#i literally thought about it all night at work

[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.)

[mikkeneko]

Do you feel shy about "bothering" emergency personnel with problems you don't know are serious or not? Let me tell you a story.

When I was in college, there was an on-campus emergency line, including on-campus poison control. I was doing the usual student thing -- stressed, sleep-deprived, in a new environment, generally just floundering to establish a structured life. My dorm was noisy so I slept with earplugs, but not well. One night, around 3 AM I woke up, realized I had something in my hand, thought "ah, this must be medication I should take," and swallowed them.

Reader, I swallowed my earplugs.

In retrospect this was not a serious problem, but at the time it was 3AM, I was young, sleep deprived, away from home for the first time -- I panicked. Sat bolt upright and thought OH NO. I SWALLOWED MY EARPLUGS. WHAT IF I CHOKE? WHAT IF THE CHEMICALS IN THEM POISON ME? WHAT IF THEY CAUSE A BOWEL OBSTRUCTION AND I DIE?? I paced around a little bit hysterically and eventually decided to call campus poison control. Just in case.

Now, I want you to switch perspectives a bit. Imagine you are a dude working a poison control hotline at a university. A panicked young woman calls in at 3 AM and says she took something she thinks she shouldn't have. You are bracing yourself for the worst -- party drugs, meth, cocaine, tide pods, it could be literally anything, you've seen all sorts of shit in this job. You are grimly preparing a dispatch to this young woman's dorm and the possibility of an obit in the news.

And then she says, in a quavery voice, "I swallowed my earplugs."

I remember there was a distinct pause. I remember that the young man in poison control very politely did not laugh at me, but there was definitely a supressed smile in his voice when he came back on the line, and told me that I would probably be fine, to just monitor my digestion for a few days and go to urgent care if I felt any abdominal pain.

No disasters tonight, no hospital visits, no catastrophe; everything will be fine.

So in conclusion: Call poison control. Even if it's not serious, they won't be upset to hear from you. If anything, hearing a nonserious story will brighten their night.

Life-changing OCD hack is learning that you can literally call poison control to check if you fucked up and took medications wrong in a way that could kill you instead of having a panic attack while reading reddit and quora threads for an hour. They won't even be mad at you. Like obviously don't do it every day or something but genuinely you can do this if you need to

[ctimenefic]

The Definitive* Waist Ranking of the 2025 Grid

*not definitive at all but this did take literal hours of my life

Back markers:

Gabriel Bortoleto

The rookies are at a disadvantage because of the lack of photos, but everything about what I could find suggests this man was drawn with right angles only. Also, highly cursed image ahead, this is your only warning.

Pierre Gasly

Shaped like a Lego brick. Too many abs, not enough waist. Note the presence of an actual waist chasing him down. Nil point.

Isack Hadjar

This is again more for lack of evidence - the racing suit definitely wants me to think there's a nipped in waist there, but other shots leave me thinking he's real solid.

George Russell

Another victim of abs for days. This hurts me as much as it hurts you. The flare of hips is not enough to save him.

Oliver Bearman

Probably my first controversial ranking, but not the last. I know, you picture him and there's a tiny grabbable waist, right? Miniscule. But it's a lie perpetuated by his ridiculous Superman-shaped shoulders. I fear as he bulks up for a full time drive, we're going to lose what little waist we have.

Midfield

Nico Hulkenberg

Could use a little more dad in the dad bod, you know? Not a lot of curve, but a smidge of something to hold onto, keeping him clear of the back markers

Liam Lawson

Go girl, give us nothing! I think maybe, maybe, you could squeeze past him and tuck your palm to the slight suggestion of a curve there, but why would you? To be fair, he's suffering from comparisons to teammates past and present.

Fernando Alonso

We remember what we once had, and are gladdened by it. But those days are lost, under the shadow of night, as if they never were. Exceptional evidence of what once was provided by @lights-out-away-we-go

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton is another case where the shoulders are doing a lot of work creating the illusion of a waist, and then slim hips are dispelling that. He does not have a very grabbable waist. This does not matter, because Lewis Hamilton could wear a sack and still draw the eye.

Lance Stroll

This one surprised me. I really thought the exceptional arse on this man would push him high up into the points. But... eh. It's fine? Probably better in the middle of the winter break when he softens up a bit.

Lando Norris

Initially a strong contender, but I actually think it's the grey panels of the fireproofs doing all the work here. Excellent illusion, but grabbable? Not particularly

Carlos Sainz

From the back, exceptional. From the front, almost nothing. This is baffling to me and scientists everywhere.

Alex Albon

I'm putting Alex in the points because even though I can't find good photographical evidence of the waist, I believe it is there. It's my Loch Ness Monster. Alex Albon has a grabbable waist and you won't convince me otherwise

Esteban Ocon

Now, this noodle does have a waist, but it's not the most grabbable. He's also getting an hourglass bonus from marginally wider hips and a decent bust (more on that advantage later). But that waist looks very solid, probably feels like pinching marble, no give. He is at least outscoring Pierre.

Kimi Antonelli

We unfortunately have strong evidence of Kimi's grababilty. This should be illegal. Until the FIA clarifies the regulations, though, he's high in the points.

[kumkaniudaku]

Midterm

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 6k

MASTERLIST

Reading a congratulatory email with kind words and instructions to sign a lucrative offer was easy. Simply slip out of your third boring morning meeting, disappear into the surprisingly vacant courtyard, and spend no less than 30 minutes oscillating between excitement and sheer panic while clicking through pages of contracts to add your digital signature to an encrypted document. Kelvin followed the plan to the letter and then some. 

The hard part was stifling the urge to scream at the birds and trees during peak business hours. 

Voice low and eyes shifting in search of potential eavesdroppers, he sat in pensive silence to contemplate the gravity of his decision. In a little over a month, he'd be a Chicago resident. He'd wake up in his Chicago apartment, walk the Chicago streets, pass by Chicagoans on the way to his Chicago office, and then grab dinner ingredients at a Chicago grocery store. His license would change. Mail would need a new forwarding address. Updated voter registration, new doctors, a change in insurance, learning a transit system; change after change both excited and unnerved Kelvin all at once.

Part of him wanted to barge into his Head of Creative's office and slam his resignation on the table before clicking his heels together on the way out the door. Fuck this job. New and greener pastures were on the horizon! The other part, the terrified part of him that'd been worried sick since Saturday morning, couldn't even say the words out loud for fear that the wooden benches would absorb and tell his secret before he'd had time to craft poetic, well-thought-out lines. 

In his mind, Kelvin thought he'd managed to maintain an impenetrable poker face. To a stranger or work acquaintance unschooled in Kelvin-ology, he could come across as convincing enough to overlook. For Asia, watching him from the communal kitchen, worry causing his knee to bounce in triple time told a different story. 

"You know you can just go out there and talk to him, right?" Savannah's sarcastic introduction to an otherwise quiet moment cut through Asia's brain fog enough to garner attention as she shifted her weight from one side to the other. "I'm joking," Savannah laughed, trying to ease the tension between them. Asia's quick glance at the back of Kelvin's head provided the final number of a winning lottery sequence. "Wow, you really like him. Like, you two are a couple! I knew it." 

Asia tried to remain casual as she crossed her arms and shrugged. "What are you talking about? Kel is my work friend." 

"Must be a hell of a work friend for you to spend the night from his place. I noticed the cabinets, but I couldn't confirm until later that day when Kelvin took a meeting from the same place." 

Savannah's cheeky grin sparked fear in Asia's heart. Widening her eyes, she craned her neck to see who may have heard her business in the area.

She leaned closer, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "You can't say that out loud," she cautioned. "We're being discreet!" 

"Love you so much, Asia, but literally everyone knows."

"Everyone like who?" 

"Asia," Savannah reiterated. "Every. One. The main crew has a group chat and everything. You just won me $20 bee-tee-dubbs. I'll share, promise."

Panic should've set in for Asia. Maybe dread and a tinge of fear. They'd broken another rule and crossed another carefully considered boundary in the pursuit of each other. Asia should've been nervous about how their not-so-secret pining had run through the office rumor mill and what it might mean for perceptions of her professionalism as one of the few Black women in the building. But relief was the only emotion worth exploring in the immediate aftermath of Savannah's revelation. 

No more hiding. No more planning entrances five minutes apart or driving separate vehicles in busy morning traffic when one would suffice. They could share dinner leftovers during lunch and stop sneaking quiet giggles at jokes shared via text. No more hiding. 

Relief helped Asia slowly release the extra air tightening her lungs and expanding her chest. She nodded at nothing in particular. "I expect my cut in all ones. It's for our strip club fund." 

"Oooh, spicy," Savannah sang, stepping closer to speak in a hushed whisper. "So… how's it going with you two? How different is personal time Kelvin from work Kelvin?" 

"Uh, I mean, you know. He's…you know." 

Any sense of calm that offered a reprieve from an onslaught of complicated feelings was quickly replaced by the need to run out of the room and vomit. Knowing was one thing. Asking questions and wanting the scoop on something Asia deemed sacred and untouchable in conversation beyond what she chose to share was different. 

Words sputtered from her lips as she tried to offer an explanation vague enough to get Savannah off her ass. The quiet roar of glass panes sliding on a metal track clipped Asia's start-and-stop sentence, turning all attention to Kelvin as he stepped in, looking like he'd just had his heart ripped in two and was trying but failing to keep his emotions intact. Savannah didn't seem to notice when she flagged him over. Asia couldn't take her eyes off his frown and sullen expression. Kelvin knew his face had betrayed him as soon as he was close enough for a thorough look at the questions knitting Asia's brows together. 

Trying to play it cool, he swiftly pulled his hand out of his pocket and offered a wave to both ladies. "What's up?" A greeting he'd used a million times suddenly sounded bizarre. First mistake. 

"Hiii!" Savannah's severe lack of subtly pulled a reluctant laugh from Kelvin before he shifted his gaze to focus on Asia. 

"Asia. You good?" 

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? You good?" 

"I'm good now, yeah." 

Anxieties feasting on his mind momentarily paused in reverence for Asia's presence. A true breath of fresh air. One he'd fight tooth and nail to keep in his life, distance be damned. 

Savannah stood between the pair and their smitten grins, looking back and forth to see who'd make the first move. "This is just the cutest shit ever. I can't take it." Googly eyes slowly turned into blank stares aimed in her direction. Hint taken. "No, you're so right. I should get out of here. Asia, remember to put the thing on the slide at some point. In the one deck."

"Bye, Savannah!" Kelvin and Asia watched Savannah awkwardly scurry off to do only God knows what until they were safely alone. 

Without a buffer to fill in the gaps, all the nausea-inducing worry from the morning's events came flooding back for Kelvin in another crushing wave. Had he been thinking straight, he would've opted to save such delicate news for the privacy of his living room when all the thoughts sitting jumbled like Soul Train board letters were sorted into the proper place. Unfortunately, life-changing information sure to shake the still-wet foundation on which they'd built their relationship ran off with his rationale long ago. 

Kelvin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when words didn't come out. He tried again. Then, one more time before finally forcing, "I have…something to tell you," into the atmosphere. 

Asia tilted her head in curiosity. "So do I. Is yours good news or bad news?" 

"Doesn't matter," he answered, trying to smile through the rapid thudding in his ears. "You go first." 

Don't press, Asia. Resist! An inner monologue determined to usher Asia away from the sins of her past forced back 101 questions to make way for her surprise. "You know how the Moët client is looking for new artists for that summer series activation?" Kelvin nodded, vaguely remembering project details he'd contributed to in a past life. Asia reached into her back pocket to showcase two laminated passes on lanyards. "I convinced Chris and Sid to give me their passes so we could pull up. Now, we don't have to go all the way to Australia to see RINI. Fun, right?" 

Kelvin recognized the big reveal as something he should be excited about. And, had present circumstances not reared its ugly head, he'd have no trouble sharing Asia's toothy grin and silly dance. He tried to fight the heavy haze clouding his day by raising his hand for a high five and flashing a vacant smile. "That's great, baby. I'm excited. Really." 

So much for honesty.

Asia couldn't hide her skepticism, pushing her eyebrows high, and Kelvin couldn't hide his discomfort, which made him fidget with the contents of his front pockets.  

"Yeah," Asia answered, disappointment in his half-assed reaction instantly stealing the light in her eyes and turning her bright smile into a shell of itself. "Um, what was your news? Anything good?" 

Tact was never Kelvin's strong point. Breakups over text and ghosting were more his speed, no matter how much he hated that fact about himself. What everyone else saw as sleazeball behavior reserved for fuckboys deserving of eternal banishment to hell, he saw as protecting feelings. 

Promises were promises, and Asia was worth more than slipping back into bad habits. Kelvin had to rip the band-aid and deal with the residual blood later. "Remember the Chicago job?" he asked, wringing his hands.

Oh no. Intuition and a random tarot reader told Asia to be on the lookout for roadblocks, but, dammit, she thought that meant traffic on the interstate or an annoying client ask, not the nagging tug of the Midwest. 

"Yeah," she answered cautiously. 

Kelvin adjusted the hydrant-red beanie on his head and sighed. Rip. The. Band-Aid. "They…called me back with all my negotiation demands met. And…”

"You took the job." 

Patience was never Asia's virtue. Why beat around the bush when they could lay all the bad shit on the table and try to salvage a few pieces good enough to keep for fond memories later? 

"Yeah." The finished sentence turned an abstract concept into reality, weighing so heavily on him that he found looking Asia in the eye and lifting his head too difficult. He repeated after her in a low, measured voice, "I took the job." 

Suddenly, Asia couldn't help but hyper-fixate on her surroundings. The low hum of two French door refrigerators holding employee lunches was annoying. It always had been, but today, it sounded like an army of flies buzzing around the mess Kelvin's news had created. Distant laughter made her nostrils flare. How dare someone find joy in a time like this? The kitchen was too big and too open to contain the grief rising within her. Then, the stupid ping of notifications on Kelvin's phone threatened to blow her gasket. The stimuli converged simultaneously, bringing fresh tears to prickle at her waterline. 

Asia forced them all back while Kelvin waited for her to say something to prove she didn't hate him. She extended a closed fist in his direction to match a closed-mouth smile. "Congratulations, Kel. I'm so proud of you. If we were somewhere else, I'd hug you." 

"Hug me to sneak in for a choke or a real hug?" 

"A real one," Asia chuckled, the sound of it returning to her stilted and lacking the mirth she intended. "I know you're bored here. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?" 

Past all the hurt feelings and rage bubbling in her chest, Asia couldn't allow herself to stomp out Kelvin's fire with negativity. She'd save that for a tearful phone call with Sabrina or a good cry in the shower. Kelvin needed reassurance that he'd made the right decision, not the moaning and wailing she had planned for a moment alone. 

"Yeah…" Kelvin paused to scan Asia's face for any sign of an impending adverse reaction but found none before he answered. Nothing. Not a shred of any identifiable emotion presented itself to Kelvin. Anxiety gripped him again. "Asia, don't shut me out. I know you have questions and fuckin' feelings. C'mon. Don't leave me out here by myself." 

"Not here." An almost undetectable waver in her voice was enough to shatter Kelvin's heart into a million pieces. He watched her blink back tears to speak again. "Can we just be happy, please? For a little longer?" 

He sighed, accepting defeat. "Okay." A mental reminder to add 'needs a moment before tough conversations' to his running list of things to know about Asia ran through his brain like neon letters on a marquee. 

His index and middle fingers brushed across his puckered lips, collecting affection he quickly passed on to Asia. She kissed the spot his lips once occupied as a silent promise to revisit the subject when heightened emotions had time to return to baseline. 

"You hungry? My treat." 

An olive branch. Collective ease passed between them once Kelvin flashed a toothy grin at Asia and gestured ahead of him toward the courtyard doors. "After you."

What Kelvin couldn't have in her raw, unfiltered thoughts, he was more than happy to gain in a spare moment of mindless chatter over sushi a block away. 

Something was better than nothing. 

If left up to Asia, Chicago and all its complications would disappear because of her commitment to ignoring them.

City sounds and radio chatter on Saturday evening had spent more time filling silent gaps of conversation than Kelvin and Asia had for two straight days. The elephant in the room quickly became the elephant at the dinner table late Thursday night when Asia side-stepped the topic to discuss Married at First Sight instead, the elephant in the bedroom when the thought of Chicago kept her mind wandering too much to enjoy Kelvin feasting between her legs, and the elephant in the backseat while she pretended not to notice her boyfriend stealing glances at the red light.

Given the chance, Asia could avoid broaching the topic for weeks. Kelvin, on the other hand, couldn't ignore issues festering into resentment day by day. Before long, he'd carefully label boxes and precious belongings to ship to their new home. Being on the brink of drastic change without a resolution wasn't an option.

Standstill traffic and a small car accident separating them from their destination provided the perfect opportunity to catch Asia in close quarters and force the issue. Kelvin took a deep breath and slowly turned the volume down on one of Tyler the Creators' piano-heavy tracks, earning a confused side-eye for his behavior. 

"Everything okay," Asia asked, shifting her body towards Kelvin so he could feel the full weight of her annoyance. 

He shrugged. "You tell me, Asia. I'm not the one tiptoeing around some really important shit right now. Is everything okay?" 

"Kelvin, not right now. We can talk about it when we get back tonight." 

Arms crossed at her chest, and a deep frown sent Asia retreating into herself, frustrating Kelvin to the point of no return. When he imagined the first roadblock in their relationship, hogging the covers or choosing the thermostat's temperature came to mind. He expected little hurdles to make room for the big stuff. The relationship-altering, make-or-break whammies either strengthened a couple or sent them careening toward total implosion. This behemoth was a tsunami of complications he didn't expect but wouldn't allow to throw him off course. 

"You said that last night and the night before. I'm tired of 'tonights!' It's happening, Asia! We can't get around the shit. So, talk to me right now!" Kelvin's body vibrated in time with his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel until he practiced in and out deep, soothing breaths brought him back off the ledge. Asia watched his shoulders slowly slump away from his ears before he reached over to rest a warm palm on her inner thigh to stroke his thumb against smooth denim, his eyes apologetic as he looked over at her. "I didn't ask you to be with me for no reason. Can we talk about what all this means for us?" 

Asia rested her hand atop his to twist the ring on his finger while she tried to gather words and explanations she'd practiced for days on end. "I don't know." 

In all her soul-searching and reckoning with the inevitable, she realized that she had no idea what the next steps were. 

She always had the answers, the plan, and the foresight to know how to proceed in any situation. This one, though – this flurry of warm feelings filled with complicated explanations and head-spinning romance – she couldn't figure out. Not even when she turned to practical skills and timeline plotting to make it all make sense. 

I don't know. Kelvin wasn't sure what he expected when he decided to corner Asia for an answer, but that wasn't it. Not knowing was worse than not caring. He could deal with the finality of no longer giving a fuck. However, the uncertainty in what he thought was a reasonably black-or-white scenario was unnerving. Kelvin let the gut punch settle until Asia spoke again to soothe the pain she'd inflicted.

"How…how would it work," She questioned in a small voice, her eyes low to avoid cracking the nerve she'd built. "Tell me you have a plan. Because, if you don't, I –" 

Kelvin rushed to reassure her. "I have a plan. Trust me." For once in his life, Kelvin was moving intentionally. No stone left unturned; no possibility left up to chance. "I leave in six weeks. Give me two to get my shit together, and you're on the first flight into O'Hare." 

"And after that?" 

"We'll talk every morning and every night. Then I'm on my way to you every other week, baby. And every other month, I'll make sure you get to me. Nonstop flight. The price doesn't matter. All you need is a packed suitcase. Or not. You can be naked the whole time. That's fine by me." 

Two nonstop flights a month, airport pickups and drop-offs every other week, Fridays in, Monday mornings out, constant connection over the phone when the physical was out of the question—simple enough. There was no fluff, only a concerted effort to make a less-than-ideal situation work. The happiness didn't have to die if they didn't let it. 

Still, Asia wrestled with separating idyllic assumptions from reality. What happened when schedules presented challenges? Or when the weather interrupted? Did distance make the heart grow fonder or help intertwined lives push away the realities of life together hundreds of miles apart. 

Kelvin could see the wheel turning for Asia while she mulled over his proposal from every angle. "Give me a little more time, okay?" Deflating. The air in Kelvin's sails came through his nose in a disappointed huff just as traffic began to pick up enough for steady motion. She held his hand in place, hoping he could feel the intention behind her hesitancy. "I'm not closing the door on us. I need to make sure we're prepared. That's all." 

The absence of an enthusiastic yes wasn't a no – another tidbit to add to Kelvin's growing Asia file. He'd have to find comfort in the details to keep her in his life. And damn, did he want to keep her in his life. His plan had more legs, including a permanent address change for Asia. 

"That's okay. Take your time," he answered as he laced their fingers together and brought the back of her hand to his lips. "Just don't leave me hanging like that again." 

"I won't. I'm sorry."

Relationships came with a learning curve Asia had to experience to understand. No one in her life had prepared her for conflict resolution. Being an only child taught her how to play by herself and keep her secrets close to her chest. There was nothing in the manual about coexisting with another human she cared for more and more each day. She didn't know how to share items or feelings. But Kelvin made her want to try. That had to count for something. 

Once tense quiet returned to the comfortable, wordless quality time Kelvin and Asia had come to enjoy, it followed them for miles to the venue until the need to mix and mingle took center stage. 

In a room full of strangers intermixed with a few familiar faces, they moved around like a couple for the first time. Introductions as a tandem flowed naturally. Seeing them move from group to group hand in hand amused but didn't surprise team members who'd long had their suspicions confirmed by Savannah. 'Alvin' as one member of the group named them. Not their preferred choice, but good enough for the moment. 

As alcohol flowed and inhibitions were disarmed, smooth crooning and soul-stirring baselines from the artist of the hour pushed tomorrow's problems further down the road. 

Kelvin kept a hand on Asia's hip while she allowed her body to sway along with RINI's soulful cover of Leon Bridges' "That's What I Love." Hearing his voice beyond the warbling of his JBL speaker from Asia blasting music far too loudly reminded Kelvin of the first time she shared her new favorite artist with him. She made him listen to Ultraviolet twice all the way through, forcing him to commit more lyrics to memory than he ever did for any other artist. Truthfully, the music didn't hit the same when she wasn't in the room. He tried listening on his own, but it was missing something or someone to add the depth he needed to make the album spin worth his time. 

Applause filled the room just after the final strum of RINI's guitar reverberated. Asia beamed from a spot toward the back. Asia claimed she was fine where she was, but Kelvin knew she was too scared to get close and act like a crazed fan. His lips found her temple for a quick kiss as RINI prepared to end his showcase. 

"I gotta find a way to get out to the States more. This is great," he laughed, causing the audience to join him. "My time is ending, but I can't go without singing the song that put me on your radar. Big thanks to Moët for letting me spend some time with you tonight. I'm excited to get to work this summer. Until then, this is Meet Me in Amsterdam. I hope you enjoy."

Asia couldn't contain her squeal, earning a low laugh from Kelvin once the open notes of her favorite song began. 

I would sail across the world

Row this boat from dusk till dawn

Kelvin and Asia had heard the song plenty of times together, so much so that Kelvin was tired of its slow drone and accompanying music video. Both RINI and Meet Me in Amsterdam were on his list of things he could live without and still die a happy man. 

Until the lyrics started to circle too close to home. A plea for the songwriter's love to make the leap and meet him in a foreign land felt like a page ripped directly from Kelvin's journal. Had he possessed the talent, he would've sung into Asia's ear while she leaned against him, caught in the rapture of beautiful lyrics. 

She didn't need Kelvin's additional vocal performance to know her partner had fallen victim to the magic. She was right there with him, letting the music speak where neither her heart nor mind could reach. 

Won't you come closer; let it take over

I don't need anything; I just want you

"I just want you." The words came out before Asia could stop them. She was never one to fall into the melodrama of romance, but maybe she'd never had an adequate opportunity. Maybe all she needed was a few glasses of white wine and a man looking back at her like universes formed in her eyes to give in to what she'd always considered unrealistic and a little corny. 

Kelvin wrapped an arm around her waist before dipping his head to meet her parted lips as she craned her neck to get a better look at his face. "You got me." 

Turning in his arms, she faced him head-on. "I want to try. For you. Let's make it work." 

"Every other week. I swear."

"I know. I believe you." 

Rolling waves filled with blinding passion set their bodies aflame, connecting them for a kiss too searing to start and end in a room full of people. Some things were best experienced behind doors clumsily kicked closed after Kelvin and Asia burst through the door of his apartment connected at the mouth. 

Small items clattered on the ground as they bumped into the wall, sending anything not bolted to Kelvin's entryway table scattering in the darkness. The moonlight streaming through his balcony door was the only light to illuminate their path. They couldn't care less. Kissing and fondling were their only priorities on the way to shedding extraneous clothing. 

The bedroom was too far, and the couch didn't provide enough leverage for what Kelvin wanted to do for Asia. The counter was too high off the ground, unfortunately. The table, though, was perfect. 

Kelvin thanked God for weightlifting as he hoisted Asia up into his arms, tongues still dancing as he walked them across the room. Asia used her forearm to swipe decorative mats and rattan charger plates to the floor so her backside could fill the empty space. 

Soft panting and the light smack of lips coming together and separating rhythmically filled charged cold air. Asia flinched when Kelvin slipped his hand beneath her t-shirt to reach her bra's front clasp. 

"Take this off. Hurry up," Kelvin demanded as he stepped back to pull his crewneck over his head.  He didn't have time for frilly language and sweet kisses. Maybe later, when they'd calmed down from their high. This first fuck was for all the sessions they'd missed between quiet nights in and words left unsaid. A little something to take the edge off. 

Zippers sliding down, garments rustling, and leather sliding out of thin loops made Kelvin's apartment sound like a department store dressing room until they were reconnected in mind and body.

Half-dressed with goosebumps pebbling an expanse of rich brown skin, lovers let their hands roam freely while they grinded against each other. 

Asia moaned at the feel of teeth gently tugging her bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. "C'mon, Kel. Right now," she rushed on in one breath. "I need it." 

"What about the condom? It'll only take a second." Kelvin asked, half-hoping but not expecting Asia to abandon her primary stipulation. 

"Fuck a condom. C'mon." 

The go-ahead to proceed with caution thrown to the wind put them on a path to the sort of carnal and fleshly satisfaction Kelvin's father warned him about before he left home at 18. 

Sorry, dad. This shit feels way too good to miss out on, Kelvin thought to himself as he slid into Asia's warmth inch by inch. He was weightless for a moment, floating in otherworldly bliss while he fit himself inside her body. "Fuck," he whispered. 

"Oh…yes. Yesyesyes." Asia's toes curled, gripping at nothing in a desperate attempt to remain tethered to the atmosphere. "Wait a second. Don't move." Crossing her ankles at the small of his back, Asia pulled Kelvin in a little deeper, smiling at the small groan he muffled against her skin. She just needed to feel him. In six weeks, they'd have to plan moments of intimacy and simulate sex through a screen, waiting for the day they could be together in the flesh. Tonight, with his body filling every dip and ridge like the final piece to a puzzle, they could kick the can down the road for a few more days. "Okay. I'm ready." 

Agonizingly slow thrusts helped them get acquainted with one another in a new way. Kelvin lifted his head from the crook of Asia's neck, yearning to look her in the eyes for an added layer of closeness. He pecked her nose, lips, chin, cheeks, and lips again, trying to keep those three words at bay. 

"Faster, baby." A firm request teetering on begging broke through Kelvin's haze while Asia tried to pull him into her body by his shoulders. 

He smirked. "Oh, you can talk now?" His taunting made Asia squirm against him for extra friction before he stopped and held her in place. "You up for another lesson?" 

"Mhmm," she forced out, hoping her compliance would get her closer to the real fun. 

"You been quiet all week. Imma need to hear you tonight if you wanna cum."

A horny, exasperated sigh preceded a short whimper. "What? I don't know how t –"

"Yeah, you do," Kelvin encouraged. Tell me what you want, and then I'll give you what you need." 

Near painful throbbing has Asia ready to agree to anything if it meant she could finally come off some of the pressure from a stressful week. Quick agreeance earned her a return to Kelvin's slow back and forth, a shiver hitting both their spines as he took a shallow dive inside.

Asia took a deep breath and tested her voice. "You - you feel so good?" She closed her eyes, hoping Kelvin would take pity on her feeble attempt only to be rewarded with nothing. She tried again. "Right there, baby." 

"We'll be here all night. Relax. Be confident." 

Relax. Be confident. The gentle reminder and suckling at her neck helped Asia partially release the valve on her nervousness. Kelvin rocked into her expert precision and care, waiting to hear more. 

A choppy moan caught in her throat before she could speak again. "You fuck me so good. You really thought I was gonna let you get that far away from me?" 

Kelvin groaned and sped up enough for Asia to notice. She smiled, palming the back of his head to keep him close. 

"There it is," he whispered. "Keep goin', beautiful. Tell me some more." 

Bingo. Electricity sparking between them opened up a whole new world of vocal possibility. "I want all you got tonight, baby. Can you do that for me? Fuck me until I can't take anymore?" 

"Uh-huh. I got you." 

Asia rubbed circles at the nape of his neck, feeling a jolt in her body from another change in pace. "Mmm. Deeper, baby. You can do better than that, right? For me?" Her provocation ignited a burning desire for Kelvin to perform. He needed the glory. Asia dropped her talking display long enough to moan through her man putting his entire being into testing the limits of his little circular wooden table. 

If sweet talk couldn't get him to knock the rings out of her, goading him with a challenge undoubtedly did the trick. Scratching against his back, demanding more depth, more speed, and more kissing spurred Kelvin into fast, furious fucking. 

In no time, they were close. Deliciously, dangerously close. No protection meant no staying for the final hoorah. He had to time his exit perfectly for the right mix of precision and mutual satisfaction. Though Kelvin seemed to care, Asia was just hitting her stride. 

"I think about you all day, waiting for you to fuck me just like this. I want you so bad sometimes." Asia confessed while Kelvin fucked her on his toes. "Even at work, when we’re not supposed to. That’s when I need you the most.” Grabbing the sides of his face with both hands, Asia forced him to look her in the eye. "Be good for me, baby. Make me cum."

Instructions? A command? A simple slip of the tongue? Kelvin couldn't bring himself to waste brain power distinguishing. He needed to focus. Focus on Asia's nipples rubbing against his chest and how her breaths and his started to become one. Then, the light sheen of sweat helping their bodies slide against one another. He focused on the sticky coating of arousal inviting him to rub his thumbpad against her clit.

Asia squealed, then licked Kelvin's open mouth. He rasped out a command of his own. "Come on! Come on!" Resolve began to wane. Any longer, and they'd be in the nearest drug store taking the walk of shame toward the Plan B pills.

If the walls ever decided to talk, they'd blush when recounting the vision of Asia forcing Kelvin's mouth against one of her breasts, trying to balance the sting from his hand colliding with her thigh with his warm tongue tracing braille on her areola. 

Her body seized, making it almost impossible for him to pull out. Every other week on a stuffy flying bus sounded like hell, but if he had this to look forward to after the wheels touched the tarmac, he could drum up some enthusiasm in no time. 

At the last moment, Kelvin forced himself out of his favorite place on earth just in time for the fruits of a mind-bending orgasm to spill from his head onto Asia's inner thigh. Together, they watched fresh semen coat supple skin, their chests heaving and ears ringing. Kelvin couldn't speak. He could only watch as Asia gathered a small amount on her fingertip and swiped it against her tongue. 

Kelvin moaned when Asia moaned to relish the sensory experience of his taste. "Did I pass?" Her question fell on deaf ears, with Kelvin more focused on gathering more semen on his fingers to pop into her mouth. She treated him to a show, sucking the digits clean. She spoke again. "Answer me, baby. Did I pass?" 

"With flying colors," Kelvin finally answered. Asia smiled into a searing kiss, reveling in her accomplishment. A new skill had been unlocked, and one more accolade had been added to her mental trophy case. 

Another lesson to take her mind off of the inevitable. At least until the morning rolled around to wash the fresh coat of paint she'd forced over a very real, immovable problem. 

RINI blasting from phone speakers dampened behind the bathroom door reminded Asia of the night before and how she'd allowed the heat of the moment to lock her into a contract she'd neglected to read the fine print on. 

Facing the bedroom window, Asia snuggled deeper into warm sheets and scanned the pros and cons list on her phone. Pro #1: She could eat deep-dish pizza every other month. Con #1: Her man wouldn't be nearby multiple days a week. Which was more important. She couldn't decide. Food or the comforts of stable, local partnership? 

She had started typing a new con when Kelvin emerged from the bathroom naked and moisturized from head to toe. "You awake now?" 

Fuck. Asia thought she had more time to plaster on her happy face. She used a pretend yawn as her buffer. "Yeah," she answered, faking the funk. "Good morning, baby." 

"Morning." Unbrushed teeth could never stop Kelvin from getting his first kiss of the day. He nuzzled his nose against hers before speaking. "Sleep okay?" 

"Mhm. You?" 

He nodded and slipped into bed beside her. "For the most part. I gotta show you something, though." Kelvin reached back to retrieve his phone from the nightstand's charging station. A few taps against the screen presented a short list of apartment options for Asia's inspection. "I started looking at some spots in the middle of the night. This one has a crazy second room for an office. Look at that view." 

A wall of windows overlooking the downtown cityscape made Asia's stomach churn. Reality smacked her in the face. He was leaving and waiting on her approval on an apartment she couldn't stand in a city she wished didn't exist. 

"That's so nice, baby. You can get a nice couch in there as a gaming room, too." 

Kelvin considered her suggestion and nodded. "Damn, that's a good idea. I need to take you with me when I look next week. You down?" 

"Uh…yeah. Yeah, I'll come." Asia shook off her rapidly increasing heartbeat and scooched closer to rest her head on Kelvin's shoulder. "Can you show me another one?"

Enthusiasm fading into meaningless sounds turned Kelvin into Charlie Brown's teacher as he gushed over layouts and natural light. She nodded along to nothing in particular. Smile. Rub his arm. Act supportive. Be the perfect girl. Just be happy for a little longer. 

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[saebyeokbliss]

Helloooo!!!

Could you maybe do one where the reader and sae byeok are polar opposites. That like the reader is very girly and just really a girls girl while sae byeok is yk sae byeok lmao. But that just makes them such a good couple with great chemistry! ❤️

Thank youuuuu

MY GIRL

synopsis: you and sae-byeok are total opposites. you love curling your hair, putting cute bows on almost everything, and pink. see-byeok, on the other hand, hates things like that. however, she doesn't seem to hate you or your silly little obsessions. paring: kang sae-byeok x fem!bimbo/girly girl!reader

warnings: opposites-attract dynamics, mentions of sae-byeok’s tough upbringing, protective behavior, mild possessiveness, fluff overload, slight bimbo!reader characterization, sae-byeok being emotionally awkward but loving in her own way.

a/n: this is such a cute idea!! i love grumpy sae. thank you anon!!!

Opposites attract has never been more true than with you and Sae-byeok. You’re a walking, talking Barbie doll—pink nails, cute outfits, and an air of carefree energy, while she's all sharp edges, quiet stares, and an eternal “don’t mess with me” aura.

The first time you met, she thought you were too much. Too giggly, too talkative, too… pink. But somehow, she found herself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame (or in her case, a grumpy black cat to a warm sunspot).

You, on the other hand, immediately adored her. She was like the mysterious, broody love interest in a romance novel, and you were determined to crack that tough exterior.

You bring color into her life. Literally. If it were up to Sae-byeok, she'd wear nothing but black and gray, but you sneak pastel accessories into her wardrobe. One day, she absentmindedly wears a cute pink scrunchie you gave her, and when she realizes, she grumbles—but doesn’t take it off.

She protects, you support. You’re soft, bubbly, and sometimes a little ditzy, but you’re also fiercely loyal. Sae-byeok might act like she doesn’t need anyone, but you always remind her that she’s not alone anymore.

You spoil her. Sae-byeok isn’t used to being pampered, so when you insist on painting her nails (“Just clear polish, please.”), buying her little gifts, or running your fingers through her hair when she’s tired, she melts—though she’d never admit it.

In return, Sae-byeok is your personal bodyguard. She glares at anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way. If someone flirts with you and you don’t like it, she’ll step in with a cold, “She's taken. Fuck off.”

You love PDA, she doesn’t. You’re always clinging to her arm, holding her hand, or peppering kisses on her cheek. At first, she’s stiff and awkward, but over time, she gets used to it. Now, if you don’t hug her at least five times a day, she gets grumpy.

She secretly loves your rambling. You talk about shopping, reality TV, or the latest gossip, and even though she pretends not to care, she remembers everything. One day, you offhandedly mention your favorite perfume running out, and the next week, she wordlessly hands you a new bottle.

She even got the scent right.

You teach her how to have fun. Sae-byeok has spent her life surviving, not living. But with you, she learns to enjoy the little things—like matching pajamas, late-night ice cream runs, and dancing around the apartment in fuzzy socks.

She’s your biggest supporter, even in her own quiet way. If you’re ever insecure, she holds your face in her hands and tells you, in her blunt but sincere way, “You’re beautiful. Stop being stupid.”

You balance each other out. You remind her to smile more, to enjoy life, to let herself be loved. And she reminds you to stand your ground, to be strong, to never let the world dim your light.

In the end, you’re the softness to her sharp edges, the sunshine to her storm, the warmth to her cold. And somehow, it works. 

sae-byeok taglist: @everly-summers-solace @stellssxo @lyzem @wlvlurvsfimmia @ellen0009

[midnight-fox-boy]

To preface: I hope this isn't taken wrong as I'm not the best at explaining how I feel or my thought process, please don't take anything I say as accusatory or anything.

I think privilege is a nuanced issue. (Going off of gender stuff alone here and not taking into account intersectionality ofc). I think that the way the world, the law, and specific situations perceive you can very much impact what we may consider "privileged".

A trans man that fully "passes" like a cis man probably won't have to worry as much in the supermarket or at work, assuming they didn't transition at that job compared to a trans woman, whether she "passes" or not because of the dangers from being perceived as a woman, OR being clocked.

But in terms of laws, any anti-trans laws like what's going on right now in the US will pretty much effect us all equally. If it goes their way all of us would have our Agab listed on identification and we'll be forced to use the restrooms associated with our Agab.

In intimate/romantic settings there's risks for all of us, too. If someone finds out you're trans it can always go bad.

Something I think all binary or binary presentating trans people who are going stealth have in common is that underlying anxiety around what may happen if people find out they're trans. We can argue about privilege all day but the moment you're outed, so much social privilege can be lost in an instance. If you can't uproot your life and start over somewhere else. The fears involved in being found out can be horrifying. It can like less of a privilege when you have that looming over your head, regardless of how true or not true said privilege is.

Even outside of all of this, there really is different fears and issues involved for different trans people, you know? Like transmascs have different issues with medical care than transfems do. And to be clear, that's not me saying that one is worse than the other, just different.

I'm a trans guy, my partner is a mostly closeted nonbinary person who definitely leans transfem. Ive been on hormones for a long time, they are not on hormones yet. I worry less about myself at a store than them. They get more insults, more stares. Even though they just present as they always have, even when they don't feel bothered to shave, it's like people just know and see things they associate too much with femininity. Long hair, leather jackets with flowers on them, a generally slim more androgynous build, etc.

I'm usually gendered correctly, even if that means people think I'm 12 instead of 24. I understand that I'm less likely to be clocked as trans than them. But in terms of physically being able to defend ourselves? I'm 5ft, I don't have a lot of strength, I have arthritis, chronic pain. Most cis men could easily overpower me. My partner is slim, but surprisingly strong for their weight and much taller than me. They could put up a much better fight.

I worry more about myself at night because I'm small. Not necessarily because people might think I'm a woman, but because I literally look like a child to most people. I would feel super anxious if they tried to use the women's restroom when I've personally never experienced anything negative using the men's restroom since I was 15 and pre-T.

And then when we're together we're pretty much on equal terms lol. Because then things shift to homophobia (or tbh people thinking they're a creep).

Basically this isn't to disagree, my point is that I wish people took more time to analyze things in a way that isn't so "this or that". Things are more nuanced and complicated than "trans men have privilege over trans women". I wish we could all just celebrate our similarities and differences and stand up for each other when we need it. We all deal with social isolation, bigotry, and a lot off bullshit overall.

And if we were to view privilege as like this general overarching thing without specific circumstances or nuances, then I do believe everything kind of just evens out into this "similar and different".

if you legitimately believe that any trans identity has privilege over another there is genuinely something wrong with you and you need to go outside

[motheroffeline]

Come to me

Incubus Aaron Pierre x black obsessive witchy female reader, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), dominant Aaron Pierre, reader is a Tumblr girlie, plot is basically the reader does a love spell on Aaron Pierre, masturbation, and p in d. 18+!!!! DO NOT ENTER!!!!

Your friends made it a point to tell you constantly to delete Tumblr which was literally your therapy at this point. Besides, why would you? Every single piece of smut ever made was literally on the app. Currently, you were laying in your bed, hand pushed waist deep below the elastic of your tights as you stared at the man of your wet dreams: Aaron Pierre. The way he danced through that spirit tunnel sent a surge of wetness through you every time you looked at him. Something was sure and it was that you had to have him. Wife or girlfriend be damned because it was clear that his eyes were looking at you.

There were multiple women on the internet lusting after him yet none of their desires were so compulsive like yours. After you discovered who he was you began to delve into love arts or "spirituality" because in your mind it would beckon him towards you. Begrudgingly, you even downloaded Facebook to collect more pictures of him to add to your online collage. Every night, you would look at his picture and resight the psalms you began to know like the back of your hand. Each night the dreams began to become more vivid.

Your friends began to show great concern for the sudden infatuation you seemed to have with Aaron Pierre. Even Michelle, a long-time childhood friend of yours, was disturbed by the crazed look in your eyes and the way you gestured that all in short words said: I have him. Who needs a fucking friend? You thought to yourself as the women you loved since girlhood expressed their concerns.

Michelle with her light brown eyes furrowing with sadness at your current state said, "girl even if it's a small break just take a little break from the internet. I'm not trying to be mean, but this shit is borderline obsessive. Remember when we used to laugh at them crazy girls on those Tubi movies? You are turning into them girls!" Then, Myah who you had met last year while clubbing wanted to speak some morals into you. "Don't ever obsess over a man that'll never know you. Yeah, a crush itself isn't bad but what you've got going on..." There was a brief silence and an exchange without words between her and Michelle.

You got up without looking at either of them or took a bus home. Who needs a fucking friend?

...

Aaron Pierre's face was plastered over every single social media platform. He came into your dreams with those alluring eyes and the image of him lay so heavy on you that you would think about him while at your job which was a good thing that it was online. You logged out of your computer and masturbated in the shower to the thought of his multicolored eyes. That innocent but sexy way he smiled was nearly enough to send you over the edge every time you saw it.

After shaving and moisturizing your rich, brown skin you saw that Aaron Pierre was doing a livestream on YouTube. Something debauched ran through you and you decided to join the live stream. Every word that formed from his lips were ignored by you as the arousal you felt began to build. At the touch of your clit, his words were cut short as his eyes seemed to stare into yours through the camera. Everybody in the livestream were typing things like "?", "A A ron you good?", "Tf happen", and " Not my babyyy". It was obvious that his eyes were fucking yours with their intensity, something that should be considered supernatural because of how suddenly he was disrupted. The live ended abruptly as you reached the peak of your orgasm and that's how you knew that your calls to him were slowly being answered one ring at a time.

At the beginning of a new morning, you began to work your way through your mundane job when your doorbell rang. Who could it be at this time in the morning? You thought to yourself. And when you opened the door, it was the man himself standing before you. It was something that people could only dream would happen to them but here he was in the flesh, standing before you with that small smile on his face as though he had spawned out of thin air.

"I know what're you're doing... Getting into my head with the subliminal shit. Won't be the first girl to do some crazy shit like this but I guess I'll bite. You didn't even know we lived in the same state. What kind of fan are you?" Somehow his voice was deeper than you've ever heard it before, and it set off something you. Every instinct was screaming not to let this man in, yes, he was Aaron Pierre, but he was a still a stranger at the end of the day.

You decided to let him in.

You finally find the words to say to him, "how do you even know where I live? I started doing the shit because I just knew it wouldn't work yet... here you are! If this is a dream then I can only hope that I'm in a coma right now because..." You pushed your fingers through your afro in frustration.

He finally let out a laugh that was so loud that it shook you to your feet.

"I'm fucking around, I'm visiting all of my top earning contributors. Bit expensive AND dangerous but it's a good marketing tactic. What's with the sullen look?" The cocky look on his face admittedly made you angry. Still, how the fuck did he find you? Life literally gave no answers when you needed them.

"Ok, you're here at my house what do you want?"

Aaron Pierre tapped his chin and then fixed those impossibly colored eyes on you: "I'll let you be the first one of my fans that I fuck. It seems like you want some dick and I'm willing to contribute." The situation would have rubbed anyone wrong, but it just made you wetter.

"Hold that thought." You went over to your cabinet and grabbed your bottle of stella rose and drank over half of it before coming back to him. "You want to fuck me of all people? Something really ain't right about this shit. Like, do you get how much legal trouble this could get you in? I mean I wanna fuck but still. You perfect all over, an actor, the world wants you and... me?" That lecherous grin stayed plastered on his face and seeing him in real life really showed you how ethereal the man was. Muscles rippled underneath his white shirt every time he gestured, his eyebrows were thick and full; but those damn lips are what you wanted the most.

"I'll go ahead and make it all easy for us ight?" In that instant, he snapped his fingers, and you were both on your bed.

"What the fuck?" None of this was making sense, only if it were a dream would it be possible for it to be true.

Aaron Pierre ran his tongue from your neck to jawline as his eyes surveyed the pained look in your eyes. "You smell so fucking good; I love a woman that moisturizes. His hands came up to massage your breasts through your night gown and you were moaning out before you knew it.

"Why are you doing this?" Tears sprang to your eyes at the gentle massage he gave to your breasts, pulling one chocolate nipple out to suck into his mouth. He pressed a finger to his mouth telling you to be quiet as he took his other hand and caressed you through your sweatpants. The arousal was like a liquid heat that was building to overflow.

"Wet ass... this pussy wet for me and nobody else... mmmmmm, I can't wait to eat it baby." His voice shook as he continued to press against you. After practically groping you, he laid on his stomach and pulled your sweatpants and underwear off in one fell motion. His tongue went from clit to ass hole as he licked you like a dehydrated dog. At this point, you were whining and mewling so loudly that somebody from three blocks down would be able to hear you. His pupils began to change into slits as he fucked you with his tongue and slipped a finger in to add damage to the equation.

"I'm gonna cum." You said as a warning, but he only smiled as he continued to eat you like it was his favorite food. High pitched squeals began to come from you and no matter how much you pushed his head, his lips and tongue never let up which led to you squirting all over his face.

"Damn, never had a meal that just kept on giving." He licked his lips in an exaggerated manner and crawled on top of you and began to sloppily kiss you. Spit was exchanged along with your arousal as his... wait a minute? His slit eyes stared back at you. You were enthralled so completely by him that you could neither run away nor scream.

His dick slipped into you so discreetly that it was like he was crafted out of velvet. You spread your legs further apart as he pounded into your wet pussy as though you were a toy. Those eyes dared you to look away as he made your fantasies, and your nightmares come true. You did believe in some supernatural things but really more for fun than anything else and now the proof was fucking you into oblivion. Of course, he had to be a demon, there was no man popular or otherwise that had garnered attention like this.

He moaned as he leaned his head back exposing his bobbing Adam's apple. His sweat dripped down on you as he took you in missionary. "This what you wanted though. I understand your fear but don't worry about the fear right now. Your biggest crush in the world is fucking you so good you can't say nothing." His words were both condescending and erotic in their own right as your arousal caused his dick to appear dripping with it. The roughness of his stubble pubic rubbed against your clit which caused you to babble incoherently.

"I wanna watch that ass bounce against it. Hol' up..." He snapped his fingers, and you were both were in doggystyle position. You wanted to cry because of how intense the pleasure that he was giving you. Every single thrust hit that spot inside of you.

He grabbed your waist and fucked himself with you. He let out a deep growl and came inside of you so much that it overflowed onto your clean, cashmere pink sheets. Now, a darkness firmly planted itself in the air within the silence of prior sex. But the quietness was suddenly disrupted by his beautiful voice:

"Loved every minute of this shit.... but you gotta close them pretty brown eyes of yours and forget." Tears sprang to your eyes as you lay completely limp as he towered above you, "nobody in the world can know about this which is why I'm making you forget what happened here. I'll be one of them men you want but can't get again. I'll be one of them men you'll never meet because we haven't met. But what I won't remove is the way you aching from me eating and fucking that pussy... you wouldn't wanna forget that, yeah?" His voice faded into the background as inky blackness started to fill your vision.

****************************************************************

Y'all I am so disgusting for this!!! I couldn't sleep so I was like lemme make a little smut for us tumblr girls who like Aaron Pierre but then I went overboard, and I was like eh I'm not deleting all of this lmao.

[messers-moony]

SONG TWENTY-ONE: IS IT OVER NOW? | T.D

Pairing: Ex!Tim Drake X Fem!Reader Summary: Tim finally gets caught. Word Count: 2.6k

It was a hard breakup. She couldn’t deny that, even if she wanted to. 

Their breakup was like the worst plane turbulence. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She just hoped they could ride it out, but after too many mishaps, it was like cutting the ribbon on a finished building. Relief rolled off her in waves. Her shoulders were no longer to her ears. 

When she passed the newsstand every morning, she saw the rumors in the headlines. They were misleading and slacking in detail. 

“Tim Drake-Wayne seen with a new girl in a coffee shop?”

“The Drake-Wayne betrays his girlfriend!”

“Drake-Wayne, new playboy prince?”

She couldn’t help but scoff. The girls looked exactly like her. It was depressing to get the call from one of Tim’s brothers. Y/n could remember seeing Jason’s contact name on her phone late at night. Her papers were scattered on the island in the kitchen. The knot in her neck tightened. She reached for the phone vibrating and clicked the green button. Jason’s voice echoed in the familiar empty apartment. 

“Y/n?”

“What’s up, Jay?”

She flicked her pen back and forth. It wasn’t entirely unusual for Jason to call. However, it was usually Dick or Stephanie who called the most. Jason sighed, “You’re not gonna like this.”

“I’d like it more if you cut to the chase,” She retorted, “I have a shit ton of work to do and would like to get at least half of it done.”

“Tim’s cheating on you.”

The pen slammed on the countertop. The paperwork blurred in front of her. Suddenly, she seemed to have tunnel vision. Her mind had stopped working. She forced words from her mouth, “Excuse me?”

“He’s in a coffee shop.”

“Are you sure it isn’t Tam?”

“I can assure you it isn’t.” Jason sounded upset, “I was just passing by and saw him inside. I almost went inside to say hi until I saw a girl who looked almost exactly like you kissing him. I genuinely thought it was you at first until I noticed her hair was off, and it wasn’t your bag at the table.”

She bit her lip, “Thank you for telling me, Jay.”

“This- This isn’t-“ He stuttered, “This won’t be the last time I talk to you, right? Are you going to cut contact with the family because of this? Dick might flip. Stephanie will literally bother you till you block her, which might break her heart, and I-“

“Jason, relax,” Y/n interjected, “I’m not going anywhere right now. But I’m gonna need to get my things out of this apartment. Maybe stop by while he’s on his date and help me?”

“Of course.”

That was one week ago. She was living with Jason in the best safe house he had. It honestly wasn’t all that bad. It was clean, had some decorations, and he kept groceries stocked. Jason had been a wonderful roommate. He cooked and made sure she was okay. Y/n had appreciated it. However, the press got other ideas. Rumors began about her leaving Tim for his elder brother. 

She didn’t have time to address every rumor. Truth be told, she didn’t really care either. It was another night of late work. This time, her work spread on top of the birch coffee table and sitting crisscrossed on the rug. A mug of hot chocolate Jason had made about half an hour ago was placed on a coaster, still warm. 

He didn’t sit far. His place was in an armchair with a book in his hands. The company was pleasant and soothing. Jason didn’t talk. All she heard occasionally was the slick of a page-turning. Sometimes, he’d steal a highlighter or a pen and gently place them back on the table. However, it wasn’t bad until a knock echoed in the apartment. 

She heard Jason sigh and place his book face down on the coffee table. His socked feet drifted across the wooden floor. The door opened, and she could see the legs of the figure through Jason’s. It didn’t take long for her to put together who was outside the door, “What do you want?”

“I need some help with a case.”

“You couldn’t have called?” Jason asked, “I’m a little busy.”

Tim sighed, “Look, I’ll owe you one, okay?”

“I can’t, Tim.” Jason sounded exhausted, “I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Tim scoffed, “Too busy fucking my ex-girlfriend?”

Y/n jumped from where she was sitting, “Oh, you absolute piece of shit.”

Jason slowly moved away from the door, and Tim stepped in without permission. The door slammed behind him, “Oh, I’m the piece of shit now? How fucking ironic is that.”

“Yes, you are!” She screamed, “You’re a fucking cheater! Please don’t deny it either! You’re just pissed off this was the time I decided to call it off. Don’t act like I didn’t find lipsticks and underwear around the apartment when I went on business trips.”

“At least I’m not fucking the next family member in line!”

She narrowed her eyes, “That’s all you have for your defense, don’t you? Cause you know damn well I didn’t cheat, so all you have for ammunition is those fucking rumors. Do you honestly think I’d do that to you?”

“What am I supposed to think!” He replied, “I came to the apartment, and all your shit was gone one day with a note and a key saying we were over.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Y/n murmured, “Your face is plastered everywhere with a girl that looks just like me. A girl your family fucking hates for her attitude. A girl who isn’t even successful! Maybe, just maybe, instead of finding a clone for me, you should’ve just kept me instead.”

“Now get the fuck out.”

“But I-“

“Timothy, get the fuck out of this apartment building.”

She could see the fire in his eyes. He picked up the cross-body bag and pulled open the door. It slammed again, announcing his departure. Y/n walked back to her spot on the floor and sat down again. She grabbed the mug and downed the rest of the liquid. It felt warm against her raw throat from screaming. She saw Jason sitting in the armchair from the corner of her eye. 

“He cheated on you multiple times?”

Her grip on the pen increased, “Yes, I tried to keep everything under wraps. But the press finds out, and rumors go out. I denied them every time.”

“Why didn’t you-“

“Dick. Damian. Stephanie. Cass. You.” Y/n clicked the pen back in, “You guys are everything. Movie nights with Dick. Drawing with Damian. Gossip sessions with Steph. Teaching Cass bigger words every day. Talking about books with you. It keeps me afloat. I’m not a vigilante, but I have a stressful job and a shitty life. I wasn’t about to lose the one good thing I had.”

“What about Bruce?”

She let out a small laugh, “Bruce always treated me like a daughter. He was always so happy to see Tim smiling again. And I knew that I couldn’t ruin that for him. Bruce had seen Tim suffer too much, and I didn’t want to be the reason Bruce had to see Tim falter again. He supported me. Nobody knows this, but he paid off all my student loans for one year on Christmas. I didn’t even ask him. He just did it as a thank you. 

“Even though I knew Tim’s smile was no longer because of me, I couldn’t stand to see Bruce look at Tim with that longing look anymore. Every time Bruce mentioned marriage, I would see Tim’s smile drop and be replaced. It hurt. But it helped Bruce see a future for his son besides working his whole life.”

“You went through all that suffering for us?”

“And I’d do it again.”

He didn’t talk much after that. She was grateful. The papers in front of her distracted her enough. It was a blur of words and bright-colored highlighting. It felt like seconds before Jason stood again and grabbed the mug from the table. She heard his feet dash away, and her highlighter swung in her fingertips. The sink ran in the background and shut off with a squeak. Jason came back around the table and began collecting the papers into piles.

“Jay, what are you doing?”

“It’s almost one in the morning. You’re working with Dick in the gym tomorrow, remember?” He replied, taking the highlighter from her hand, “He wants you there at six.”

She sighed, “Fine, fine.”

Sleep came easily. As soon as she had hit the bed, sleep came over her. It was early in the morning when she heard clinking in the kitchen. Y/n swept her feet onto the floor and opened the bedroom door to smell the sweet scent of coffee brewing. Jason was in the kitchen in the same shirt and sweatpants. His curls were touseled, “Mornin.”

“Good morning,” Jason said with a soft smile. There’s coffee in the pot for you.”

“Thanks.” She reached for a mug and filled it with the smooth coffee. 

It was five in the morning. The sun was barely rising through the windows in Jason’s safe house. She watched him make breakfast while she stewed over the cup of coffee in her hands. It was five-fifteen when she went into her room to get dressed. She left the safe house at five-thirty with her keys, coffee in a thermos, and phone in her hand. The car unlocked with a click. The coffee was in the cupholder, the seatbelt clicked in, and the phone connected to the radio. Music played the entire way to the gymnastics gym. 

Y/n shifted the car into gear once she parked in the parking lot. The car door hadn’t even been locked when she heard the clicking of a camera lens. She sighed before turning to see a man not too far away with a camera. He was snapping pictures of her in front of the gym where the notorious Dick Grayson worked. She could practically read the headlines now. 

Regardless, she went into the gym to see Dick smiling brightly. He wore a white tank top, black pants, and old sneakers. His hair looked a complete mess. He sat on top of the receptionist counter, feet swinging back and forth, a cup of cereal in his hand, “Hey! How are you?”

“I’m good,” Y/n said, “How’re you doing?”

“Doing great!” Dick smiled, “You sure you up for today? I know you probably have some casework to do for Bruce and whatever evidence analysis you have to do for the GCPD.”

“Yeah,” She swayed the coffee in the thermos, “I should be fine. Plus, gotta spend time with my favorite Wayne.”

Dick snorted, “Shhhh, don’t let people hear you, they might start thinking when they aren’t used to it.”

“You’ve seen the headlines then, I suppose?”

“Of course, they’re all liars, of course.” Dick waved his hand, “You and Tim wouldn’t ever cheat on each other.”

Her keys fell to the floor. Dick perked up, “You okay?”

“Oh,” She swallowed and grabbed her keys from the floor, “Dick, Tim and I broke up.”

“What?”

“I thought Jason would’ve told everyone,” Y/n muttered, “The stories of Tim cheating aren’t fake. They are very much real. I’ve been rooming with Jason in his safe house.”

Dick jumped off the counter and put his cereal on the desk. His arms wrapped around her body tightly, “If I would’ve known you could’ve stayed with me, or I would’ve had a movie night.”

She smiled. Dick’s cologne surrounded her like a weighted blanket, “It’s okay, Dick. I thought Jason told everyone."

“Would you like me to make a statement in the family group chat?” Dick pulled back to look at her eyes, “I will if it’s easier for you.”

“Yes, please.”

It didn’t take long for the word to get out after that. She had her phone in the gym locker with all the other belongings. It was nice to leave the safe house and get away from work to teach the kids with Dick. It made her feel refreshed. To finally get her mind off of something and embrace something completely new. The kids absolutely loved her. She visited the gym once a week to say hi and help Dick out after rough nights on patrol. 

She was covered in chalk when the day ended, and the kids were gone. Dick threw her a towel for the sweat. Y/n put it around her neck, “Jason said Tim’s been doing this for a while.”

“Yeah,” Y/n sighed, “Not something I went out advertising. Especially with the press.”

“I’m sorry he did it.” Dick said, rubbing his hands on his shorts, “I know I have no reason to be sorry. A part of me feels responsible. I practically raised him and feel like I raised him better than this.”

“It’s not your fault, Dick.”

He blew a raspberry, “I just hope this doesn’t mean we’re never gonna see you again.”

“I’ve been around for years,” She drawled, “I’m not going anywhere. You guys are the only family I have. If Tim doesn’t like it, too bad.”

“That’s my girl.” Dick smiled and ruffled her hair. 

She smiled and walked back to the locker room. The towel around her neck was used to wipe sweat drips from her forehead. She twisted the lock, and it popped open. Her hand reached for her phone, which was unlocked by the facial recognition software. Her messages were blown up with texts from the Wayne family about the breakup. The replies came quickly, telling them it wasn’t their fault and she’d still be around. 

Once she replied to the messages, she grabbed her belongings and left the gym. The car ride to Jason’s safe house was smooth, and light music played in the background. Thankfully, no cameras were flashing or clicking when she left the gym. The safe house was an old abandoned apartment waiting to be gentrified in the neighborhood. Her car was parked behind the building, safely hidden away. 

The door clicked open with her key, and it closed behind her. Y/n washed her coffee tumbler and put her keys on the island. A morning’s worth of sweat and grim on her skin, she stepped into the shower and thoroughly cleaned herself. The bathroom was steamy when the water turned off. She wrapped a towel around herself and combed through her hair. She grabbed an old hoodie and a pair of pants. They slid on easily enough. Her eyes caught sight of her desk. Her hands gripped two of the folders along with her pencil pouch. 

She pulled the bar stool out with her foot and placed her belongings on the island. Her body relaxed as her eyes scanned the forensic reports from the latest crimes in Gotham. 

It took two months for her to find her own place finally. She still had her days with the Waynes when Tim was working or away. Jason had indeed been her rock throughout it all. He provided her with a place to stay and a friend in the darkest times. Dick had provided her with the best coffee and crimes for her to investigate. She spent a lot of her time in the lab at the GCPD. Sometimes, he even brought Damian to keep her company while he sketched away in his notebook. 

Bruce had set down the last box in her brand-new apartment. It wasn’t extravagant. He offered to buy her a new apartment, but she declined. She wanted to start anew by herself. Y/n needed to know that she could do it. That she could move on from Tim. They had been dating for five years. She couldn’t precisely place when the cheating began. Her estimate came to somewhere after three years of them being together. She had her hands on her hips as her eyes gazed around her new apartment. 

A smile came to her face, “I’m so glad it’s over now.”

[vidavalor]

Hi there, @youryurigoddess! I was paged to your awesome post in the comments & I love that you're looking at the magic shop, too. I really enjoyed reading your thoughts. Your post got my brain humming so hope you don't mind a little response.

<<the Indian rope trick>>

I loved your observation here with this trick. Your description to me sounds like it is really emphasizing how the trick is a metaphor for a fall. People literally going all the way Up only to come down in pieces. Mrs. Sandwich's shop sign and how we go up one at a time, no pairs.

It's a fall in general and maybe also related to several of the stories more specifically? The assistant falling and the magician gathering him up and helping making him whole again sounds just like Crowley & Aziraphale's story to me.

You could also argue it's relevance in S2 is also related to Gabriel. He fell in pieces to Earth-- his mind separated a bit from his body-- and he had to gather them and bring them to the magician and his assistant (Aziraphale & Crowley) for help in being resurrected. Makes me think also of the pub being called The Resurrectionist and that place/that action being the connective tissue in the story of the main characters. Gabriel and Beez's story is a bit like this as well-- the trick feels like an overall metaphor for a fall.

Like you, I think that there's a ton of stuff happening with the magic tricks in the shop. If you go back a bit, we first got to the shop in 1941 in one of the most meta scenes in the series and I think that scene tells us a bit more about where to take things with the magic tricks.

As Aziraphale rehearsed his coin trick, he had two, very different types of audiences-- Crowley and The Nazi Zombie Flesheaters-- creating meta commentary on anti-intellectualism by showing us their differing responses. The Nazis are complete and utter zombies, in the sense that they literally have been trailing Aziraphale around all night, know he's a magician who is going to perform later, are watching him perform a coin trick, and still cannot put together that his magic words are his version of "abracadabra", let alone any significance to why he chose those words in particular. They are the worst possible kind of audience-- incurious, unimaginative, lacking in critical thinking, not interested in making connections.

On the other end of the engagement spectrum, though?

There's Crowley, representing us here on the Tumblr Dot Com. We're sitting up close, watching with rapt, nerdy, often pretty horny attention 😂, and we're the ones who are looking closely enough to understand all the different levels of Aziraphale's coin trick-- including that his coin trick is, on one level, really about how both language and the story as a whole is structured in Good Omens. We're the ones who are deep diving for coins at the bottom of the pool and getting richer than rich as a result because the story is really built for us.

As you might notice, though? There's a bit of a problem here...

That bit of a problem is that the majority of people watching Good Omens, just as is the case with anybody consuming any work of art? They are somewhere in the middle of these two groups. They aren't intellectual zombies who don't bother with critical thinking and who lack imagination but they aren't all people who enjoy getting quite as granular as, uh, you and I, OP, and anyone reading our posts. 😂

And, as every writer knows, a story should absolutely be written for the people like you and I to have an absolute ball with but it also has to sometimes be a little less subtle in order to get its message across to people watching it a bit more casually. I'm not saying 'dumbed down' here-- I'm saying just being a bit more overt at times. It all has to work on a more surface level, too.

On a meta level, that's what Crowley and Aziraphale are talking about when Crowley tells Aziraphale that the coin trick is more of a trick for "close quarters" (and lol at the coin pun there) but what has to be done in the pivotal 1941, Part 2, on stage in one of the story's most important scenes? That has to be what?

*jazz hands* Biggah.

Then, Crowley then suggests that they must be able to just go buy a trick-- metaphorically, to use something with a proven track record in helping audiences to understand things. On one, meta level, the magic shop = a writer's bag of tricks. Things like tropes and common metaphors in stories exist for reasons. If wielded with some innovation, they can be really effective because people can more easily recognize what they're looking at and understand the story better as a result.

So, our two go to the meta-laden Magic Shop of Metaphors, where Pat starts offering them what are, really, storytelling options-- all of which are also part of the story we're watching. He offers them a box of darkness with a little bird on top of it without explaining the trick and Aziraphale rejects it-- rejecting for that night in 1941 the "no nightingales" that will be the end of the story in S2 in the present and helping to illustrate how The Bullet Catch's success is the opposite of everything falling apart in the end of S2.

Pat shows them The Professor's Nightmare-- a trick where three different lengths of rope are put together and then revealed to all be the same length, which is meta for the story as a whole. Aziraphale starts playing with the interconnected rings, flirting with Crowley with some "gift for prop" innuendo, and then sends one of them frisbeeing across the room... like he'll do more intentionally with his halo by the end of S2. The rings/parallel halo cut down a house of cards on the table from the bottom, likely foreshadowing Aziraphale's fall being what can bring down all of Heaven and Hell.

I think that Aziraphale was originally thinking about Excalibur/the swords-in-the-box for that night in 1941 but the fact that it's not ultimately this one that he picks in S2 amuses me. Aziraphale was drawn to it for the same reasons he was drawn to The Bullet Catch-- for the innuendo of the sexual metaphor. On our level of going to the writer's bag of tricks here, the gun is, next to the sword, the most overt sexual metaphor there is and The Bullet Catch is what is selected to make it abundantly clear to the audience what the story is saying about Crowley and Aziraphale. Within the story itself, Aziraphale is going for the gun for the same reasons-- as a means by which to flirt with Crowley by making it a metaphor for their past.

In terms of parallels between the plots and the magic tricks in the shop, the swords-in-the-box is actually more S1. By the end of the swords of the box trick, the assistant and the magician have seemed to have swapped places in the box to elude death. Metaphorically, it's more in line with the body swap of S1. It doesn't go along with the death that is looming at the end of S2 and that won't be avoided, unlike at the end of S1. It's every bit as sexually euphemistic as The Bullet Catch but maybe slightly too subtle for the big, dramatic part of the story that we're in by 1941, Part 2 here.

After all, we're looking for something with scale, something climatic! 😉 😂 Something dramatic as all fuck to end up going well in 1941 to reverse-parallel the doom of everything going wrong in The Final 15.

We need something that shows them overcoming the miracles not working that day with success that will contrast with it all going wrong in the present. Something that is also a big, highlighted-in-neon, could-not-be-any-more-obvious sexual metaphor and when Aziraphale starts gasping over a gun? When his eyes land on the feast of sex-and-death that is The Bullet Catch? Ah, there we go... 😂

Welcome to the Magic Shop

Or why Will Goldstone’s Magic Shop might be more important than it seems to be and why the Bullet Catch isn’t the only trick in its stock that should interest us in the context of the Good Omens plot.

Let’s start with very first thing Aziraphale saw and literally ran towards after crossing the shop’s threshold. It’s nothing else but the legendary sword Excalibur (foretelling the divinely appointed ruler) and a prop for a spectacular illusion called the Excalibur chest.

But wait, there’s more to it! During the handshake besides the Excalibur itself, placed right between Crowley and Aziraphale, there are three more swords struck into the angel’s back. It’s Tarot symbolism: reversed Ace of Swords (miscommunication, clouded judgement) and reversed Three of Swords (recovery from a difficult patch in a relationship or heartbreak). I’d say it checks out for the angel in this minisode! Reversed because they suddenly switched sides for this particular scene.

Insane how the Good Omens crew found a cobra from the snake-charming act and put it on the counter in front of Aziraphale — as if it wasn’t clear enough that this angel is a professional snake charmer, right?

I wanted to make a joke about Aziraphale buying the cobra afterwards, just like Crowley bought the eagle lectern as a souvenir of that night, but then I remembered… this stupid, sentimental snake HAD IT IN HIS BEDROOM IN S1.

Just imagine how many Aziraphale-related memorabilia he had accumulated over those six thousands years, when only one night out with the angel led to two new items in his collection.

The only way for Crowley to be more obvious would be covering the walls of his apartment with Aziraphale’s pictures like in a classic Stalker Shrine trope.

And since our thoughts are already in the present, there’s also something super interesting in the background between Crowley and Aziraphale during their visit in the shop in S2. Look to the right!

As you can probably suspect at this point, nothing in this shop is what it seems to be. This isn’t just any piece of rope, but a prop for the Indian rope trick, sometimes described as the world’s greatest illusion.

The story behind it revolves around someone going to Heaven and the magician bringing them back in the most spectacular fashion! And one of the Good Omens producers, Catriona McKenzie, shared this BTS photo with it some time ago.

The classic trick looks like this: the magician’s assistant climbs the rope until he’s lost to view, as if ascending to Heaven. The magician calls him and feigns anger upon receiving no response. He arms himself with a knife or sword, climbs the rope, and vanishes as well. An argument is heard and then human limbs fall, as if cut from the assistant’s body by the magician. When all the parts of his body land on the ground, the magician climbs down the rope, collects the severed limbs, and puts them all in a big basket. The assistant resurrects/reappears from it uninjured.

Not that it means something in particular, but this scenario would be extremely fun to play in the context of getting the Supreme Archangel Aziraphale back to Earth.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Finally made my decisions on which owl each of the 141 are!! Because yes, I’m still thinking about this!! I’ve been drawing this idea a bit too, mostly in the form of a hybrid AU because since before I can remember, I’ve always just loved the idea of humans with wings- so why not do a bit of well needed drawing practice to bring it to life?

John - Great Horned Owl

Why: Even from when I first started thinking of all this, I always knew Price would be a Horned Owl- mostly because I thought the ear tufts would look cute on him and Great Horned owls look eternally grumpy (just like our favorite captain), but also because to me, a Great Horned Owl is kind of the most iconic and recognizable species of owl. They’re almost like the kings of the owl world and they’re beautiful creatures (big ones too!). I felt that just fit really well for Price. It’s hard to describe but I just see the resemblance so clearly in my head.

Fun facts (included because I love owls and hopefully you do too): Great Horned Owl can take down and will even eat other large birds of prey like Peregrine Falcons!! Also, they can scream!! Just like barn owls!!

Kyle - Western Barn Owl

Why: So I actually had some trouble with Gaz. A lot of owls could have worked, but I really wanted one that captures how beautiful I find him. I could stare at his face for literal hours, and I think the reason I eventually settled on the Western Barn owl is because (like I mentioned in my earlier owl post) I think barn owls are just gorgeous. Most owls can be described as gorgeous, but barn owls just look so (almost hauntingly) beautiful to me. They look intelligent- they look deadly. What more could you ask for from a bird?

Barn owls both haunt my night mares (my father scared the shit out of me with a mask made to look like one once) and live in my day dreams. What better bird to (hopefully eventually) draw Kyle as.

Fun facts: They scream!!! Look up their calls- it really is like a scream! I believe most owls are able to scream/screech, but I love that it’s the barn owl’s call.

Also!! And this is so interesting, the Native American Newuk tribe believed that if you were a good and brave person, you became a Great Horned Owl when you died, while if you were evil, you became a Barn Owl. Technically this wouldn’t apply to the Western Barn Owl since it’s an old world species, but I still thought it was interesting- plus it talks about Prices owl too! (There’s a lot more Native American tribes that held beliefs about Great Horned Owls, but I struggled to find a consistent reputable source for those so take that with a grain of salt.)

Simon - Barred Owl

Why: Originally, I was considering the Snowy Owl, Boreal Owl, and Ural Owl. Eventually I had actually decided on the Ural owl before, while doing research on another owl I saw a picture of a Barred Owl that immediately struck me. While the Barred and Ural Owls both look relatively similar, the Barred Owl definitely has more ghostly (hehe, get it?) air to it, and I think it’s facial disk is a bit more defined, reminding me a bit of Simon’s mask. While the Barred Owl is a new world bird and the Ural Owl is an old world bird, it didn’t live in the UK so I mean yes… I *have* technically given 2/4 of the 141 American species of owls- but the Ural owl didn’t even live in the UK so it’s fine.

Fun facts: The Barred Owl’s only natural enemy is the Great Horned owl!! Make of that what you will, but personally, as a big fan of that one Ghost x Price dynamic where Price is the only thing bigger and badder than Ghost, I know what I’ll be making of it.

Johnny - Tawny Owl

Why: I mean it has a little brown mohawk. How could I not make this Johnny? These owls are quite adorable and honestly, most of the reason I chose this one was the brown stripe drown its head looking just enough like a mohawk for me to giggle about it.

Fun facts: This guy actually lives in Scotland!! Its range is pretty big and includes almost all of Europe and a bit into the Middle East, but the fact that it can be found in Scotland just makes it an extra perfect choice for Johnny.

If you’re a long time follower, you may vaguely remember how in a post I said that in hybrid AUs, I love when a character is a hybrid of a species that’s native to where they were born/where their family is from. While I do love that idea, I also unfortunately realized most of my favorite owls are American, so Johnny and Kyle are the only ones that idea really comes through with. Simon and Price’s owls are completely American ones.

(Below the cut are my honorable mention + the owl I imagine Laswell as- because this post is already super long)

Laswell - Northern Saw Whet Owl

Why: In addition to being native to North America, this owl’s color reminds me a lot of Laswell’s hair. It’s a small owl, but it’s quite fierce. It’s been known to eat only the heads of its prey if prey is plentiful, and that bit of info reminded me of laswell a bit. She’s so strong and confident- I love her.

Fun facts: There’s Native American beliefs about Saw Whet Owls too!! They’re super interesting and there’s quite a few!

Honorable mention:

Laughing Owl

The laughing owl is an adorable owl which apparently chased its prey on foot, rather than flying after it- which sounds really cute. The owl could only be found in New Zealand and unfortunately has been extinct for probably about 100 years, with its extinction being caused when European settlers arrived on the island. Really, this honorable mention section was just an excuse to tell you about them.

(Most of my info from this was gathered by browsing owlpages.com - which is a lovely website you should totally check out if you like owls!!)

[miniwheat77]

The One pt. 2 (Creepy Graves x Reader.)

!NSFW, smut, p in v sex, scumbag!graves, non con, dub con, NO MINORS!

Not edited please forgive me 😭

Phillip Graves, truth be told. Was a lot of things.

He was an asshole, a traitor. A scumbag really. He could be creepy.

But when he sets his mind to something, he does absolutely everything he can to get it. He’s a hard worker. He puts in one-hundred percent all the time. It’s what he does. He cares about his Shadows and he makes the effort when he needs to. It’s who he is, it’s what he does.

Phillip has a downside though. Not just the fact that he’s a total asshole, but he’s just as naive as you’ve been. Too trusting, that’s how he’s gotten hurt bad enough to become what he’s become.

General Shepherd took advantage of how loyal Phillip was. He used him to get what he wanted and Phillip really did believe that he was doing the right thing, until he wound up in the worst possible situation he could’ve ever thought of. All of those men that died carrying those missiles, all of the innocent people he killed under command of General Shepherd. Finding out that General had been using him all along.

Graves lies awake at night most nights. As a man, it’s never something he expected. To be taken advantage of. To be used.

So when he thinks about what he did to you, he feels weak. Powerless.

At the time, it felt good. Not hurting you but how he felt with you. It felt good. The look in your eyes when you left that night, of course it ate him alive. But he ignored it. Until now.

He felt as if he was just like General Shepherd. A freak. A monster who preys on innocent people. He knew he needed to find you and make everything right with you but it was a challenge. You were harder to find than he thought.

He approached Laswell about it, he didn’t expect her to help him since you were some random civilian but she needed his help too. A deal was made. That’s how he found out where you lived and where you worked. But he couldn’t just show up to your house or your job, because you wouldn’t react well to that and he’d feel like a creep. It had to be in passing. He followed you for a while, gathering your routine. He finds when you’ll be at a pharmacy or grocery store. He tracks your schedule to a T and that’s when his plan finally goes into effect. Phillip contacts the pharmacy he’d gone to for years and changes his prescriptions over to the same Pharmacy as you. His sleeping pills anyways.

He starts grocery shopping where you do. Learning the layout. He wanted to know exactly where everything was. It’s what he did.

He plans it just right and runs into you on a Friday night as you’re picking up your groceries and supplies for the weekend.

He didn’t expect to literally run into you, turning a corner too fast and slamming straight into you.

“Shit- Sorry!” He gasps. He helps you pick up your items, going to hand them to you. “It’s okay- it’s my faul-“ your eyes widen and you freeze when you see him. You swallow hard. “Shit. Y/N… Hey.” He breathes. “I.. I have to go.” You spin around. He catches your arm, stopping you. “Hey.. wait.” He breathes. You freeze, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “I have nothing to say to you, Phillip. Don’t touch me.” You breathe.

“Look.. about what happened a couple weeks ago.” He sighs. “I’m really sorry. I took everything too far and I should’ve never done it. It was the heat of the moment and I wasn’t thinking correctly…” he takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t trust him. Of course you don’t.

“Look. It’s whatever, alright? I’ll forgive you if you just leave me alone.” You mumble. “For good.” You turn away, surprised when he lets you leave this time.

But this is Phillip Graves we’re talking about. He doesn’t lose, nor does he give up.

He already knows what kind of car you drive and you let out a frustrated groan when you see him leaning against it in the parking lot. "What exactly is it you want?"

"Just give me a chance... It's all I ask." He breathes. "I already gave you one and you still messed it up."

He sighs. "Okay. Alright. I'm an idiot. Just... get in the car? Let me talk to you please?" He bites his lip. He wants you to feel bad for him but it's not working. You unlock the door and he gets inside the passenger seat. You sit down in the drivers seat. "Good. No one can hear us." He laughs.

He turns to you. "I.. I couldn't explain myself completely in there. Not with everyone around. See..." He trails off. "I know I came off as a creep before. It was totally wrong and I do regret that." He sighs. "As for me- cumming inside of you." You turn your face away from his. The way he talks about it so nonchalant has you flinching. "I got lost in you. Honestly. I am a deprived man and being inside of you just took over me. I couldn't help myself." He palms himself in your passenger seat and you hate that what he's doing is working. That ache starts back between your thighs. Images of his cock sliding between your legs fill your mind. You hate that he does this to you so easily. "Why do you this hm? Why do you take over my mind so easily?" You groan. "I've finally got you off of my mind and here you are again and I know that the moment I trust you again you'll fuck it all up by being the scumbag that you are."

He swallows hard. "You could ask anyone. I'm not usually so.. stupid when it comes to people. I don't know what it is about you. I just want to.. fuck you until you're crying. Cum in you over and over every single day until I know you're pregnant with my kids and I think these things about you when I've talked to you a collective four times. I don't know what it is."

"Jesus Phillip." You look down. "I know. I know that it's wrong." He groans. "But I know that I have to feel it again. You wrapped around me. It's all I can fucking think about." He bites his lip. Hissing as he adjusts himself. No shame in the fact that he's practically begging for your pussy.

"Is that what it will take for you to leave me alone?" You ask. He looks at you. "If I fuck you again, will you leave me alone?"

He shakes his head. "No.. probably not. You've got me in a chokehold baby. I'm going to keep coming back for more." He sighs. You shake your head. "Christ. What did I get myself into with you. I should have stayed the hell away from you."

"You probably should've. Put the car in gear and drive." He nods. You look him in the eyes. "What?"

"Don't make me do it doll. Just listen okay?"

Do what? What does he mean?

"We both know I'm not above making you, so just put the car in gear and drive."

You swallow hard. Shaking your head. "Why me?" You look at him. "Because. I think you're the one." he laughs. "And I'm a stubborn guy. So... I'm going to keep coming back. Until you want me anyways." He mumbles. You smile. The first time you'd smiled at him in a long time. It strikes him right to his core. "You have a weird love language, Phillip Graves." Your smile makes his heart ache. "I know I do. I know..." He trails off. "And you've got the most stunning smile I've ever seen. I want to see it every day." His cheeks go pink.

You laugh. "If you'd just be normal you might see it more often." You can't help the snort that leaves you. "I can't help myself around you. I don't know what it is. When I'm in your presence I just lose every bit of reason I have. It's ridiculous." He groans.

"Where do you want me to drive?" You look at him. "My house." He nods. It's dark and your friend should be in bed by now, she didn't need to see you with him. Knowing how big of a creep he could be.

You still hadn't told her about how he'd tricked you to his house and took your virginity. She didn't know you were a virgin so you'll probably just keep that one to yourself. You already looked stupid enough.

You don't know why you keep coming back for more with him. Not really. Maybe it's to pass the time. Or maybe the way he intimidates you in the most perfect way. You hate that he's so persuasive.

“What exactly is it you want with me?” You turn to look at him. “Clearly you don’t want a relationship, so what is it?”

He turns to look at you, confused. “Who said I didn’t want a relationship?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Not sure, maybe your actions?” You laugh.

He shakes his head. “I’m bad at this, alright? But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want a relationship with you.”

You hadn’t thought about it. Being in a relationship with him. Maybe you should’ve before you served yourself up on a silver platter for him.

It’s frustrating, the games.

“You can’t make me be in a relationship with you. You can’t MAKE me do anything.” You turn to look at him as you pull into his driveway. “Remember that. Next time you think you can.”

He nods his head. “I have given you more chances than you deserve already, Phillip.”

“I know you have.”

You sigh, glancing to the house next door.

It would be pretty cool to be her neighbor.

“So don’t fuck this up anymore.” You look at him. “Swear on it.” He breathes. “You can pull into my garage if you want.”

“Okay. Wait.. did you leave your car at the grocery store?”

He shakes his head. “Had a coworker drop me off after work. We carpool together sometimes.”

“Oh okay.”

You follow him into his house, taking it upon yourself to sit on his couch. You tug something out of your pocket, focusing all of your attention on it for a second.

“What is it?” He asks.

You look up at him, unsure of what he means. “Oh.. it’s uhhh. Lottery scratch off.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you liked those.” He laughs. “Really? I figured you would’ve since you’ve been following me around for the last week.” You don’t take your eyes away from it, scratching at the paper with a quarter. He’s frozen.

“I know you think I’m naive, Phillip. But I’m really not.”

He laughs, moving to sit down next to you. “I don’t think you’re naive. I guess I just thought I was more sneaky than that.”

“I’m an observer, most people wouldn’t have noticed.”

“An observer?” He presses.

“I.. watch things. My surroundings. Sex trafficking is at all time high you know.”

“Nothing.” You groan. Shoving it back into your pocket.

He smiles. “You’re really cute you know that?” He laughs. “Thanks.” You mumble.

“Why’d you only buy one?” He asks. “They’re only a dollar.”

You smile. “Bold of you to assume I make enough money house sitting and babysitting to afford more than one.” You laugh. He smiles. “You actually do babysit?”

You nod your head. “Mhm. Yeah. I babysit for a couple different family’s currently. Early mornings usually.”

“How old are the kids?” He asks. “Uhhh. Newborn to.. 3 or 4.”

Phillips mind travels to you holding a baby. You’d make such a pretty mom.

It makes him want to put you into a mating press.

He looks down. “I think you’ll make a great mom.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far, Phillip.” You laugh.

“I’m gonna go get changed, you need something to sleep in?”

“Yeah, but uh.” You turn to look at him as he stands up, he pauses and looks back at you since you’ve got something to say. “Maybe you should wait.”

“Hm? Why?”

You shrug. “Just think your gear is kind’ve hot. That’s all.” You smirk up at him.

Seeing him smile, raising his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“You have one of those nicknames?” You ask.

“A callsign?” He asks. Sitting back down next to you. Closer than before. “Yeah! That.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What is it?” You ask. Seeing him smile. “You’re a curious girl.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “My bad. If I’m pressing too much just tell me to back off.”

He laughs. “It’s Shadow 0-1”

You raise your eyebrows. “Shit. That’s intimidating.” You laugh. “Kind’ve hot too.”

“You keep saying that. But.. you’re not doing anything about it.”

He’s turned on. You can tell by how serious he’s gotten. “I’m seeing how much you’ll let me get away with. Before you do something about it.” You smile. “You’re very forgiving too.” He places a hand on your thigh, seeing you stiffen up.

“Maybe I’m just bored.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Is it that? Or do you just miss the way it felt when I put my cock in you for the first time?”

He sees your facade faltering. A smile forming on your face to accompany your rosy cheeks.

“Fuck! Damn you’re good.” You laugh. Breaking first.

“I know, it’s what I do.” He laughs.

“Ya gonna let me kiss you or what?” He smirks. “Just do it.” You roll your eyes.

“Sit in my lap.” He tilts his head, smirk on his lips. He’s got one hand on the back of the couch, sliding his hips to the edge of the couch. Sliding a hand under your thigh. You’ve got leggings on, so it’s not uncomfortable, moving to climb into his lap. Straddling him.

He rests his hands on your hips. “You thought about it?” He asks.

“What?”

“About being in a relationship with me.” He nods.

You chew at your lip. “I wasn’t really thinking about it just yet, no.”

“You don’t have to, course not.” He laughs. “But I’ll take good care of you, you know?” He pulls you into him, the zipper of his cargo pants pressing into you. You wiggle slightly.

He reaches up, grasping the zipper of the jacket you had on and unzipping it. Seeing that you’ve only got a bra on underneath it.

“Shit.” He trails off.

“What do you say?” He asks again.

“I’ll be your girlfriend. But.. nothing weird alright? If I find out you creep on other girls the way you did with me, I’ll make you pay.”

He smiles. You’re not threatening but he doesn’t want to find out what you mean by it.

Besides, Phillip only seemed to be a creep for you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby. I’m a very loyal man. Too loyal sometimes.” He laughs. “What?”

“It’s a story for another time.”

You start to back off.

“I’ve done things. Things I’m not proud of. Being too loyal to someone above me.”

You nod your head. “We all make mistakes Phillip.”

You’re starting to crack the code with him.

He’s more naive than you thought.

“Yeah. But a lot of innocent people died. By my hands.”

You swallow hard. He doesn’t miss it.

“Seems as if you had no choice, you were listening to a superior, no?”

He nods his head. “Yeah, but I shouldn’t have.”

“How were you to know?”

“You’ve a good point baby.”

Phillip was clearly a dangerous man. He made that very apparent by his demeanor.

You lean into him, hand sliding up onto his neck. He grips your hips, guiding you into him. Your lips press against his and he hugs you tight to him. Deepening the kiss.

It’s not exactly how he thought it’d happen again. He imagined he’d have you up in his bed, being gentle. An apology, more or less. But instead you’re desperately shoving your leggings down your legs, reach in for his waistband.

He doesn’t take his pants all of the way off, just unbuttons them and unzips them. Tugging them down past his cock.

He pumps himself slightly, you rest your arms on his shoulders, lifting yourself up onto him. You look him in the eyes, he holds himself still so that you can slide down onto him.

“Oh fuck..” he draws it out. Moaning out. He closes his eyes, resting his head against the back of the couch. You raise yourself up and slide back down onto him, taking in a sharp breath. You seem a little off this time, like it’s too much. You’re panting as you move and you’ve barely started.

“You alright?” He asks. You nod your head. “Y-yeah. It’s just a lot more intense this time.” You breathe.

“You’ve had time to heal. It should feel better.”

You nod your head, chest raising and falling with your harsh breaths. “I-it really does.” You bite your lip, finally looking up from his chest. His eyes meet yours. He stands up with you, taking you off guard. “Woah!” You gasp, clutching onto him. “Don’t drop me!” You panic.

He laughs, walking up the stairs to his bedroom. “There is no way in hell I’d drop you.”

He lays you down in his bed, moving himself over the top of you. He starts removing his gear, hips still flush with yours as he pauses. All that’s left are his jeans but he doesn’t want to pull away from you to take them off. He tries not to be too rough with you, but he just can’t help himself. “You look so good under me.” He breathes. Gritting his teeth as he thrusts into you. His bed hammers into the wall with each brutal thrust he takes but he doesn’t care.

He wants to thank you for giving him another chance, but he knows now isn’t the time. “You alright?” He asks. You nod your head. Giving him a small smile. “You keep asking that.” You giggle.

“Wanna make sure you’re okay baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me, Phillip.”

He clenches his eyes shut. You’re too nice.

He pushes your thighs up slightly. Not going for a mating press just yet, he doesn’t want to scare you. Something close. He slides deeper, feeling you tense up. You take in another sharp breath, unsteady moans falling from your lips. You clutch at his bed sheets and he enjoys watching you fall apart beneath him. He’s waited weeks for this to happen again. For a while he was unsure if it would even happen again at all.

You’re the only girl he wants in his bed. Forever.

He can feel that knot forming, getting tighter each time he buries himself into you.

“I-I’m close Phillip.” You whine. “That’s my good girl.” He breathes, lowering his head to kiss along your neck. “Cum for me.”

It doesn’t take much more for you to do just that. Hips bucking into his slightly as you finish, clamping tight around him. He rides your high out, but he’s getting close himself.

He’s right there, about to draw his hips back out of respect for you.

You wrap your legs around him, holding him still. His eyes widen. “W-what are you doing?” You say nothing, he tries to pull back again. “Y/N! Stop it I’m about t-“ he closes his eyes, baring his teeth as he reaches his orgasm. When he realizes what you’ve just done, they snap open again.

“Did you just-“

“I did.”

“I was trying to be respectful-“

“And I was getting even.”

He laughs, taken off guard by you. “You really are my kind of girl.” He laughs.

———

“Hey.” He smiles. You’re standing at his door, having just finished babysitting. “Hey.” You smile.

“I got something for you.”

He steps to the side and you walk into his house. “What is it?”

He passes you a handful of one dollar scratch offs. “Phillip!” You gasp, looking up at him. “There’s like twenty of them!”

“Twenty five to be exact. I have another twenty five if you wanna work for em.” He winks. “Why did you get so many?”

“Cause I know that you like them. And I want to see you smile.”

You laugh. “You’re something else.”

“If you really think fifty dollars is all I’m willing to spend on you, you’re mistaken. You’re worth more than that to me.” He smiles, crossing his arms.

“It is too much.” He shakes his head. “No. It’s not. That’s why I was thinking, you should just move in with me. Let me take care of you.” He smiles.

You roll your eyes. “I will consider moving in with you, but I’m not quitting my jobs.” He nods his head.

“Sounds good to me, princess.”

[lambilegs]

Imagine lee and milf!reader😩

lee x milf!reader headcanons

❤︎ note to anon: OHHHHH HOHOHOHO THE DOWNRIGHT EVIL CACKLE I INTERNALLY RELEASED AT THIS. like, I've thought of this briefly before and... so good. so good. ❤︎ contains: split up sfw and nsfw content, throat-grabbing, spanking, both reader and lee receiving oral and strap, both lee and reader playing into d/s dynamics, reader's body is referred to w the term "pussy," not proofread

it doesn't even matter that you're older, she's still trying to pay for everything. like, if you're dating lee, what comes with that is her automatically trying to take care of you, even if your savings and income are a lot more secure than hers LMFAO

but, she can't help it-- part of her does love it when you take care of her, buying her a pair of slacks she was looking at when shopping, or getting her the thickest, coziest scarf after catching her shivering the other day. it makes her feel taken care of in a way she often doesn't let herself be

she sometimes tries to intentionally prove how "grown up" she is to you... which is fucking hilarious because she's literally 28 💀 but, still, she sometimes tries to be smooth about doing things like taxes and budgeting in front of you, because she wants to prove to you that she can be an efficient partner who can provide for you and be helpful

the first time she does something like this in front of you, she's def admittedly a bit anxious, stumbling over her words as you watch over her and ask her curious questions about her insurance and shit LMAO poor baby is breaking a sweat over it

sometimes, gets insecure about if you'd prefer someone your own age, maybe someone with a bit more life experience, but you always silence her with soft kisses, quietly assuring her that she's all you want, and she's more than capable as a partner, which fills her with warm satisfaction

literally acts like a freshman who's bagged a senior (in all seriousness do not date a senior as a freshman!!!), feeling a spark of pride whenever you show up with her to office parties. I mean, the first time, she's definitely embarrassed -- not of you, but just the fact that she's bringing someone so beautiful and older than her

lays on your tits all the time. idk why this feels so right for milf!reeader, but it just does

whenever you say, "like, when I was your age," she winces because it makes her feel WAY younger than she is LMFAO

but, still, she definitely trusts you a lot due to your life experience, even if it's just by, like, 10-15 years more than her. and so, she usually will come to you for advice when it comes to work, social interactions, even her mom, sometimes -- the last of which you handle so delicately and sweetly the first time, combing her hair and gently whispering as she bites back tears

if you have kids, the older they are, the more scared she is of them LMFAO maika once mentioned this, but she said she feels like lee maybe feels a sense of ease with talking about kids, something I agree with. like, ofc, she'd be awkward and uncomfortable at first, but with time, she'd come to adjust talking to your kid, appreciating the lack of filter and just how damn cute they are. if you have a teenager, though? oh yeah she's probably shitting herself LMFAO and constantly feeling like she's forcefully inserting herself in just by existing around the two of you. she'll try her best to interact, asking questions stiffly about your teenager's classes, and trying not to get annoyed on the days they're showing attitude to you

loves watching you do your night routines, laying out in her tank top and boxer shirts, smoking to unwind, as she watches you pamper yourself at the vanity you insisted on putting in her bedroom

she'll gently joke that you do too much unnecessary stuff in your routine, lazily smiling as she strokes her fingers in your hair once you're in bed. you always scoff and lightly smack her side, playfully saying that she could use some with the worry lines work is giving her (it's very much a joke tho you're literally obsessed w how she looks)

and despite her teasing remarks, she always buys you another bottle of this or that if she spots if when out

she knows you work hard, so she tries her best to take care of you during weekends, like buying food you like and setting aside her own work to look after you with cuddles

nsfw cut:

so, you know, being older and all, you've acquired lots of experience down there, and so, you know what you like, and have picked up on lots of different kinks, fantasies and, you know, techniques

when you tell her all of your different experiences, her eyes are bulging out, clearing her throat hard from how flustered she is. but, she can't deny it -- a part of her is hot with jealousy and arousal over all the things you've done, her naturally competitive streak bolting through her, urging her on to get you in her bed and prove to you she can treat you just as well

she's a bit insecure at first, worried that her own lack of experience will pale in comparison to all that you've done, so you reassure her, over and over again, cooing about how hot you find her and how you'll always enjoy sex with her because it's her

once she feels better, though, she quietly admits to you which kinks of yours she'd like to dabble in, pointedly looking away as she does, her breaths a bit short. but, you? oh, you're ecstatic, totally ready to corrupt her

she lovessss taking care of you, and just wants to be used by you, tbh. like, when you have a bad day, she'll take her time devouring your pussy, sloppily eating and slurping it up as your body tightens and loosens in orgasm after orgasm. even if she has something to read over for work, she'll let you ride her strap, though she usually lasts about five minutes before tossing aside the file, wrapping her arms around your body, then rutting up into your pussy until you shake in orgasm

love when you take control too. like, put your throat around her neck when you ride her, tug her hair, force her face to get smothered by your pussy -- she's glad to do it all. like, the submissive in her goes strong when it comes to you. she just loves having you guide her and being at your complete disposal

and oh, if you top her? such a little mess, just quivering as you press kisses over the brown tuff of hair on her pussy before languidly toying with her clit. and when you use the strap on her, she'll be mindlessly grasping at your shoulders, kissing you hard so you can swallow down her embarrassing whimpers

you kinda love that she's inexperienced, because it feels all the better to try out all your skills and different skills with her, and see her react to it for the first time -- eyes widening, breaths stuttering, her head tossing back as her oh-so sensitive body trembles

when she takes control for the first time, though, you're literally a puddle. there's something mind-numbingly amazing about being bent over her lap, spanked into a wet mess as she plugs her fingers into you and orders you around

[dellamortethelesser]

I saw we were yapping about my dearest failure, Illario.

I just wanna dissect him, literally gnawing on the bars of my enclosure near constantly amidst my usual brainrot.

Supposedly he has to be intelligent, Lucanis believes he’s destined to be first talon when they’re younger, that’s cannot be all charm and sibling affection right? And he conned the Venatori into listening to him despite not being a mage! Sure the Venatori are idiots but they are pretty resolute on their whole mage bit!

I called him a peacock to my friend the other day and I have not managed to fully let go of it. I live in an area where I’ve unfortunately had run ins with peacocks in the past and he just really reminds me of them. He just wants attention/validation so bad the poor man and the other crows only ever mention him as annoying and dramatic, meanwhile he’s on some rooftop screaming and flagging his tail feathers around.

He cannot be this completely of an idiot can he? He managed to sneak around with Zara for a whole year, despite Caterina being hyper vigilant because she was suspicious of a traitor. That could not have been blind luck and I don’t think his grandmother is capable of falling for his charm, I want so much more of sneaky intelligent Illario, but not less of spectacularly bad opera villain.

I…had a point, I know I did, but I don’t remember what it was 😅

I'm always yapping about illario on this blog </3

I'm not sure if Lucanis thought that Illario was destined to be First Talon, but he definitely preferred Illario for the role--saying that he had the silver tongue and that his own talents lied elsewhere. I don't think that was a lie, and it was probably the closest to a compliment we see him give Illario in The Wigmaker Job (TWJ).

I'm unsure if I think he really believed that Illario was going to be made First Talon, though, because just afterwards he acknowledges that even he's heard the rumors about Caterina's favoritism.

"Your time will come," Lucanis assured him. "Will it? Illario's piercing gaze met Lucanis's in the mirror. "People talk. You've always been her favorite." He'd heard the rumors. For all their secrets and intrigue, the Antivan Crows were a chatty bunch. "My talents lie elsewhere," Lucanis said, gesturing toward the arsenal around him. "You're the one with the silver tongue." "So, if she named you heir to House Dellamorte, you'd refuse?" (The Wigmaker Job, Tevinter Nights, p.266)

I agree that Illario comes across unintelligent in Veilguard (VG), to the point of being comical and operatic (though one could argue that's the point being made, given the climactic finale to the Murder of Crows quest). But it is true that he worked with the Venatori--and apparently Elgar'nan--underneath Caterina's knowledge for a whole year. If the VG narrative treated him with more respect, I might have said that it was impressive.

But can we say that Caterina didn't know? I think it's implied that Lucanis was aware that Illario was likely responsible shortly after leaving the Ossuary. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume that Caterina might have known too. Given the propensity of House Dellamorte towards being unable to handle their own family members, she might have been unsure of what to do with the knowledge--and again slated it off to Lucanis to handle, just like when she named him First Talon.

This definitely isn't a critique of your ask, btw, I'm feeding off of some of the ideas you're sending me. I agree that I think the characterization of the Dellamortes in VG really failed to live up to what we were given in TWJ. I would have liked to see more cunning, charming Illario; that mask that fades away. He was depicted way too ham-fisted as the villain from the start.

[secret-71845th-thing]

Ok so quick warning: this whole post is basically me rambling because I desperately need to get this out of my system, so I apologize in advance for the possible lack of coherency.

The topic I really want to talk about is Silco's funeral. I've been thinking about it since s2 ep2 came out and I've never really been able to come to a definitive opinion on it. It's honestly a very beautiful and atmospheric scene (without the constant flashbacks to past episodes of course because writers don't Actually know Why the flashbacks are sometimes shown on screen) and at first glance it seems like the perfect send-off for Silco...but it kept bugging me. It bugged me and bugged me and bugged me, kept me up at night, mocking me for the confusing feelings I had towards it. I've been walking in circles in my very personal torture chamber, all up until today. Like. I think it was literally 30 minutes ago (at the time of me writing this sentence). I finally figured out (at least) 5 reasons why I don't like this scene (and the very fact of its existence) the way I do, why it bothers me so much that I can't sleep.

CONTENT WARNING: DROWNING AND ITS OUTCOMES

Reason №1: the uncomfortable, the bad and the ugly.

So uhhhhhhh....I haven't seen literally anyone talking about it but uhhhhhh....you guys. Know what happens to dead bodies when they're placed in the water, right?...They um. They DO sink at first but then uh. Then they resurface and they uh. They look way Way WAY worse than before. Um. It doesn't happen with all of them, but the absolute majority does eventually resurface. We don't know if Silco's body will actually be able to resurface due to extreme pollution of the Pilt, but this is still a very possible outcome. And needles to say, this is a very cruel fate for any character really, and especially for Silco. He had to struggle with deformity and the consequences of Piltover's exploitation his whole life, so to have his body being even more deformed due to being in the water, and toxic water no less, is well..........Listen. I believe in the artistic thought devoid of real-life context as much as the next person, but Silco is Too realistically written for that. I can't do that to him. And I don't want anybody else to do it to him either. Call me overdramatic, but I can't possibly help it. I don't want him to go in a way he doesn't deserve to.

Reason №2: muh theeeeemes

The general consensus for Silco being buried in the water is that it suits his character thematically. He's always associated with water, his trauma is connected to water, the weapon his daughter made in his honor is literally water animal-shaped etc etc. He's the Posidon of Arcane itself, if you really think about it. And while I absolutely 100% see the point, I don't necessarily agree that this is enough of a reason to bury him in water. While Silco is undoubtedly a water-themed character first, he's also very closely connected to earth as well. Think about it. Where did Silco work in the past? In the mines. Where the dream of Zaun he dedicated his entire life to turning into reality was born? In the mines. Think about this as the 2/3 of the water circulation process. The rain goes into the ground and then into the underground waters, which are then become a part of rivers/seas/etc. Earth and water are interconnected in the most intimate sense, so burying Silco in the ground instead of the water wouldn't actually be a thematic "betrayal" as it may seem at first.

Reason №3: the trauma

Once again, sorry for the incoherency, I just don't know in which order I need to put these points out. Well, anyway. If we remember Silco's monolog at the start of s1 ep3 he describes his experience during the drowning as water talking to him, and his subconscious asking him "Have you had enough?" on the other side. Imo, this is a very important detail, because it shows us the starking contrast between the trauma and the burial. When Silco was being drowned, he could hear, think, and decide, while during the latter everything the water was whispering fell unto deaf ears. Silco couldn't hear what it was telling him, couldn't feel the way the water (or Jinx) was holding him, couldn't hear that important question, couldn't decide his fate. So, placing him into the water after his death kinda feels like taking away his agency and his choice away, as not even for a second in his life did he ever stop trying to get out of said water. Constantly reliving the same trauma over and over again, stabbing and cutting Vander (and Piltover) countless of times, desperately catching air with his mouth. And you know what is the most important part of this flashback? We never actually see Silco get to the shore, to safety. And while Silco claims that there's peace in water, this peace is very clearly illusory, as he never really came to associate water with it. Earth, on the other hand, does have peace in it, because this is where people finally get to rest and truly get away from the world and its problems. Also (at least from what we know) earth in Zaun isn't polluted, unlike the water. So, I think giving Silco actual peace would only be possible by burying him in the ground.

Reason №4: choose your fighter - Zaun vs Piltover (only losers choose Piltover btw)

There was also a point about how different death is in Zaun and Piltover. In Piltover you get an actual burial, a proper ceremony, a grave and a headstone at the cemetery etc etc, while in Zaun you just. Die. That's it. Your body can be taken away by anyone, dumped anywhere, no ceremonies whatsoever, no headstone no nothing. You'll be heck of a lucky guy if you get even a small mural somewhere (like the Firelights do), but otherwise you just. Dissappear. And your loved ones never actually get the chance to say a proper goodbye or mourn you. So, in that sense, in "canonical" s2 Silco died like a true Zaunite, his only trace in the world being his office in The Last Drop. But isn't it kinda an antithesis to everything he was fighting for tho? Silco wanted for Zaunites to have what Piltover has, proper burials and cemeteries included, and while he didn't get there by the slightest of margins, I think it would be a beautiful symbolism if Jinx and Sevika and possibly somebody else buried him "properly", showing us that they'll finish what he started. I took properly in quotation marks because it doesn't have to be a traditional funeral as we saw with Cassandra. Because Zaun is anything but traditional, and Silco loved this with all his heart, even if to a fault. So, Silco's death and funeral could've been a symbol of a new era for Zaun, and while it's was going to be different from anything before that, it's still a step forward towards Zaun's liberation and progress. A True progress.

Reason №5: STORY PROGRESSION AND CHARACTER DEVELOMPENT WHWOOOOOOOO!!! YEEEEEAAH BABYYYYYYYY THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT

Jinx and Sevika never communicated on how Jinx killed Silco and it's WRONG (loud buzzer along with vine boom effect). Silco was not only a boss to Sevika, but clearly a very important person in her life and someone she saw Zaun's future in. While their relationship did sour during the events of the show, it was only a fraction of what we saw of them and wasn't representative of their overall dynamic. In fact, I think that the said souring (?) could've been a good punch in the gut for her. Think about it. Literally earlier that very same day Sevika could've killed Silco herself, but now she has to face what his death ACTUALLY means to her. *Harry Osborn from spider-man 3 impression* So good. And the fact that he was killed by JINX of all people. Mmmmm oughhh!! Even better. But remember kids! Dead bodies decay really fast, so Sevika and Jinx have to put their differences aside to say goodbye to someone they both loved. Bonus points if because of this they become emotionally vulnerable in front of each other for the first time ever or in many Many years. "But secret-71845th-thing, this literally happened in s2 ep2!" ya. There should've been more.

Also on the topic of gut punches. I really loved how Jinx and Sevika talked to Silco's chair, showing how they couldn't really cope with his death and still desperately wanted him to turn around in it and ramble his usual boring speeches to them. But you know what could've been even better? If at the end they finally came to talk to his grave, accepting that he's no longer here, but caring about him and remembering him all the same.

Welp, it was sure a long post *audience laugh track playing on the background*. It took me *checks my non-existent wristwatch* about 3 hours to write. Talk about jobless behavior hahahaha.....(please hire me I want money/hj). There's a high chance that I have forgotten to say something, but I'll simply add it to a reblog because I don't actually bother rewriting this post besides spelling checks. Uuuuh yeah. *scratching my head* *crickets* Oh yeah, will gladly hear out your opinions on this topic, so be very welcome to reblog and comment 🫶🫶 If you'll be civil, of course. My house is only for cozy haters, toxic haters are strictly prohibited.

Edit: "#dw babygirl I'll steal your body and commit horrible atrocities to bring you back🫶🫶" <-- *points at myself* Am I?..... Singed??.......

[bean-spring]

You can understand Helena's complexity, the reasons behind her actions and the inherent connection between her and Mark that is clearly there beyond questioning if she's Helly or not ("that sort of kinship carry over from innie to outie"), because at the end of the day, she is her (in different circumstances and enviornments).

But that doesn't mean that outside of the poetry and natural attraction between them there isn't the whole question of whether this is right or wrong. It isn't just "this is rape and she's inherently and utterly evil" or "they're the same person and she's also hurt, so it's okay" because that would minimize what the show is working so hard on. And that is fucking with our heads making us wonder who we truly are, what things would make us commit these actions, what truly is freedom, and at what point we stop being ourselves.

Let me make this clear (it's just my opinion): No, it wasn't consensual. Mark didn't consent to having sex with Helena. He thought it was Helly. That part is obvious to everyone. The whole "he said he doesn't care who she is outside, but he cares who she is with him, so it is consensual!" doesn't matter when he actually doesn't know who the fuck she is. He is being lied to. He said that because he thought he was talking to his Helly and didn't care who she was outside because, at the end of the day, despite being the same people, innies are practically born again (socially) and build a personality and experiences from the very beginning, from their very first memory that is appearing in the office (Dan literally refers to this point of their lives as "adolescense" while S1 was "childhood"). And they keep fighting for their rights and individual freedom.

I don't think we're giving this its proper depth, tbh. It isn't just "Helena wasn't Helly here". It's: Helena has way more knowledge than Mark has, while Mark believes they're both on the same page. Helena went there hoping for an experience in specific with him (selfishly), while for Mark it happened way more organically. Helena has said she doesn't view innies as human and has been watching them as if they were a Sims 4 gameplay. For Mark, it's Helly and the fact that their connection goes beyond that night while for Helena it's not that much about Mark himself. There is a clear, obvious power difference in here and she is, after all, for now, one of the antagonists. We can't forget that.

But it isn't just "evil" or "bad" or "cruel". Because Helena, due to the lack of freedom in her own life, is in the same place (in a different enviornment, though and turning that into power over others instead) as them. She longs for a human connection she has never experienced before. She is broken and torn apart about who she truly is. She uses Mark to experience this, yes, but at what point does that turn into real attraction? At what point her jealousy towards her innie and dehumanization of both herself and the group turns into her also realizing she's the same and understanding Mark? At what point does Mark fall for and embrace the kinship that connects Helly/Helena (that guilt and shame and lack of freedom and yearning for love) instead of just seeing double? At what point does Helena stop seeing a chance to experience love to start seeing... Just Mark?

And after ALL OF THAT it still doesn't make it okay to do what she did.

In the most natural, poetic, human perception of this scene, there is a connection between no matter who they are. But memories and shared experiences are also a huge part of ourselves, we do change with them. Both Mark and Helly have said multiple times that they don't see themselves as an extension of their outies and are their own selves. It doesn't matter whether they are the same or not, it's how they see it. Mark never agreed to share his body with Helena specifically and that's taking away from him the chance of choosing individually. His freedom.

In my opinion it was 100% rape but it's way deeper than just that. It's still awful, though, and we have to start learning to embrace complex characters and try to understand them without only being guided by our IRL moral compass.

[stopallsnowblind]

I have a lot of thoughts on this, like it literally keeps me up at night.

The problem is that empathy *is* a taught behavior - from a child development standpoint, we have to be taught how to care about other people because we are naturally born quite self-consumed. It takes children years to learn that those who exist around them, the other children they interact with and the adults who take care of them, are actually people in their own right, with their own feelings and needs.

My kid is 7, and he’s only just starting to figure that out - at his last well visit his pediatrician said that we should be seeing him start to display empathy within the next couple of years, and I almost cried because what do you mean we still aren’t there yet??

Which means it’s on the adults around these children to model community care and compassion for other people, for years and years before they see any return on it. It’s a huge amount of work, and not something people are always aware of when they start having kids - because they want a baby, and don’t always consider what they’ll have to do when that baby starts to grow up.

They rarely consider how hard it is to teach someone else how to be a good person, and that’s if they themselves were ever taught by their parents to begin with. Out of all the more subtle generational cycles to be broken, this is one of the most nefarious (to me) because it’s so easy to write off as being just how kids are and to assume that they’ll naturally grow out of it (they won’t).

And when those babies do grow up, at literally lightning speed, if they end up on the internet without learning that empathy, they do a lot of damage. Because they haven’t been taught to care properly while their brains are still squishy enough to really learn it, and haven’t developed enough critical thinking skills to avoid falling prey to adults who should know better, like JKR (or Trump or Musk or any other yahoo of the week).

I could honestly talk about this for hours, but I know I’m running my mouth and, ultimately, I don’t have a good answer. I wish I did.

*clears throat* actually ☝🏻

i think the most frustrating part of the comment section on that Wolfstar post by the Official account is the amount of people saying "did jkr post this?"

like you're straight up,,, acknowledging the fact she sucks. you're out here straight up ACKNOWLEDGING it,,, admitting that you're aware,,,, and then engaging with Official Content.

"did jkr post this" i fear you literally would not care if she did. i fear you actually do Not Care. about how connected something is to jkr. i fear that's the entire issue, and how do we teach that?

how do we teach you to care?? because you know, right? you've admitted here that you know she's awful,,, and yet.

so we've like,,, done all we can. you know, you just don't care. and we can't teach you to care about us. and that,,, that sucks actually. a big amount. sucks a whole bunch.