#it’s so much i have to get up and walk around like that’s how much dinosaurs make me lose it

[fairestwriting]

sorry if you’ve done something like this-

What about Jade, Leona, Jamil and Vil with a S/O that somebody tried to love potion?

…warning for minor book/chapter 4 spoilers in the jamil one? in case anyone is a newcomer here. there was just No way i could write this without mentioning his lore. like. come on

𐙚 Leona Kingscholar

Honestly, it’d take anyone some serious guts to try to do this. Or serious ignorance. Or straight up hubris, or maybe all of the above at the same time— Since your first few friendlier hangouts with Leona, it was pretty much known to most people who knew you that you were completely off-limits. Even if you just stayed friends, no sane person was going to mess with anyone who’s close to him. It’s almost an unspoken, pretty much school wide rule.

It was an especially bad choice for that perpetrator to try to slip you the potion during lunchtime. Maybe they’re a classmate you barely know, maybe they pretend to be a friend, it’d definitely have to be someone who could get away with approaching you to pretend to want some casual conversation. This privilege was soon to end, however, since you had agreed with Leona to meet up with him at the greenhouse after you ate.

The second you step inside, he can smell that something is off. By then you can already feel it starting to take effect, your head feeling foggy and suddenly occupied with thoughts of that person, which just feels confusing for now. You walk up to him, he’s sitting up with a frown on his face, asking you to come closer. Hazy, you step forward, and through your clouded vision you see him leaning in to smell you. It feels weird at the moment, you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with this— Even though that’s your boyfriend, you think, maybe you’d rather be this close with someone else…

He can’t tell it’s a love potion exactly, at least not just by smelling you, but he knows something is off. “Have you been up to anything weird lately, Herbivore?” He asks, his voice full of suspicion. You just shake your head, mention your classes today were all unremarkable, then so was lunch, you just met up with your friend, while you were eating. Somehow you can’t stop yourself from letting the subject linger on them, even though it puzzles you on the inside. He quickly picks up on what must have happened.

Really, anyone who even considers trying this has some nerve. He even says that out loud to them, after dragging you out of the greenhouse into a hunt for this specific person. You won’t even get the chance to remember much about the incident. Next thing you know, you’re in one of the potions lab, with an emptied vial of antidote in your hands. Leona is standing next to you with crossed arms and a death glare, and your “friend” is shaking behind a cauldron, having prepared that in record time. Even if notice of the incident spreads, Leona definitely won’t want you to leave his side anytime soon…

𐙚 Jade Leech

Another case in which attempting anything with you is definitely a feat of courage. Even though there’s a higher chance they wouldn’t know you’re dating Jade in the first place, because of how private he is, he’s clearly fond of you. And that’s without even taking into consideration how often he’s around. Jade doesn’t have the sort of infamy Leona dows, but it’s not any less intimidating of a situation, anyone with eyes can tell he’s watching every person around him very closely…

They’d really have to get lucky to get you to consume even a single drop of anything. They might have even tried multiple times, in multiple different ways. Spiking your food or drink is not an option at all with him, because he’s sitting with you while you eat, and who would want to take that chance? If they got you, it was probably by offering you an “extra drink they got from the vending machine”, which might as well have been attempted before, with Jade successfully distracting you from the drink every time.

”My, how kind of you. I’ve heard that soda is very popular, is that true?” Somehow, he shows up just in time to strike up conversation with the person, placing a hand on the can they tampered with. ”I don’t recall seeing this brand back home. Would you mind if I had a small sip first?” He looks at them, then at you, with a strange menacing smile. Once again, that person is taking the can back and stammering excuses that make less and less sense as time passes…

If they’re brave/stupid enough, and you’re oblivious enough, Jade will just sneakily make himself your bodyguard, ready to catch any new attempts and stop them right before you could get the spiked drink anywhere near your lips. He’ll do it as many times as he has to— And if it goes on for long enough, and one day they decide to not take their little trap back, he will literally just open it and drink the whole thing. He’ll do it while making eye contact with them, even. “Oh, I’m sorry, my hand slipped. It’s really unfortunate when that happens, isn’t it? It’s very easy to forget, since most of the time it doesn’t cause any harm… But the wrong ‘slip’ could really cost you your hand, you know… It’s important to be careful.” He doesn’t look away from them for even one second.

You’re confused as hell, Jade is weird a lot of the time, but just what’s going on right now? He hands them back the can, and just waves his hand at your question, telling you he’ll explain on the way as he walks off to get some antidote. From the nurse, specifically. And it’s not because he can’t make his own, because he could probably do it before the dizziness even hit— It’s to get your little “friend” in trouble with the staff, he’ll even play up the symptoms to make sure they get a nasty suspension… Even if they’re not expelled, you somehow never see them again.

𐙚 Jamil Viper

Not happening. At all. You have no “off limits” fame, no one knows you’re dating (Upon Jamil’s own request) and even if they did, they wouldn’t be that intimidated to try to make a move on you normally. He’s too busy to be lingering around you too much, plus he just wants you to have your own independence in general… everything is seemingly stacked in the favor of that person who wants to slip you the potion, but it’s nowhere near enough to get past Jamil. It just could never be.

…So you’d think it’d be easy for someone to catch you off guard, try to slip something in your food or drink. But there’s just no way that potion isn’t even making it into the vial. Really, with the upbringing Jamil had, could any fellow teenager manage to fly under his radar when trying to tamper with your things? Not a chance. He’s learned to spot real, professional assassins going after Kalim. Catching on to some other student’s creepy behavior is nothing to him.

He knew it before he even heard that person’s name, or saw them talk to you with his own eyes. It just takes a few conversations about this weird classmate of yours who you started suspecting might like you for him to be able to tell they don’t have good intentions. ”...I know I might sound paranoid, but I think you should be careful around them.” Is all he says, when you two talk about it the first time. You know him well enough to be aware of how serious that warning is.

Nothing is said after that, but he’s watching them closely too. You don’t eat lunch together that often, but Jamil always watches your table from afar when he’s not there. At first it’s just out of habit, but now that he’s got an eye on this person, their every move has your full attention. And it’s all just too familiar, the way they seem to also watch your table, or more specifically, watch you while you eat. He can even sense their frustration at how guarded you’ve gotten since his warning.

You’ll never even hear about a possible poisoning attempt because he catches them in the middle of their potion brewing— With a good chance he wasn’t even trying to do that. He just happened to spot them acting weird in the hallways, and decided to investigate. Following them to the laboratory, standing outside of the door to see what’s happening, maybe take a video or two. He then walks inside, no notable expression on his face, and speaks to them. ”I wouldn’t do this if I were you. Even making this potion outside of class could get you in serious trouble.” Nothing else is said, he shows them the video on his phone screen, and walks off. Next thing you hear, they got suspended, an when they come back, they won’t even dare to meet your eyes.

𐙚 Vil Schoenheit

The day you two agreed you’d make your relationship official, you also had a very long talk about the things that it might entail—The worries had been stewing in his mind for a while now, at first regarding his own reputation, but eventually they turned their focus to you. He’s had people interacting strangely with people who were just his dormmates, so one could only wonder how they’d treat someone they suspect is his partner…You’re warned at the very start that it’s a good idea to be cautious of others. But because it’s Vil, and he has all those vocal, sometimes fanatic admirers that are seemingly just everywhere, it can be kind of sadly easy to forget that this type of person could fixate on you too.

It becomes a bit of a dilemma for him, when he hears about this classmate of yours you’ve been talking to occasionally. On one hand, of course he wants you to have friends, he’s not crazy. On the other, he already has a weird feeling from the interactions you describe. Then under all his common sense, he just feels sort of jealous in general. You might notice he suddenly looks alarmed, and he might even remind you it’s important to be careful with others. But even if you take it to heart, would you really outright assume they were planning anything so creepy?

It’s a thankful coincidence that dating Vil also means learning a lot about potions. You often sit around in the Pomefiore dorm laboratory while he’s doing something, and he’s happy to explain the process to you however many times you need. Ironically, the specific subject of attempted love potion slips might come up. It happens to celebrities often, after all, it’s not crazy to think someone would try to get to him— ”They teach you to not eat or drink anything a fan gives you. You accept it if they’re handing it out, but you don’t touch it. And it’s not just for the sake of keeping up with your diet.” He retells you what he was taught. ”You don’t even donate it, since it could be tampered with. Usually, there are tells, but not always…”

Then question becomes, how skilled could another student get, specifically when compared to how observant you can be? It could go either way here. It’s easy to be alarmed by anyone offering you snacks or drinks after Vil tells you these stories, but you’re not a celebrity, so would that really happen to you? What if you’re just forgetful, or they really manage to get you at a moment when you’re vulnerable? Luckily, no matter how sneaky someone is, they can’t hide the effects of the potion forever. On the color of your drink, the smell, the taste… or, in a worst case scenario, in the way it feels when it starts to kick in.

You’ll know something is wrong, and he’s lectured you enough you know to get an antidote from the nurse if needed, and you know to report it to school staff. It’s dealt with quickly enough, but no matter when he finds out, he’s outraged all the same. ”How does a student get away with even trying to brew something like this? Staff shouldn’t allow just anybody to use laboratories unsupervised…” Vil fusses over you, smoothing your clothes just so his hands have something to do. Even if you didn’t swallow any of the potion, he tells you to take the day off to rest and stays nearby. Of course he wouldn’t just let the situation be solved without reacting, but first, he has to be sure you’re safe.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[kitguts]

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS .

abuse of power / manipulation. noncon ? misogyny. masturbation. voyeurism. degrading.

you dont know why your boss decided to send you on this trip— sure, you were qualified and perfectly capable, but everyone knew not to go to the lanes alone.

and yet, you continue walking with your gaze adverted to your feet, making sure you had a good grip on your bag as you navigate through the ratty alleyways to the warehouse.

you had already been cat called and wolf whistled at, but you keep on your track and hope none of them decide to follow you on your journey.

luckily, you arrive at the large building before you can find out.

the two women are.. intimidating, to say the least. both of them were tall, muscular, stupidly rich and egotistical. you'd worked with these kinds of businesspeople before, so it wasn't anything new— mostly you got men that would flaunt and flirt until the deal was done.

you thought they would be a little different, considering they were also women. you should know by now not to assume in this work.

"pretty thing like you shouldn't be wondering around down here," the oldest woman, sevika, chuckles while smoking a cigar. neither of them had gotten up to greet you when you walked into the meeting room, they didn't really look up either.

at least the secretary was nice...

the meeting was... awkward— for you, anyway. the two barely payed attention, shared looks after you spoke which made you gradually more self conscious, there was no note taking or even a nod to signal you were being understood. at least the men pretended to listen.

"i think we've heard enough, pretty," abby sighs, leaning back in her chair. she looked a little softer than sevika, still with a similar build and height, but she wasn't. and yeah—pretty. you're sure you told them your name, but both decided to give you nicknames instead.

at this point, you're irritated and frustrated. you want to leave and go home... wait, you can't. you're stuck in a hotel until tomorrow. on the bright side, it couldn't get any worse.

"you drive an... okay bargain, i'll give you that." the blonde shrugs, once again, glancing over at sevika. they seem to communicate telepathically, probably having spent way too much time together while scheming and scamming customers and business partners. its a good bonding activity, apparently.

she sucks air through her teeth mockingly, folding her buff arms over her chest. "but... we're not convinced. you either need to work on your marketing skills, or whatever bullshit company you're slaving for just isn't as good as you think it is, sweetheart. sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

your shoulders drop. you had been informed that after the hiccup with the last meeting, you were on thin ice— this trip was your chance to prove you weren't 'completely useless.'

"maybe you're in the wrong profession," sevika adds, neither of them having any sympathy for how your faux, determined demeanour suddenly drops. "you'd probably make more stood on the corner in a short dress anyway."

low blow... you frown, eyebrows knitting together.

"she'd look prettier there too."

the two snicker, sevika shaking her head and taking another drag of her cigar before stumping it out on the ashtray. you feel insulted, defeated— speechless. you can't believe these two women had such a lack of empathy and morality to say these things, let alone to your face.

"don't frown, princess," abby chuckles, finally grabbing the folder you had gently slid across the table to them earlier, which they ignored. "the wind'll change and it'll stay that way."

you watch as she flicks through the binder, her face unimpressed. you're upset, not even caring what she thinks— actually, that's a lie. you have to if you want to keep your job and not.. well... end up on the corner in a short dress to pay rent— not to mention, majority of that money would go to your pimp. god... where would you even find a pimp?

you're stressing about it already.

sevika seems to catch on that you're upset and discouraged, knowing damn well that her words had weaselled into you and had already started picking through your self worth. her gray eyes don't soften, but they roll and glances over at abby as the younger woman smacks the binder shut and lets it slap on the table.

"let's make a deal, hm?" sevika starts, resting an arm on the table and taking a good look at you. "since we're feeling generous... you convince us, right here, right now, and it's settled."

you frown, shifting in your seat. "i already tried."

sevika clicks her tongue, "we don't wanna listen to you dick ride your company, and you're stupider than you look if you think we're gonna sit here and look through your pretty little folder to read the same shit in different fonts... so,"

she barely gives you any time to process the demeaning words before sliding the folder back across the desk to you, the plastic cover ramming into your boobs. "convince us, or get out."

you shake your head in confusion, awkwardly holding the folder and tapping your fingers against it. "h-how am i supposed to.. convince you?"

abby groans at your cluelessness, rubbing a hand over her face. "girls like you don't have a lot going for them, right?"

you almost nod in agreement at the tone she uses, your face scrunching together instead.

"right. but, you all have one thing people want. one thing that'll get you anywhere in the world."

you're still confused, her words making you think real hard about what you have and what you don't, and then starting to worry a little about— well if you don't know, then you don't have it. meaning you've got fuck all in this world apart from a folder, hopes and dreams, and a forced smile.

sevika scoffs, shaking her head. "your pussy, baby. that thing between your legs? you know what that is?"

your cheeks flush at both the realization and vulgarity, instinctively crossing your legs. "what?"

"come on, i'm sure you've flashed it to your boss once or twice. why else would you be here?" sevika huffs, her gaze wandering over your body.

"i'm—" this is terrible. you feel your face burning with both anger and fluster as your throat closes up with embarrassment, so much so that you have to swallow and force the words out. "i'm good at my job, that's why i'm here."

"you're good at sucking dick and wearing skirts," sevika continues, really digging into your ego and image. "if you want this deal, you'll prove how badly instead of being sat there acting like a prissy little girl."

her tone is a little more biting now, still laced with mockery but more demanding. you're frozen, but actually... considering. how bad do you want this deal? how much is really on the line? they're women anyway— absolute assholes, but female.

you don't realize your hands are shaking a little until you place the folder down, shifting a little further back on the couch. you hesitate, scratching your thighs before uncrossing your legs and spreading your knees a little.

"better. you're a natural, huh?" abby mocks, nodding slowly like you were a child riding a bike and she was an encouraging caretaker.

instead, you're reluctantly pulling your skirt up and avoiding eye contact as you reveal more of your skin.

sevika lets out a low whistle before clicking her fingers— and instead of an inexperienced child on a bike, you're now a disobeying dog. "we don't have all day here. not everyone is as irrelevant as you are, girl."

your stomach churns at the words, more and more being singed into your brain probably for years. you gnaw on your bottom lip as your hands slip under your skirt to reluctantly pull down your underwear, letting them stretch around your ankles.

abby lets out an appreciative hum as your panties drop, enjoying your discomfort as your hands move to grip the edge of the couch, widening your thighs and shamefully displaying your body to the two businesswomen.

"oh, how cute." sevika coos, her gaze landing on your cunt and taking it all in. she had to admit, it was one of the cutest she and abby had seen in their years.

abby nods in agreement, twirling her pen around her thick fingers casually. "don't be so shy, come on. you gonna give us a show?"

your breath hitches at the implication, your eyes finally flickering over to both women as they stare between your thighs. "you can't be serious?"

"if you want this, you'll do it."

you did want this, you had to want this. but the mere thought of touching yourself in front of two strangers as they watch was enough to make you consider how bad living on the streets could really be.

your nails dig into the couch before you release the creased material, your legs falling open a little wider and your hand slipping between them. you breathe shakily, pressing your fingers to your clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

you're not sure what the best way around this is— would it be better to try turn yourself on so this was easier? or would that just cause more mocking and degrading? either way, your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a whimper.

abby seems pleased enough, quietly writing your name down on a piece of paper. sevika's surprised she actually bothered to listen, but she was more focused on watching you play with yourself for their benefit.

"use spit, baby, get her nice and wet." the older woman gruffs out, her hips lifting a little as she gets comfier on her desk chair.

you do as you're told, for some reason, spit now coating and stringing between your fingers as you resume rubbing. unfortunately, the wetness helps more than you want it to.

your thighs tense around your hand, your lips parting in soft pants.

a smirk creeps onto sevika's face, looking over at abby. "works every time."

abby snorts, glancing over at her business partner and then back over at you as you continue to shakily pleasure yourself, your cunt glistening with spit and something a little stickier. "you're breaking records, sweetheart. getting wet already, huh?"

you tremble a little, your moans getting caught in your throat as you circle your clit, occasionally dipping down to tease yourself further. you hate this, though it doesn't look like it, you feel disgusting and dirty as your cunt leaks with arousal.

"y'know, we could do with a new office pet. she's already drooling and whimpering," sevika comments, blatantly making fun of you.

abby smiles, her eyes locked on the way your hips squirm a little. "mhm... and she obeys, knows her place."

you whine quietly, your stomach contracting as you slip your fingers inside, your free hand holding onto the couch as you fuck them slowly in and out.

sevika hums, watching your fingers disappear inside your cunt and come back out dribbling with slick, a soft squelch being drowned out by the casual chatter between the two women.

"and all it takes is a little bit of spit to shut her up," she comments, her thick thighs spreading a little as she watches you. "isn't that right, pretty?"

you look away, ashamed, but your blood runs too hot, your face is flushed and you're resisting the urge to spread yourself open wider. you know you can't look too eager— not only was it a tactic in business, it was also a strategy to not make yourself look even more like a whore while fingering yourself in front of two strange, big women.

the palm of your hand nudges repeatedly against your clit as your pussy salivates around your fingers, your left thigh falling open just a little more so you can get a better angle, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"hm. wettest and most eager," abby muses, tapping her foot occasionally. "women like you think with their slutty cunts first, not their empty little heads. you're just as bad as a man, honey."

surely that can't be true... you've accomplished a lot without the help of your vagina, for sure. i mean, you're boobs have helped heaps but that's not the point here.

you don't think you'll have any dignity left after this anyway, clenching and throbbing around your fingers as you bite back moans and try hold off your impending orgasm.

you don't get the deal in the end, but... it's not all bad. now you have a new job.

sawry this is so short and there's more dialogue than smut whoops

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[okwonyo]

❛ YOU ARE MADE OF ANGEL DUST ❜

FORWORD. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒.

❪ 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝒾𝖲 ❫ prince!enhypen x princess!reader 12OO royalty au fluff domestic ⎯⎯disc. kissing petnames skinship reblogs ୨୧ feedbacks & daily

지아⠀⦂⠀ for @soov & you’ll like it if you like being called princess hehe

HEESEUNG

it is quite late for you when you hear things falling on your window. it doesn’t take much to understand that those said things are rocks, and it doesn’t take much time to understand who is throwing them either.

you open your window to see your prince under your balcony, well dressed and hair slicked back. from down there he mouths while he opens his arms, “come down,” and of course, “princess!”

you want to shout and tell him that he is ridiculous. that you already saw each other this afternoon and that there was no need to sneak out so late. be heeseung is heeseung, he loves risks almost as much as he loves you.

there is not a long thinking process before you find yourself sitting on your balcony’s barrier— trusting him enough to catch you. but he does.

with his arms around your tight as he holds you high, he greets you, “i missed you, baby,”

JAY

“c’mon,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing the skin under your eyes, wiping your shining tears. “a princess like you is too pretty to cry.”

the lightness in his tone makes smile. it makes the mood lighter, it makes you less sad. but everytime you look at his face, whenever your gaze falls on his lips, on his cheekbones, the bruises break your heart. you can feel his heartbeat underneath your palm as he holds your hand on his chest, “and a prince like you shouldn’t have scars.”

the prince’s sweet smile gets wider, contrasting with the obvious sadness and worry in his eyes. he look apologetic, even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

“princess,” he starts. he cups your face in the most caring way you have ever seen, his keeps on your tears. “i have to fight for my people, for my friends, my family and for you.”

you only look at him in lieu of answering. the admiration in your eyes must be as obvious as your concern for your dear lover. your adoration for him grows even bigger when he adds, “and when it’ll be all over, i’ll always be yours.”

JAKE

his smile is utterly lovely when he declares, “let me help you, your majesty,” while offering is hand to you.

you accept without any hesitation but with much giggles. the prince helps you get on the beautiful brown horse standing in front of you both. his hand is your is delicate— you get up there being carefully observed and pampered.

“hold on tight, princess,” he smirks after settling in front of you. you wrap your arms around his chest with a smile on your lips and rest your head on his broad back.

“where are you taking me?” you question after a while, right after remembering where you were— you often get lost in his scent when he is around, forgetting everything around you.

“somewhere as beautiful as you are,” he responds, his voice vibrating in your heart. butterflies erupts in the pit of your stomach when you arrive at your destination. the sea stares right back at you widened eyes, in pure awe.

SUNGHOON

there isn’t enough words to describe how it makes you feel whenever the prince asks you to dance with him. although, it is never the first time— you dance with him since the day you knew how to walk. he is the one you learned how to dance properly with.

everytime he takes your hand in his, then he holds your lower back, that it pulls you close— you always feel an overwhelming feeling of attraction. as if your soul is being pulled towards him.

he must know, how it makes you feel. you know it. because ever since puberty hit him, he is not afraid— in front of the heavy eye of everyone— to whisper something in your ear. right after making you twirl in your long dress.

“don’t be shy, princess,” he says next to your ear. his breath is always so hot against yours. this added to this public display of affection in public makes you blush.

you close your eyes, well too shy to even look st the people are you. he holds you close as you both dance, “it’s only you and me when we dance.”

SUNOO

“follow me,” is all that he says. although, he takes your wrist in his hand and drags you behind him, not giving you much choice, you do follow him.

you don’t say much, just admiring his back as he brings you to the garden behind the palace. he carefully avoids his maids and yours as well— the place is quite crowded today, especially since you had lunch together.

he loosen his grip on your wrist after arriving at his destination. you miss his touch immediately but the way he smiles at you makes you forget about everything you have ever known.

you are too starstruck to acknowledge him walking to get behind you. the cold material on your exposed skin makes you shiver, earning a gasp out of you. you touch it, you feel the pearls against your fingertips.

“i hope you like it,” he tells you right next to your ear. “this necklace has been in my family for generations.”

JUNGWON

you wipe your head to your room’s door as soon as it opens in a swift movement. your maid seems enthusiastic, red in the face like she ran all the way to your room, “your majesty! prince jungwon has arrived.”

you almost get dizzy with how fast you get up from the couch. your heart beats well too fast for you to even say anything. the only thing you can do is to, with a heavy breath, look at the palace’s portail from your balcony.

you see the horses and the carriage. those are things you recognize far too well, too used to waiting for his return from travels all over the world and his visits to your kingdom.

in a heartbeat, you hold your dress and start ruminating out of your room. then you run down the hallway, get down the stairs at the same speed. you may bump into a few people and your shoes echo in the entire palace as you run to the door.

you are out of breath and your legs hurt but you don’t mind. when you finally get to reach him, when you feel his arms embracing you and his scent all over the place— you forget about it all. his hold you tight, even making your feet leave the floor, “my princess.”

RIKI

a cool breeze washes over your body. it caresses your skin, soothes your soul as well as his fingers in your hair. eyes closed, your head on his laps, laying on the green ground.

“i hope that we can get married soon,” is the first words he pronounces after a while. you think that you must be dreaming— he has never said something like this before. maybe he thought about it, but he never said it.

and it’s not like you are surprised. you are supposed to marry him one day, it has always been a known fact. but he has never told you that he wanted to, that he hoped.

you open your eyes. and it’s like waking up from a dream. the sun shines behind his head, he looks down at you with such love that it makes you want to cry. “what?” is all you manage to say— with a smile making its way to your lips.

he takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth. his lips are soft as he kisses your knuckles, “i want you to be mine forever.”

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[angelfic]

jason todd x reader

warnings — mentions of blood, death, violence, weapons, jealousy. unedited!!

a/n; i have to fight myself not to make reader have certain traits of mine like my anger issues but sometimes she deserves to be a little crazy. as a treat.

JASON TODD with someone that matches his freak.

You have so much patience and grace for him and he loves you for the way you make him feel less broken every day you’re together. But he won’t lie that he enjoys it when you’re the one who goes a little crazy.

He teaches you self defence pretty regularly, because he knows he can’t always be there, protecting you on the streets of Gotham and he’d rather you be prepared for any given scenario.

You’re a good student, listening to his every word and successfully mastering most of the manoeuvres he teaches you. He enjoys teaching you for many reasons, one of them being that he has an excuse for keeping his hands on you. But his favourite thing is the way your eyes light up when you manage to knock him off his feet or land a hit.

You ask him if he’s alright because there’s a pink flush kissing his cheeks and he mumbles that he’s fine, but really he’s blushing because he’s embarrassed about the sick thoughts he’s having about you being able to physically hurt him. That is until you grab one of his knives off the table.

You twirl it between your fingers, seemingly fascinated with the way the warm lighting of your apartment reflects off the blade, showing off its fatally sharp edges.

“Would you teach me how to stab a guy?”

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Your voice is so sweet, asking him such a question so politely and who is he to deny you?

Never in a million years will Jason think he deserves you, and there’s always going to be a little voice in his head that says you could leave him at any given time for any one of your choosing. Which is why he gets jealous really easily, but he tries his best to hide it as not to scare you away.

Not that it would, since you never bother hiding the scowl on your face when you catch another girl throwing glances at him now and then. Jason doesn’t even notice the other girl until he looks over at you and sees the dark look in your eyes and suddenly his blood runs hot.

God forbid a girl tries to talk to Jason in a flirty way, because you’re immediately there, wrapping your arms around his waist, fingers sneaking under his leather jacket.

“Hey, babe,” you say, voice deliberately sweet as you look up at him. “I was looking for you.”

“That so, sweetheart?” he murmurs, amusement flickering across his blue eyes as his arms naturally find your waist. He completely forgets there was even another girl talking to him until you turn around to stare her down.

“And you are?”

“Oh, uh, no one,” she says, faltering slightly, her eyes still glued to Jason. “I was—”

“Right,” you cut her off, a smile gracing your face, but your voice is flat and devoid of any emotion. “We were just leaving.”

You don’t bother waiting for a response before you’re dragging him out of there and he’s gladly letting you.

Your smile drops as soon as you’re both alone and you’re letting go of him, walking faster ahead of him. He catches up to you easily, trying not to laugh when you bat his hands away. “I hope the two of you are very happy together,” you snap, refusing to look at him.

Jason grins, stepping in front of you to stop you. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “You could have shut that down, you know.”

He exhales a laugh, tilting his head and smiling even wider at how pissed off at him you look. “There was nothing to shut down,” he says truthfully, stepping closer to invade your personal space and uncrossing your arms to pull you closer. “Plus, I like seeing you a little jealous.”

A little is a bit generous since you look downright murderous, but he’s not complaining in the slightest.

You still refuse to look at him. “I am not jealous. I could have easily beaten her ass,” you mutter.

Jason huffs out a laugh, and when you scoff and turn away, he catches your wrist and tugs you forward so you stumble against him, using his chest to steady yourself. His lips ghost against your ear, making you shiver slightly as he whispers, “My money’s on you, babe. And for the record, you’re the only one I’m ever looking at.”

Your irritation melts into something else entirely and you playfully roll your eyes at him. He knows he’s got you now, just like he’s aware of how much you pretend to hate that he knows how to handle you.

When he comes home, covered in blood finally allowing his shoulders to sag with exhaustion, you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. You smile when he enters your apartment, dropping a kiss to his cheek in greeting and guiding him to sit.

“Any of this blood yours?” you ask, calmly. He doesn’t miss the concern in your voice and the way you’re subtly checking each area covered in blood for any hint of a wound.

He shakes his head and your body relaxes. “Good,” you mutter, focused now on scrubbing away a spot of dried blood from out of his suit. You don’t bother attempting to clean his hair since you’ll get it out in the bath a bit later.

He watches you, waiting for you to ask a question that never comes. The question that he feels like the members of his family are always asking in an attempt to morality check him.

You’re not like them, though. Your expression remained unfazed when the washcloth in your hands is more red than whatever colour it was before.

His jaw tightens. “You’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what, Jay?” You tilt your head, pausing in your movements. He hesitates for a second.

“How many?”

Understanding dawns on your face and you slowly nod. “Ah. Well. Do you want me to ask?”

He studies you for a long moment as you resume your work with the washcloth, moving to the areas that the blood seeped through a gap in his suit to coat his wrists. The quiet hum of your shared apartment settles around you both. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

“Alright then,” you say softly, setting the washcloth down. His bloodied shirt is next, torn in some places, damp with sweat from overexerting himself. You grab the hem, pulling it over his head and he lets you. Tossing it to the ground, you hesitate for the first time tonight when you catch sight of his torso. You frown, fingers skimming over his bruised ribs. Your touch is light, careful. You finally meet his eyes, unflinchingly. “Every single one of them deserved it.”

A sharp exhale leaves his lip, something between relief and something else — something darker. He shudders out a breath and finally allows himself to touch you, knowing you won’t break.

Pulling you closer, he rests his head against your chest, melting into you when your fingers start to lightly scratch against his scalp.

You aren’t scared of him. You never would be, he was pretty certain of that. He even sees some of that same darkness in you that he used to wish he could rid himself of. And he loves you for it.

Jason has never been more fucking gone for anyone in his life.

a/n cont.; only difference between reader and a psych ward patient is that she’s outside

[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.)

[kisssukuna33]

Sukuna would be the type of boyfriend to be overly protective. Not just because of his possessiveness just because he loves you so much.

You want to go shopping? He will always go with you no matter how many bags he will have to carry around while following you like a puppy. You want to take a walk? He's already putting on his shoes. You are going to a girl's night out? He will drive you to the place by his cab and analyzes the place for a good few minutes before he feels satisfied enough to leave you there. Hell! He will wait outside the whole time if you let him be but you always reject the idea because you don't want Sukuna to appear crazy in front of your friends.

It's the same when you two go out in public. Sukuna will always keep a hand on your waist or hold your hand the entire time. If anyone dare to look your way he make sure they see the disgusted scowl in his face everytime. Sometimes "The fuck are you looking at?" right after.

Let's talk about traveling with Sukuna as your bf because this man personally research every place you two would go to before the trip, if you recommend a sketchy or a dangerous spot he immediately rejects it in a second even though Sukuna and his cab have been through much more worse places than you could imagine but that doesn't matter anymore because now he has a priority to take care of. He would put on your seatbelt by himself just to make sure. And if you two are trying out new foods in the wild he is always the first to take a bite just to make sure it won't harm his girl. When you two check into a hotel worry not Sukuna will always make sure you two get the best room even if it means bribing the hotel employees. If you are hiking and show even a little bit of tiredness Sukuna won't hesitate to picking you up in a second. His excuse is "Tch, you are making us slow woman" when in reality he doesn't want to see you in pain. You wanted to bathe in the river? He won't let you move through the waters alone no hell no, he will carry you until he finds a spot suitable in the river that isn't deep enough to put you down.

It's worse when you are sick. He will stick by your side tending to you and taking care of you 24/7. He make sure you get the right amount of medicine and food and if you refuse to eat he will personally feed you, if you reject again he will literally find a way to threaten you.

"I don't want to eat Kuna!! Please"

"I won't ask again brat open up"

"is that suppose to scare me?"

"Fine then, that ugly ass plushie you love so much is going down the toilet"

"NO!!"

There are times where his overprotectiveness tend to go a little too far and you aren't afraid to confront him about it when that happens and Sukuna always welcome your criticism with open arms and tries to change despite his stubborn and rigid ways because that is what it means to be loved by Ryomen Sukuna.

I love this man sm omg <333 I want to write more bf Sukuna, send me ideas please :D!!

[myderis]

mydei 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.3k

“Are you two married?” A small boy with a sword in hand, eyes bright and full of curiosity, turns to MYDEIMOS, and the prince immediately opens his mouth to dismiss the idea. “No, we are no—”

“Oh, Mydei. I didn’t know you saw me that way~” you tease, standing at the dusty training grounds as the kids swing their wooden swords around, trying to be just like their role models. His face flushes a little, but he doesn’t break his cool or let you tease him further.

“I don’t. More training, less talking,” Mydei says, keeping his attention on the little girl trying to hold her wooden weapon properly, though his annoyance is hard to ignore.

The girl looks up at the prince, raising an eyebrow. “You two argue like my parents do.” Mydei freezes, caught off guard by her bluntness. He rolls his eyes and sighs, walking away to take a breather, not wanting to have this conversation again. “Let’s take a break.”

As the children are happy with their well-deserved rest, you sidle up to them, handing them water or the much-preferred pomegranate juice. “He’s just shy. Give him time.” You wink, nudging the boy who started it all. “Now, now, who wants some sweet treats?”

The little girl takes advantage of you being occupied and approaches Mydei. She looks up at him, her hands carefully clutching her sword. “If I were like Lady (Name), a beautiful and good woman, and a prince like you came along…” She pauses, having that dreamy look on her face, waiting for his reaction. “We'd get married. That’s what happens in the fairytales, right?”

Mydei stands still, gazing down at the child and then at you, observing how your smile makes the rest of the children happier, how you just being here makes him feel so … giddy. He exhales deeply, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, fairytales are a bit nonexistent.” He glances at you, his voice soft. “But you should never settle for anything less than you deserve.”

“Really? Is the wedding soon?” The prince rolls his eyes and ruffles her hair, making her laugh, but he doesn’t answer, and she only takes his answer as a promise that it will happen.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.

[liliavanrougelover]

the housewardens (and if possible also vice housewardens but not needed) with a reader that refuses to get up without a good morning kiss. like, they'll just lie in bed until they get a good morning kiss. then if one day they don't get one, they're pouting the whole day and just in a grumpy mood

No kisses?

Characters: Housewardens and vice housewardens

Warnings: Rook

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I'm a master procrastinator

Riddle Rosehearts:

He always gives you kisses anyways, it’s the best way to start his day after all

It’s how he wakes you up in the morning

A gentle kiss and a “Good morning”

If he does forget, he’ll be confused why you’re so upset during the day and when you tell him why he feels guilty

He apologizes for forgetting. Like a formal apology. “I, Riddle Rosehearts, would like to apologize…” etc.

As an alarm blares on his bedside table, Riddle slowly comes to consciousness. He lazily reaches over and turns his alarm off. He sits up and sleepily rubs his eyes. As he hears a yawn, he looks over to see his partner stirring from their sleep as well. He smiles and leans over to plant a gentle kiss on their forehead. “Good morning, my rose,” He whispers. And to Riddle, the only reciprocation he needs is the tired smile that comes to his partner's face.

Trey Clover:

He woke you up normally before

Just slightly shakes you and calls your name

When you tell him you want a good morning kiss, he’s fine with that

He wakes you up, kisses you, and gets ready for the day

He also gives you one after you both get dressed and have to part ways

If he does forget, he feels bad but also isn’t surprised that he forgot

He has a lot on his plate, okay? Of course he would forget something so small

But he’ll make it up by giving as many kisses as you want before bed

Trey's eyes softly flutter open as the morning sun kisses his face. He sits up and stretches, letting out a content hum as his back pops. He turns over to his partner and calls their name, his voice soft and husky. When they stir, he smiles at them. He leans over and gives them a gentle kiss before he gets up and gently urges them to get out of bed and start the day.

Leona Kingscholar:

Good grief

He doesn’t give you a kiss

Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants you to stay in bed with him

If he does have to get up, he’ll give you a quick kiss and then go about his day

He doesn’t forget. Ever. It’s the one thing that stays consistent every day.

Most days he doesn’t give you a kiss until Ruggie drags him (and you) out of bed

The morning sun shines into Leona’s room and falls across his eyes, waking the lazy lion from his sleep. He growls and turns over looking for his partner. He moves close and pulls them into his arms. When they finally wake up, he sleepily greets them. He keeps his arms around them, laying in silence. Eventually the peace is broken as Ruggie comes in and pulls the blankets away from them, telling Leona to get up. Leona growls but obliges. He gives his partner a gentle kiss before finally getting ready for the day.

Ruggie Bucchi:

When he wakes up, he already has a lot to do so he doesn’t really take time to wake you up

If you wake when he does he’ll say a quick “good morning” before leaving

On the days where he doesn’t really have any work to do, he’ll stay in bed with you for a while

He’ll tell you about the dream he had, how much he doesn’t want to start the day, asks if he can copy your homework and anything else that comes to his mind.

When he does learn that you want a good morning kiss every morning, he’ll try his best

He doesn’t forget, but there are times where he does have to rush out the door and he’ll apologize later in the day

He’ll make up for any kisses when you two are about to go to sleep

As an alarm rings, Ruggie reaches over to his end table and turns the alarm off. He gets out of bed and walks over to his closet, getting changed quickly. He walks back over to his bed and gently wakes his partner. He gives them a kiss and rushes out the door to go work.

Azul Ashengrotto:

He usually just wakes you up by shaking you and calling your name

The first thing he does is wake you, says “good morning” and then gets dressed

When he learns that you won’t get up without a good morning kiss, he’ll be a bit reluctant but do it anyways

It’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss you, He’s just flustered at the idea (he gets more used to it as time goes on.)

When he forgets, he apologizes by having the tweels drag you to his VIP room and giving as many kisses as you want for compensation. He can’t be in your debt, after all.

He’s surprised to find out that he loves it. He loves kissing you in the morning and he loves when you kiss him in the morning

Don’t tell anyone though. If the tweels heard, they wouldn’t let him live it down.

Azul blinks his eyes open, groggily staring at the ceiling. He yawns and sits up, stretching his arms behind his back and sighing in content when his back pops. He looks over to where his partner still sleeps. He gently smiles as he takes a moment to admire them. He finally wakes them and gives them a small kiss and gets the same back from them. After another moment of admiring them, he stands and goes to get dressed.

Jade Leech:

He sometimes wakes you up with breakfast in bed (Floyd has complained about not getting his own breakfast.)

Other times he simply wakes you up with a call of your name and a little shake.

When he learns that you like good morning kisses, who is he to deny you?

Now he sometimes wakes you up to breakfast in bed with a side of kisses. And other times just kisses. And yes, that’s kisses with an “s.” He gives you multiple.

He doesn’t forget to kiss you. If he doesn’t kiss you, it’s because he finds it amusing when you’re upset over something so small.

But most of the times, he’s a good boyfriend and gives you the kisses you want

As Jade’s alarm goes off, he sits up and rubs his eyes. He turns the alarm off and turns over to see his partner still dead asleep. He calls their name and gently shakes them awake. And when they finally crack their eyes open to look at him, he leans over and kisses them. “Good morning,” he says. He stands up and stretches his arms above his head and then smiles down at his partner. “Would you mind waking Floyd while I get changed?” Oh dear, looks like his partner’s fallen asleep again.

Kalim Al-Asim:

He doesn’t usually wake up before you. Jamil wakes him up at 7- 7:30 in the morning

If you wake up before him, then you’ll have to wake him up yourself. And if you don’t, then you’ll have Jamil wake you up

He gives you kisses anyways.

He always greets you with a kiss, which includes waking up in the morning

When he forgets, he feels so bad. He’s apologizing so much while kissing every inch of your face

But he loves kissing you. The best part of his day. When he wakes up early he spends the entire time giving you kisses after every sentence he says

It was one of the few days where Kalim woke up on his own. The morning sunlight streamed into his room, leaving his room in a beautiful golden glow. He sat up, yawned and sleepily rubbed at his eyes. He turned to see his partner waking up as the sun shone on their eyes making them scoot closer to him. He giggled and leaned over, planting a kiss on their temple.

Jamil Viper:

He usually has to rush himself in the morning. Like Ruggie, he has work the moment his eyes open.

He does wake you up before he leaves. And it’s usually with a kiss.

When he has the chance to sleep in, he’ll wake you up with kisses and just lay in your arms, letting his worries melt away

When he doesn’t kiss you and you get upset, he apologizes but also tells you that he does need to work

He makes it up to you by making you’re favorite meal

Jamil’s eyes slowly flutter open as he gains consciousness. He sits up and rubs his eyes. He looks over at his lover, sleeping peacefully. A soft smile paints his face as he looks at their peaceful appearance. He moves closer and wraps his arms around their neck before planting kisses all over their face.

Vil Schoenheit:

He wakes up fairly early. Not because he has work, but because he has the “early bird gets the worm” mentality

He wakes you up after his shower so that you won’t have to wait to take your own.

He doesn’t kiss you unless you ask him to. He doesn’t know where your boundaries are, you need to tell him.

He will give you as many kisses as you want before he does his makeup.

If he ever forgets, he’ll give you as many kisses as you want along with a mini spa in his dorm room

Vil sits up in bed and turns off his alarm on the bedside table. He gets out of bed and goes through his usual morning routine. Washing his face, brushing his teeth, taking a shower and brushing his hair. After that, he walks back to his bed and sits down next to his partner. He calls their name and plants a gentle kiss on their forehead. “It’s time to wake up, darling,” he gently tells them as they stir from their sleep.

Rook Hunt:

I’m sure I’ve said this before, but he never sleeps. He just lays next to you while you sleep. And he wakes you up when your alarm goes off.

When he learns you want a good morning kiss, who is he to refuse? So he wakes you up with a forehead kiss.

And once you get up and get ready, he gives you another kiss

And he never forgets. Ever. The only times he doesn’t kiss you is because was busy. And he makes sure to kiss you everytime he sees you throughout the day to make up for it.

The moment the alarm goes off, Rook reaches for the bedside table and turns it off. He turns to his partner who's nestled comfortably in his arms. “Darling,” he softly calls, rousing them from their slumber. “Good morning,” He says, planting a soft kiss on their forehead.

Idia Shroud:

He doesn’t usually wake you up. Ortho does. He wakes both of you up, and Idia says good morning, gets up, and goes about his day.

When you tell him you need a good morning kiss, he shuts down. He needs to be rebooted like he’s the robot.

He’ll do it, it just makes him very nervous.

He will occasionally forget, but Ortho reminds him before the day actually starts so it never becomes a problem

Ortho himself will give you a good morning hug

“Time to wake up,” Ortho says, floating into Idia’s room with an inhuman amount of energy. Idia groans and rolls over to wrap his arms around his partner. Ortho grabs his blankets and starts pulling, urging them to get out of bed. Idia drops a kiss on his partner's forehead and then rolls out of bed.

Malleus Draconia:

He already wakes you up with a kiss. Every morning without fail.

When he learns that you want that, he’s happy that you two were on the same page about good morning kisses

He also wants one from you as well

He never forgets. Ever. Not once in his life. It’s the best part of his day.

It doesn’t matter how busy his day is, he’ll give you a kiss and get his kiss in return

Malleus’s eyes flutter open as the sun peeks through the curtains of his window. He sits up and yawns. He turns to his lover just in time to see them pull the blanket over their head. He chuckles and leans over them, “It’s time to get up, love,” He gently says, pulling the blanket down. He kisses their temple and then urges them to give him a kiss as well.

Lilia Vanrouge:

He won’t get up in time to do so. He always has to rush to class because nobody can wake him up

On the mornings that he does, he will give you all the kisses you want. He might even be late because he was kissing you

When he learns that you want good morning kisses every morning, he decides to set an alarm. 100 alarms. None of them wake him up.

But that’s fine. He’ll just make it up to you by kissing you ten times everytime he sees you.

As the sun shines into the curtains and falls across Lilia’s eyes, the fae growls. He pulls the blanket over his head and cuddles up to his partner. “Close the curtains,” he whines, nudging them. He climbs on top of them, the blanket still over his head, and starts planting kisses all over their face.

[servicpop]

short n' sweet ♡ valentines day special　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　adrien ( delinquent oc ) x student president m reader

ⓘ　fluff fluff fluff ! jealous adrien , reader gets confessed to by a girl

A day where cupid strings his bow and aims his arrow at couples is the day you spend the most time stringing up heart decorations around the school. Its only a few small splashes of pink ribbons and red hearts since Valentines isn't a huge thing—some people simply don't enjoy it as much as Christmas or others—but it's a nice opportunity to liven up the school with some fun flare.

For the most part, you can see cheesy couples receive bouquets neatly arranged into something pretty for their partner or love letters being handed out the old-fashioned way. You weren't a big celebrator seeing as you didn't have a romantic partner. Of course the occasional chocolates being given to friends was a tradition you practised when nobody bothered to give you a flower or a sweet confession.

But this year was different.

After finishing the decorations, you took the time to wander the grounds before returning to your councillor room. It was early enough for the walk to be rather peaceful with the occasional wave to people you knew when they walked by. Reaching the room you, place your hand on the doorknob, twisting it until it makes that click before a hand plants on your shoulder.

“Been awhile.”

You turn your head to see him in the flesh. Adrien, with that shit-eating grin. It was completely out of character for him to show up so early—or show up at all. That fact alone sent shivers down your spine. A coincidence that he shows up bright and early on valentines day?

“Bit late but,” Adrien takes a moment to exhale before his eyes meet yours.

“Will you be my valentines?”

You stand there, blankly staring at him. No flowers, no chocolates and certainly no handwritten love letter stamped with a wax seal as you were wishing for. He couldn't have been this unromantic. For all you knew, Adrien was just some ill-mannered guy who weaseled his way into your life thinking he had you wrapped around his finger just because you two 'hooked up' underneath the staircase.

“No.” Short and sharp; unintentional or not. Sure you liked him, a little more than you'd ever wanted to admit, but Valentines was meant to be unrealistically romantic, a day where you can feel like you're living in those old romance films.

“What?” You could hear the confusion in Adrien's voice as he watches you brush past him and slam the door infront of his face, drowning out his complaints through the door.

That whole ordeal in the morning definitely wilted your mood. The entire morning session of classes felt like a drag as if time was purposefully going slower each time you glanced at the clock.

You were probably the first person to leave the classroom when you were dismissed, rushing out to your locker to reunite with your friends in hopes of charging your social battery.

“Hey— prez? I have, um, something for you.” The nickname felt like deja vu, like you've been called it countless times by a certain someone. But it wasn't him; it was a girl around your age or even younger. In her hands was a square, pink box with 'milk chocolate' printed in a cursive font. Her face was flushed pink and it looked as though if she met eyes with you, she'd melt under your gaze. On top of the chocolates was a pretty letter with equally pretty handwriting.

It undoubtedly made you smile even if it was just a little.

You accepted her gift, making sure you flashed a polite smile at her before watching her scurry off like it had been the hardest thing of her life to come up to you like that. It was charming in a way. You skimmed the letter which was mainly just her stating her appreciation for you and how she wanted to get to know you better with her name signed at the bottom with a small heart next to it.

A few of your friends who had just made it out of class had witnessed the whole scene, patting your back and pawing at the chocolates like hyenas. It wouldn't hurt to share the love, especially when your friends seemed like they'd die without sugar.

You let them all take one before sealing the box and placing it in your locker for later, you pocketed the note just so you didn't accidentally lose it or have it slip out.

Come to think of it, the more the day went by, the more you noticed a lack of Adrien. Usually he'd make an appearance by now, whether that was to stare at you with a smirk while you walked by eachother or to 'accidentally' brush your arm on any opportunity he got.

You made nothing of it though, it was probably because he thought today was boring—given all the couples would boast their affection towards eachother in the hallways—and decided to skip. It was typical of him to do so. But it still weighed in your mind all the way until the home bell rung.

Your locker was the last stop before you could go home, opening the metal door to see that your box of chocolates were gone; replaced.

Godiva chocolates in the shape of a heart, a letter sealed in an envelope, and a bouquet of flowers that look strangely like the ones from the school garden was neatly arranged in your locker.

“Do you like it?” You practically jump out your skin as your turn to see the man you haven't seen the while day.

“You put this here?” You ask, looking back at the gifts stuffed in your locker.

“Who else would— nevermind don't answer that.” You could tell from the furrowed set of his eyebrows that he was pissed off about something, like it bothered him enough to replace the chocolates you were given.

“I thought that maybe you didn't like how forward I was this morning.” It was one of those rare occasions where Adrien wouldn't have that cocky look on his face or that teasing lilt to his tone. He wore an almost shy expression, like he wasn't used to giving gifts this romantic.

“Seeing as you liked that girl's gift so much.” You could hear the venom roll off his tongue when he said that.

You glance down at what Adrien gave you. Godiva wasn't a cheap brand and those flowers would probably have taken Adrien awhile to personally pick and choose the ones you liked to plant in the gardens. Your heart flutters at the thought that maybe Adrien was gone the whole day because he was trying to pick up gifts for you, all cause he felt a little guilty.

“I know its over the top but—” “I like it.”

He pauses and stares down at you like its the most baffling thing in the world to hear you say 'I like it.' You look up at him, and you can't hold your smile back—this time, you smile wholeheartedly.

“Thanks, Adrien,” You look both ways to see if anyone was watching and you lean up to kiss just shy of his lips on the corners of his mouth. It was a quick peck as you almost instantly pulled back to pack up your things and walk past him.

He stands there, frozen in place before his own fingers touch his face, grazing over the spot you kissed him at.

There's a sharp bang of his fist against the neighbouring lockers as he internally crumbles, holding his face like he needed to shield what was left of your fleeting kiss.

A victory perhaps?

a / n ; dividers made by anitalenia , and the gift graphics are made by my dearest anby !

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MAYBE I JUST WANNA BE YOURS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not get jealous. he especially doesn't get jealous over someone he's not even dating. because he's not dating you. he doesn't want to date you... right?

(wordcount: 5k; fem!reader, nsfw, lots of smut LOL idk what got into me this is the first fic ive written with more smut than plot in ages. but anyway: jealous!dazai, fingering, oral (f->m), semi-public/public sex. whiplash from dazai's thoughts (as always). unedited.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihi. SO this actually wasn't going to be connected to anything, but i decided like mid-fic that i wanted to make it a continuation to the adareader universe ive been considering building. i was too lazy to go check for inconsistencies, so if there's any dihfausihdfsudf just ignore them LOL. when i eventually make the masterlist for it and officially connect them all, ill go thru and double check for them. first i need to write them something with actual substance and not just horny posting LOLLLL.

Dazai is not a jealous man.

He’s not.

In fact, he’s the most un-jealous person in the whole world. He has no reason to be jealous, especially over you. He’s not dating you. Dazai never asked you to be his girlfriend, and that was intentional because Dazai doesn’t want a girlfriend. More specifically, he doesn’t want to be someone’s boyfriend. You’re just a friend—a friend that he sometimes fucks and occasionally seeks out to spend time with. He doesn’t want someone relying on him in a way a girlfriend would, and he certainly doesn’t want to rely on someone in the way a boyfriend would, because he doesn’t want the rug pulled out from under him when it inevitably goes to shit. 

The thought is suffocating, it makes his skin crawl.

Almost as much as the realization that the cop the two of you are assigned to be coordinating with is clearly head over heels enamored by you. Dazai scowls from where he’s standing a few steps behind you, watching as you go over the details of the file that the man brought to you—Dazai didn’t care to learn his name. And yes, Dazai means you because when the officer came over with the file, he didn’t even acknowledge Dazai’s existence and walked right over to you.

He still hasn’t acknowledged Dazai’s presence, staring at you with an adoring expression as you read through the file. Dazai thinks if this were some sort of cartoon, the officer would quite literally have hearts in his eyes—it’s disgusting, Dazai can hardly stand to watch it.

“Dazai,” you finally say, voice a soft hum. He likes the way you say his name—it rolls off your tongue prettily, and it makes his chest oddly warm. He’s not used to people saying his name with such softness; he’s used to anger, irritation, fear, but never this. He’s wondered how his given name would sound, he’s spent many nights imagining it, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other wrapped around his cock, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask you to call him by it. That’s a step too close to actual intimacy and he’s not willing to take it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai realizes you must have said something after you said his name, but he didn’t catch it because he was too absorbed in the way you said his name to notice.

“Come here,” you say again, nodding your head for him to drag himself out of the corner he’s sulking in to come to you. He feels a bit too gleeful watching the way the officer’s expression shifts in surprise as he turns to look at Dazai, finally noticing him.

Dazai pushes himself off of the wall to take a few steps closer to you, and he may or may not stand a bit too close on purpose just to see the other man frown. He stands behind you, chest brushing your back as he looks over your shoulder to scan through the file you’ve been reading. It takes him twice as long as it usually does because he didn’t realize that being in such close proximity to you would make him as dizzy as it did, and he’s too stubborn to back off now. 

Your hair smells like vanilla, and Dazai can smell the faint scent of your favorite perfume dabbed on your neck, worn off throughout the long day. His attention strays from the file to you, tracing the smooth curve of your neck, dipping down to your collarbone and swallowing when he realizes that the top three buttons of your dress shirt are undone, the stuffiness of the tiny room and the lack of air conditioning causing small, visible beads of sweat to form on your skin. His breath catches as his gaze lowers just a bit more and-

You turn to look at him and his gaze snaps up before it can drop to dangerous territories, and Dazai catches the amused look in your eyes—you know exactly what he was looking at. Instead of having some shame, because Dazai has no shame, he shifts just an inch closer to you, one of his hands resting on your hip. He watches the way your lashes flutter the same way they always do when you’re trying to pretend you’re not affected by his touch, and his lips curl up into a small smirk.

“What do you think?” you ask after a second. 

To your credit, your voice isn’t as strained as he expected, so Dazai ups it a notch, fingers sliding from where they’re caressing your hip to trail across your inner thigh. All out of sight from the officer on your left, but Dazai can tell he’s aware that something is going on from the way his enamored expression starts shifting into a more awkward one.

Dazai gives him a smug, sardonic smile before saying, “I think our friend over here should go get us the CCTV tapes—that’ll be much more useful to us then a bunch of reports.”

The other man’s face shifts in confusion, brows furrowing and lips curving down, but before he can say no, you speak up and agree, “That would be great.”

Dazai rolls his eyes when it makes the man straighten and nod, “I’ll get it right away.”

Before he steps out of the room, Dazai tosses another look over his shoulder, this one colder than it is smug, and he says maybe a bit too snidely, “Don’t come back until you have them.”

The officer doesn’t reply as he leaves the room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, Dazai is pulling away from you to walk over to it. He locks it quickly and then turns to face you, tilting his head to the side as his gaze roves over your body. You’re leaning back against the table, eyebrows raised, and Dazai doesn’t stop himself this time when his gaze lowers to the swell of your breasts just barely made visible by your partially unbuttoned shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, motioning for you to come over to him.

You don’t budge. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and say dryly, “There are cameras in here, Dazai.”

He pointedly looks up to the two corners of the room that they’re in and then back down to where he’s standing, silently telling you that this is a blind spot. After a moment’s hesitation, you push yourself off the table and make your way over to him. Dazai tilts his head back against the wall, looking down at you through his lashes as you come to stand directly in front of him. He pretends that his throat doesn’t bob when he feels your fingers slip into his belt loops.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but your eyes are glittering so he knows you know exactly what the problem is—and to think he thought you weren’t cruel, you might just be the worst type of cruel there is, hiding it behind pretty smiles and sweet words. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous because that cop has a crush.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Dazai replies with a simpering smile, lifting one hand to cradle your cheek, breath catching as your eyes flutter shut, pressing your face into his hand. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Dazai thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—he’s thought it since the day he met you, but he thinks it especially now when you’re leaning into his touch like it isn’t poisonous, like his hands aren’t stained with blood and his soul isn’t black and rotten. You deserve better than him, and that’s another reason why he refuses to take that next step: he knows one day you’ll realize it too. You’ll realize that you’ve fallen for a mask, that the man you care about doesn’t actually exist, it’s a thing that can barely call itself human pretending to be him.

He wonders if you know. He wonders if you know that something is wrong with him—he thinks that you must have some inkling after the bout of paranoia he had a few weeks ago when he was at your apartment, but he doubts you know the extent of it. He doubts you know that thoughts running through his head whenever that officer looked at you were anything but just casual jealousy; that every time he leaned in closer to you, Dazai’s fingers twitched in the direction of the gun given to him by the Agency that he’s only supposed to use in emergencies. 

Old habits die hard, Dazai has always been quite trigger happy. They never should’ve put a gun in his general vicinity.

 He leans down to ghost his lips below your ear, savoring in the way he feels you take in a sharp breath. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your head back just enough to kiss the spot beneath your jaw that makes you writhe, and just as he expects, you let out a breathy moan against his ear that makes his head dizzy, your hands darting up to cling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Dazai,” you gasp as he kisses down your neck. He hums in response, his free hand resting on your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Are you sure…”

“I’m sure,” he says, and then adds smugly, “When am I ever wrong?”

He doesn’t have to see your face to know that you’re probably rolling your eyes at him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to make a witty remark about the first time the two of you met. His grip tightens on your waist as he flips you around so that your back is to his chest.

His hands immediately work to unbutton your slacks, lips finding their way back to your neck to pepper kisses up and down your skin as he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He lets out a low groan against your skin when he slides his hand into your pants and feels just how damp your panties are.

“This better be for me,” he mutters more to himself than to you, nipping at the skin of your neck. His voice is a bit more rough now as he asks you, “Lace?”

He lifts his face from your neck to look at you. Your eyes are half lidded as the pads of his fingers trace the cloth of your panties, head lolled back against his shoulder, breath ragged and lips parted, but there’s something teasing in your gaze as it flickers up to meet his.

“The ones you like,” you breathe out, and Dazai swallows thickly. “I was gonna see if you wanted to come over after this.” 

“Shit,” he whispers, putting pressure right over where your clit is hidden, watching the way your thighs tremble. “Look at you, only I make you feel this good, yeah?”

“Don’t tease.” The whine that clings to your words makes Dazai’s head spin. He can already feel his cock straining against his pants and tries to ease some of the friction by pressing you back into him, rolling his hips against your ass. “Dazai-”

“Shhhh,” Dazai soothes with a grin, kissing up your neck to your ear when he hears the distress in your tone. “I’ve got you.” 

With practiced ease, he slides his fingers beneath your panties, middle finger dipping between your folds. He inhales sharply, immediately losing his grin when he feels how wet you are.

“This better be for me,” he repeats, a bit more seriously this time as he slides his finger between your folds, putting pressure on your entrance but not quite pushing in. “Hm?”

He waits for a response, relishing in the way your whole body trembles against him. He doesn’t even know if you know what he asked, you already seem so fucked out—lips wet and parted as you breathe in and out shakily, lashes fluttering and chest heaving.

“Tell me,” he presses, his free hand sliding up your body, untucking your shirt so he can slip his hand beneath it to feel your skin.

“‘course it’s for you, Dazai,” you say after a few seconds of confusion, like you were trying to remember what he asked. “What kind of question is that?” 

Dazai doesn’t respond to that, letting out a pleased hum as he kisses your jaw again. He also doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, quickly plunging his middle finger deep inside of you. The sudden intrusion has your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry that escapes your lips—he almost wants to pull your hand away, but decides against it because he doesn’t want anyone else hearing you like this.

You try to rock your hips to get him moving, but Dazai’s hand flattens against your stomach, holding you still against him.

“Dazai-” you gasp his name again, this time your voice is more pitched, caught between a whine and a complaint.

“Patience,” he coos, but his voice is strained and his breath is heavier as your tight walls hug his finger, imagining that it’s his cock instead. He drags his finger out until only the tip remains inside of you. He teases your entrance again, tracing a gentle circle but not pushing back in. “Bet you could already take two fingers for me, yeah?”

“What if he comes back?” you suddenly ask panic flying through your eyes as if you’ve only just remembered where you are. Dazai is distinctly displeased by the thought of another man crossing your mind while his fingers are inside of you. “Dazai, what if-”

“He won’t,” Dazai answers you, making his displeasure known as he nips your neck. 

“How do you-”

“The corner that the disappearance took place on—it’s a blind spot for the CCTV cameras,” he answers before you can finish. Dazai knows this because he killed a target in that exact same spot two and a half years ago. “He’ll be gone for a while. He won’t want to come back empty handed to you.” 

Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to question him anymore, sliding his middle and ring fingers inside of you and watching as your jaw falls slack. To make up for the displeasure he felt at you bringing up that irritating cop, he fucks you hard with his fingers—you barely have time to bite the palm of your hand before his fingers are stretching your walls.

He thinks he might be pushing his luck—he doesn’t know if the cameras in the corners of the room pick up sound, and if they do, he doesn’t know how well they pick it up. Even if you’re doing your very best at muffling your moans, there’s no hiding the sloppy sound of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt—it’s wet and filthy, and it has Dazai’s head dizzy. 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are plunging in and out of you back up to your face. Your pretty eyes are almost fully rolled back as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge and your lashes are wet. One particularly rough snap of his wrist has your hand falling limp from your mouth to your side and your lips parting in a moan that Dazai doesn’t dare allow anyone else to hear. Quickly, his free hand darts up to grab your jaw hard, turning your face toward him so he can press his lips to yours messily, swallowing the keening moan before you can let it out. 

He kisses you deeply, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth gently in contrast to the rapid thrusts of his fingers. You try to kiss him back, but you can hardly even breathe with how deep his fingers fuck into you. He knows you're close—he can feel it in the way your whole body is trembling, and how your pussy flutters around his fingers, so he picks up the pace, just as desperate to bring you over the edge as you are to get there.

He’s the only one that can make you feel like this. He’s the only one that can make your body shudder and writhe, he’s the only one that can make your eyes roll back in pleasure, he’s the only one and he needs to prove it.

“C’mon, baby,” he pleads against your lips. The pet name that spills from his lips is not the teasing bella he likes to hit you with like he intended—it comes out strained, breathy, just as desperate as he feels. The lack of control scares him a bit, but he’s too out of it for it to take hold. “C’mon, once on my fingers, then as many times as you want on my cock when we get home, alright?”

He doesn’t know what you’re trying to say, the noise that spills from your lips, muffled against his mouth, is a moan, caught between his name and a please and something else he can’t make out. Distantly, he thinks that the bandages on his forearm must be ruined, he can feel your slickness dripping down his hand to his wrist and he can hear the lewd sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you. He doesn’t care—in fact, the thought only makes his lower abdomen tighter. 

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, the only word she can make out and Dazai grins.

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps, scissoring his fingers inside of you and rubbing his index finger over your clit, and you’re gone. 

Dazai groans when he feels you moan his name against his lips, hand dropping from your face to your waist to hold you upright as your knees buckle. You cum hard on his fingers, hips stuttering and stilling, and he can feel tears spilling over your cheeks. His cock is painfully hard now and he wants nothing more than to unbuckle his pants and replace his fingers with it, but he thinks that would be pushing his luck—he’s never had any semblance of control once his cock is inside you and he needs to keep an ear out for footsteps approaching the conference room. 

He rides out your high, pace slowing as he continues to fuck his fingers into your sensitive cunt, wiping your tears with his free hand once you’ve steadied yourself. You tremble, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, and Dazai only removes his fingers when you claw at his wrist for him to stop.

His fingers are dripping with your cum, and though Dazai is aching for a taste himself, he instead lifts them to your lips. You’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, leaning back against his chest and breathing heavily, but you instinctually part your lips for him. His breath catches when you take both of his fingers into your mouth, lashes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around his digits as you taste yourself off of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand dropping down to rub the heel of his hand against his cock, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure. He has no idea how he’s going to hide this before the officer gets back and…

His thoughts trail off when you finally push off of him, your legs are still trembling, and your eyes are still a little hazy, but your gaze drops from his face to his rapidly rising and falling chest down to where he’s rubbing his cock through his pants. And then, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he repeats, voice breathy this time and pupils blown wide as he watches your fingers work at the buckle of his belt.

Dazai almost wishes that the officer would come back soon, just so he could walk in on you with a faceful of Dazai’s cock. But if that happens, all of Ango’s work will go out the window because there’s no way he’s letting someone see you like this and walk out alive. 

Dazai’s cock twitches as soon as you free it from its confines. He’s already leaking an embarrassing amount of precum, and his tip is flushed red, but you waste no time before ghosting your lips across his length, suckling gently at the vein running along the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around his tip.

Dazai chews at his lower lip, thighs tensing as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat. Instead, his throat spasms as he swallows, reaching out to cradle the back of your head gently, carding his fingers through your hair soothingly.

“Lookit you,” he breathes out, voice wavering as he swallows another low groan. His fingers tighten in your hair just a bit, but he doesn’t push your face down on his cock, head falling back against the door as you work his cock further down your throat. His breath is ragged and heavy as your tight muscles spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to the intrusion, and he can feel your nails digging into the bandages wrapped around his hips. “That’s my girl.”

Another loss of control that should probably concern him, but you’re quick to take his mind off of it with the way he can feel you let out a whine around him, nails digging a little bit deeper into skin as you take him fully into your mouth, lips flush to his pelvis and nose buried in his pubic hair.

His head falls forward as he pants, watching your throat struggle to adjust to him. He strokes your hair gently, silently beckoning you to look up at him because he worries that if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll let out a pornographic moan, one that will be impossible to deny if anyone over hears.

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, eyes wide and glassy with fat tears that roll steadily over your cheeks. 

Beautiful, he thinks hazily, and his—all his. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else gets to imagine you like this—you’re his. 

He chokes over air, free hand coming up to cover his mouth and hips jerking forward. He feels you gag around him and his hand drops to caress your cheek in apology, trying to wipe away your tears, but it’s clumsy and frantic—the sight of you on your knees for him, tears streaming down you face as you take him down your throat, is enough to send him spiraling over the edge.

His vision spots with black dots, the taut cord in his abdomen tightens and then snaps. He’s hardly able to muffle the moan that spills from his lips as his eyes knock back and his head falls against the metal of the door. His whole body tenses and spasms as he cums down your throat, he gasps for air, thumb still stroking your cheek as you struggle to swallow all of his cum.

It takes a minute for Dazai to regain some semblance of control over himself. By the time he has, you’re standing on shaky legs and tucking his sensitive cock back into his pants. His hazy gaze focuses on your face—your lips are wet and swollen, your eyes are still glassy, and this time Dazai doesn’t have an excuse as he lifts his hands to cradle your face and says quietly, “Mine.”

Your smile is teasing. “‘I don’t get jealous,’” you mock lightly, leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as his hand slinks around your body to your back, pulling your body flush to his as he deepens the kiss, sinking into the familiar feeling of your lips sliding against his. 

“I don’t have reason to be jealous,” Dazai murmurs, this time with a different meaning. He pulls back slightly so he can button your pants back up and tuck your dress shirt back into them, making sure you look presentable before the officer gets back.

Instead of teasing him again, your smile softens and you affirm, “You don’t,” and Dazai’s throat tightens. 

The thought of being in an actual relationship has always been suffocating to Dazai. Imagining having to spend the rest of his life with one person, having someone rely on him when his will to live is fickle at best and nonexistent at worst, becoming dependent on someone who could leave him on a moment’s notice… It makes his stomach churn with disgust, his chest tight with anxiety.

But when that faceless someone turns into you, Dazai realizes that the thought of a relationship is not quite as unappealing as it’s always been to him. Does it still make him skittish? Sure, but does it outweigh the green hue that colors his vision whenever someone looks at you and thinks you’re not his? Does it outweigh the bolt of fear he feels whenever he sees someone display interest in you, wondering if maybe you’ll get sick of his flighty behavior and give them a chance?

Absolutely not.

Dazai hears footsteps approaching the door he’s leaning on, and quickly unlocks it, motioning for you to stand back by the conference table. When the officer opens the door, the two of you are standing there casually like you never moved.

The officer gives you an apologetic smile that makes Dazai’s eyes twitch. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any CCTV footage from the area.”

Before you can respond, Dazai smiles tightly and says, “Wow, and it took almost twenty minutes for you to realize that—no wonder the police keep coming to us for help.”

You elbow Dazai, but he’s unrepentant, giving you a sweet smile before turning a cooler one back onto the officer. “If you don’t mind, we can finish the rest back at our office tomorrow now that we have the files. We have a date to get to.”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re raising your eyebrows at him, but he keeps his gaze trained on the officer, finding sick satisfaction in the way the man’s eyes dart between the two of you, a dawning expression crossing his face.

“A… date?” 

“A date,” Dazai confirms, picking up the file and motioning for you to leave. He pointedly ignores the amused expression on your face as you make your way out of the room, walking past the officer who dumbly steps out of the way. “Thanks for the help… or, well, lack thereof.”

It’s only when the door slams shut behind the two of you, do you finally echo, “… A date?”

Hesitantly, Dazai confirms, “A date?”

When you don’t immediately respond, Dazai’s smile starts to freeze, considering that maybe you don’t want to date him and he read all of this wrong. You want to keep things casual, no strings attached. But after a few agonizing moments, you hook your arm around his and lean into him.

“Where are you taking me then, hm?”

“… It’s a surprise,” he replied.

A surprise for both of you, because Dazai hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. 

A tenseness that he hadn’t even realized was in his shoulders dissipates when you laugh and press your lips to his upper arm before resting your head against it. 

“Alright,” you agree, although he’s pretty sure you know damn well this is all spur of the moment. “Let’s go then.”

Though Dazai tries to rifle through all of the options of places you like to go, when the two of you step outside, all coherent thought washes right out of the window when you turn to look up at him, the setting sun casting an ethereal glow over your face.

“What is it?” you ask when he freezes in his tracks to admire you. “Dazai?”

For just a split second, Dazai can imagine it. He can imagine a life with you, and there’s no sign of any of the suffocation or discomfort he usually feels when he thinks of long term commitment too hard. He imagines waking up to you in the morning and falling asleep to you at night, he imagines spending his days laid up in bed with you sharing kisses and sweet nothings and he imagines dragging you around the city to show you off to anyone and everyone. His thoughts start to spiral out of control, and he’s glancing down at your ring finger, wondering-

“Dazai?”

Dazai’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt, and he swallows thickly when a more realistic image comes to mind—the expression on your face when you find out about his past, the disgust, the fear, the realization that he’s just not who he made himself out to be, that he’s been lying to you since day one.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, voice a little raspy, so he shakes his head, giving you a disarming smile and clearing his throat. “You’re just so stunning that it leaves me at a loss for words, sweet bella.”

You don’t seem to buy it, but you don’t press, arm tightening around his as you make your way back over to your car.

As soon as you look away, his expression shifts into a more downcast one as his gaze tracks back over to you. It’s only a matter of time, he remembers. His past will catch up with him sooner rather than later, and no matter what you may insist about the past being in the past, he knows everything will change when you finally realize what all he’s been hiding from you.

… but maybe there’s not too much harm in indulging while he still can. He just has to keep reminding himself that he can’t get too attached.

“You should let me drive,” Dazai says sweetly. “So I can drive us to the place and keep it a surprise for you.”

You laugh in his face. “As if.”

You usher him over to the passenger seat before making your way back over to the driver’s side, and Dazai finds a genuine smile unconsciously curling at the corners of his lips. One that quickly falls when his fingers wrap around the handle of the car door.

He thinks, maybe, it might be far too late to stop himself from getting attached.

[cherry-coffees]

"Yes, Princess"

princess!Caitlyn x f! lady in-waiting!reader

cw: 2.7K words | forbidden love, 18+ mdni, smut with a hint of angst, fingering, oral sex, implied scissoring, top!Caitlyn, mommy kink, praise kink, my first time writing smut so I apologize!

Head up, eyes bright, graceful walk, sweet smile.

Those are the words that repeat in your head over and over again like a broken record as you enter the ballroom. The Kiramman ballroom, to be exact: one of the grandest rooms in the Piltover palace. The scene is breathtaking: chandeliers emitting a warm glow over the room that’s filled with expensive champagne and linen tablecloths and gold trimmings along the walls. A picture of elegance and grace that perfectly matches the Kiramman royal family.

You walk as gracefully as you can into the center of the ballroom to mingle with guests, bowing slightly and introducing yourself with a last name that always seems to catch people’s attention. You’re a Piltover noble, that much is clear. A pretty one at that: dressed in a baby pink, floor length gown that hugs your torso and chest just right, trailing into silk that parts in a slit up past your knee. Carefully chosen accessories, styled hair: you’re the picture of grace. 

After a few minutes of mingling with the other nobles in attendance, Mel finds you easily. “There you are!” She exclaims, gold flecks dusting her cheeks. “I thought I missed you; you took so long to join the party!”

Relief sweeps through you at the familiar face. “Sorry,” you sigh, adjusting your hair over your shoulder. “I was helping the princess get ready, and it ran a little late. I had to rush my own getting ready afterwards.”

“Ah, of course, my favorite lady-in-waiting,” Mel laughs airily. “How else would the Kiramman princess survive? And you look stunning, by the way; I’ve seen more than a few guys eyeing you since you came in.”

“I’m just happy I look composed” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, surrounded by important guests. “These shoes hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well,” Mel’s lips quirk into a mischievous smile. “It must be working because there’s one person who hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.”

Oh.

Your stomach churns a little as you follow Mel’s glance behind you, to the front of the ballroom where the royal family is standing. Or, more specifically, the Kiramman princess: Caitlyn. Navy hair combed out and hitting her mid-back, with a simple navy gown to match. Her posture perfect and poised as always. But through her polite smile at the nobles that greet her, her icy-blue eyes were focused elsewhere: you. 

You try to suppress the wave of heat that goes through you. You know those eyes. You see them every day, had zipped up her dress and clasped her necklace around her neck not even an hour ago. A usual everyday task for you as her lady in-waiting, it might seem, but you still have your moments of your cheeks flushing pink. How can you not? It’s Caitlyn. She must have been destined to be a princess, to be admired by millions with her Gods-given beauty.

In this moment, though, you only let yourself lock eyes with her for a second before you’re turning back to Mel. “Um, yeah,” you blink, desperately hoping your carefully applied blush covers your flushed cheeks. “She, uh, recommended this dress to me, so she probably just noticed I ended up wearing it.”

Mel nods, seemingly dropping the topic, though there’s a hint of knowing in her raised eyebrows. “Right. Anyways, I’ll find you later. Wanted to say hi before I grab more champagne.” She squeezes your arm and flashes you a smile before she disappears into the crowd.

Now alone, you’re thrown right back into the scene of music and ballgowns and a few too many overly nice men. You smile sweetly, making polite conversation. What’s a lovely lady like you doing by yourself? You look beautiful. Are you really the lady in-waiting for Princess Caitlyn? 

You can only take so much of the same conversations, the same flirtatious glances and smooth offers to dance. You’re knee-deep in another exchange with some noble man from Noxus, who thinks he’s being way more charming than he is, when you feel a presence behind you. And, when you see the man go wide-eyed, you have a pretty good idea of who it is.

“Excuse me,” Caitlyn’s posh accent rings from behind you. “I was wondering if I might steal my lady in-waiting for a moment?”

“O-Oh! Yes, of course, Princess,” the man stutters, hastily managing a bow and backing away — to find another girl to hit on, most likely. You turn to face Caitlyn, tilting your head upward to meet her gaze. Damn, she’s tall.

“If you’ll come with me,” her formalities don’t falter once as she gently takes hold of your arm, steering you towards a less-crowded corner of the ballroom. It’s inherently obvious that you don’t really have a choice.

Caitlyn lets go of your arm once in the corner, and you take the moment to adjust your dress, fluffing it out a bit. Her eyes follow the movement. “Having fun?” She asks, her voice calm and unwavering.

“Ah, you know,” you sigh, tilting your head. “Greeting everyone.”

“Mm.” Her hand makes its way back to your arm, tracing lightly over your skin. “Any suitors catch your eye?”

Her words are posed as an innocent question, but you know her too well to believe it. Her hand’s motions don’t cease, and you can’t help a half-smile. “Possessive,” you mumble, so soft that Caitlyn might not have heard it if she wasn’t so focused on your every breath.

She hums in response. “Can you blame me? Some of the men are a little too handsy. More than what’s appropriate for a ball.”

Again, you fight the instinctive roll of your eyes. “Sure.”

The reply causes Caitlyn to step forward, eyes just slightly narrowed. “Don’t sass me,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. 

“Then don’t lie to me.”

“Fair,” Caitlyn’s laugh is quiet, her hand falling to your waist. “So what if I want my lady in-waiting all to myself?” The emphasis on the word my isn’t lost on you. Admittedly, you don’t mind it. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” You ask, blinking your wide eyes up at her with a slight furrow of your eyebrows. And oh, Caitlyn’s weak to your innocent expression. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress the urge to kiss it off your face.

She lets out another hum, if a little more breathy this time. “Darling,” her voice is hushed. Now it’s your turn to go weak at the pet name falling from her lips in that hot-as-fuck accent of hers. “You know how I feel about you in pink. And with the slit? Are you trying to get me to loose it at my own ball?”

Well. You really don’t know how to respond to her accusation given that it’s true. So you just toss your hair behind your shoulder, glancing around at the crowded ballroom. “How unofficial for a princess.”

“I wouldn’t tease,” Caitlyn warns, moving behind you so her breath ghosts over the back of your neck. She doesn’t miss the gooseflesh that springs up at the contact, and she has to bite back a smirk. To anyone in attendance at the ball, it would just look like she’s fixing your dress. Her plan, you suppose.

You swallow, keeping your eyes trained on the opposite wall of the ballroom. So no one will suspect anything, you tell yourself. Definitely not because it makes you straighten up a little more and listen to every word she says when she uses that authoritative tone of hers.

“Hm,” Caitlyn lets a hint of a smug smile grace her features as she moves again, this time in front of you so your gazes lock. “I suppose I’ll see you later.” She leaves you with a brush of your hands before drifting off to rejoin Cassandra, Piltover’s queen and her mother.

You’re frozen for a moment, unsure of your next move. After a few seconds, you blink rapidly to compose yourself before moving over to take a glass of the champagne Mel had mentioned earlier. You really need a drink.

I------» ~~~ «------I

“Gods,” you exhale shakily as your body’s practically slammed against a wall. The precaution is a pale hand that cradles the back of your head, shielding it from hurt.

Caitlyn noses into the corner of your jaw as a silent apology before her mouth drops, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. The scent of her shampoo floods your senses — some kind of flower, maybe?  

It’s been maybe an hour since the ball’s end, and you had come to check on Caitlyn before going to bed for the night. Though, not before stopping by your room to freshen up. Your guess had been proven right when she had opened her bedroom door at the first sound of your knock, yanking you inside with zero hesitation. She had been waiting for her chance, it seemed.

You can’t help another breathy sigh as her lips find your pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin into her mouth in a way that makes your hands find her shoulders, squeezing gently. “No marks,” you breathe, and you can feel Caitlyn’s annoyed huff against your neck.

“Why can’t I just mark what I want?” She presses another hot kiss to your pulse. She’s almost like a child, pouting over things she can’t have. But it’s not either of your doings. 

You can’t say anything to that because, if it had been your decision, you would have let her paint your neck with her love bites long ago. Caitlyn, too, seems to notice your tension, and she lifts her head back up. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, her nose brushing against yours. “Don’t.”

Any reply dies on your tongue as Caitlyn kisses you with a fiery passion, presses of lips turning into the strokes of her tongue into your mouth. Her knee finds its way between your thighs, even with both of you still adorning your long dresses. You gasp, but she swallows it, continuing to kiss you deeply like she’s been wanting to for hours.

“Still worked up from earlier?” Her mouth breaks from yours, lips twisting into a lazy smirk. 

Your cheeks flush with a pink hue, and you glare at her. You both had gotten more than a little distracted when you had helped her get ready for the ball, ending with heated kisses and grinding that did little to relieve your ache for her. “Don’t tease.”

“Mm, you’re telling me what to do now?” All it takes is an arch of Caityn’s eyebrows and your gaze drops from hers. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, conceding by leaning up to kiss her jaw. Though, when you see the muscle flex, you feel a sense of satisfaction rush through you. She’s not as immune to you as she might pretend. That much is clear when she tugs you over to her bed, bringing you to straddle her lap.

“You’re making me crazy,” Caitlyn mouths at your collarbone, her hand sliding up the slit of your dress to squeeze your thigh. “I hated everyone looking at you. You’re mine to look at.”

“Ah,” you sigh, running a hand through her now-messy navy hair, the locks tangling in your fingers. “Everyone’s looking at you, Princess.”

Caitlyn’s icy eyes flash at your emphasis of her title, and before you know it, she’s flipped you onto you back on her bed, one of her hands pinning both of yours above your head. “That’s not what you call me when we’re alone.” 

“Cait-"

“Nope,” she tightens her grip on your wrists as punishment. “Try again.”

“Mommy-"

“There we go,” Caitlyn coos, letting your hands free and trailing her perfectly manicured nails down your arms. “Now, why don’t we get you out of this dress, hm?”

She’s tugging at the zipper of your dress before you can even respond, and you arch your back — half to give her more access and half because this all feels so good that you crave more. More of this, more of her.

And when Caitlyn tosses the fabric to the floor without sparing a glance at it, you swear the look in her eyes is predatory as she stares at you in your lingerie. “Beautiful,” she breathes, like she hasn’t seen you before, and you feel a wave of heat straight down to your core. 

“You knew I’d do this,” Caitlyn accuses, making quick work of slipping off your bra and panties. More specifically, the navy set that's her favorite of your lingerie. She claims it’s because the color suits you, but you know better. You know it’s because she likes you in her color: a silent claim on you. “You wore this knowing I’d want to fuck you.”

“You want to fuck me?” You question in mock-surprise, though immediately regret teasing her when she tangles your hair in her fist and angles your face up to meet hers.

“What was that?” Caitlyn’s voice is strict, composed even as her other hand grips your hip so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. 

“Nothing,” you’re quick to assure, because if you sass her, Caitlyn won’t let you come. And gods, you want to come. She’s already worked you up so much that your thighs are slick with anticipation.

“And?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “‘m sorry, Mommy.”

“Good,” she releases your hair to move down your body and you hate how much wetter you get at the smallest of praise. “Now, be a darling and spread your legs.”

Your thighs fall open at the order, and you don’t have to see Caitlyn’s face to feel the smug pride radiating off her. She presses her thumb to your swollen clit and coos at the strangled gasp you let out. “I- please,” you whimper, pleading for any kind of relief.

But Caitlyn, though very sweet and attentive, is just a little bit mean, too. So she teases her fingers along your soaked slit, not giving you the penetration you desire. “What do you want, love? Fingers, tongue-?”

“Anything,” you whine because it feels like she’s been baiting you forever now, if only a few minutes. 

“So desperate for me” Caitlyn smirks teasingly as her gaze meets yours, but gives in all the same, plunging two fingers into you. Because she loves it — loves how badly you need her. She starts slow, but eventually builds up speed when you whimper in protest.

“Oh,” you mewl, fisting at her sheets when she angles her fingers upwards to meet that sweet spot inside you that dissolves you into pure pleasure. “Oh, please, I need-"

“Shh, I know,” Caitlyn soothes, her other hand on your thigh surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the rapid thrusts of her fingers. And she does. She’s so in-tuned to your needs, knows exactly how you like to be touched after months of secret affairs that no one in the palace would suspect.

With that, her lips wrap around your aching clit and suck, tongue teasing your most sensitive nerves as her fingers continue their rough motions inside you. You let out a squeal of pleasure, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. But Caitlyn doesn’t let up in her relentless stimulation, and it doesn’t take long for you to keen into your palm as you come around her fingers.

She helps you through your release, letting your hips angle against her mouth as your orgasm racks through your body, before she gently slips her fingers out. You shakily prop yourself up on your elbows and god, you could come again just from the dark look in her icy eyes as she looks up at you from between your thighs. “Fuck, Caitlyn.”

“You’re not done, you know,” Caitlyn murmurs, smiling all the same as she moves up your body to kiss you. 

“I know,” you mumble against her lips, reaching up to tug her hips down to meet yours. Caitlyn hisses, shifting to slip off her own lingerie before pressing her dripping core against yours. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

And, as she descends upon you once again, the brief thought enters your mind that you really hope you get to stay like this forever. Even if forever is only until the sun comes up.

Ugh. Need her.

As said, this is my first time writing smut so...I hope it didn't suck? Thank you sm for all the love and support on my writing in the month-ish I've been on here! Sending love to everyone <3

Reminder that my inbox/requests are open :)

[kaiser1ns]

#. A KISS TO PROVE IT

featuring 𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight suggestive. for him kissing wasn't special, but his actions told you otherwise.

You are thirteen. A teenager—well, at least at the start of teenage life. Watching movies where the main characters share their first kiss has become fascinating. What’s so special about kissing, anyway? Do you just walk up to a random boy and kiss him, or do you tell the friend sitting next to you that you want to try it?

"Sae, do you know anything about kissing?" you ask, glancing at him as he remains glued to the TV, watching yet another football game.

"Huh? You mean that disgusting thing adults do when they love each other?"

Love each other? The thought rolls around your mind. Do you really have to love someone to kiss them?

“Well, I think it’s romantic,” you counter.

He finally looks at you, leaning slightly closer. “What’s so romantic about swapping germs with someone else?”

Typical boy—he doesn’t get it.

But what if? What if you kissed someone you really, really liked? What if he was the boy sitting next to you, holding your hand like he is now, his curious gaze waiting for an answer? Would it still be disgusting? Or would it be... something else?

“When a boy and a girl fall in love, they do more than just hold hands or visit each other’s houses,” you murmur, your cheeks heating under his stare.

At your words, Sae lets go of your hand, and you suddenly wish you hadn’t said anything, but then he speaks.

"Do you want to try?” he asks but you don’t answer. You can’t. Your heart is pounding, but he leans in before and... It’s quick, awkward, and ends almost before it begins—a brush of lips that leaves your mind with questions.

“That’s it?” he asks, skeptic and unimpressed by the mere act of kissing. You’re stunned silent, your lips tingling. But Sae, who is never satisfied, leans in again. “Let me prove it—kissing is gross.”

This time, it’s slower, more deliberate, and definitely less awkward. It’s warm, it’s strange, and you can’t help but think he’s wrong. It’s not gross at all. This time, the kiss lingers, as if he’s trying to understand why you find it so fascinating. The world seems to fade away for a moment, until—

The front door slams open.

“I’m home!” a familiar voice echoes through the house, followed by hurried footsteps. Sae pulls back instantly, his expression blank as if nothing happened.

Rin appears in the doorway, stopping dead in his tracks. He blinks at the two of you, then points at you and Sae accusingly. “Why is Nii-chan eating her face?”

You want the ground to swallow you whole.

Sae groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Rin, stop saying stupid things.”

As Rin bounds away, laughing, you sit frozen, your cheeks on fire. Sae exhales, leaning back on the couch like it never happened. “See? Disgusting,” he mutters, though his tone sounds less sure now but he still reached out to hold your hand.

Some things, it seems, are better left in theory.

When Sae left for Spain, it felt like your heart had been ripped out. The boy you’d spent so many afternoons with, arguing, laughing, and most importantly sharing your first kiss, was gone. And the distance between you, one thing remained certain: Sae was your first love, and you fully intended for him to be your last.

Now you are seventeen, in a cozy hotel room, sitting on the plush couch, it feels like no time has passed. He’s here again, leaning into you, and the world-famous athlete—Itoshi Sae the pride of Japan, playing for Re Al is nowhere to be seen.

To you, he’s just Sae. The same annoying, sarcastic boy who always got under your skin, except now.

His lips are on yours, firm and demanding, as if making up for lost time. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and you don’t resist. How could you, when you’ve been missing him just as much?

His mouth trails down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin, and you let out a soft sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair. “You’ve been gone too long,” you whisper, between kisses. Sae pauses just long enough to smirk against your lips. “Not my fault you’re terrible at long-distance relationships.”

You roll your eyes, but the playful retort dies on your tongue as his lips find yours again, hungrier this time. He’s missed you—he doesn’t need to say it; it’s in the way he kisses you, the way he is finally claiming his most important prize.

“Still gross?” you tease, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, his expression softens. “Very gross,” he says, before pulling you back into another kiss, as if trying to prove his point all over again.

You melt into him, your heart pounding as your hands clutch his shirt, desperate to close the space between you. It’s overwhelming, messy, and intense, but neither of you care.

Right now Sae isn’t Japan’s treasure. He’s yours.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[metalomagnetic]

Canon Marauders meet Fanon Marauders

“I will kill him, James. I simply have to kill him. It’s a duty at this point,” Sirius whispers, at breakfast. 

James is morally opposed to murder, to say the least, but now when he opens his mouth to automatically tell Sirius he can’t kill people, the Abomination walks into the Great Hall, and James closes his mouth, with a sigh. 

He condones it. 

“Can you kill me, too, please?” Remus asks, as he watches his counterpart walk behind the Abomination. 

“Oh, come on! The Other You isn’t so bad.” 

“They’re all bad,” Peter mutters. “Just unbearable to watch.” 

They’ve only arrived in this cursed universe the day before, but it’s already too much to suffer. 

When Sirius met this universe’ version of himself, he had to be restrained from committing unspeakable violence. 

“What’s with the pranks?” James wonders. “Look, they’ve only just entered the Hall and they’ve already pulled a few pranks.” 

“You call those pranks?” Sirius sneers. “Those lame jokes?” 

“They probably take the ‘prankster’ label too seriously,” Peter bemoans. “And I’m missing again. It’s like I don’t even exist here, like those guys forget I’m their best friend.” 

After the Other Sirius, Other Peter was done the dirtiest. He’s much uglier than the real one, far shorter, and so stupid Sirius thinks he shouldn’t even be allowed to attend school. 

Not that Other Sirius is smart- oh, no. Other Sirius is a moron, apparently allergic to books. 

Remus got an upgrade- he’s now a wise genius to rival Dumbledore, and he spends his days giving people chocolate frogs.

It’s a wonder the Abomination is so thin, with how much chocolate he’s getting from Other Remus. 

So thin and short. 

“Why am I short?” Sirius growls. “I don’t know mate, it’s like the creator of this universe misremembered our heights and switched them around,” Remus offers, watching his other self, a very tall bastard. He’s even taller than Real Sirius. 

Outrageous. 

“I could suffer you short,” James says. “But look at him, he’s - why is he so…is that ...nail polish? Gods, what have they done to my Sirius!” 

“I asked him if he still has the bike,” Peter whispers. “He said he does, but I mean- he’s so fragile and dainty, how does he even manage that monster bike?” 

Sirius shakes his head in horror. “I have to kill him, there’s no way around it.” 

The Other Sirius whines in the distance. “MOOOOONY,” he pouts, and that's it, Sirius stands-

“Not here,” James pulls him by his sleeve. “You can’t have witnesses.” 

(-)

It takes them a few days to figure out what’s wrong with Other James. At a first glance, he looked normal, compared to the others. Almost unchanged from his real version, if only stupider. But not as stupid as Other Sirius and Other Peter, of course. 

A chicken wouldn’t be dumber than those guys. 

When they do figure it out, James throws up. 

“There, there,” Sirius pats his back. “Breathe, mate. Breathe.” 

“I’m fucking your brother! Your brother, Sirius!” 

“Oh, no, that is not my brother. That is Other Brother.” 

This version of Regulus is apparently not a bigot at all, it’s all just a big misunderstanding. He’s an Animagus, too, somehow. 

Sirius actually thinks Other Regulus is an alright lad- nothing like his brother, mind you, but alright, in general. 

James throws up again. “Me! With Regulus Black! I’m not even gay! I love Lily, and she loves me-” 

“Well, apparently she’s gay, too, in this world.” Remus says, which only makes James cry.

That isn’t so bad, really. Many things are wrong with this universe, but Lily and Dorcas look hot together. Sirius had a wank thinking of them the other night. It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s not betraying James. This Lily is nothing like their Lily back home. This one is like a goddess of beauty here, hair far more vibrant than the Real one, flawless skin and overall perfect in everything she does. Extremely selfless, saint-like, to the point she apparently offered to carry Regulus’ and James’ baby after Hogwarts.

Real Lily would hate her. 

She’s still not worse than Other Sirius. Nothing is worse than that. Real Sirius has taken to bullying Other Sirius, daily. Hourly. The Abomination whines about it to Other Remus all the time. 

“I want a word,” Other Remus hulks over, ridiculously muscular and, for some reason, with scars on his face. 

What the fuck happened to this bloke? Who even is he?

Real Remus slinks back. He was never one for confrontations, their Remus, but apparently this upgraded version is all up for it. 

“Listen,” Sirius tells him, because he doesn’t hate the man- sure, he’s not Remus, but he seems like a nice lad. “Why do you put up with that insufferable drama queen? He deserves to hang, and you deserve better.” 

“That’s my baby! That’s my Pads,” Other Remus says, suddenly all violent, his eyes turn yellow- what the actual fuck? 

But Sirius is already nauseous, stomach turning as soon as he heard ‘baby’ and ‘Pads”  coming out of his mouth. 

Real Remus cheers from the sidelines as Sirius wipes the floor with Other Remus. The Abomination cries somewhere in the distance, all helpless, until Real James hits him over the head with a candlestick. Other James is too busy sucking Other Regulus’ face to notice anything. 

(-)

Other Snape has a split personality, as if someone out there can’t decide if he’s evil reincarnate or a mewling, innocent boy. 

It’s jarring to see the shifts, day to day, and Sirius doesn’t know which version he hates more. 

He never thought he’d miss Snape, but he does. He misses their Snape, gods damn it, the Real one. 

(-)

He finds out his parents- or at least his parents in this world- torture Other Sirius on a daily basis. With the Cruciatus, even. 

Other Regulus tells him this, all traumatised. 

“Well,” Sirius says, shocked to the core. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “To be fair, if I had a son like the Abomination, I’d torture, him, too.” 

(-)

Dumbledore is Evil. But stupidly so. Even a random eleven year old saw through his evil plans and humiliated Dumbledore at breakfast. Some smart arse kid, who’s apparently Lord Potter Black Gaunt Slytherin, and talks like an eighty year old politician. Apparently Dumbledore stole his money or something. 

“I wonder how Other Voldemort is like,” James says, anxious to consider it. 

“I don’t even care,” Peter says. “We should join him. It’s either him, or siding with these lunatics.” 

They all nod in agreement. Voldemort can’t be worse- nothing can be worse than Other Sirius and Evil Stupid Dumbledore.  

(-)

There’s two Voldemorts. 

One is practically a ‘cartoon character’ Remus says. Sirius has no idea what that means.

This Voldemort is Ridiculously Evil. 

Insane Bellatrix is his most loyal. For some reason Insane Bellatrix cackles all the time, and mutters about blood and the Cruciatus under her breath. She’s also dressed like a slut. 

Real Bella, like the aristocrat she is, would never be caught looking like that in public. 

Sirius takes her aside to have a few words with her, and then he finds out apparently she, too, was tortured daily by her parents, like Other Sirius. 

“And raped,” she remembers, with a shrug.  

Wow, and Sirius thought the Real versions of the Blacks were bad, but these people take the fucking cake. 

If the Real Blacks would find out what these Other Blacks are doing to their children, there’ll be hell to pay. 

His mum is a right basket case back in his world, insufferable and cruel with her words, unreasonably strict, but if she’d ever find out another version of herself is torturing her children- why, she’d cut that bitch in pieces. 

(-)

The second Other Voldemort is some misunderstood good guy with a sob story. He whines about his tragic childhood as much as Other Sirius. 

At least this Other Voldemort is still tall, unlike Other Sirius. 

“It’s all Dumbledore’s fault,” he ends a monologue. “He made me do all I did. Or-” he checks a list. “Apparently sometimes he simply framed me and I didn’t do anything at all. Also, you can call me Tom, in private,” he invites them. 

It’s a tragic state of affairs. 

They decide to join Ridiculously Evil Voldemort, simply because he’s the only one that wouldn't protest to murdering everyone. He talks about murder every single day, and Sirius promises him he’ll do anything If he’s allowed to kill Other Sirius. 

“Oh, by the way, you should deal with Good Guy Voldemort.” 

“With who?” 

“You know, the hotter you, the one that’s innocent of all wrongs and calls himself Tom.” 

Evil Voldemort has a heart attacks and dies. 

(-)

They’re on the run from everyone in that crazy world, when a hooded figure enters their tent.  

“Is it you? Is it really you?” the man asks. “Potter? Black? Lupin? Pettigrew?’ 

“Yes, it’s us.” 

The person lowers his hood. It’s Snape. Real Snape. With greasy hair and a large nose, but with intelligent, sharp eyes.

There’s no ‘Victim’ stamped on his forehead, nor is he an evil arrogant bastard, like the Other Snape.

“Fuck, Snivellus! A sane person! I could hug you!” 

“I’d rather not,” Snape spits at James. “Alas, I am...relieved to have found you. We need to work together. I came here after you-” 

“Of course you did, you berk! You were stalking us, as usually, weren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Snape says, unashamed. “I killed the Other me.” 

“Good job. I killed the Other me, too,” Sirius boasts. “I took my time with him.” 

“I killed Other Lily,” Snape says. “She had to go. She was all ...wrong.” 

James sniffles. “She was.” 

And then they all sit down, and plan how to kill Good Guy Voldemort and Evil Stupid Dumbledore. 

[taesanrot]

[fruit punch] taesan x f!reader | 11.4k words enemies to lovers, also idiots to lovers, college au, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, smut (making out, fingering f. receiving, handjobs, vaginal sex, protected sex, oral sex), dom!taesan if you squint, y/n is lowkey evil sometimes, they're both just confused and dumb note. ty to the anon for sending this request! i had sm fun writing this~~ sorry it took so long i started uni again and lost all of my free time. hope everyone enjoys broody and grumpy taesan hehe. @onedoornet :P

taesan swears he can feel his blood pumping in his ears every time he sees you. he's come to loathe the feeling, the way his stomach flips and twitches when he hears your voice. his senses heighten and his visions tunnels on you, as if a curtain has been draped over everyone and everything else. his whole body is attuned to you, like he's your fucking puppet.

it's sick, he hates how much he unconsciously worships you. he's reminded of it every time he hears your voice around the corner or your name in conversations.

the reason he despises his affinity for you is because he knows you don't feel the same -- he's almost certain he doesn't even occupy a sliver of your mind.

he knows you're lively and expressive in conversation, at least that's what he's heard. every time he come around and joins conversation with your mutual friends, you suddenly have no words left on your tongue and no thoughts left in your mind. taesan can probably count the amount of times you've spoken to him directly on one hand.

taesan doesn't know what he's done, or what he's doing to put you off of him, but he's been done with your little hate boner against him for a while now. no matter how stuffy his lungs get or how tight his pants get when you seep into his vision or his mind, taesan couldn't care less, not anymore. he rolls his eyes and spins on a heel when he sees you or hears your pretty voice; or he sighs and falls face first onto his pillow when you creep in his solitary thoughts.

he feels like your fucking dog, drooling and falling over you while you can't even look him in the eye.

taesan would say he has a strong resolve and sense of self, and it disgusts him to no end how you weaken and crumble his walls with a simple half-smile, all while ignoring him entirely like he's gum on your shoes.

on top of everything, he had the unfortunate experience of witnessing you verbally confirm your distaste for the boy.

taesan was sifting through the library's aisles, looking for a book to use for his music theory paper. around the corner, you happened to be sitting at one of the study tables, chatting with your friends carelessly, not realizing the topic of your conversation was standing less than 10 feet away.

it wasn't the boy's intent to eavesdrop, but he was in earshot and couldn't escape your conversation if he wanted to. and he wished he did, after hearing the next words that came out of you and your friends mouths.

"formal's coming up soon, who are you taking, y/n?"

"ugh, i don't know who to ask." to his dismay, his ears perked at the sound of your voice.

"what about taesan?" the boy tensed at the sound of his name rolling off your friend, giselle's, tongue. the giggle that left her mouth after made his stomach twist and jolt.

"are you crazy? jesus, giselle. no way!" taesan felt his already bruised heart drop to his ass. you sounded appalled, and your tone only rubbed salt on the boy's already open wound.

there wasn't much left to hear, taesan wasn't keen on sticking around to listen to you guys keep talking shit about him. he spun on his heel and left the library as fast as he could without running. his paper would just have to wait a few hours.

it was a sour memory that made him wince, and it was a scene that he replayed in his head every time he felt his heart race around you.

today was no exception, as taesan walked into the lobby of his apartment complex -- which is unfortunately the same complex that you lived in -- he caught a glance of you in his peripheral, you were studying with friends in one of the lobby's booths, smiling like your usual joyous self. not that taesan would even know; your bubbly side isn't something he's familiar with in the slightest.

once again, to his dismay, the boy felt his heart jolt in his ribcage, the solid thumping a bit more noticeable than before. and like a routine that was ingrained in him, he quelled his outburst of excitement before it could fully bubble to the surface.

forget it, she hates you.

turning his attention to his phone, taesan lazily walked over to the mailroom to pick up a package he ordered a while ago. he then made his way over to the elevator, still paying no mind to his surroundings, scrolling through his friends' recent text messages and posts on instagram. it wasn’t until the elevator doors opened, he walked in, and punched his floor's button that he looked away from his phone; he opted to stare at his shoe instead, back slumping against the wall behind him.

the elevator doors started closing before they suddenly halted and reopened. taesan heard heavy breathing, like someone was running to catch the doors. when his gaze shifted upward curiously, he felt his entire being tense, fingers suddenly digging into the sides of the cardboard box he was holding.

it was you; your hair was fluttering around your face and your backpack was hanging haphazardly off one shoulder, still half unzipped. your cheeks were red and flushed from your hasty entrance and your lips were parted slightly, drawing in soft breaths as your eyes locked with his.

taesan was horrified, and he gave you a quick nod of acknowledgement to avoid having to speak to you. he hoped to god his disdain didn't show across his face -- he was barely confident that he even managed to nod without his neck twitching. in the time it took him to blink, you slipped into the elevator and were now standing 3 feet to his left.

suddenly, it was as if the ceiling of the elevator was the most interesting thing the boy had ever seen, and taesan stared at the patterns in the ceiling tile like his life depended on it, trying to pretend he didn't want to bash his own head in against the wall.

he heard a small beep, likely from you pressing the button for your floor. taesan wouldn't know that for sure though, he was staring so hard in any direction that wasn't yours. he would genuinely rather the floor open up and swallow him whole than glance to his left and be reminded that the girl of his dreams and nightmares was in such close proximity to him.

taesan couldn't tell you how long he's wanted you even if he tried. sometimes he thinks that if the circumstances were so dire between the two of you, that you might be his soulmate.

deep down, it saddens taesan to no end to be in this predicament. here you are, right in front of him with no one else around, and he's frozen like a deer in headlights. taesan wishes so dearly that things could be different between the two of you, so that in a moment like this, he could reach out and actually talk to you, get to know you, hold you, rather than cowering in the corner.

and as if some all knowing force heard his thoughts, the elevator suddenly jolted to a stop. taesan didn't even notice until he heard you speak.

"what the fuck?" snapping out of his mental tirade, taesan looked up at the dial above the buttons.

great, it's in between floors. we're fucked.

taesan decided it's time to grow a fucking pair and speak to you for the first time in probably two years.

"we should call emergency services." he wished there was any way for those words to come out his mouth less stupidly. he still hadn't turned to look at you, setting his package and his backpack on the floor and stepping forward to hit the emergency call button.

unceremoniously, the button lit up, followed by absolutely nothing else. sighing, taesan finally turned to look at you. your cheeks were flushed and you looked fearful, taesan wasn't sure if it was because of the elevator or just being stuck with him. if it was the latter he think he might actually just kill himself.

"the line might be busy, i think we're gonna be here for a minute." he sighed out, and your eyes softened.

"it's okay, there's nothing else we can do i guess." you finally spoke, and taesan felt like the sun was beaming directly on him. your attention on him like a spotlight, he felt like he could finally die happy.

"yeah." taesan's lip curled up into a half smile that made your cheeks grow redder, and you watched, still frozen, as he went to sit on the floor next to his stuff. as taesan settled himself into the small corner, crossing his legs, you took it as your cue to place your stuff next to you, sinking down to the floor in defeat.

taesan can't say he isn't confused by you in this moment. for someone stuck in an elevator with someone they avoid like the plague and hate more than anything, you sure did blush a lot. so much, that taesan was starting to think it was his brain messing with him, and that your cheeks weren't truly as flushed and reddened as they looked.

do people blush around people they hate? better yet, am i just fucking delusional? the thoughts ran laps around his brain, making him want to bang his head against the silver elevator doors.

the boy decided that he probably had better and more concerning things to pay his attention to right now, like quelling his increasingly fast heartbeat and his rapid breaths. his heart was beating so loud he thinks he can hear the sound reverberating and bouncing on the walls of the small elevator, a space that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the minute.

his hands were clammy and shiny and he hoped you didn't notice as he tried to discreetly wipe them against his pants when he reached for his phone from his back pocket.

"i'm gonna call my friend and see if he can get ahold of the front desk." you nodded in agreement, and listened quietly as the line rings.

before either of you could even begin to get your hopes up, the line cut, and a message displayed across the top of taesan's phone screen.

call failed. taesan cursed under his breath.

"fuck, i don't think i have any service in here. sorry." taesan didn't know why he apologized, it's not like he has any control over the building's spotty reception. he didn't look at you as he speaks.

gaze focused on the ground, the boy didn't expect to hear your soft voice chime in the air.

"it's okay, we can just wait it out, we don't have any other choice anyway." you finished your sentence off with a soft giggle. pink blush was still creeping up your neck and tinting your face softly.

accepting his fate of being stuck in the elevator, taesan decided he should at least make use of his time. reaching into his backpack, he grabbed his laptop and a pair of wired earbuds, opening up his current project for his composition class.

he kept one earbud in his left ear, while the other dangled in midair. as the beats played in his ear and reverberated through his skull, taesan finally felt a bit at peace, attention tunnelling in on his laptop screen.

what he didn't notice is the way you curiously watch him work. he typed away at his laptop and mouse pad softly and his focused expression and the unfamiliar contents on his screen piqud your interest.

but what piques your interest more is taesan. his fluffy hair that moves with him as he nods along to the music that you can't hear, the way his face scrunches up cutely when he squints at the screen to read the tiny font, the way his pink lips fall into a small pout amidst his concentration.

what started out as short side glances that you snuck in from time to time turns into full on staring. being this close to him, your gaze was pulled to him like paper clips to a magnet.

contrary to taesan's belief, you do not hate taesan. while your friends do tease you about him, it's not because you have some weird secret hate boner for him.

in reality, it's because you literally cannot think straight around the raven haired boy. it's embarrassing how quickly your cheeks heat up at a single sight of taesan, heart pumping so fast you think you're going to give yourself an arrhythmia.

you’ve never been the shy type. not that you were constantly bouncing off the walls or anything, but you’ve always thought of yourself as being sociable and having a big personality. you’ve never shied away from strangers and new experiences, feeding off of the energy from the conversation and laughter you elicit through witty jokes and quips.

that alone makes your yearning all the more pathetic. y/n, the girl who could make exciting conversation in a room full of introverted bookworms, getting sweaty palms over some random music major?

it's a feeling you could't bear, which is why you avoided it at all costs, especially around your friends. you've also learned the hard way that your friends will not let you hear the end of it when they witness the way you melt around the boy, and you quite enjoy not having to talk about your affinity for taesan 24/7. that's the reason you haven't spoken to him either, you don't even want to begin to imagine your friends' reaction to that.

after a particular incident where belle and shinyu were teasing you about taesan and kim leehan walked by, you were so spooked that you decided the only solution was simply avoid or ignore him at all costs. you could not risk your blabber mouthed friends revealing the fact that you like taesan, especially since you had no idea if he liked you back, or even remembered your name, for that matter.

plus, it helped you avoid the embarrassing experience of going completely nonverbal.

you'd been telling yourself that you'd make a move at some point, but the mere thought of trying to progress things any further makes your stomach twist on itself and makes your chest start to constrict.

but now, with the boy sitting an arms length away and no one else around, you felt like it was fate. yes, there were definitely assignments waiting for you to get around to, but right now you couldn't be more thankful that the elevator is broken.

after staring at taesan and hyping yourself up for a solid 20 minutes, you decided that you can't pass up this chance.

"what are you working on?" your voice was so soft and shaky at first that taesan almost didn't hear you, but you knew he did based on the fact that his fingers halted their swift typing. you watched him move to pause the stream of audio in his ear.

"me?" taesan replied. the second the words leave his lips he regretted it. who the fuck asks that in a room with only two people?

apparently my dumbass.

"who else?" you didn't seem to mind though, giggling at his aloofness. his eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights, and you wanted to reach over and tug at his hair to feel it underneath your fingertips.

"oh um, just a project for my comp class." he responded, suddenly feeling shy. he felt the familiar speeding of his heartbeat again. why were you suddenly feeling conversive? was he hallucinating again?

"can i see?" you scooted over slightly and lean towards him, pretending to look at his laptop screen. truly, you just wanted to be closer to him, and to keep hearing his voice. you had no idea what he even meant by "comp," but you'd gladly let him ramble about his work if it meant you could hear his low voice again.

"oh, uh sure!" taesan moved slightly closer to you, turning his laptop in your direction so you could see his screen. you knew nothing about the program he's using, but the way taesan's eyes lit up as he began to explain the different sections of the screen made your heart swell.

contrary to you, taesan is more on the quieter side, opting to listen in conversations rather than lead them. however, when it comes to his music, taesan thinks he could ramble on about it for hours. the excitement of talking about his work calmed his nerves, and he found himself eagerly explaining all the different components of his project without stuttering or fumbling with his words.

you nodded along, in a trance at the sound of his voice filling your ears so pleasantly. it got even worse when you looked away from his screen to look at his face. his hands moved animatedly as he pointed at various sections of his composition, but you didn't catch a word, staring at the slope of his nose and the way his lips stayed in a cute little pout even when he was talking so much.

at one point, taesan asked you a question, noticing your slightly dazed look. your head shook slightly as you regained focus on his voice, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"sorry, what did you say?" you tried to keep your composure but the way taesan was looking at you driving you insane.

"nevermind, do you wanna just listen to it?" he said with an easy smile, chuckling at your flushed appearance. you were so adorable, he didn't think he could take it. grabbing the free earbud, he offered it to you gently. you slowly grabbed it, scooching even closer to taesan so the two of you could listen to it together. placing the earbud in your ear, you tried not to think about the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you.

your thigh was pressed against taesan's and the faint smell of his cologne was dizzying. you wanted nothing more than to grab his hand that was resting on the laptop's keyboard and intertwine your fingers together.

as taesan hit play, the sound of various instrumentals and beats filled your ears. even though there were no lyrics, you felt the emotion that taesan had drawn out of him to put into this. he was more than talented, and you were in awe of how well everything came together. as the track came to an end, taesan looked at your face, curious. your lips were parted slightly as you looked at him.

"taesan, that was amazing." you breathed out, turning your face slightly toward him excitedly.

"really? it's still a little rough around the edges, but i think i wanna keep working on it after i turn it in." he explained.

"the project only requires an instrumental, but i really like how this track is going, i've been thinking of adding lyrics and making it a proper song."

"you should, it's really really good." you spoke with a low voice, facing taesan, you were once again reminded of his close proximity and your brain was starting to short circuit again. looking into his eyes, you found yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, not wanting the moment to end. helplessly, your eyes darted down at his lips quickly, so quick that taesan almost missed it.

after watching your gaze jump down to his mouth a third time, taesan decided enough was enough.

“y/n.” he said your name in chillingly low voice. the sound of it rolling off his tongue sent shivers down your spine, and you only leaned into him further. reaching out, he brought his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, waiting for your reaction. you looked up at him with a hooded gaze as you delicately leaned into his touch.

as his hand fully cupped your cheek, your eyes slipped shut, head tilting further into his palm as you waited for him to close the gap.

taesan wanted to burn the sight of you into his memory forever. your long lashes laid gently on the apples of your reddened cheeks, your pink tinted lips slightly parted and calling for him. your cheek squished slightly against his hand and the softness of your skin against his made him feel like he was dreaming.

as he shut his eyes and leaned in, hovering his lips gently over yours, a loud creaking noise abruptly cut through the air.

the elevator suddenly thrummed to life, causing your eyes to shoot open. you let out a yelp as elevator dinged and the doors suddenly opened, your body practically flying across the small room. 

the two of you looked up to see two firemen looking down at the two of you confusedly.

"everyone ok in here?" one of the men asked gruffly, and you nodded your head hurriedly before grabbing your stuff and jumping to your feet.

yep, that was about enough bravery and ambition from you today. reality was setting in quicker than the reddening of your cheeks. 

you and han taesan were about to kiss. and got interrupted by the fucking fire rescue squad. you had to get the fuck out of here.

taesan could barely blink before you rushed out of the confined space, cheeks bright red as you muttered a quick thank you to the firemen.

hitting his head against the back of the wall in frustration, taesan tossed his laptop into his bag and grabbed his package, standing up and frowning at the firemen before walking past them.

"what the fuck was his deal?" the other firemen asked once taesan was out of earshot.

...

it had been a few days since the elevator incident, and while all taesan wanted to do was scream into his pillow while blasting his radiohead playlist on repeat, we was unfortunately a university student with work to do. life goes on, to his dismay.

the only person taesan told what happened was his roommate, kim leehan, who taesan begrudgingly complained to after being asked why his face was so red and why he was grumbling so much. he couldn’t help his grumpiness, could you blame him? he almost kissed the girl of his dreams and was interrupted by a fucking firefighter. 

leehan tried (as he claims, taesan doesn’t believe it for one second) and failed to hold in his laughter at taesan’s conundrum, holding a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook with amusement. meanwhile, taesan was crashing the absolute fuck out, head in his hands while he crouched on the floor. 

“who did i murder in my last life seriously …” he whined into his hands pathetically as leehan shook his head in disbelief, still biting back his laughter. 

“i dunno, but someone’s having a fantastic time fucking with you.” leehan’s amused reply only egged taesan’s grumpiness and despair on further, and he laid in bed for the rest of the afternoon replaying the scene in his mind.

the more times he re-remembered the catastrophic chain of events, the more anguished he became. he’s definitely sighed at least 30 times in the past hour.

you were fucking with him. there was no other explanation. ignoring him constantly and then jumping him the second the two of you were alone? 

maybe you were a sadist, and you and that one friend from the library were currently laughing and joking about the raven haired boy’s demise. 

unfortunately, the thought turns him on more than anything, and he can feel himself getting a hard on thinking about the completely hypothetical situation he’s making up in his scattered mind.

he sighed angrily and slapped his hand against his cold cheek. he was so done with this. with you.

the devil on his shoulder laughed as he vowed to get over you. granted, he had a better chance of winning the lottery then forgetting about you at his will, but he felt like he had no other choice.

as humorous as the situation was, taesan felt his heart ache and his face crumple when he remembered the way you rushed out of the space as the door opened. like he was poison. 

taesan hated the ugly green feeling that was swirling in his gut, eating away at his sanity. he hated that it had to be you making him feel this way. you’ve always been the one who makes him get like this. 

but at the same time, he can’t forget how entranced he was, like a magnetic force pulled his hand to your cheek.

the vision of you, eyes closed, cheeks red, waiting for you to place his lips on yours, is permanently seared in his mind. 

how does someone just fake that? you’re either satan’s reincarnation or taesan is seriously missing something.

taesan clutches his chest in agony, the internal tug of war making him want to throw himself out his bedroom window.

after letting himself toss and turn in despair for about 2 hours, taesan drearily got out of bed to finish his music theory paper. sliding into his desk chair, he opened up his laptop to see his comp project still open, the very one he’d played for you hours earlier. 

he sighed again. the university and its students were going to be the death of him.

...

while taesan was moping in bed, you were taking up space in yours as well, laying across it face down while giselle sat at your desk, scrolling through her phone.

she could tell something is up, considering the fact that you’re not talking her fucking ears off and just laying face down in silence like a corpse.

“so, are you gonna fess up? what happened?” giselle asked, unamused. after bursting into your apartment following the Great Elevator Escape, your frantically doom-texted giselle, leading to her showing up at your front door.

you’ve been laying on your bed trying to not scream out of excitement as you told her. hearing her clear her throat, you finally rolled over so your voice wouldn’t be muffled.

“we almost kissed, aeri.” you sighed out, slapping your hands over your face.

“we? who is we?” giselle, who was evidently not a mind reader, tilted her head in confusion, moving to sit on the bed next to you, laying her legs over yours.

“me and taesan” you mumbled, watching through a crack of space between your fingers as she immediately shot up from her slumped position against yours headboard. you could’ve sworn you got whiplash just from watching her. 

“WHAT?” her voice squealed in excitement, nearly blowing out your eardrum. you laughed, glad that someone else understood how bubbly and happy you felt. 

“I KNOW” you screamed back, grabbing her hand and squeezing it as you smiled so big you thought your face was going to break.

“wait, explain everything now, you sly bitch!” with that, you walked her through the whole scene. 

reciting it to your friend made your stomach flip, all the emotions from the moment coming back to you. absentmindedly, your brought a hand up to feel the stop on your cheek where taesan’s palm pressed into you, smiling dazedly.

“you’re so down, y/n, this is crazy!” aeri laughed at your lovesick state, giving you a playful shove. she wasn't wrong, and the acknowledgment only made your cheeks burn even more.

“shut up! can a girl not yearn for her man anymore?” you smiled giddily.

“usually i’d call you delusional but he actually wants you so bad.” you moved to sit up, turning to her excitedly.

smiling wickedly, you looked at your friend with a plan. there was no going back now, taesan wanted you without question.

“what’s that look? are we plotting?” giselle asked curiously after a beat of silence.

“you know me so well, aeri.” you pulled out your phone to text the your friends' groupchat, filling them in as you and giselle discussed further.

the feeling of his lips ghosting over yours was fresh in your mind. bringing a finger to your bottom lip, you felt warmth bloom in your chest at the memory. 

han taesan had no idea what was coming for him.

...

“hello? earth to y/n.” shinyu shook your shoulder as myungjae called to you across the table, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“huh?” jaehyun rolled his eyes at you.

“i’m throwing friday night, you coming?” you smiled in excitement, making eye contact with giselle, who had the same mischievous glint in her eye.

yeah, the two of your were thinking the exact same thing.

“what’s that look ... what am i missing?” belle looked between the two of you, very used to your antics.

“oh nothing…” aeri mused. “just getting y/n a date to formal.”

...

“i think i’m gonna stay in tonight, dude.” taesan sighed as he sunk onto the couch. it was friday afternoon and taesan was sufficiently worn out from the past week.

he had an exam this morning that he was almost late to because he got lost and then he didn’t have time to eat lunch because he had to go to a project meeting.

on top of everything, he got a glimpse of you laughing with giselle, ningning, and sohee on his way back from his meeting. now, he was just left with a sinking feeling in his stomach and a desire to suffocate himself under his covers for the rest of the night.

“you can’t miss jaehyun’s dude, he’s gonna kill you” as leehan replied, the ominious text their friend had sent him this morning flashed in his mind.

myungjae [9:43 a.m.]: make sure taesan comes tonight. 

leehan [9:46 a.m.]: what

“today has been the worst, i need to sulk.” taesan whined into the couch cushions, eliciting a punch in the shoulder from leehan.

“c’mon, that’s why you need to come out. get wasted and forget about your shitty week.” taesan frowned but didn’t respond.

maybe his roommate was right. plus, he had a sneaking suspicion leehan would drag him out of the apartment by his hair if he tried to stay in bed. groaning loudly, taesan got up.

“fine, i’m taking a nap first, though.” 

...

liquid courage was surging through you, not that you really needed it. you were still riding the high of your almost-kiss from earlier this week. the light fluffy feeling the alcohol was giving you was just a bonus.

standing in front of the mirror in jaehyun's bathroom, you gave yourself a once over as ningning fixed her eyeliner next to you. you were absentmindedly fixing the ends of your hair and adjusting the straps of your cami as she looked over at you with a smile.

"you look amazing, y/n. his jaw is going to be on the floor." she rubbed your shoulder comfortingly. smiling softly, you thanked her. looking back at yourself in the mirror, you felt the anticipation coursing through your veins.

the dull echo of jaehyun's house playlist pulsed through the walls and only heightened the excitement you felt under your skin. hearing your phone buzz, you looked over at the phone screen, a certain text message catching your attention.

myungjae [10:58 p.m.]: he just walked in.

you made eye contact with ningning as you clicked your phone shut and slipped it in the back pocket of your shorts.

"it's go time." she laughed, wishing your luck as she pushed you towards the bathroom door. turning open the doorknob, you stepped out into the living room, colored lights dancing across the walls.

...

taesan was pulled towards the kitchen by his roommate, barely getting a glimpse of the rest of the party before a shot was being pushed into his hand.

"you need a drink, dude." leehan demanded, turning around and looking for myungjae in the sea of people and waving him over. their friend smiled and pushed through a couple people to get into the kitchen, giving taesan and leehan a fist bump.

"hey, you guys made it!" he smiled, accepting the shot leehan handed him.

the three of them clinked their glasses and downed the clear liquid together. taesan's face scrunched at the burning in his throat, coughing roughly.

"do you have punch or something?" jaehyun nodded and walked away to get some jungle juice.

looking around, taesan took in his surroundings. jaehyun had a nice apartment, and he'd been a few times. it looked completely different than it did during the day, furniture pushed to the walls to make room for people to dance. the apartment was completely dark except for the colored led lights, giving the room a blueish glow.

looking into the living room, taesan scanned the crowd for anyone else he knew. he caught a glimpse of sungho and riwoo, his old roommates, talking to the dj, some guy he didn't recognize.

his eyes widened when he saw giselle near the dj's booth as well, chatting with some tall guy he didn't recognize.

were you here too? even though he knew you were friends with jaehyun, he somehow failed to consider the fact you might be at this party as well.

turning back to leehan, he spoke hurriedly.

"i need another shot."

...

a couple shots and a cup of jungle juice (that was probably 80% booze) later, he finally stepped out of the kitchen.

"i'm gonna go say hi to someone really quick, i'll be back in a bit." taesan nodded and waved as leehan stepped away. he felt a little looser, shoulders finally relaxing a bit as he walked over to sungho and riwoo.

they chatted for a bit, and he sipped on another glass of spiked fruit punch as he laughed along with them. riwoo was complaining about his choreography class animatedly and sungho was gushing about some junior, kim woonhak, he'd just befriended.

"it's official, guys. i'm a single dad now." taesan rolled his eyes at his friends, a small smile painting his face.

after a beat, the boy noticed his friends glancing behind him. tilting his head in confusion, he turned around to see what they were looking at so curiously. forgetting how drunk he was and the fact that he had a drink in his hand, he swung around a bit faster and more clumsily than he wanted to.

"is there something beh-" he began, before he felt himself promptly bump into someone, their head hitting his chest. suddenly the front of his shirt was damp, his cup of punch getting caught between him and the mystery stranger and spilling on him.

"shit my bad are you oka-" taesan's concerned voice abruptly cut off as the person in front of him came into focus. lo and behold, you were standing in front of him, the front of your top now boasting a growing wet spot from taesan's drink.

there's actually no fucking way. taesan didn't think he's ever wished for the ground to swallow him whole more than that very moment.

"taesan, hey! it's you again." you smiled easily, as if you didn't notice the sticky beverage now spilled across your shirt and chest. taesan could've sworn he saw you bat your eyelashes.

"i'm so sorry about your shirt, i didn't mean to be so clumsy." taesan almost stumbled over his words as the apologies spilled from his lips. his stomach was simultaneously flipping and twisting at the sight of you looking up at him.

you looked down as if you were seeing the stain on your shirt for the first time as well, smiling and shrugging.

"don't worry about it, i'm sorry! you got wet too." you gestured slightly to his shirt as well, giggling. you had definitely had a few drinks as well, taesan wasn't sure if you were as drunk as him.

"don't worry about it either, it was my bad." you waved away his admission of guilt, your gaze suddenly darkening slightly.

"guess we're even then! would you mind if i asked for a favor though?" taesan hummed in acknowledgement and nodded, beckoning you to continue.

"help me clean up?"

as taesan's face turned into a look of shock and surprise, you giggled again, blinking up at him slowly. snapping out of his drunken daze, he nodded quickly and waved goodbye to his friends. grabbing your wrist, he wove through the crowd, his fingers wrapped tight around your arm. his hand was warm, and you had to put in an effort to peel your eyes away from his grip on you, heartbeat speeding up.

looking away from his back, you made eye contact with giselle and belle across the small apartment. you smiled as they gave you thumbs up from the other side of the room as taesan whisked you away.

jackpot.

...

it's you who shuts the bathroom door behind the two of you. taesan finally turns back around to look at you, trying to ignoring his racing heartbeat.

in the lighting of the bathroom he can finally see you. you look better than that fateful day in the elevator, even in your basic cami and denim shorts. the stain on your shirt is small, which taesan is thankful for. unfortunately, some of his drink spilled on the exposed skin of your chest, it's sticky residue making your chest all shiny.

you look so perfect, taesan thinks he might actually faint. he almost feels the air leave his lungs as you smile up at him.

when you step towards him he freezes, only letting his shoulders relax when he realizes you're reaching past him to turn on the sink's faucet. your hair brushes his arm and your shoulder bumps his, and taesan can smell your fruity perfume.

you smell like berries and some sort of flower, and taesan almost gets lost in it, in you. the sound of the faucet running helps to clear his mind a little, but he loses his cool all over again when you grab his shoulder to turn him to face you.

"sorry, is it okay if i touch you?" taesan's sure he's red as a cherry as he nods, his movements stuttering slightly. truly, he has no fucking clue what you're about to do, but god he could not care less.

you grab a small towel hanging nearby and dip it under the running water before bringing it to taesan's chest, where the offending stain has dried up into his shirt.

gently, you rub the wet fabric across his shirt. your other hand is splayed on his shoulder, taesan isn't sure if it's for stability or because you want him to pass out and die on the spot. from his view, he can see your long lashes flutter as you squint at his chest in concentration.

he's trying to focus on anything but your heavy gaze on him. the boy opts to look at the ceiling, tilting his head up and not giving his eyes any chance of stealing a glance at you.

every once in a while, your fingers brush against his chest lightly and he feels his skin burn underneath your touch. despite how drunk he is, he's suddenly so aware of everything.

he wonders if you can hear his heartbeat, if you can feel how his breaths and his lungs stutter when you rub the towel on him. your proximity alone is making his head spin more than the alcohol he drank.

the way you're doting on him is making his stomach burn with some type of desire, taesan doesn't think he's ever felt a need like this before. his racing thoughts are distracted by the sound of a huff below him.

he looks down at you as you scrub a bit more on his shirt before pulling away slowly.

"that should be good en-" you don't get to finish your sentence, interrupted by taesan's hand grabbing your wrist.

before you can even think, taesan's lips are on yours. you drop the towel in shock, and it makes a soft noise as it hits the floor.

neither of you seem to care all too much, though. your eyes flutter shut as taesan's other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head slightly.

the kiss is soft and timid as first, but after a moment taesan decides he's done playing games. he knows you want this as much as he does, he can tell by the way your hands are crumpling his damp shirt and pulling him closer to you.

taesan's lips are soft and plump as they slide menacingly slow against yours. his warm tongue presses against your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. he notices how pliant you are in his hold, lips falling open so his tongue can explore the wet walls of your mouth and throat. his hand hovers near your throat, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. you whimper as he gives it an experimental squeeze, your hands pulling him closer by his firm shoulders.

the feeling of his tongue filling your mouth makes your moan, the sound muffled and quiet. taesan doesn't miss it though, the noise only egging him on further. he bites your bottom lip before dragging his tongue over it soothingly.

it's hot and wet and messy, and spit trails down both of your chins with every smack of your lips against each other.

at some point, your arms wrapped around taesan's neck, his settling in the curve of your waist. your bodies fit perfectly together, your chest molding to his in a way that makes your head spin.

you can barely form a thought when taesan sucks on your tongue. you've never felt this way before, heat pooling in your stomach as his hands push into the small of your back.

at some point, he turns the two of you so you're pressed against the counter. his hands press your hips into the ceramic surface as his mouth dips down to press open mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck.

his teeth drag and brush against your delicate skin and his velvety tongue licks stripes across the bruises that you're sure he's leaving.

his lips are warm and wet as they suck your skin, traveling down your neck and shoulder. he bites your collarbone and you whimper again, a single hand threading into his hair hurriedly.

he finally gets you sitting on the countertop, and your legs wrap around him greedily, pulling him even closer. he licks the stickyness of his spilled drink from your chest, the sugary taste of the punch spreading on his tongue.

it's obscene, the things he wants to do to you. what's worse is that you look like you'd let him do anything to do you, melting under the attention of his hands and mouth.

the boy feels you tug at his hair, pulling him face back up so your lips can meet his in a bruising kiss. his brain almost goes into overdrive when you suck on his bottom lip, and he groans into your mouth.

hot and bothered, your hands slide across his firm shoulders, trailing down his chest and abdomen wickedly slow. your fingers tease the hem of his tshirt, twisting and tugging it as you lips move against his roughly.

the first touch of your fingers against his bare skin almost makes taesan dissolve into air. your skin is electrifying against his, leaving a burning path as it travels up his torso. you appreciate his toned form with your hands and the small noises coming from your mouth.

it feels like you've been making out for hours. taesan is honestly surprised that neither of you have run out of breath. you don't seem like anywhere near ready to let go of the boy, palms grasping for any of his skin that you can reach. slowly but steadily, your hands drift lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of taesan's jeans.

he pulls away hesistantly, watching a string of saliva stretch between the two of you. his eyes almost roll into the back of his head when he sees you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes starry and glazed over.

"let's get out of here." you say it before he can, one hand still grasping his jeans.

"my place." taesan says pointedly.

taesan helps you off the counter and helps you smooth down your hair. you intertwine your fingers with his as he twists open the doorknob. the two of you are out of the apartment before either of you can bid your friends goodbye. you'll just have to text them in the morning.

right now, the only thing on both of your minds is getting back to taesan's apartment. everything else is going to have to wait.

...

for the second time, the two of you found yourselves in the same damn elevator together. the irony wasn't lost on either of you, and taesan smirked as he pulled you into his chest the moment the doors closed.

"seems like we have some unfinished business in here huh?" he mumbled before laying his lips back on yours. they were cold from being outside, but his tongue was warm as it pushed back into your mouth. he was leaning lazily against the wall, arms wrapped around your waist as he held you against him.

you whimpered as his hands ghosted over your ass, not quite applying the pressure you were aching for. the ding of the elevator sounded far away; he pulled away slowly, gesturing behind you at the open doors. you didn't hesitate to step towards the hall, closer to your destination.

taesan kept one of your hands tight in his hold as he fumbled with his keys. he sighed in relief as he finally pushed the door open, pulling you in with him. in a moment's time your mouth was back on his, the two of you kicking off your shoes as taesan led the two of backwards to his room. your skin was hot everywhere he touched you, and you moaned in anticipation as he pushed you backwards onto his bed.

the sight of you sitting on his bed and looking up at him with doe eyes, was something straight out of taesan's dreams. your chest rose and fell erratically and your eyes were round and glassed over. his eyes fixated on your red, swollen lips, glossy from yours and taesan's saliva.

"you're so beautiful." taesan breathed out as he tilted your chin up, cupping your jaw and leaning down to catch your plump lips with his. you didn't miss a beat, hands catching the front of his shirt. taesan laid you down, not breaking your kiss for a second.

your back pressed into the soft mattress, and you groaned at the feeling of taesan's firm chest pressed against yours. his hands landed at your hips, rubbing slow circles as they slid under your shirt gingerly. his fingers were cold, making your abdomen tense as they grazed over your soft skin.

it was hot and filthy, the way he licked into your mouth with fervor. your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head as his tongue slid against yours roughly. you felt like hot lava, overheating faster and faster by the second.

your teeth nipped at his bottom lip, fingers greedily tugging at the ends of his shirt. taesan got the message immediately, breaking away from you slowly. standing on his knees, he pulled his shirt over his head. propping yourself up on your elbows, you admired the sight of his in front of you. his hair was slightly ruffled by the shirt and his lips were puffy and shiny.

you couldn't help the way your gaze drifted south. taesan's arousal was undeniable, bulge heavy in his pants. you licked your lips at the sight, eliciting a groan from the boy in front of you. heat pooled low in your belly at the noise, and you felt the impatience within you grow.

you reached out and curled a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a bruising kiss. taesan held himself up with his arms, tilting his face down to dip his tongue into your mouth. you let your hand roam downwards, fingers grazing over the tent in the boy's pants menacingly.

"please, tae, need you." you mumbled against his lips, pressure from your palm increasing with each pleading syllable that rolled off your tongue. taesan hummed in response, and before you knew it he was pushing your hand away and lowering his bottom half so his hips were flush against yours, bulge pushing against your clothed heat.

you moaned loudly at the pressure, and taesan only rolled his hips more, satisfied with the way you were writhing underneath him. his hands dug into your hips, holding you down whenever you tried to buck your hips up to match his pace. the way he so easily overpowered you only furthered your arousal, and you felt it in your tensed abdomen as his dick pressed against you again.

taesan's hot mouth moved down your jaw and neck, licking a stripe near your collarbone. he bit and nipped at your skin, and you could already feel the bruises blooming on your sensitive skin.

his hands cupped your boobs over your shirt, the pressure making your arch your back into him. he was addicted to the way your body moved and responded to him. it seemed almost unconscious, the way you were attuned to every graze of his skin against yours.

pulling back slightly, you watched with a hooded gaze as taesan's eyes dragged over your body. you looked like an angel, hair fanned out on the comforter, neck already blooming purple, lips red and shiny, and the straps of your cami falling off your shoulders. taesan finally had you all to himself and he wanted to savor every moment you were pressed against him.

your breathing was erratic as his hand slid under your shirt, fingertips leaving a blazing trail on the skin of your stomach. he rubbed the hem of your cami in between his fingertips, looking you in the eyes as he did.

"can i take this off?" he asked in a low voice that almost made your legs shake. you nodded hurriedly, sitting up so he could pull it over your head.

you unbuttoned your shorts as well, placing his hands on your waistband so he'd slide them off for you. he did, without hesitation, deliberately dragging his fingertips down the skin of your thighs as he pulled the clothing off. he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the sight of you in just your bra and panties, and you could've sworn that you watched his dick twitch.

taesan wanted to know all of you, inside and out. he watched as you curled into a ball, shy under his heavy gaze. he unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off his legs before placing his hands on your knees, pushing them down so he could crawl over you.

you laid back, head against his pillow as taesan hovered over you, hands on their side of your head. he dropped his hips so his clothed dick brushed against you, reveling in the way your eyes shut as you drowned in the pleasure and anticipation. a finger was dragged down the center of your chest, tracing the line where your bra pressed your breasts against each other.

taesan tilted himself down to press hot, open-mouthed, kisses along the edge of your bra, lips teasing your skin torturously. your back arched as you grabbed his hand, placing it on the clasp of your bra.

"don't they usually unclip in the back?" taesan mumbled curiously, voice low as his eyes met yours. you smiled wickedly, and he instantly knew that you planned this.

"not all of them." you said lightly, shrugging slightly and feigning a fake innocence that made taesan's eyes darken. within moments the garment was snapped open and tugged off your body, and taesan's rough fingertips were kneading into the plush skin of your chest.

his gaze laid heavily on you, its weight pushing down and making you forget how to breathe. you decided you couldn't keep looking at him, your eyes screwing shut and head pressing back into his pillow as hot lips sucked and licked at your skin, trailing down your chest and abdomen. your head was spinning and a slight sound of disapproval cut through the noise, cold fingers tapping the side of your head.

"look at me, y/n" you huffed, opening your eyes and propping yourself on your elbows to make pointed eye contact with him. taesan's face was hovering over your stomach, fingers rubbing circles into the side of your hips. the smile on his face sent chills down your neck and a warm gush between your legs.

"there you go. keep watching me, ok?" your stubborn gaze softened in seconds and you weakly nodded, watching him lower his mouth to tongue at the soft skin of your thighs. your ears were ringing, the rush of blood drowning out the good girl he was mumbling into your skin.

your senses felt heightened, all of your nerves lighting up at the sensation of taesan's hot, rough tongue licking and teasing your inner thighs. he was in no rush it seemed, decorating the skin with purple bruises and wet saliva. he ran his hands up and down your sides, letting the tips of his fingers catch the fabric of your underwear.

he was teasing you mercilessly, the anticipation nearly eating you alive.

"taesan, please." you whined as you felt him run a finger over your clothed slit. your underwear stuck to you painfully, the fabric soaked with your arousal. he made eye contact with you as he wet his middle finger with his mouth before pulling your panties to the side.

the wet finger pushed into your gushing entrance, slowly making room for itself within you. you sucked in a shaky breath when he fully sheathed his finger within you.

"you're so wet, y/n." he groaned. before you could even think of responding, he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, pulling a loud moan from you.

his lips wrapped around your clit gingerly as he added another finger. it was like his hands and mouth were made for you, fingers crooking just right and hitting the spongy spot that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

your surroundings slowly disappeared as you drowned in the feeling of taesan on you, in you. you felt electric, sparks flying through your body with every swipe of his tongue and every flick of his wrist. you planted your feet against the bed and your hips weakly jerked upwards to meet the thrusts of his fingers into you.

you couldn't even understand the sounds you were making, broken moans and cries spilling out of you. taesan chuckled against you, mouth still hot against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"stop squirming." his voice only made you wetter, and another moan tore from your throat as you fisted taesan's sheets.

"you wanted this, didn't you?" taesan's thumb rubbed circles into your clit, replacing his lips, and he continued pumping his fingers into you mercilessly. you felt him all around you, drowning in his touch, his voice. the words falling off his tongue dripped with venom, and it only fanned the flames in your lower half.

"always teasing and playing with me. i didn't know what you wanted from me then, but i get it now." taesan mumbled against your hips, where he dragging his lips and teeth on your soft skin, leaving even more marks. you couldn't even answer him, jolts of pleasure making your thoughts go haywire. he smiled against your skin, enjoying the fucked out look on your face.

"you're usually so mouthy, what happened, y/n?" taesan watched you writhe underneath him, tears welling in your shut eyes. the sight of you falling apart had him painfully hard, dick straining in his boxers helplessly.

"f-fuck, tae." you cried out as he hit that spot inside you again, heat pooling in your stomach and threatening to spill out of you. "gonna cu- fuck!"

"go ahead, i got you." taesan didn't let up, fingers pounding into you. the room was filled with your whimpers and the wet noises of your arousal. with one more snap of his wrist, the coil in your stomach snapped, and your entire body shook as you came. you could feel your walls fluttering uncontrollably around taesan's fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm.

your back slumped as you came down from your high, barely registering the feeling of taesan's fingers lazily stroking in and out of you until the twinges of overstimulation started to settle in. you pushed his hands away from you with a whine, opening your eyes slowly. as your surroundings came back to you, you were greeted with the sight of taesan leaning over you, licking your juices off his fingers.

your voice was soft and delicate as you cursed at the sight, legs wrapping around his waist so you could pull him into a bruising kiss. his wet hand gripped your sides hard enough to leave bruises as you sucked on his tongue gingerly.

his hardened length grinded against you as he licked into your mouth, and the fabric of his boxers rubbing against your clit made you hiss in pleasure. you let your splayed hand on his chest drag downwards, fingers teasing the waistband of his underwear. taesan sighed into your mouth as it slipped underneath, your hand wrapping around his dick.

it was heavy in your hand, and you could feel the way the tip bulged in comparison to the rest of his length. you squeezed him experimentally, smiling in satisfaction at the pretty noises he was making and the way he was biting your lip helplessly.

your grip was hot and tight around him and you smeared the precum leaking from the tip along his length, making your fist glide smoother along the veiny skin.

"you feel so ... mmmh fuck so good" taesan's face was pressed into your neck, soft pants filling your ears deliciously. you jerked him slow, forcing him to savor the drag of your soft fingers on his dick. your hands were so much softer than his, and they felt like heaven wrapped around him. his hips rutted against your hand as he fucked your fist, and the room filled with sounds of skin sliding against each other and soft moans.

taesan could feel the knot in his stomach ready to burst and, with the most willpower he's even had, he grabbed your wrist and tugged your hand out of his boxers.

"i don't wanna cum from your hand." he said breathlessly, slipping his boxers off. you giggled as he reached over you to pull open the top drawer of his nightstand, fishing out a condom. you kicked off your ruined underwear, tossing them somewhere on taesan's bedroom floor.

"it'd be a nice ego boost for me." you teased, running a finger up his length as he ripped open the foil package. he rolled his eyes, smacking your wrist away as he slid the rubber on himself.

"i think that's the last thing you need, actually." his voice was low and breathy as he spoke, hands running up your torso and gripping your face. he pushed his lips against yours, tongue dipping between your lips. you pulled him closer by his shoulders, skin burning in anticipation as you felt his length rest against your stomach.

you were aching to feel him inside you, walls pulsing around nothing. you wanted him so bad it hurt, nails digging into his soft skin.

"please, just put it in." you barely got the words out in between kisses. you could feel taesan smile against you. he debated ignoring your pleas, swallowing your whimpers in between his lips and making you beg a bit longer. but taesan was feeling a bit impatient, not to mention painfully hard, today as well; he'd save the begging for another night.

he broke your kiss, letting his lips hover over yours. your breaths mingled together as his heavy gaze met yours. looking down between you, he wrapped a hand around his length, sliding the tip between your folds. the sounds were obscene, your wetness coating his tip generously.

you whined again, trying to tilt your hips upward to slip part of him inside you. your efforts were fruitless, taesan's wrist moved from his length to hold your hips down as he tutted in disapproval. when you finally stopped squirming, he moved his hips forward, pushing the tip into you slowly.

"ngh -- fuck." you moaned as he sank into you slowly. even after taking his fingers, you still felt a stretch as your body made room for him inside you. the burn was delicious, and your hands reached for him, any part of him. one of taesan's hands moved from your hip to hold your empty hand, fingers intertwining as he finally bottomed out.

"are you okay?" it was only after he asked the question that you realized you were panting, breaths short and fast.

"mmm uhm -- yea i'm just, shit, so full." taesan's eyes darkened as he took in your words, pride swelling at the way his dick took the words out of your brain. he pressed his lips to yours, coaxing your body to adjust to the newfound fullness.

you felt like you were falling, and his touch was the only thing keeping you from disintegrating into thin air. you unconsciously clenched around him, and he gasped into your mouth.

"you're so -- shit so tight." he mumbled into your neck before licking a stripe up to your jaw. "can i move?"

you nodded, grinding your hips upwards slightly. taesan's first thrusts were slow, letting the two of your savor the drag of his veiny skin against your warm walls. with each thrust, the slight discomfort of his intrusion faded, and warm pleasure pooled in your abdomen, making you whine and grasp his shoulder.

"ngh faster, please." your words were broken, and taesan reveled in the effect he had on you. he angled his hips upward and began moving in and out of you faster, tip brushing your g-spot with every thrust.

the room filled with wet squelching noises as he fucked into you, his skin slapping against yours obscenely. the sight of his face above you was everything, bangs sweaty as they clung to his forehead and eyes scrunched in concentration as he tried to keep a steady rhythm. the bed creaked loudly, and you were sure any of his neighbors could definitely hear.

nothing mattered to you though, nothing but the sweet sensation of him filling you up, dick sliding inside you and making your eyes roll back.

a rough hand landed on your clit, fingers rubbing tight circles against the soft bud with vigor. the sensation was almost too much, and you nearly screamed when he somehow angled his hips even higher. every stroke inside sent jolts of pleasure down your limbs; your skin felt electric.

"so-o good, tae." your words were punched out, brain foggy as taesan fucked all coherent thoughts out of you. he groaned and bit down on your shoulder as you lifted your hips to meet his movements.

"you're too good to me, baby." he cooed at you, voice all too pleasant compared to the way he was pounding into you. "so warm inside. all for me."

his sweet words only made you hurtle even faster towards you climax. you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began. you looked between your bodies to see where the two of you connected, letting out a broken whine at the sight of his length sliding in and out of you.

his hand left your clit and slid low on your abdomen, pressing in slightly. the pressure sent waves of warm pleasure through you.

"i can see myself. right here." you looked down to see where his hand was. it rested on a small bulge in your stomach, one that moved with his thrusts into you. taesan ran his thumb over it and you let out a weak sob at the sight, burying your face into his neck.

"fuck ..." you sighed as his dick carved into you. taesan grabbed your hair, pulling your face out of the crook in his shoulder.

"fuck, y/n, say you're mine." he groaned, eyes piercing into you. his hand hovered over your clit again, fingers ghosting over the sensitive nub as he spoke again. "say it."

"i'm shit-- i'm yours, taesan. only yours." you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder blades as you held onto him. he fucked deep into you, long fingers rubbing into your clit vigorously.

you didn't even tell him when your orgasm hit you, capturing his lips with yours instead. it washed over you like a tidal wave, soaking your whole body in hot bliss. taesan groaned as your walls squeezed him, mumbling an i'm cumming against your lips softly.

even through the condom, you could feel his release, the feeling of the hot liquid making you moan loudly. taesan fucked you through both of your highs, stroking in and out of you as you came back down to earth.

he pressed his forehead to yours when he broke your kiss, warm breath fanning on your cheeks. his movements slowed to a stop as his body slumped on top of you, dick softening inside of you as he pressed his face into your neck.

"you're gonna crush me, tae." you wheezed out, chest squeezing underneath him. your hands balled into fists as they flailed against his back, and you were laughing. taesan chuckled, pushing himself up by his arms to pull himself out of you. he rolled off the bed, tossing the condom. he disappeared into his closet, walking out in a pair of fresh boxers. you smiled shyly as he handed you a big tshirt and a pair of his boxers for you to sleep in, slipping them on before sliding back onto the bed.

you turned onto your side to face him when he crawled back to join you and pulled a blanket over the two of you, your hand coming up to run though his hair. his eyes closed as he leaned into your touch, rubbing against your hand like a cat.

"what are you thinking about?" his voice was low and smooth as he opened his eyes to look at you, making your cheeks burn.

"you." you whispered. a hand wrapped around your arm and he pulled you into his chest, his other hand cupping the back of your head. you tilted your head up so you could kiss him, slow and soft. your legs tangled with his as you tilted your face to brush your tongue against his lightly.

"hmm ... good answer." he smiled against your mouth, planting another kiss on your cheek. you closed your eyes as he squeezed you against him, peppering kisses across your face. you hid your face in the crook of his neck and let his warm body encase you, falling asleep to the feeling on his face nuzzling into your hair.

...

two weeks had passed since the fateful party, and taesan was now your boyfriend. both of you were sitting with your friend group at lunch, laughing over some dumb argument between myungjae and sohee.

"y/n, you agree with me, right?" jaehyun looked at you pleadingly at you as you shook your head, laughing. you were eating some fries with taesan's arm draped around your shoulder, periodically feeding him some.

"you're crazy, jae." his offended look only egged your laughed on further, your shoulders shaking slightly.

"and to think i helped you plot on my friend. i never would've expected you of all people to betray me." he gasped dramatically, falling into his seat with a pout. your jaw dropped as he sat down, cheeks reddening as you reached over to smack him on the back of the head. you heard a chuckle from your boyfriend, making your cheeks blush furiously.

"wow, i can't believe i was all stressed worrying that you hated me while you were preying on me." taesan laughed as he pulled you away before you properly jumped on jaehyun.

"it wasn't like tha-" he cut you off with a swift kiss, lips swallowing your rebuttal.

a chorus of gross! and ew's and not again's could be heard across the table, and suddenly everyone was chastising myungjae for provoking the two of you.

"now i have to bleach my eyes, jesus." giselle mumbled.

[robertsfloyd]

PLS PLS PLS part 2 for puppies...where lando can't just stop fucking her.. and they have to lock him up in chastity but it's already too late since lando has filled her with his puppies and she's like pregnant or something like that?!!!

okay i went along those lines, but chastity became crate

cw: light smut, pregnancy

the crate was comfortable. soft pillows and blankets that smelled like you surrounded him when he laid down.

but he didn't want to lay down. he wanted to be on top of you, inside of you, rutting against you until you were filled with him.

"horny fucking mutt," carlos muttered as he locked the door to the crate, leaving lando on his own in the kitchen. it wasn't fair that the scent of you surrounded him and he couldn't get to you.

it wasn't fucking fair.

you laid with your head in carlos's lap as he pet your hair, scratched at the base of your ears. your body was so damn sore from the way lando had been manhandling you, but you were loving every moment of it.

you knew he didn't mean to be so harsh with you. but the thought of pups in the moment was exciting. would they have your ears or his? would they have your pointed ones with his curls? how about the tail?

no matter what, your pups would be cute.

but, now that it was over with, now you had a minute alone to think, you shook away the thoughts of pups. you weren't ready for that, especially not when oscar was due back from australia any day now. home from australia to take lando away from you.

you whined at the thought.

"oh, my girl," carlos cooed as his thumb stroked over your cheek. "i'll keep him in there until oscar comes to get him, if you want me to."

you sat up suddenly, shook your head rapidly. that was the last thing you wanted, for lando to be kept away from you. even when him trying to be inside of you 24/7 became too much, it was still nice to lay with him in your bed, to sit together while carlos was out and keep each other company. it was nice to talk to someone else who understood the intricacies of being a hybrid, the struggles that came with it.

"i like him," you mumbled to your owner. "he's..." but you couldn't begin to describe what you felt around lando. you liked it when he kissed you, liked it when he trapped you beneath him at night. liked it when he growled at other dog hybrids that got too close. liked it when you sat at the window, watching birds and that one cat that always escaped from the netting covering up their balcony.

standing from the sofa, you walked into the kitchen. your tail started wagging the moment you saw him. he held you blanket against his nose as he rutted pathetically into his hand.

you dropped to your knees in front of him. his eye opened as he whimpered at you, his grip on his hand tightening. he just wanted it to be you. he just wanted to be inside of you.

you stayed sitting in front of him, reaching through the bars of the crate. the lock was taunting you, daring you to try and open it. but you didn't know the code.

he came in his hand with a cry and wiped it on your blanket. you didn't mind; it was an old one kept in the crate. he reached towards you, played with your fingers as he stared at you.

eventually, carlos freed lando from the crate. he was on you immediately, kissing all over your face as your tail wagged. your tail was moving just as fast as his, and the two of you looked like you were going to take flight.

the moment he started humping you, your legs locked around his middle, carlos's slipper met the top of his head. "oye," he said with disapproval in his voice. "keep doing that and you're going back in the crate."

lando stilled, but you kept your legs locked around him, unwilling to let you go.

the threat of being torn away from you kept lando behaving for the next few days. he was attached to you in a way he wasn't before the crate, growing every time carlos came near.

something was going on with him, making his instincts go haywire.

but then oscar came to pick him up.

he whined as he gripped you tight, refusing to let you go. when oscar approached, when he tried to attach a load of the d ring of his collar, lando snapped.

he snapped his jaws at oscar, nearly biting into his fingers.

you were whining just as pathetically as he was. no, he couldn't go. he couldn’t leave you!

you didn't know how they got you separated. but you cried at the door through the night.

until you got sick. throwing up in the morning, hiding in your bed for the rest of the night. you blanket still smelled faintly of him, and that was enough to bring you comfort.

it was carlos's idea for you to take a pregnancy test. and then another. and then another.

he damn near lost his mind when they came back positive.

he was going to kill that mutt.

[captain-huggy-bear]

comforting Quinn after one the awful games the canucks have had as of late

Oh he's had a rough time of it lately our Captain but I do feel like we're on the way up! Winning streak here we come! Fingers crossed, anyway!

The way Quinn storms into the apartment is the first sign that he's taking this run of bad luck hard, that this most recent loss has finally caused him to snap. The door is slammed open, slammed shut, his shoes are practically thrown off, he's stomping around like the entire world is against him. The way he pulls open the fridge is so harsh the door creaks.

All it takes is one little thing, the way a red pepper falls out of the fridge and rolls across the floor when Quinn's going to get something for dinner, for him to lose it a little.

"It's fucking bullshit!" You're watching silently from the couch, the way his shoulders heave, tense, so tense all the muscles in his back are pulled taunt, the way his head falls onto the fridge door, how his hands clench into fists, unclench, and clench again.

Quinn's not an angry person, he's not a yeller or a fighter. He's calm, collected, but sometimes it's all too much. You know he's not yelling about the pepper. He's yelling because this recent loss in a string of losses is the last straw, because he's fed up of carrying his team, because he's fed up of the disappointed fans, the stress of potential trades, all the bullshit and drama when he just wants to play good hockey.

There's not really any words that can help, you know that, so you don't say anything. You just pad across from the living area into the kitchen on quiet feet and slide your arms around his waist from behind. Your cheek presses into the middle of his back while you press as close to him as possible.

At first he seems to tense more and you consider pulling back, maybe this isn't what he needs right now and that's okay. But, when you start to loosen your grip Quinn's shoulders slump, tension leaving even as he grips your arms around his waist and pulls you back tight against him, like the thought of you walking away is too much.

"I love you, y'know? Even if things aren't going well, that's not going to change..." It's the only thing you can think to say as Quinn's forehead rests against the close fridge door, as you mould yourself to his back in an effort to provide some sense of support, some sense of belonging.

You've never seen Quinn cry, but this changes it all. Maybe it's the reassurance, maybe the love in your voice or just the fact that he feels like a failure of a captain, like he can't bring his own team together into a cohesive unit. Whatever it is, he cries in front of you for the first time, shoulders shaking silently as he sniffles and tries to wipe the tears away frantically before you can see them.

"This is so fucking stupid," You know he's talking about crying over the losses and you hate that he thinks it's stupid because it's not. His words are what have you turning him around so that you can see his face, the way his green eyes are red rimmed and water, the wet tracks that run over his cheeks.

"Quinn...it's not stupid. You're allowed to be upset. To be angry. You work so hard for this team...I get it, it feels like it's not paying off...not going your way..." You cup his face in your hands, his short beard scratching your palms as your fingers brush away some of the wetness on his cheeks, brushing away at each new tear that trickles out against his wishes, wetting his long lashes. "I don't know when it'll get better, when the wins will come in, but they will. You work so hard, it'll happen...you just gotta keep holding on a little longer,"

"Fuck..." His forehead falls against yours, leaning down as he moves into you, it's like he's trying to take some of your strength and you wish you could give him it all. Wish you could take every ounce of frustration, anger and sadness he was feeling and weather the storm for him.

His braced hand comes to your waist and you're careful when you put your hand over top of it, but it's intentional as you start the conversation you've been avoiding for weeks.

"You need to start looking after yourself more first. Starting with not playing with this hand until it's better." The way he looks down at you says it all, that he hates the idea, but you know better. Each day his hand isn't getting better, each game he's more worn down. He's going to break himself in two, he's going to cause permanent damage if he's not careful.

"But..."

"But?"

"We'll lose if I don't play...or lose worse anyway," the last bit muttered under his breath with derision, at the fact that even when he's on the ice the wins aren't coming...and when he's not? Oh, it's a whole lot worse.

"Maybe you need to have more faith in them, the guys are good...yeah, you're amazing, you're the best player on that team, but maybe you need to trust that they'll pull through for you? Maybe they need to feel like you can rely on them." Your hands slip from his cheeks, arms sliding to wrap around his neck gently, chest to chest, feet bumping against each other as you sway in the kitchen.

"I just...I don't want to sit out." You know Quinn doesn't. The idea of not playing hockey is like a nightmare to him, but you also know that makes him a bad judge of his own health, his own tolerance, when to quit. Sometimes he needs a reminder.

"I know you don't, baby...you live and breathe hockey...but I'm scared," The look he gives you is startled, like Quinn couldn't comprehend that his behaviour had any impact on you, his arms tightening around your waist as if that might protect you from your own feelings, "I'm scared you're going to permanently hurt yourself, Quinn...please, just...take some time off games."

There's a long pause where Quinn watches you, as if he's trying to figure out if you're truly scared for his wellbeing. Whatever he must see must confirm it for him, that you're worried about him, because as he slides his hands up your spine in a gentle, soothing caress, he agrees.

"Okay."

"Thank you..." You really do mean it. You're worried about him, day and night, but especially whenever he picks up a stick at the moment. Always waiting for the call that tells you he's done something permanent, hurt something beyond repair.

"I love hockey...but I love you more, baby." He hates the idea of sitting out on games, but he hates the idea of you worrying more, of the fear in your eyes at the prospect he's not resting properly, hurting himself more. If taking a few games off will make you feel better? He can do it...the team can't get much worse at the moment anyway.