man on the Inside (I’m so bad at motivating myself to watch new shows though lol)

2. Tbh I’m pretty boring and just wear identical plain socks that are hidden underneath my converse

3. Not really

4. I have this one dress that I just wear every time

5. Fried is my go to, but I like scrambled as well

6. I have like fifty plain white bookmarks and I keep a few of them in various places around my room so I can always grab one when I’m reading

7. My closet is mostly black, white, and blue, with some green and purple (I don’t wear warm colours lol)

8. I don’t anymore, except that I like to buy my favourite books, but I have crystal and eraser collections from when I was younger

9. I don’t really know tbh

10. I like the really specific aesthetic ones

11. No

12. She’s really good at getting things done, she’s really easy to talk to, and she treats our dms like her diary and sometimes leaves me 70 messages at once

13. Black pen normally, though if I’m scribbling ideas down quickly I’ll do that in pencil

14. My bedroom and the library

15. No, the only plants in my room are fake hanging ones that I have fairy lights mixed in with

16. These aren’t hoodies, but my favourite jumpers are my folklore cardigan that I got for Christmas and a purple cardigan that my best friend crocheted for me

17. I don’t really order things online

18. Ooh nothing too dangerous lol, I’d probably want to get closure on some sort of historical mystery

19. Me and my best friend dressed up as Steve and Robin from Stranger Things a few years ago

20. Anything that doesn’t involve visual stuff (I hate graphs and all that)

21. Uh I don’t really know anything about art history, but my favourite current artists are Matt Beyrer and Thomas Kinkade

22. Iced! (I’m addicted to iced tea)

23. I don’t sing in the shower

24. Tbh I haven’t really gotten past the early stage where you’re too nervous to be confident or enjoy it, and instead of practicing I just … don’t drive (I’ve had my license for over a year and barely used it 😭)

25. No, and I don’t really want any

26. I love baking! Mostly just cakes and cookies

27. Er I don’t think so

28. Tbh I feel like swimming is more trouble than it’s worth, so I don’t really swim that often

29. I had so many Lego friends sets

30. Yes! Everything that hangs has a designated coat hanger, and everything that doesn’t is roughly organised into how often I wear it

31. I don’t really watch music videos much

32. I feel like streaks of dark blue or purple would look really cool

33. Earbuds

34. Yes - I purposefully have an analog watch so I don’t get out of practice

35. I had like ten beanie boos that I loved

36. Um I don’t think I’m really good at any of them

37. As long as they’re not just watching me, I’m fine

38. Ik it says tv show but I’m putting the marauders era because that’s my biggest obsession rn and I don’t have any irl friends to talk to about it :(

39. Lying down on my bed after getting home from school

40. Any pretty trees that give strong autumn vibes

41. Either lemon Myrtle or chai

42. I don’t have many, and I frequently uninstall them to save storage, but my favourite is piano tiles

43. On

44. Either put it in my bag or in a spare wallet that I barely use

45. I can’t do cursive well, but my print handwriting is very neat (unless I’m writing really fast)

46. The Naturals by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

47. Yes! They’re my only form of exercise

48. No

49. Curl up with the window open with a book and (if it’s cool enough) a warm drink and a blanket

50. I just need it to be cold 😭 (it’s summer here rn, it never gets below like 21c at night, and I am SUFFERING)

I’d like to know more about all of my moots, so moots, if you see this, please consider this me tagging you

50 Questions Just Because

What are three shows in your watchlist that you’ve been meaning to get to?

Describe your favorite pair of socks

Do you like smoothies?

What do you wear when you have to dress nicely?

How do you like your eggs?

What do you use to keep your place when you’re reading a book?

What color dominates your closet?

Do you collect anything? If so, what?

What sounds or scents calm you down?

What’s your favorite kind of uquiz question? (Lyric, color, aesthetic, etc)

Do you wear glasses or contacts?

What’s something about your best friend that you love?

Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil?

What are some places where you feel most at home?

Do you have any houseplants? Do any of them have names?

Describe your favorite hoodie. How long have you had it? What makes it unique?

What’s the last thing you ordered online?

What’s one historical event that you would have liked to have witnessed?

What’s your favorite Halloween costume from when you were a kid?

What kind of math are you best at?

What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? If you don’t know any that’s ok!

Iced or hot drinks?

Which songs do you like to sing in the shower?

Are you a good driver?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Are there any that you want?

Can you cook or bake? If so, what are some of your specialties?

Do you have any keychains on your home or car keys? Describe them!

Can you swim very well? Do you like swimming?

Did you play with Legos as a kid? What was your favorite set?

Is your closet organized? If so, how?

What’s the last music video you watched?

If you could dye your hair any color, regardless of how you think it would look, what color would you choose?

Headphones or earbuds?

Can you read analog clocks?

Describe your favorite stuffed animal, either now or from when you were a kid.

What’s an arcade or table game (air hockey, ping pong, etc) that you’re really good at?

Do you mind if others are in the kitchen when you’re cooking or baking?

What’s one show you watch or musician you listen to that your friends know nothing about?

What was the best part of your day today?

What’s your favorite kind of tree?

What scent is your deodorant?

Do you have any games on your phone? If so, which one(s) is/are your favorite?

Do you shower with the lights on or off?

What do you do with spare change?

Do you have good handwriting?

What’s the last thing a friend recommended to you that you looked into and actually liked?

Do you like to go on walks?

Do you have a favorite plate or bowl?

What’s your favorite thing to do when it’s raining?

Describe your perfect sleeping conditions

[jellyfish-grave]

Oh, Thespius mine, I look forward to an eternity with you.

(Ramble i wrote right the moment i finished chapter 3 under cut)

So. Yeah. I just finished the third chapter of Great God Grove and I'm crying. Something about how for the entirety I was expecting just queerbaiting with no confirmation, i was expecting to have to draw fanart to make myself feel better over not being represented and. Seeing it said. Out loud. And clear. And. Fuck. Dammit. I'm crying again.

In times where queerness is being pushed back and repressed and questioned, I think this is what I needed. It reminded me that hey. Uh. It's okay to be this way. And representation in media DOES matter. Queerness in media doesn't need to be the center point of the plot for it to be here and not hidden behind a curtain of "maybe, maybe not! If it makes us more money, we'll say it's not a thing". Everything about this chapter was so well-layered because. It just fits into place. I don't know

This is just word vomit at this point. I just need to say it somewhere. I want to live in a world where I can be queer and loud about it, and even if I can't get here in my life, I wanna work towards a future where others that come after me will be able to do just that.

I loved the first two chapters aswell, the interactions and the little secrets just make this game so. Alive. But something about that third one made me sob as soon as I realized what was actually gonna happen. As soon as I realized Thespius brought it up more than once, I stood there still as i processed. I was already thinking of fanart to caption as "so was it casual or" and i went. Holy shit. I DONT KNOWWWWWW AAAAHH

Anyways bye

[rbtlvr]

anyway i think a lot about this. one of the options you can answer when they ask who you think they are. i think about this and i think about the fact that they asked that question in the first place and that they deny every single answer EXCEPT the correct one (and ghost. sort of)

i think about how the only thing they are, the only thing the universe has allowed them to be anymore is 'helpful loop'. i think about this answer and the way it implies that siffrin only sees them as 'helpful loop', only cares about them being 'helpful loop', doesnt care enough to look deeper because hey, theyre helping him, isnt that what matters? theyre helpful loop. nothing more. thats the only thing siffrin wants them to be. thats the only thing siffrin wants to see

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Can Be A Virtue

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral both receiving, p in v sex), emotions smut, humor, horniness, light fluff, confessions

Summary/Warnings: You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself in check.

But something always has to give.

Author's Note: My cat kept jumping on my lap while I was writing this. I’m gonna call it a blessing. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.9k

You both always end up back here. Staring at each other in the doorway in silence, until you move aside and Dean walks in.

It’s been like this for years. Silent nods over diner tables and looks exchanged in the rear-view mirror, a knock on the door in the dead of night, and falling into bed without wasted words or time.

It’s safer than passing bodies in random towns, low words exchanged in bars, and a night with your phone face-up on the nightstand in case something goes wrong. You’re both clean, you trust each other with your lives, and you know him better than you know yourself.

But there are rules. 

There have to be rules. 

They keep your foul little heart in check, and they keep Dean in your bed.

One, it’s not exclusive. You’ve made no promises, and neither has he, so—if there’s a night where everything is a little too dark and the other isn’t there—you’re both free to do what you want. You never do—suffocating on the nightmares and moving all the pillows into a shape that could be Dean if you closed your eyes—but you could, and he likely does. And that’s fine. It’s not your place to say it isn’t.

Two, Dean comes to you. He’s allowed to ask, or give a reason, or just walk through your door around three in the morning with hollow eyes and a hopeful expression, but you don’t go to him. You raise your brows in a silent signal that the day for you was long, and you know the night will be longer, and you’d like him there. And then it’s up to him. 

And he always does come. Which is another rule. You’re not allowed to overthink that.

Finally, it can only happen in motels. Dean doesn’t cross the threshold of you bedroom in the bunker, because that’s an invisible line you’re surrounded with barbed wire and electric currents, that—if crossed—will open a point of no return. 

A point where he’ll leave his shirt on the floor and you’ll keep it in your dresser, wearing it when you miss him a little more than you should. A point where, for the next few nights, your sheets will smell like evergreen and spiced aftershave, and you won’t have the willpower to clean them.

You’ll pass your heart into his hands without him ever reaching for it, and he’ll leave you tangled on the mattress alone, your heart vanishing into the hall as he walks away.

But that knowledge of what would happen hadn’t been enough. Dean had knocked on your door, and you’d opened it. He’d looked at you—head hung slightly, hair clearly mussed and spiky from hours of attempted sleep, something heavy in his eyes that you know all to well—he’d never said a word, and you’d taken his hand and pulled him forward.

You should’ve held the line harder. You should’ve said no. 

But you didn’t. 

And now you can’t go back. 

He’s kissing you in the same violently tender way he always does. Holding your face between big, calloused hands, pressing his tongue on your lower lip until you open for him with a moan, and he takes your permission to be everywhere. He tastes like whiskey and something minty, and he’s pulling you half off the ground as he deepens the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging your hair until you lean back with a moan that he swallows.

You hike your leg up over his hips, and fuck, he’s hard. Pressed right into your core and twitching every time you bite at his lips, groaning down your throat when you scratch at his shoulders and start to grind against him, everything rushing into a white-hot blur of Dean. Walking you backwards to the bed but remaining on his feet, kissing a sloppy line over your jaw and muttering your name like a prayer when you squirm against him.

“Dean,” you tangle your fingers in his shirt, trying to pull him further down. Maybe you’ll just fall to the floor, straddle him, and bounce on his cock until your brain is numb. “Please-“

“I know,” he mutters your name, the kisses turning softer as they scatter over your face, finally landing back on your lips with a low hum. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. You nod, your head a little dazed and light, and let Dean take over because he’s got you. He’s big and warm and solid—squeezing your ass with one hand and half petting your head with the other—and he’s nipping at the skin of your throat, and he’s got you.

“Need you to be good for me, baby.” Dean grunts, pressing a kiss that’s a little too gentle—delicate and caring and filled with emotions neither of you are supposed to have—to your brow. “Just- need you. Please.”

It’s a pointless request. He has you. He’s never understood just how careful you have to be around him to not give him everything. And another rule is to never tell him. 

But you’ve allowed yourself to show him. To prove in actions and longing stares he never sees that Dean’s got you. You get him coffee in the morning and buy him snacks on the road without him asking, you always have the right gun out for him on a hunt and figure out exactly what drink he’ll want before he tells you.

So you pry yourself from his hold and sink to your knees before him, holding his heated, darkened gaze as your fingers trace over his belt in another silent question.

Dean tangles his fingers into your hair, his attention pooling right in your gut as he swallows, his voice that impossible low octave that always makes you ache between your legs.

“You don’t have to, sweetheart, I’m here for you-“

“This is for me.” You whisper, palming him over his sweatpants. You can see the outline of his dick, tenting in the fabric, and you only just have enough dignity not to drool. 

Because you trail your fingers over him, he grunts from above you—staring at you with hooded eyes and a clenched jaw—and when you pull down his sweats and boxers he’s beautiful. It’s an odd thing to say about a cock, but it’s Dean’s, and there are no other words that can describe how he’s long and thick, how he curves perfectly to fit into every part of you. How when you swipe your thumb over the red, weeping head of him, he twitches in your hand and tightens his grip on your hair with a grunt.

“Baby, you gotta-“ 

You don’t need to hear the order—or request, but it’s all the same—to take his dick in your mouth, hallowing your cheeks and moaning around him as he sits heavy and salty on your tongue. 

You’ve done this a million times before. You’ll ever get tired of it. How it starts slows, bobbing your head over him at a gentle pace—squeeze the base of his cock in your hand when you suck, your nails digging into his thigh for support—as Dean tugs at your hair and bites down every groan, right up until he can’t. Because you always slow slightly, taking all of him in one movement until he’s bumping your throat and your hand is wandering to play with his balls, and that’s it. You moan around him, something snaps in Dean’s will, and everything shifts just how you want it.

“Fuck-“ He grunts your name, tugging your hair until your gaze is trapped on his, his cock still fully seated in your mouth. “You’re askin’ for trouble-“

You suck on him, swirling your tongue around him best and fluttering your lashes—your smile and eyes a picture of innocence that’s truly undercut by how you’re moaning around his dick—and there it is. 

Dean’s eyes flash, and he tugs you almost fully off, his voice a growl as he takes you in. 

“Look so fuckin’ pretty sucking my cock, sweetheart.” He mutters, and there’s always a low awe to his tone you’ve learned to ignore. “Need some more?”

You flick your tongue over where pre-cum has started leak near your teeth, and you win.

He starts to fuck your face with an abandon, and it’s always so good. Your nails digging into his thighs for support and his head thrown back as he lets go. Shoving you down his cock until your nose is bumping his abdomen and you’re grinding into the air, choking on his dick and basking in every low word of praise and affection that slips through Dean’s mouth.

You don’t think he knows he does that. That he hisses your name when he hits the back of your throat and you gag—running a small, comforting circle on his skin in a silent promise that you’re okay—and mutters good girl, and baby, and so perfect when he pulls you up and slams your down. 

And he’s close. You know he’s close. His movements have become sloppy, and his praise is slurred, and you’re preparing to swallow his release when it comes—maybe letting a little dribble out your lips so he’d know he was there, because it always makes him grin when you do that—but Dean pulls you off with a pop, and you don’t get the chance. 

“That’s enough.” He grunts, swiping his thumb over your lower lip, and when you look back up he’s wrecked. Chest heaving and face flushed, the glint in his eyes almost predatory. 

You know that look. It’s a dangerous promise he always fulfills, that presses your thighs together and makes a little drool escape your lips as you look at him. He’s heavenly, and sinful, and—at least for the rest of tonight—all yours.

It’s pointless to try and move to your feet, but you start to rise anyway. Pushing yourself up on your knees for only a second before Dean is hooking his arms under your shoulders and yanking you upright, tossing you back on the bed with barely a grunt.

You barely get a chance to squeak before Dean’s prowling over you, pushing you down into the mattress with a searing kiss and drop of his hips. Trapping you between the bed and his body, his mouth devouring your every moan and one hand palming at your breast, and flicking a nipple, and fuck, his still-hard dick is pressed right against where you’re aching for him, and why are you still wearing clothes-

“Dean-“ You grind up into him, clawing at his broad shoulders and trying to wiggle enough for some relief. “Dean, I-“

He hums against your mouth, kissing a gentle line over your cheeks and brow. “What’s the magic word, pretty girl?”

“Please,” you whisper, pulling on his hair until he’s risen fully above you. Until he can see how you’re flushed and panting and needy, all for him. “Please, Dean.”

You see that look every time you reach this part of the dance. Eyes a little darker, but filled with kind of a black light that you never see anywhere else but in Dean’s eyes. Shining and illuminating every part of you under his attention, displaying a vulnerable and proud piece of Dean you know he doesn’t mean to show you—and that you don’t fully understand—but you’ll always tend to with care.

You trail your finger over his jaw, offer him a small smile, and you win again. Dean ducks his head to press his brow to yours, running a hand down your body—squeezing your waist and kneading at your hips for a long second before he’s grabbing your thigh and prying your legs apart—and mutters the words that always shatter you just a little.

“Anything when you ask me like that, baby.”

He doesn’t know what that does to you. How it’s the best and worst thing you ever hear, because he does mean in here—in the dark, in bed—but he doesn’t mean it anywhere else.

It’s always a kind mercy, how quickly he moves. Dean presses a delicate kiss on your lips before he starts to move down, sucking and nipping at your throat before marking you on your collarbone, always continuing to move down. His mouth over one nipple, licking and sucking and driving you out of your mind—two broad fingers aways pinching and tugging at the other—before he’s moving over the plane of your stomach, your hips and around to your inner thighs. 

A single finger running over your slit, through your panties, and a mutter of so wet for me, sweetheart before he’s ripping the fabric away and you’re gone.

You’re never fully lucid for this part. It’s something about how Dean does this that makes your soul seep into the whole world, until you’re a little higher than any drug could take you and a little more needy than you’d ever been before Dean. 

Because it’s really just Dean. It’s his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt and his nose bumping at your clit as he drives you right up to the edge and holds you there, his growls and groans that vibrate against your pussy and send shivers through your whole body. His hair that your tug and pull at—it always adds a fervor to his work, and you never miss the way his own hips jerk on the mattress when you scratching at him—and his scruff scratching at your skin in a perfectly torturous way, and his big, warm hands holding your thighs apart as you squirm and roll beneath him.

There’s the tight, warm coil in your gut, set to spring the moment Dean allows it. 

You need it. He’s so good at this, and if you don’t cum now you might start crying.

“Dean-“ You lock your knees over his head, and you’d be worried about suffocating him if it didn’t spur him on. “Shit- I- I’m gonna-“

His mouth moves up to your clit, biting it lightly before he starts to suck, and just as you’re about to scream two fingers push deep into your cunt and crook inside of you.

The coil snaps, and you’d say you’re seeing stars but you’re really only watching Dean. Craning your neck to watch him as he carries you through your orgasm, his focus almost pious. It’s never until you’re shaking and whining his name that he rises up with your arousal shining on his chin and moves back up over you.

He pauses though. He always pauses. Runs one hand over his jaw as the other massages your thigh, gathering your release on his fingers before licking half of it off, then moving.

Holding himself over you as he presses those fingers between your lips, watching with gleaming eyes as you open for him, moaning and holding his gaze as you suck on his fingers. 

“Good girl,” he mutters, and you make maybe the most pathetic sound you’ve ever heard as he moves his knee between your thighs. “Ready for the main event, baby?”

He pulls his hand away to hold your face, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s such a dumb thing to call it, Dean.”

He shrugs, and his grin is the charming, boyish one he gives you in the daylight. It’s a little painful. 

“I don’t hear you complaining, sweetheart-“

“I’m complaining right now-“

“Maybe, you little brat.” He winks at you, pressing his knee further into your overly sensitive core, and it’s amazing you don’t burst into flames. “But you seem to like it.”

“No,” you whisper, your voice less commanding and powerful than you’d usually like. “I like it when you fuck me-“

You’re three for three, because Dean crashed back down to you, the kiss deep and bruising and all spit and teeth. 

But the victory is short lived.

Because Dean mutters something along the lines of there’s that sass I love—you’re not sure, you hear the word love and a fuzzy and hazy feeling like being drunk washes over your brain—and starts to really, properly fuck you.

You know why he calls it the main event. Because it doesn’t matter that you gave him that blowjob, or he ate you out, or you got his control to break just a little further. He always wins it all because he fucks you, and you’re ruined just a little bit more every time.

He fills you up right. Fits into your cunt perfectly and always hits that impossibly deep spot, moving at the exact speed your body craves in the moment, kissing all the right places to pull a moan of his name from your mouth, saying the exact thing you need to be putty in his arms.

“Feel so good, baby. Always so fuckin’ tight, taking my cock so well-“

“Dean-“ You moan, burying your face in his neck as he rolls his hips, you squeeze around him, his cock jerks inside of you. “Fuck- You’re- You’re so big-“

“I know, pretty girl.” He hums, slowing the pace until it’s almost painful. “But you’re doin’ so good. Holding on and moaning all sweet, lettin’ me take good care of you-“

You whimper when he hits that deep spot again—slamming slightly harder than before and wrapping a hand carefully around your neck—and he chuckles.

“There you go,” he grunts your name, and you’re really, truly cockdrunk by this point, so you just squeak. “This pussy was made for me, shit- So-“ His thrusts stutter slightly as you wiggle from the praise. “Perfect, always perfect, all whiny and desperate for my dick, always moanin’ my name-“

You scratch at his back and his pace picks up, the mattress creaking beneath you.

“God, baby, no one else fucks you this good, do they?” He slams into you, his voice lowering to a growl. “Never this good for anyone else, never so fucking needy-“

You choke on a moan, shaking your head desperately. “Only you, fuck-“ You gasp as he slams back into you, tipping your chin back with his hand to kiss along your throat. “God, Dean- It’s just you, there’s nobody else-“ 

He freezes, and you’re a little too drunk on his everything to realize what you’ve just said.

“Just me?” 

You blink at him, and realize he’s moved to hover barely an inch above you, his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them and voice almost… nervous. 

“There’s- you don’t fuck other people?” 

If you had your mind in your own control, you’d shrug him off. But you can still feel Dean deep in your cunt, pressing right against that deep bundle of nerve only he knows how to hit every time, and all you can do is nod. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, unable to break his gaze. “Just you.” 

There’s a long second of silence as Dean scans over your face, and you think he’s trying to work out if you’re lying. You’re not. 

You can see the exact second he believes you. His face splits into a heartbreakingly wide grin, and it’s all affection and joy, and you’re not really sure this isn’t a dream.

“Good.” He mutters, his lips ghosting over yours as he swivels his hips, drawing a high, long whine from your chest. “Cause it’s just you for me too.” 

You frown, opening your mouth to demand elaboration, but then he starts to move again, and you forget every word but Dean.

This is brutal. Feral and animalistic and rough, but still so caring because when you make a high noise of need his hand moves to your clit and he starts to rub small, furious circles until you’re strangling his cock in your cunt and gasping his name in his ear.

“Dean-“

“That’s right,” Dean grunts your name, hauling you up into his lap and pinning you to his chest, never once breaking his jackhammer pace. “Say my name, sweetheart, fuckin’ scream it until everyone knows who’s wreckin’ you-“

It doesn’t matter that no one’s in earshot but poor Sam—who is already tragically aware of the you and Dean situation—because Dean’s voice is fully in the shit, baby, you’re so tight and I’m drunk on this pussy drawl, and he’s being possessive.

Therapists say that shouldn’t be hot.

Therapist have never had Dean Winchester slamming into their dripping pussy and calling them good girl, his muscles flexing around them as he holds them to his massive chest, his mouth sucking marks on the soft skin of their throat as he grips their neck.

You have that.

So you scream Dean’s name, thrown your head back, and let him carry you fully over the edge.

You hadn’t been seeing stars before. You’d really just been seeing Dean. Glowing below you as he cums with a roar of your name, his release coating your fluttering cunt and dripping down your inner thighs. 

He kisses you when he comes down. Right between your eyes as he brushes hair from your face, pulling you off of him with measures movements and setting you gently back down on the bed.

And he stays.

Dean shuffles to grab a warm, damp towel from your bathroom and returns to the mattress, cleaning the mess between your legs as he’s always done before. 

And then he crawls into bed at your side, pulling you over his chest and holding you at your hips, drawing firm and careful pattens only he can see on your skin.

He’s not supposed to stay after. That was another rule.

But he does. 

And you think he’ll stay a little longer. Basking in a warm light you’d never allowed yourself to feel for too long, that he seems to be drunk on too. 

Staying in each other. More than just a body. Longer than until the pain is gone. Until you’re breathing him in more than air, and his heart has fallen into a steady time with yours. 

Until staying doesn’t feel like a line you’d crossed, but an invisible barrier you’d created dying a happy, easy death as everything is reduced to Dean once more. As his everything seems to become you.

“You know, I always get to cum twice,” you mumble, tracing your fingers over the constellation of scars on his chest. “Seems unfair.”

Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I mean, I don’t think it’s something broken enough to be fixing-“

“What if we do the car thing you’re always trying to talk me into?”

Dean’s whole body tenses at your words—his cock jumping back into attention against your thigh—and his voice goes hoarse.

“You’re serious?” - You hum, nodding, and he shakes his head a little. 

“You said you’d never do that- You told me you’d cut off Sammy’s dick-“

You lean back, raising your brows. “You remember the threat?”

“It was a real weird one, sweetheart-“

“It was effective.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Guess so, yeah. But I still don’t-“

“It seemed- It was too much.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you manage to keep it steady. You’ll have to keep it steady, if you’ve read this all wrong and you’re about to be shot down. “Too real. I loved you, and doing that would- That would be it.”

Dean’s eyes flash at your semi-accidental confession—you hadn’t meant to, but it had slipped out and you’d had no will or resolve to stop it—and his hand squeezes on your waist, his words impossibly careful. 

“I- I didn’t-“ He swallows, taking your chin in one hand and using it ensure you hold his gaze. “You’re it. For me. Understand?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, offering him a small, soft smile. “I do.”

End Note: Even when he doesn’t make a physical appearance in the fic, Sam’s never safe.

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[fishnapple]

The 5th house - What kind of lover are you

About me | Masterpost

As the 5th house is 2nd from the 4th house, it's the tangible manifestation of your core, the creation of your inner emotional world, your heart. From it, your heart connects with the world around you. From it, love is given out to the world. The 5th house is generally regarded as the house of "romance", I think more specifically, it shows your "part" or "role" in that romance, your side of the story, who you are in a love story, what kind of lover are you.

♥ 5th house in Aries/ Mars in 5th house - "The Ardent Lover"

The one who sees love as the purest principle, something that needs to be revered and pursued with dedication and passion. No mind games, no dirty tricks, no manipulation, no timid guessing, just an honest declaration of love. To be the apple in your eyes is to be placed upon a pedestal. Once you're in love, you put your all in, it will be their greatest focus and inspiration. Each heartbreak is followed by rising up with a new hope. Love never loses its lustre to you. You are direct, straightforward and impulsive in your advances. Your passion and desire rule your actions. Competitions and the act of chasing make your adrenaline rushing. You want to "win", victories, whether over other competitors or your own lover, is of paramount importance. The need to conquer can make you seek competition where it's not needed. Can turn indignant and defensive when your love and faithfulness are being doubted. You can be perceived as "aggressive" and "rough" by the more sensitive people. Physical intimacy and physical touch, in general, are key to keeping your love burning.

♥ 5th house in Taurus/ Venus in 5th house - "The Indulging Lover"

Love to you is like honey, natural, nutritious, sweet, fragranced, viscous. Something that you want to dip yourself and your lover in, indulge and sink deeper and deeper into it. Love is simple yet eternal, "never let you go". A true romantic, you breathe love to keep your heart alive. Everything looks more beautiful when you have someone to love, and that someone will be the object of your adoration. You don't go out of your way to pursue someone, has anyone ever seen Venus do the chasing? No, lovers come to you, willingly, because they know that it's futile to resist the lure of Venus. You attract, by being your most beautiful self, by subtly sending signals to all the senses of your person. It can be quite a sensory overloaded experience for your lover. It's not easy to please all of your desires, not easy to turn your heat all the way up, but once it's ignited, it's not easy to snuff it out, fierce devotion. To an impulsive lover, you can seem to be slow and passive, to a patient and passionate lover, you're the forest they want to get lost in.

♥ 5th house in Gemini/ Mercury in 5th house - "The Exploring Lover"

The one who loves with their mind, you can be confused all the time about whether you're attracted to someone simply because you have interesting conversations with them or if there is anything more to that person. Love is a mental pursuit, a chess game, a word play that you want to go on and on. Love is light and exciting. The longest conversation. You show your love by communicating with your lover, to keep the connection line going. Teasing, asking questions, about them, about everything that comes to your mind. "Is there anyone willing to look at my mind and be willing to let me look at yours?". A simple smirk, two hands brushing each other, entwined fingers, a sparkle in the eyes, a hearty laugh and then giggles, those things can melt your heart and in turn, you can melt other's hearts with those. You take your lover to a wonderland, where your minds can be free to play, but also calm enough to rest. Life and love is an endless adventure, and you need a companion who can tag along, who can play juggling with you. Being held down and bored, in any sense, are your greatest nightmares. You want to have sweet dreams only, but nightmares can grab you if you don't focus and pay attention.

♥ 5th house in Cancer/ Moon in 5th house: "The Enveloping Lover"

Love is like a flood that washes over both you and your lover. The shared experience of being enveloped by emotions of all kinds, both the highs and lows, nothing is spared. You search for a lover who can allow you to feel safe enough to experience a love that can feel so engulfing at times. It's that emotional safety, knowing that you can reveal your full heart to somebody, to be spontaneous and moody without being judged. Being loved by you is like being wrapped in nostalgia of a time when everything was simple and pure, when everything was safe and taken care of, there's a childlike playfulness and simple quality to your love. To someone who didn't get to have those actual memories, you can create that memory for them, as if you created an alternative past for them. "Love" is synonymous with "Protection", you want both of you to protect each other, from the harsh world, from the demons inside, to create a home so safe that one doesn't want to get out of, one yearns only for it wherever they go. It's hard for you to let go of a lover, and it's also hard for them to let go of you. The hold may wax and wane, but never disappears completely.

♥ 5th house in Leo/ Sun in 5th house: "The Shining Lover"

Love, the warm sunlight that nurtures your heart. You are like a tree when in love, while artificial light can sustain you. You truly thrive only when you can have the most natural light source, the strongest and purest of them all. Authenticity, a love that doesn't hide or shy away, no hidden motives, no twisted desires, just pure exhilaration, basking in the glow of love. The love you give is unfiltered, as if you're giving your own heart away. Not everyone is capable of taking care of it properly, you learn the lesson of protecting your own heart and be more discerning of whom you can let in. Even then, the natural impulse is to spread whatever goodness inside you, out into the world. Being in love makes your life feel more colourful and lively. And you, in turn, wish to inspire your lover just like how you're inspired, it pains you to see a sinking spirit. You instil vitality into your lover's heart, making their heart beat to the rhythm of life. Some can feel your love too bright and burning, shying away from it, trying to darken it. This leaves you puzzled, you might even attempt to dim your light, but your dignity won't allow you to do that for long. No tree stops blooming just because one or two humans didn't appreciate it.

♥ 5th house in Virgo/ Mercury in 5th house: "The Devoted Lover"

Love is the quiet thunder that rumbles beneath the cool, serene surface of your heart. You want to build a lasting love, yes, "build", love doesn't strike you like lightning that makes you busted into intense fireworks, love is like knitting, one stitch at a time, stitch by stitch, line by line, until you get a cosy sweater that keeps you warm for many years to come, it takes skill and dedication. You also extend that comfort to your lover. To love is to worry, to care, to be there for that person. You would want your lover to thrive, to be spared of the burdens of responsibilities, you're willing to take on those burdens for them, to make their life better. But a truly fulfilling love is when you can receive that same devotion from your lover. You also need to be cared for just as much as you care for them. But sometimes, your lover's love doesn't measure up to the "silent" standard that you have, in a way, no one can love you perfectly like how you want them to. While knowing that, you still choose to be by their side, because you accept their imperfections, their imperfect love, because that's how you love.

♥ 5th house in Libra/ Venus in 5th house: "The Ideal Lover"

Venus's mirror, love reflects back at you all the beautiful things about the world and yourself. You also want to reflect them back on your lover. You can find yourself mirroring your lover, encouraging their shining qualities, making them aware of their own virtues, and simultaneously erasing their vices. You can turn your lover into a prince charming, a lovely princess, because you're one. You want you and your lover to be two beautiful human beings, both inside out, to walk on this Earth hand in hand. The words "we" and "us" have enormous significance to you. You seek to beautify everything, everyone you touch, to let them see the goodness in this world, yes, you're an optimistic lover, never one to lose hope for an ideal love. Love is like a harmonious melody that plays soothingly everywhere you go, everywhere you look. Harmony, peace and indulgence, the gifts you offer your lover, uplift their spirit, inspire their creativity, soothe their soul, and spoil them rotten with sweetness. You find yourself more alive, more beautiful when you're in love. You can fall in love with love itself. You seek harmony with your lover, nothing should be one-sided, everything should be equal give and take, a delicate dance.

♥ 5th house in Scorpio/ Pluto in 5th house: "The Burning Lover"

The molten volcanic soil underneath the calm and cool lake, whose soul is brave enough to venture there? Love for you is an all-consuming force that sweeps away all commonsense. You want love to be a devouring force, swallowing whole both you and your lover into the pit of the unknown. You push for more, to feel more, to be more. The word "mild" can't find a long-lasting place in your dictionary. Everything, joy, pain, longing, existence, all have to reach a boiling point in order for you to feel truly in love. A love too safe, too soft, too peaceful might get ignored by you. You chase the extremes, sometimes along the way, get burnt yourself, but often, you leave behind burnt lovers. You want to be your lover's only one as they're to you. You want to be the only existence that your lover seeks. There can be the issue of who dominates who, who has the upper hand, love can feel like a power play. You're vigilant against betrayals, you need absolute loyalty, making your lover jump through endless hoops to prove their love to you. Sometimes, you could feel so exhausted by the all-or-nothing love, but you would rather be like that than to be content with a "good enough" affection.

♥ 5th house in Sagittarius/ Jupiter in 5th house: "The Expanding Lover"

Have you ever felt like there's an infinite well of love you can give? not just to your lover but to life. You love someone because they're part of life, to love is to live. Love for you is like a ray of sunshine that wakes you up in the morning, or the breezy wind stroking your hair when you're standing in the middle of a field or on top of a mountain, a piney scent that lures you wandering deep into the woods. Love makes you want to move, explore, enjoy, and celebrate. So you can't feel fulfilled in a relationship that makes you feel small, that shackles your feet, that makes you lose hope. "Potential" is the word, as long as you can feel a potential for a future, you want to give your all, to take a gamble. Fortune favours the bold, you will find your luck in love when you're free and adventurous, when you inspire others. A benevolent lover who wants to help, guide, to protect their lover. Grand romantic gestures, spontaneous expressions of love, laughter that makes your cheeks hurt, deep conversations that stirs your mind, those can be the secret ingredients to capture your heart and also what you use to capture others.

♥ 5th house in Capricorn/ Saturn in 5th house: "The Steadfast Lover"

The life investment you make with your heart, love seems like a tangible thing that you can touch, that you can nurture and turn into a masterpiece of a lifetime. Things of value should be able to last for eternity, that's your motto and your belief in love. Love for you is not fickle like the wind or soft like a cotton candy, love is the steady heartbeat, the more you take care of it, the healthier it is. Thrilling adventures, passionate proclamations of love, over adorned for attention, those things pass right out of your vision, what is that? definitely not what you expect from your lover. You expect commonsense and predictability, you expect constant loyalty and devotion, quiet touches and deep gazes, the hand that holds yours when you're in pain, the silent smile that says "I will be here for you, with you". You stoke your fire with unwavering effort, never letting the flame burn out of hands or die from neglect, just enough to keep both lovers warm and safe. Some say you're picky, that you should loosen up and just give yourself to love, but you're a visionary, you look for love that you can work hard for, that can last the test of time, so no rushing.

♥ 5th house in Aquarius/ Uranus in 5th house: "The Whimsical Lover"

"Love at first sight" probably was invented by you. The sensation of being pierced by Cupid's bow, being struck by lightning, being hit by love out of nowhere is not something you're unfamiliar with. Love visits you like a summer downpour, a breeze that sends fragrances from afar to your nose, a sprouting that grows overnight, a laughter that bursts out amidst deadly silence. Love comes to you unexpectedly, and you find love in unexpected places. To love is to be free, the greatest gift you can give your lover and yourself is freedom, to be yourselves, to find safety in the ever-changing current of life. Who can say staying still is safe and stable? For you, movement is what nurtures a connection. You don't let your love stay stagnant, the novelties are your stable diet. Your love is not for the stubborn of heart, though you can be pretty stubborn and rebellious yourself when you're in love, it's a contradiction that perplex and vex your lover, but it's also the allure that they want to get a hold of, not that they will be successful, but they will try anyway. Like trying to catch lightning, trying to grab light. The only way they will ever get close to you is to be themselves and hope that one day, you two will stumble upon each other as fate wills it.

♥ 5th house in Pisces/ Neptune in 5th house: "The Dream Lover"

This is someone who can elevate the experience of falling in love and being in love to the height of poetry, of songs that lovers sing together. Love is art, art is love, love is the soothing balm that erases all the pain, but also the blind that covers your eyes. Oh, the extent you're willing to go in the name of love. Everything seems to take on more vivid colours, music seems to accompany you everywhere you go, you hear your love through the songs that randomly play in the mart, through the absentminded remark of a stranger, through the flowers that sway gently in the wind. You hear your heart echo back at you through the eyes of your lover. While your eyes hold an ocean that promises blissful abandonment, endless treasure and a subtle warning of being drowned, but others are too busy getting mesmerised by you to stay lucid enough to heed your warning. How many lovers have you drowned? How many seas have you swum alone, longing for a rescuer who can take you to land and keep you warm? You need a love story that feels like a fairy tale, but you also need a love that is real.