#so she's just studying that for like a week

[bueckets]

The Prophecy | Part 1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

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

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

WC: 11.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And it WORKED, didn't it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Prophecy Has Spoken: Harvard by 20"

"845/847 ≈ Perfection"

"Future WNBA GOAT"

"Rocket Science + Basketball = 🐐"

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

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

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

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

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

That's when you see them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swish. At the buzzer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The arena goes dead silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is something else entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They all do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swish. As pure as a layup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good game," she says simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right," she smirks, ordering another drink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And?"

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

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

She glances back, then at you again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March suddenly feels very far away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Including one from six months ago.

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

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

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

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

Three dots appear immediately. Your heart rate picks up.

just practicing for march 😘

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that makes your skin buzz.

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

Your phone lights up with a message:

you up?

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

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

A beat. Three dots.

just your future march matchup.

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

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

guess you’ll have to wait and see.

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

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

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

you always study film this late?

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

how'd you know i was watching film?

saw your laptop reflection in your glasses in that last story

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

stalker much? 🤨

just scouting the competition 😌

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

want company? i'm looking at our clemson tape

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'd like that."

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

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

The nickname hits different in her voice at 4AM.

"Night, Paige."

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

Then your phone buzzes again:

sweet dreams 🌙

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

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

Definitely not.

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

"earth surface temps are literally insane rn"

"why are you even awake?"

"says the girl who's also awake 🤨"

"homework doesn't count"

"nerd 🤓"

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

"bet i will. next time i see you"

"when's that gonna be? 👀"

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

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

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

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

"I do not make a face."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

 miss watching film with you

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

"Shut up," you laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re totally down bad, huh?"

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three days until Connecticut.

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

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

"Holy shit, that's really her—"

"The Prophecy is here—"

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

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

You type back quickly, trying to act casual.

surviving. But UConn is like a zoo. 🙄

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

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

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

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

on my way. see you soon.

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

turn around

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can you sign my jersey?"

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

"Are you really majoring in rocket science?"

"Can you do the space shot right now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's..." you start.

"Weird?" Paige offers.

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

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

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

"—never misses, like ever—"

"—turned down every WNBA scout—"

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

"—next GOAT for sure—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lead the way, Bueckers."

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

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

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

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

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

"Weird?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The two-hour video calls?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We should..." she starts.

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

You’re so fucking screwed.

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

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

Some things are worth the complication.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It wasn't insane," you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nods around the table.

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

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

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

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

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

"One time!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance at her. "Yeah."

Neither of you turns toward it.

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

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

"Or something?"

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

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

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

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

"Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Breathe."

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

"So," you say.

"So," she echoes.

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

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

"Paige?"

"Hmm?"

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

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

"I know," she says softly.

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

"I should..." you start reluctantly.

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

"Okay."

She blinks. "Okay?"

You squeeze her hand gently. "Okay."

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

"Rocket?" her voice comes softly from below.

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

[nomynameisnothing]

Reminds me of something I was thinking about earlier today, pretty perfectly actually.

I went to an all girls Christian camp every summer for 2 weeks to ride horses and go backpacking when I was in my teen years.

I was a streadfast ultracynical atheist then. I felt I had a duty to disprove everything about religion. I thought believing in god meant you were stupid.

I always did my best to poke holes in all the bible stories and find a way to prove that they didnt make any sense.

My cabin leader was the sweetest person I've ever met, so friendly and wholesomely christian.

I said to her, "How can you believe in something when there are so many holes... so many things that dont add up?"

She said that she imagined her faith like a cabin. Like a home, somewhere she felt protected with a roof over her head to ride out the bad weather. She said, "Yes, there are cracks and holes in the walls but thats where the light shines through. Thats faith."

The knowing that comes from deeply understanding your place in the universe and in this life; from understanding the laws that govern the soul and trusting in your connection with spirit to guide and protect you every step of the way.

I understand that now

Not because its comforting or convenient, but because I see the evidence. I get it now.

Its faith in laws in the universe in uncharted dimensions of phsyics that have yet to be defined.

I believe this is now the time when we can make that leap and bridge the gap between quantum physics and spirituality. They are not so different. One is just unproven because it is the study of phenomena that can't be empirically tested. The laws of nature still prevail.

As above, so below.

What does Acts 19:19 mean?

The people of Ephesus are learning what real supernatural power looks like. Like all pagans in the Roman Empire, they have household idols and city gods; they are known for the temple of Artemis. They also have a culture of witchcraft, which attracts demons, which attract Jewish exorcists.

This is the state of the city when Paul arrives. In response to all the magic, the Holy Spirit empowers him to heal and expel demons in Jesus' name. Jewish magicians hear him and start using "Jesus" as a kind of magical word. When seven sons of a Jewish high priest named Sceva enter a house and try to use Jesus' name to expel a powerful demon, the evil spirit attacks them, and the would-be exorcists run out in the street (Acts 19:11–16).

The whole city hears, and many of the practitioners of witchcraft immediately respond. Likely, they realize their spells and incantations don't really control demons, but Paul does. First, they reveal their practices, thus voiding them of power (Acts 19:17–18). Now, they burn their spells. "Ephesian writing," or Ephesia grammata, is a reference to written-down spells, some rolled into small containers and worn as amulets. If the pieces of silver are silver drachma, the value would be something close to 150 years' worth of a laborer's wages.

It's not uncommon for an unbeliever to see the power of Jesus and want to use it to gain influence and money. Simon the Magician did so in Samaria (Acts 8:9–24). But sometimes people are just waiting for rescue. When criticized for eating with unsavory people, Jesus said He came for the sick who need a doctor (Mark 2:15–17). When Zacchaeus heard Jesus, he gratefully accepted Jesus' message and His love and resolved to return what he had cheated (Luke 19:1–10). As Paul works, the demons flee left and right (Acts 19:12). Maybe the magicians just need someone to rescue them.

by Remedios Varo

[v6quewrlds]

❝ kiss me, m. mount. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: being friends with mason mount means being there with takeout and open ears after his breakups. with his latest locker room bet, he has a lot of time to think about why he's so bad at relationships. and the reason might be you.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: loved writing this, so so cute <3 day eleven of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends to lovers.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mason mount x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.6k.

You sat cross-legged on Mason's couch. The room smelled faintly of your favorite takeout, a mix of jerk chicken and rice and peas that filled your stomachs and warmed the air. Despite the comfort of your shared laughter, you could feel the tension coiled in Mason's demeanor, the result of a tough match and an even tougher breakup.

“So, what happened?” you asked, your voice gentle and curious.

Mason sighed, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “It was like pulling teeth. She didn't get why I had to end it. Kept saying we could work through it.”

“But you've both been miserable for weeks,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “I thought she'd be relieved.”

Mason's eyes darted around the room before landing on his phone. “I don't know, she just... didn't take it well.”

You leaned over and plucked the phone from his hand. “Come on, spill it. What did she say?”

Mason's cheeks flushed as he recounted the teary conversation. “She said I'd never find someone who loves me like she does. It was all a bit dramatic, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Classic breakup line.”

Mason snorted, a half-hearted smile playing on his lips. “I know, right? But it still stings a bit 'cause I know I'm the problem, not her.”

You put down your takeout container, leaning closer to him. “Mase, what do you mean?”

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I guess I'm not ready to be in a real relationship, you know? Just something I've gotta work on.”

You studied him, your brown eyes searching his. “You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're a catch, Mason. A bit of a knobhead at times,” she teased, “but you've got a heart of gold.”

Mason chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Cheers, love. Breakup came at a good time though, 'cause I've got this bet with the United lads.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow. “What bet?”

Mason's grin grew shy. “No Nut November. You know, the challenge where you don't... you know.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief, then you burst into laughter. “You're actually doing that?”

Mason nodded, his cheeks darkening. “Yeah, for a bit of a laugh, you know? See how long we can last without... indulging.”

You couldn't help but smirk. “So, what, you're all just walking around like a bunch of pent-up teenagers?”

“Pretty much,” Mason admitted, his smile turning into a grimace. “It's a good thing, really. Keeps my head in the game.”

You nodded, your amusement clear. “And your hands out of your pants,” you quipped.

Mason playfully slapped your arm. “You're one to talk, Miss ‘I've been single since forever’.”

Zara laughed, shrugging. “At least I'm not making bets about it!”

Mason rolled his eyes. “By the end of the month, I'll be the most zen person you know,” he said, puffing his chest at the thought, a boyish grin pulling at his lips.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what do you get if you win this challenge?”

Mason shrugged. “Bragging rights, I guess. Works for me.”

The rest of November rolled by with you keeping a close eye on Mason's mood swings. His frustration grew palpable as the days ticked away, his jokes about the challenge turned from light-hearted to desperate. Every time you saw him, you made sure to ask about his progress, enjoying the way his face contorted in an attempt to hide his growing irritation.

“How's the zen life treating you?” you teased, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Mason groaned dramatically. “Don't even start, Zee.”

You couldn't hold back your laughter. “Seriously, though, you've got to be close to breaking point by now?”

Mason's brown eyes narrowed playfully. “Why're you so eager to see me fail? You're supposed to be supportive.”

You leaned back, your hand on your chest. “Me? I'm just an innocent bystander, observing the madness that is No Nut November.”

Mason threw a pillow at you, which you deftly caught. “You're a sadist, you know that?”

“Just keeping it real, Mase,” you said, tossing the pillow back.

The last week of November was the hardest for Mason. You noticed he'd become quieter, his laughter less frequent. It was as if he was deep in thought whenever he was off the pitch. The banter between the two of you took on an edge of tension, his jokes a little less playful, his responses a little more curt. Worried, you sent a text to Declan, who had only told you that Mason had reached an “epiphany” during their most recent chat a few nights back.

On the final day of the month, you were at your flat, expecting a typical evening of binge-watching reality TV shows and scrolling through social media. But when your doorbell rang, you were surprised to find Mason standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Mason?” you asked, taking in his slightly nervous expression.

He held out the flowers, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know it's random, but I had to tell you something, and I figured flowers might help ease the blow if you decide to laugh in my face.”

You took the bouquet, feeling the weight of the moment. You stepped aside, inviting him in with a tilt of your head. “Alright, come in, I guess. What's going on?”

Mason shuffled his feet, his gaze darting around the room before settling on you. “I had a chat with Declan and Lauren, about, you know, relationships and stuff. And they got me thinking about what I really want.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you played it cool. “Oh?”

Mason nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, and I realized something. Every time I'm with someone, I can't help but picture you there instead. It's like you're this standard in my head, and no one ever measures up to what I think it would be like to be with you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your grip tightening on the flowers. You didn't know what to say, your mind racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Before you could respond, Mason took a step closer.

“I know it's weird,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “And I know you probably think I'm out of my mind. But I can't stop thinking about it. I've never felt this way about anyone else, not even close.”

Your throat went dry as you stared at him, the words you wanted to hear for so long finally hanging in the air between you. You parted your lips to respond, but left unable to answer, you simply closed the gap and kissed him instead.

The kiss was gentle, a soft press of your lips that grew more urgent with every passing second. Mason's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as your hand found its way to the back of his neck. The flowers fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mason's breath was warm against your skin as you broke apart, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or rejection. But all he saw was the same longing that mirrored his own.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion.

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. “More than okay.” You stepped closer to him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I don't think I realized how much I've been waiting for this either,” you admitted.

Mason's eyes widened, and then he was kissing you again, more urgently this time. You stumbled backward, your bodies colliding with the wall of your hallway, your hands exploring each other with a newfound hunger. The tension of the past few weeks dissolved into pure passion, the air between the two of you crackling with the electricity of a year's worth of unspoken desires.

You didn't speak as you made your way to the bedroom, your kisses speaking volumes. The room was dimly lit by the flickering of the TV, casting shadows across your faces as you shed your clothes. Mason paused, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze lingering on the curves he had only ever seen hidden beneath baggy sweatshirts and jeans, except for the occasional glimpse at the pool or beach.

You felt a shy warmth up your neck, but you held his gaze, your own desire matching his. You fell onto the bed, your kisses becoming more heated as your bodies entwined. Mason's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored you with his hands, his thumbs brushing over your hips and ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath hitched as Mason's lips found your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. His hands were firm but tender as he unclipped your bra, and you felt the coolness of the room against your bare skin. You reached out to trace the tattoos scattered along his arms and the one at the nape of his neck, the one you had been surprised he got in the first place. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a soft groan.

Your kisses grew more urgent as you moved together on the bed, the mattress squeaking gently beneath you. You felt your heart racing, your body responding to every touch, every caress. Mason's fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire you had long ago convinced yourself you didn't feel. But here it was, burning bright and uncontrollable.

“Sensitive?” you teased, the words spoken softly against Mason's mouth as your fingers traced the ink on his ribs.

Mason chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Only for you, love.”

Your laughter melded into a passionate kiss as you rolled over, you now on top of him. You felt powerful and alive, every inch of your skin tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. Mason's hands slid up your back, his fingertips tracing the contours of your body as you moved against him.

You felt a sudden jolt of nerves. This was it, the moment you didn't know you longed for so much. You had always been the quiet, reserved one, content to watch from the sidelines. But here you were, the star of the show, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Mason must have noticed, because he gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “We can stop if you want to. I just had to tell you how I feel.”

But you were beyond the point of no return. You leaned down, your eyes searching his, and whispered, “Don't you dare stop, Mason. I want this. More than you know.”

Mason's eyes lit up, the nervousness dissipating as he rolled you two over, taking control with a gentle force. His kisses grew more demanding, his hands more insistent, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. The months of friendship had built a bond between you, and now, as you finally gave in to your desires, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling as you raced towards something you hadn't dared hope for. You could feel the tension in Mason's body, the same tension that had been building in him all month, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

As you reached your climax, it was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions and years of unspoken feelings. The two of you clung to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync.

Afterwards, you lay tangled in the mess of your passion, hands still roaming, hearts still racing. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet whispers of your breathing and the occasional giggle when a limb got tangled. You felt a warmth spread through you that was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you had been missing. His chest, firm and warm, made a perfect pillow for your cheek, and you listened to the steady thump of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

Mason finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “So, I guess I failed No Nut November, huh?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Epic fail, Mount. But totally worth it, if you ask me.”

Mason chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I guess that's one way to look at it. I'm just relieved it's over, to be honest. Made my head all fuzzy sometimes.”

You traced your finger along the line of his jaw, feeling the neatly groomed hair against your fingertip. “Well, you've got thirty days of freedom coming your way. What are you going to do with it?”

Mason's smile was soft, his eyes still on yours. “I'm thinking of spending it with you, if that's alright?”

You giggled softly and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I think I could manage that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “What was that chat with Declan and Lauren about, though?”

Mason leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Remember when I said I needed to sort myself out before I could be in a good relationship? They just pointed out the obvious. That there was something holding me back, something I hadn't faced. Like I was holding on to some... I don't know, hope maybe?”

You felt his words resonate deep within you. You had often wondered if Mason had felt the same way you did but had been too scared to admit it. You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “And what did you tell them?”

Mason's eyes searched yours, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “That I always hoped that I'd eventually end up with you. That every girl I've been with, it was like I was just filling the time until you and I were ready for more.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart swelling in your chest. You had felt the same way but had never had the courage to voice it. The two of you lay there, your hearts beating in time, basking in the reality of your confessions. Years' worth of tension had led you to this moment, a culmination of unspoken feelings and hidden glances.

“You know,” you began, your voice shaky as you suppressed a giggle, “I wondered if we'd ever just give up on dating and just be together. We've both been horrid partners.”

Mason chuckled, his eyes shimmering with affection. “Yeah, but I think we've found our match in each other. Besides, I've had enough drama for a lifetime with the other ones. You're the one who's always been there for me, no matter what.”

You leaned your head on his chest again, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “And I always will be,” you murmured.

Mason's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. “My mum always said that when you know, you know. And I think I've known for a while now. I just didn't know how to tell you without messing up our friendship.”

You squeezed his hand. “I don't think much will change between us, honestly. We'll just be a bit more... affectionate in public, I guess?”

Mason nodded, his smile growing. “And I get to kiss you wherever I want,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “whenever I want,” he kissed your nose, “without worrying if it's too soon or if it'll ruin the friendship.” His lips found yours again.

You sighed contentedly against his mouth. “You're a really good kisser, you know that?”

Mason grinned. “Years of practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Gross, you've been kissing a bunch of other girls to get good at kissing me?”

Mason's expression turned playfully offended. “Hey, I've been preparing for this moment my whole life. I promise it's all been worth it, though. You're officially the best kiss I've ever had.”

You giggled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I'll take it I guess.”

[marzipanandminutiae]

would you have any reading suggestions to learn more about the earrings are evil era??? I've never heard of that aspect of fashion history and I am curious

Oh man, it was wild

you saw the first stirrings of it in the 1890s, when you started to get (mostly white and middle-to-upper-class) proto-feminists arguing that ear piercing was barbaric- keep an eye on the racist undertones there; they will come up again-and forcing women to suffer for fashion. I cannot emphasize enough that, until that point, ear piercing had been pretty much normal for this race/class/gender group. For centuries. You see criticism of the practice here and there, but nothing that really stuck.

The objections slowly increased until roughly the mid-1920s, when everything reached a tipping point and pierced ears became largely taboo for most white Americans and Brits of northern/western European descent. If that sounds HIGHLY specific, it is- communities from southern and sometimes eastern Europe retained cultural practices of ear piercing, to the point where it was often used as a point against them by mainstream society. It was also associated with Latino people, Black people, and the Romani, which. Yeah. I don't need to tell you how that went down.

It also developed associations with sexual immorality and/or backwards thinking. One newspaper letter I read came from a teen girl in the 1940s, wondering why she shouldn't pierce her ears if her very respectable grandmother had piercings. The response was something like "well, they did all sorts of things in the Bad Old Days that we shouldn't do now." True in many ways, or course, but...piercing your ears? That's the hill culture decided to die on as far as antiquated behavior that we should leave behind? Apparently yes.

Earrings themselves never went out of style, which led to the birth of clip-ons and screwbacks. Ironic that the "don't surfer for fashion" crowd was so eager to embrace screwing tiny vices onto your ears, but there we are. My own mother (born 1953) remembers her mother (born 1926) always taking off her screwback earrings immediately after getting home from a party, literally in the foyer of their house the second the door shut. There had been adaptations for unpierced ears before- Little Women, published in 1868, describes Meg March hanging earrings from a flesh-colored silk ribbon tied around the base of her ear -but they'd never caught on like this before.

However, the pendulum was soon to swing back. After just 40 years of Piercing Panic, in the 1960s, girls began piercing their ears again in droves. As piercing moved from the slumber party or summer camp back to the professional jewelers whose families had been early professional piercers in the 19th century- and to befuddled doctors who had no idea what they were doing yet still received piercing requests -cultural commentators had no idea what to make of it. Some decried the new trend while most took an air of bemused neutrality. My personal favorite article expressed surprise that "Space Age misses" were adopting these "Victorian traditions."

(In 1965, my grandmother took Mom to the anesthesiologist down the street who was offering to pierce his young daughter's friends gratis, and got it done. My grandfather had strongly disapproved of the idea, but in the end it took him a week to notice the new earrings.)

As to sources...honestly, I've just gone to Google Books, specified a time frame, and typed in "ear piercing," "pierced ears," "pierce ears," etc. Tons of primary sources at your fingertips, though I'm not always great about documenting or saving what I find. There's not much written about it formally, I've found- no books or scholarly studies. It may just be too close in history to attract much academic attention, though I find it fascinating.

This little blip where something that's been normal for most of western history suddenly became taboo for a hot second.

Also my ear piercings just turned 20 five days ago, commemorating the date that I was taken with much ceremony to Piercing Pagoda (and that horrible gun; it's a wonder I didn't get keloids) to get me out from underfoot while the Thanksgiving feast was being made. Grandma got hers pierced on the same day, at age 78. Happy Birthday, Marzi's ear piercings!

[coqhee]

OLD FASHIONED CHRISTMAS 𓂃 박종성

✷ sick of casual relationships and situationships, you tell mall santa all about your issues in hopes for a change

pairing. non-idol jay︲fem reader genre. angst (if you squint), comedy, new beginnings, mall santa! jay (this is not weird he just needs money), fluff warning. none! wc. 16OO / day 1 of melodies to memories

─── ♡

you hated christmas. ever since your ex choi soobin ruined it last christmas, it stood as a reminder of the dreadful holiday season.

it wasn’t always this way. christmas used to mean warm fuzzy nights by the fire, laughter spilling over hot cocoa, and the promise of something magical. at least until he shattered that dream.

“it was just casual, i thought, nothing serious,” the words rang.

you were so tired of hearing that excuse. casual relationships had become the norm, and you hated how easy it was for people to shrug off feelings like they didn’t matter.

you hated being passed off like it was a phasez being someone’s forever, temporarily.

your friends had dragged you out of your apartment to do some mall christmas shopping to brighten the christmas.

“come on, y/n,” karina whined, linking her arm with yours as the group stopped in front of the massive christmas tree in the mall’s center. “you can’t spend the holidays sulking in your room.”

“it’s not sulking,” you mumbled, kicking at an imaginary speck of dirt on the shiny tile floor. “it’s self-care.”

“right because avoiding christmas season entirely is healthy,” jake mocked back, adjusting the mock santa hat before looking at his reflection in the glass.

you glared at him, but before you could retort, karina’s eyes lit up, and you knew trouble was brewing. “oh my god, mall santa!” she gasped, pointing to the oversized chair where santa sat, kids lining up for their turn.

“no. absolutely not. you’re joking,” you deadpanned, sensing what she wanted you to do.

“you need this. tell santa your christmas wish. maybe he’ll fix your grinch heart,” karina urged you with a serious expression.

before you could protest further, they were dragging you toward the line, their laughter drowning out your groans.

jay hated being a broke college student desperate to do just about anything for money. when his friends had sent him a job opening for a mall santa, he hadn’t even read the title, and here he was.

for the past week, he’s been stuffed in red suit with a fake beard, fake belly, asking young kids alike what they’d like for christmas and handing them a candy cane. so when he saw you in line, he was finally excited to hear something interesting and different.

“you guys, this is for kids,” you hissed, trying to resist, but jake just hummed. “and emotionally constipated adults,” he quipped.

when it was finally your turn, karina gave you a gentle shove forward. “go on, grinch. make a wish.”

“and what would you like for christmas young lady?” the man behind the santa suit asked warmly, with a tone of sincerity as it’s no longer just a small kid, rather a full grown adult.

you opened your mouth, ready to brush it off with something sarcastic, but the words that came out surprised even you.

“someone with a pulse who texts back in a day,” you began, your tone soft but laced with frustration, “someone, who’ll take my hand, to go dancing to a fifties band, and promise he’s forever mine,” you finished earnestly.

jay, hidden behind the red suit, the fake beard, and the jolly persona, froze for a moment when your words sank in. his playful santa grin faltered, just barely, as he studied you through the disguise. there was something raw and real in your voice, something that tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“that’s quite the wish,” he finally said, his voice gentle under the gruff santa tone. he leaned forward slightly, resting his gloved hands on his lap as he tried to hold your gaze. “not everyone asks for something like that.”

you shrugged, trying to play it off, but the vulnerability in your expression was impossible to miss. “well, maybe i’m tired of asking for things that don’t matter.”

his chest tightened. there was a weight in your tone, a quiet ache he recognized all too well. it wasn’t often someone sat down and spoke to santa like this, and jay wasn’t sure why it was hitting him so hard.

jay’s heart ached a little at your honesty. he wanted to say something meaningful, something that would bring you any sort of comfort. but he was just a guy in a santa suit—what could he possibly say that wasn’t remotely weird for being a mall santa?

“sometimes, the best wishes take a little longer to come true,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that felt oddly comforting. “but that doesn’t mean they won’t, would you like a candy cane? he offered holding up a tin bucket of peppermint canes.

“no thanks, but thanks santa, merry christmas,” you mumbled, shuffling back to your friends, telling them about the exchange, not feeling any better. come on, it was a broke college kid in a santa suit, how was that supposed to bring you comfort?

─── ♡

the week after, at the christmas’ eve party your friends had begrudgingly dragged you along to, there you were sitting on whatever chair you could find drinking whatever mystery christmas punch you could find.

the cup was cold in your hands, the overly sweet drink doing little to lift your spirits. it wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate your friends trying to include you; it was just hard to fake the holiday cheer when your heart wasn’t in it.

you were busy staring at the twinkling lights on the christmas tree when someone bumped into you, the sudden motion spilling a few drops of your punch onto your sweater.

“oh, shoot! im so sorry!” a voice said, and you looked up, ready to wave it off.

your gaze met his, as you recognized his eyes, yet couldn’t place your finger on it. maybe somewhere on campus?

“it’s fine,” you muttered, wiping at the stain with your sleeve.

“still, let me grab you some napkins or something,” he said quickly, already looking around for the nearest stack.”

“really, it’s okay,” you replied, managing a small smile. “this punch isn’t worth crying over anyway.”

“im jay, what’s your name?” he asked so sincerely you could almost believe it was the start of something new.

“y/n,” you replied, shaking his hand. his grip was firm but gentle, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

“nice to meet you, y/n,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “what’s a grinch like you doing at a party like this?”

“grinch? how would you know?” you asked playfully while giving a small chuckle.

“dunno, just a hunch, am i right or something?” he asked, giving a shrug, to which you hummed in response.

“do i know you from somewhere?” he asked cautiously, tilting his head whilst asking.

“i don’t think so..?” you replied back unsure of where his question was coming frome.

he gave you a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, let me try that again. do you, by any chance, visit malls often, and happen to pour your heart out to santa?”

you froze, your brain immediately connecting the dots. your grip on the cup tightened as realization washed over you, and your eyes widened. “wait… no. there’s no way.”

jay’s smile turned slightly apologetic, though the amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. “yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower now as if to keep the conversation between just the two of you. “mall santa. that was me.”

“oh. oh my gosh, i’m so sorry for just dumping all that information on you, i’d never think i’d have to meet santa in the flesh again,” you apologized, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment wash over you.

he chuckled softly, holding up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “hey, for what it’s worth, you made my day that afternoon. no judgment, i promise.”

“you don’t get it, i just poured my heart out to a complete stranger, and now i have to meet them again,” you groaned, shaking your head.

“and i’m glad you did,” he said, his tone softening. “honestly, it was kind of… refreshing. most people just asked for the usual stuff. but you?” he paused, a genuine smile pulling at his lips. “you were real. it stuck with me.”

you peeked up at him through your fingers, still feeling mortified but slightly less so under the warmth of his gaze. “great,” you muttered sarcastically. “now santa knows my tragic christmas wish list.”

“maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” he offered, leaning slightly closer. “who knows? maybe this is the start of your wish coming true.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “you really believe that?”

“i do,” he said with a quiet confidence, his eyes holding yours. “and, for the record, i’ve been told i’m pretty good at keeping promises. especially christmas ones.”

“you’re serious?” you asked, your voice quieter now, searching his expression for any sign of insincerity.

jay nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile that somehow made the world around you blur just a little. “completely serious. i meant what i said back then—someone who sticks around, who shows up… you deserve that. everyone does.”

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “and you think… what? that could be you?”

his smile grew a little wider, but his eyes never left yours, steady and sincere. “maybe. but only if you want it to be. no pressure, and i promise it won’t just be casual.”

you looked down at the now-empty cup in your hand, then back up at him. “you know, for a mall santa, you’re awfully convincing.”

you smiled feeling a new warmth, a new connection in your brain to christmas, rather than choi soobin, the ex that ruined christmas, it was jay, who made your christmas anew, soon to be every holiday after.

he would be the one to give you the old fashioned christmas of your dreams.

─── ♡

a/n: ok i thought about if it would be weird to make a mall santa fic for the longest time ever, but its christmas cmon, anything flies. happy day 1 of melodies to memories!! hope you enjoyed!! all likes, comments and reblogs appreciated!! <3

m2m tl (open!): @pshwrldd @sainns

@ coqhee 2024. all rights reserved.

[galene-gothic]

“you need to belong to you”

romanticise yourself, not celebrities:

i’ll start by saying that fans sexualising the one direction members at liam payne’s funeral, as if it was not a funeral but a normal appearance is truly disheartening and disgusting. it shows how far we have strayed away from ourselves, how far we have strayed away from basic human decency, empathy and understanding. fans singing ‘strip that down’ after he passed away in his memory or supposedly to honour him needs to be studied too (like literally, there’s no way people are that stupid, it’s like our ability to understand what’s appropriate and what’s not has been completely erased from within us). another thing is how after he passed away everyone started harassing his ex girlfriend who talked about his allegedly abusive behaviour as if it was her fault. “he was so much receiving hate” or maybe he was being held accountable for something that he may have done? it’s always ‘girl’s girl’, ‘women support women’ and ‘always believe the victim’ until your favourite is involved.

also, something that has been really acceptable recently (especially in the entertainment industry) has been home-wrecking. i genuinely think that the man is more at fault in such situations but that doesn’t mean that we don’t hold the woman accountable because it is very dishonourable to be attracted to unavailable people even if they are the ones coming onto you. even if you’re attracted, you’re supposed to have enough self respect and discernment to not just go with the flow of emotions and instincts. the most unfortunate of it all is how we abandon basic human decency and morals in order to defend these celebrities. yes, i’m talking about people who make excuses “but she just dated someone’s ex”. yes, two weeks after the guy had a break up with his previous girlfriend and they were already talking. also, being with a man who has a son who’s around two years old and an ex girlfriend (a single mother at that), and singing “too bad your ex don’t do it for you” is just not it. it is their life and they’re celebrities, and this is not intended to be a post of hatred. i just hope that us humans as a collective have the understanding of right from wrong. let’s stop over-idealising celebrities and defending everything they do. taeil, a former nct member who turned out to be a sex offender despite his sweet and innocent public persona, and the burning sun scandal are all proof of how illusionary it all truly is. the diddy situation is proof that maybe just maybe, your life is better than theirs. yes, you may not possess enormous wealth or fame, you may not be regarded as a sex icon, or whatever it may be.

let’s learn how to see our blessings in the present moment even if it is hard and especially learn how to center our lives around ourselves. we are allowed to look up to celebrities, watch them and like them but let’s not separate from our life, truth, morality and integrity in favour of celebrities - ranging from pop stars to k-pop idols to actors and actresses. we should not think that we are better than them either but we should know ourselves enough to know that we are as great as we can be, that will come with time and practice. lastly, we should become less digital and more present, go out for a walk, try and touch grass even if it’s by yourself, without the company of anyone else. learn how to make a star of yourself. you do not need to be a celebrity or even just good looking to try and be your best self. now read the previous line again, the goal is to be ‘your best self’ and the first step to being that is going to require being yourself first. also, being your own because the body is just a vessel, do you really belong to you or are you easily consumed by others and circumstances? it is impossible to not be affected by your circumstances and surroundings at all but two people who go through the exact same situation or similar ones will come out of it differently - one will be at a loss, unable to even have a personal moral code or values, or even if they want to be a certain way, feel a certain way or maintain a certain mindset and life, they aren’t able to do so while the other person will grow to become more whole, they develop stronger morals and values, and are not only able to live accordingly but also instill the same onto others, not by words but through actions because nothing is more effective than leading by example. so, you need to belong to you, always. even if you admire others, you need to belong to you. even if you are curious about others, you need to belong to you. even if you desire connections, you need to belong to you.

[dominicfikeenthusiast]

UNSENT LETTERS (PART 6) / MATT STURNIOLO

“old shoe box underneath his bed, filled with love letters”

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

it had been weeks since you & matt have even spoken since that lacrosse game. no one even knows what happend. you’d seen him almost everyday, but did everything you could to avoid him. sitting as far away from him in class, hanging out nick anywhere but their house and not even carpooling to school with them anymore.

you’d felt terrible but everytime you saw each-other it was like a shared awkward state. you didn’t know what to say or what to do. it’s like your mind froze everytime you saw him. it didn’t help that nick and chris were persistent on knowing whatever the fuck happened.

you’d told brayden you just wanted to be friends. was that completely true? you weren’t even sure, but things were too complicated with matt to worry about another boy.

matt’s mood had been down for those weeks. his brothers were constantly worried about him. he barely was paying attention in classes or lacrosse practices. he hated not being able to speak with you, he hated the fact you were just ignoring him. “does she just hate me now?”rings through his mind every time he sees you. his journal was seeing even more of him now. constantly scribbling things about you, things he wanted to say.

“please talk to me, look at me, something”

“never needed you like i do right now”

“if i knew the consequence of my words meant losing you as a person & a friend, i would have never told you”

“nick & chris are constantly asking about what’s going on with us, but how am i supposed to tell them when i don’t even know?”

“i miss you”

“i notice how you fiddle with your necklace around me now, why do i make you nervous?”

“this wasn’t supposed to happen”

matt looks at his all of his notes. just from tonight. “this so fucking stupid and pathetic” he mumbled to himself. he got up from his bed, grabbing his car keys from the side table. it was the middle of the night, but he didn’t care.

matt was now parked in your driveway, he shot you a quick text. “you awake? i’m outside your house”

you yawned in your tired state, you were studying but were barely awake. your eyes flicked every word you read. you heard your phone ding, a text. matt? you ran out to look through your window, his car was infact parked right outside your house.

you didn’t even think to reply to the text, you just ran down the stairs not a care to the fact your parents might hear. you felt the cold breeze hit you. maybe it was bad idea to come outside at midnight in shorts & a tank top. you knocked on the car window, your body shivering somewhat from the chill, but mostly from nervousness.

matt impatiently waited for you, his leg shaking uncontrollably as he did. them he saw you read his text. most of him thought you would just ignore him, but a little part kept hope. as soon as he heard that little knock, a sigh of relief hit him. matt quickly opened the car door, his eyes glued on you.

“hey” you say, your voice soft but shaky.

·:*¨༺ ♱ ੈ‧₊˚ ✮ ੈ‧₊˚ ♱ ༻¨*:·

𝜗𝜚 - ps. this wasn’t supposed to be a cliff hanger, i just wrote too much on accident and had to stop 😭😭 also bye-bye brayden, sorry dude, you were just lowk just a chill guy 😕

𝜗𝜚 - tags : @ariana2saucyy @matttsangel @valxrieq @slxtarchive @2prcntmilkluvr @bells-sturn @sturnxies @iheartmattsbeard @chrislilcumslvt @mattsmiddlepartt @chrissv4mp @flouvela @chrisfavoritewhore @luckystarlogs @snowysosturn @x0x0bunny @anastasia-ac3rr3 @submattenthusiast @s7attr @jassturn @liasturniolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @ilovedyoumiss @kirby0strombolli @milaatyourworst @ginswife @skibidijewishgirl @adoreechxmpion @lovesturni0l0s @bandanamatt @clairomatt @rorylovesmatt @pasteldreams @chris-hallelujah @y3sterdaysproblem @xoxo4chrisss @mattsd0ll @mattslverr @jetaimevous @clairomatt @maggot3647 @izzylovesmatt @kennastromboli @allineedismatt @delilahsturniolo @mattserenity @allisonclairee @sturdyyolo @heartz4matt

[ellswritings]

Like I Can

James Potter x Reader

TW: Cute fluff, idiots in love, mutual pining.

Based on “Like I Can” by Sam Smith 🫶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🦋˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🦋˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🦋˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The Quidditch pitch buzzed with excitement as Gryffindor’s final match of the season drew to a close. Y/N, perched confidently on her broomstick, was a force to be reckoned with as the team’s Keeper. James Potter, the ever-charismatic Seeker, soared high above the game, his eyes darting between the Snitch and his favorite distraction: her.

She blocked yet another shot from Slytherin’s Chasers with a deft flick of her wrist. The crowd erupted into cheers, but James barely registered them. His focus lingered on her—her determination, her skill, the way her smile lit up the entire pitch. She was brilliant. And yet, there she was, constantly entertaining the advances of the most undeserving blokes.

By the time James caught the Snitch, securing Gryffindor’s victory, Y/N was already back on the ground, laughing with the team. But his celebratory mood soured when he saw who had approached her: Marcus Flint, a smarmy Slytherin with a reputation for sweet-talking girls.

“Brilliant saves today, Y/L/N,” Marcus drawled, leaning in closer than necessary. “I bet you’d look just as good off the pitch.”

Y/N’s laughter rang out, though James could tell it was more polite than genuine. Still, the fact that she humored him made James’ blood boil.

He shoves his glasses higher up his nose and turns to Sirius, who was already grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“She’s just being polite,” James muttered, as Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Polite?” Sirius barked a laugh. “Mate, she’s practically inviting him to Hogsmeade with that smile.”

Remus, who had just walked over, gave James a look. “You could just tell her how you feel, you know. Instead of standing here glaring holes into the poor bloke.”

“And miss out on watching this love triangle unfold?” Peter chimed in, grinning.

James ignored them, opting instead to yell, “Team meeting in five minutes!” just loud enough to interrupt Y/N’s conversation. She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, before turning back to the Slytherin.

This was only the beginning.

In the library, Y/N and Remus often sat together, their heads bent over books. James would join them under the pretense of studying, though he spent most of his time watching Y/N.

“James, you’ve been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes,” Y/N said, raising an eyebrow. “Need some help?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, sliding his Potions textbook toward her. “Think you can save me from another Howler from Mum?”

Y/N chuckled, flipping through the pages. “Alright, but only because I’m feeling generous. Start by not adding twice as much dragon liver as the recipe calls for.”

“See, this is why I need you,” James said with a mock-serious expression. “You’re the brains of this operation.”

“And you’re the charm, I suppose?” Y/N replied, smirking.

“Obviously,” James said, winking. “It’s a good thing I’ve got you to balance me out.”

On top of being the most obnoxious and charming students in the school, The Marauders’ pranks were legendary, and Y/N quickly became a member of their mischief-making crew her first year. She and Sirius made an especially chaotic duo, often dragging James and Remus into their schemes.

“Are you sure this will work?” James asked, eyeing the enchanted balloons they’d filled with color-changing paint.

“Of course it will,” Y/N said confidently, handing him a balloon. “Just aim for Filch’s office window.”

“I thought you were the sensible one,” Remus muttered, though he was already holding a balloon of his own.

“Sometimes, sensible is boring,” Y/N replied with a mischievous grin.

As the first balloon hit its target, exploding in a burst of green and gold paint, the group dissolved into laughter. James couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so carefree.

About a week or so later, the Marauders found themselves at the Three Broomsticks. James had hoped for a quiet afternoon, but when Y/N entered, arm-in-arm with a cocky Hufflepuff who had clearly overdosed on self-confidence, his mood soured.

“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius teased, nudging James’s arm. “There’s your girl.”

“She’s not my girl,” James snapped, though his eyes were glued to Y/N as she laughed at something the Hufflepuff said.

“She could be,” Remus pointed out, his tone calm but pointed. “If you actually said something.”

James groaned, sinking into his seat. “She wouldn’t be interested. Look at her! She’s... brilliant. And she’s dating that git.”

Peter snorted. “She’s humoring him, mate. Big difference.”

But James couldn’t take his friends’ advice. Instead, he found himself watching from the sidelines, frustration mounting as the Hufflepuff leaned too close and Y/N laughed a little too hard.

“Doesn’t it bother you to have such overprotective friends?” Dorian McMaster, the Hufflepuff Y/N agreed to hang out with for the day asks her. His eyes narrow over at James and the other boys who are now trying to pretend they weren’t just staring at her.

The (h/c) haired girl shrugs, “I wouldn’t call them overprotective,” she defends.

“Then why haven’t they stopped staring at you since we walked in?” He asks with an almost disgusted expression.

“Because they probably want me to go say hi?” Y/N tilts her head. “I don’t know. I’m not them.”

“I’m getting real sick of that Potter,” Dorian grumbles. “He thinks he owns everything.”

Y/N puts her hand up to stop him, “Well, first of all, he doesn’t think he owns anything. Second of all, if you’re implying what I think you are, I can confidently tell you that I am not something that can be owned.”

Dorian rolls his eyes, “Look, all I’m saying is that you agreed to come here with me. That git needs to back off.”

Y/N laughs lowly before standing from her seat. She shakes her head with a dangerous smile, “Just because your father happens to be the head of the Department of Mysteries doesn’t give you a right to act like an entitled prat. James isn’t a git, but it seems you are.” She smooths over her robe, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Are you gonna go after her?” Remus looks at James expectantly as they watch Y/N saunter out of the Three Broomsticks, leaving a fuming Dorian behind.

James looks after the girl, a battle going on inside of his mind. “No,” he finally mumbles with a sigh. “She doesn’t need me hovering.”

Sirius, Remus, and Peter all collectively groan, rolling their eyes at his ignorance. It’s rather irritating watching the two of them constantly play cat and mouse with one another. It’s clear to everyone but them that they are head over heels for one another.

“Ten galleons says he cracks by the end of the month,” Remus whispers over to Peter and Sirius as James continues staring longingly at the door Y/N just walked out of.

“I’ll take that action.”

Weeks passed, and James Potter’s resolve wavered. The relentless teasing from his friends only made things worse, especially as Y/N continued to attract attention from boys who couldn’t possibly see her the way he did. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was brilliant, witty, and fiercely independent. She had passed all her O.W.L.s with Outstanding marks and still somehow found time to pull pranks with him and Sirius. To James, she was everything.

It was maddening. Every smile she gave to someone else, every laugh she shared, every time another boy got too close. The jealousy gnawed at him like a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch. If only she knew how much space she occupied in his thoughts, how he wanted nothing more than to sweep her off her feet and show her what they could be together. He just needed a chance—one chance to prove he was the one for her.

The breaking point came during one of Slughorn’s infamous parties. James arrived late, his confidence faltering the moment he saw her. She was on the arm of yet another admirer, a Ravenclaw seventh-year who prided himself on his intellect. James couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wore a dress that shimmered with every movement, and her laughter carried across the room like a melody he couldn’t ignore.

The Ravenclaw boy leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she smiled, but James noticed the slight distance in her expression. When the boy’s hand drifted a little too low on her back, James’ restraint snapped. He drained his goblet of punch, handed it off to Sirius with a muttered, “Wish me luck,” and crossed the room.

“Y/N, can I have a word?” he asked, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

She looked up at him, surprised, and then turned to her date, who seemed ready to protest. “I’ll be right back,” she said, brushing off the boy’s attempts to intervene. James felt a surge of satisfaction as she followed him to a quieter corner of the room.

James took a deep breath, gathering his courage. His heart pounded as the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “No matter how many guys you date, they’ll never treat you the way I can. They don’t see you—not really. They don’t know how brilliant you are, how funny, how you scrunch your nose when you’re annoyed. They don’t know you like I do.” He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “They can be the most famous bloke in London, or some homeless man on the street, but they’ll never be me. I know it’s meant to be you and I.”

Y/N stared at him, her eyes wide with something he couldn’t quite place. Then, to his horror, she smirked.

“James Potter, are you confessing your undying love for me?” she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

James ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit she’d always found endearing. “I’m serious, Y/N. I—”

“I’m just joking,” she interrupted, her smirk softening into a gentle smile. “I’ve always known, James.”

His breath hitched. “And?”

“And you’re an idiot for waiting this long,” she replied, stepping closer. “But I suppose that means you’re my idiot.”

The world seemed to fade away as she closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was long overdue. It was soft and electrifying all at once, a culmination of years of unspoken feelings. James felt like he was floating, his heart soaring higher than any Quidditch match ever could.

From across the room, Sirius clapped Remus on the back, the latter groaning as he handed over ten galleons. “Should’ve bet on the party,” he muttered.

Later that night, as James walked Y/N back to the Gryffindor common room, their hands intertwined, he couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So, Potter,” she said, “does this mean you’re finally going to stop glaring at every boy who talks to me?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, pulling her closer. “But they’ll never stand a chance now, will they?”

She laughed, and the sound was music to his ears. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he quipped, his grin widening.

As they stepped into the common room, Sirius and Remus were waiting by the fire, their faces alight with poorly disguised glee.

“Finally!” Sirius exclaimed, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Do you know how exhausting it’s been watching you two dance around each other?”

“Subtle as always, Padfoot,” Y/N said dryly, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Remus chuckled, closing his book. “We’re happy for you both. Truly.”

James glanced at Y/N, his chest swelling with pride and affection. “Thanks, Moony. Means a lot.”

Sirius leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, Y/N, now that you’re officially part of the Potter package, does this mean you’ll help us prank the Slytherins next week?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “What makes you think I wasn’t already involved?”

James burst out laughing, pulling her into a side hug. “That’s my girl.”

In the days that followed, James found himself unable to keep his hands to himself. Whether it was brushing his fingers against hers in the corridors or slinging an arm around her shoulders during meals, he reveled in the newfound closeness. But the jealousy lingered, bubbling to the surface whenever someone dared to flirt with her.

One afternoon in the library, a Slytherinboy approached Y/N, clearly smitten. James watched from across the room, his jaw tightening as the boy leaned a little too close. When Y/N caught James’ eye and winked, he relaxed marginally, though he still made a point to saunter over and plant a possessive kiss on her cheek.

“Hey, love,” he said casually, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Everything alright here?”

The Slytherin stammered an excuse and quickly retreated, leaving Y/N to shake her head in exasperation.

“Was that really necessary?” she asked, though her tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Absolutely,” James replied, grinning. “Can’t have anyone forgetting who you belong to.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You’re lucky I find your jealousy endearing.”

“Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Their relationship quickly became the talk of the school, much to James’ delight. He wore his love for Y/N like a badge of honor, unashamed and unapologetic. And while Y/N occasionally pretended to be annoyed by his antics, she secretly adored the way he made her feel like the center of his universe.

As the year progressed, the Marauders found countless ways to tease James, but he took it all in stride. After all, he had Y/N by his side, and that was all that mattered. Together, they were unstoppable—a perfect match in every sense of the word.

[ctrllhyuck]

no hitter

genre/tags ✮⋆˙ enemies to lovers, college au, kim seungmin x fem!reader

word count ✮⋆˙ 2.6k

NOT PROOREAD

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　 　　 　

you first met seungmin at the park by your elementary school, you were playing with lia, your best friend, when out of no where some kids pushes you over.

“hey! you knocked me over, you’re supposed to say sorry.”

“i didn’t knock you over, you were in the way so i nudged you. you should be the one apologizing to me.”

“that’s not how it works! i was sitting here playing with the sand and you pushed me instead of saying excuse me. don’t you have manners?”

“i feel like i’m just wasting my time here. next time, watch where you sit princess.”

from that day on seungmin relentlessly tormented you. whether it was pulling pranks on you, starting rumors about you, and even going as far as accusing you of cheating on an exam. that’s why you had always said you hated him. at the start of your freshman year you decided to solely focus on your studies. you were never the type of person to go out to clubs or parties like your friends. you always preferred to stay in your dorm studying, watching a show or napping. seungmin on the other hand gained quite the popularity. even if you wanted to you couldn’t deny it, seungmin was handsome. you thought it was a waste that such a mean person had such an angelic face. seungmin had always excelled at baseball. he had quite the throw, which landed him a starting position on the university’s team. you two had mutual friends which made avoiding him 24/7 a difficult task for you.

“dude, please put the books down for one day. i’m literally begging you, i’ll get on my knees if i have to,” han jisung asked as he pulled on your backpack strap. han was one of the first friends you made at the beginning of freshman year. the poor boy stumbled into the women’s restroom as you and lia were walking out and the rest was history.

“han you know i don’t like going out, especially when i know seungmins gonna be there,” you responded to the boy as you sipped your iced coffee. to your left, lia scoffed.

“you know, i think you and seungmin might have a little enemies to lovers story going on,” the brunette said as she eyed your face, carefully scanning it until she found that slight flush of pink on your cheeks. you had practically known lia all your life, she was like the sister you never had. she was able to read you perfectly in any situation. a few weeks ago she had caught you staring at seungmin during a class you three shared together. when you noticed she had caught you, you let out a nervous laugh and that little flush of pink appeared. from that moment the gears in her head starting turning and she came to the only logical conclusion: you had a crush on seungmin.

renjun, your lab partner turned best friend, spoke up, “that’s actually impossible, she hates his guts.”

“okay can we get back to the real issue here, getting our lovely yn to come bowling with us,” han squeaked in an exasperated tone. the poor boy just wanted you to come out of your dorm for once and live a little. they knew parties were completely out of your comfort zone and would never force you to attend these events. but bowling? who doesn’t love a good round of bowling. the rest of the baseball team was going too, and they were actually quite fond of you since you would attend their practices sometimes.

“okay, i’ll go. but as soon as seungmin says something or does something to make me uncomfortable, can one of you take me home?,” you asked your friends as they all looked at you wide eyed. safe to say you were met with never ending “yes’s” from all three of your friends.

the night you were going bowling finally arrived. you were actually dreading it ever since you had accepted the invitation. you were unsure of what was an appropriate outfit for this outing since you lived in baggy jeans and over sized sweaters. lia had offered to come and style you (perks of having a fashion major best friend). after many no’s you two had finally decided on a denim skirt and a cute sweater.

“you’ll definitely catch seungmins attention tonight,” lia said as she spun you around in front of your mirror. you couldn’t help but wonder if seungmin had ever called you pretty in his head.

you were sitting in the passenger seat of han’s car while lia and renjun sang their heart out to sabrina carpenter. as you guys pulled up to the bowling alley you saw the rest of the team (and their respective girlfriends) standing outside. as your group walked towards the entrance you saw him. the man you “hated” the most, the person you would always avoid on campus, kim seungmin. you couldn’t help but admire his face. he was just so handsome? dreamy? you couldn’t find a word to describe him. as he turned around to greet han, his eyes caught yours. you don’t know if your crazy, but you could’ve sworn seungmin gave you a small smile as you made eye contact. the night was progressing as you made casual chit chat with some of the other guys on the team. seungmin had yet to come up to you to say a smart ass comment or make fun of you.

without anyone noticing, you slipped away from the group. you wanted to get some fresh air as the closed space had started to make you feel anxious. the cool air hit your face as soon as the doors opened, maybe the skirt wasn’t a good idea. you looked up at the sky and noticed there was a full moon, you quickly took out your phone to snap a picture of it. as you were angling your phone you heard a voice creeping up behind you.

“pretty isn’t it.” that voice alone made your stomach do flips. you knew exactly who it was.

“um, yeah, i was trying to get a picture for my story,” you responded practically tripping over your own words. the boy behind you laughed. oh how you loved his laugh.

“still get nervous around me huh,” seungmin asked as he started into your eyes, his smile never faltered. he was just so hypnotizing. you couldn’t help but feel drawn in.

“i- i don’t know what your talking about seungmin. if you don’t mind, i came out here alone for a reason.” it was as if something had snapped you back into reality. this is kim seungmin, the boy who always found the way to make you feel so little.

“cmon yn, it’s pretty obvious that you like me. everyone on the team knows it. why do you keep acting like you hate me.” seungmin kept inching towards you, every step he took invading your personal bubble. but, why didn’t you move? it’s like you wanted him there. he stopped when he was a few centimeters away from your face, your breaths mixing together. he started leaning in, and you didn’t pull away. you wanted that kiss. you wanted it more than anything.

then you heard it. the little giggles coming from behind the cars. you turned your head in the direction of the laughs, and you saw multiple phones pointing at you and seungmin. they were recording you. this was all a cruel joke planned by seungmin and his stupid friends. you felt the tears starting to pool in your eyes. how could you let your guard down so easily?

“no way you really thought seungmin was gonna kiss you,” a voice from behind you said. you knew that voice perfectly. it belonged to karina, seungmins former girlfriend. she was mocking you. every single one of them was making fun of you. you wanted the ground to swallow you. you felt your anxiety begin to bubble up. you needed to find one of your friends. you needed to be away from seungmin. you tried so hard not to cry but the feeling of humiliation was just too much. as you began sobbing you saw han walk out of the bowling alley, he had been looking for you. as soon as he saw the state you were in and everyone just standing around you he began to push seungmin and ask what the fuck was wrong with him. you weren’t sure if you purposely blocked everything that happened after out of your mind or if you blacked out. all you remember is lia helping you put your pjs on and tucking you into bed.

after the incident at the bowling alley you didn’t want to show your face on campus. you were sure the video they had taken of you and seungmin was posted all over social media. lia and renjun had assured you that it wasn’t posted anywhere, but they couldn’t tell you everyone had been sharing it thru texts.

“so are you coming to the baseball game? it’s the final, it would mean a lot if you came,” han was basically pleading with you. you felt conflicted. you wanted to go support your friend but you also didn’t want to see seungmin or the other idiots that helped him with his scheme. with a half smile you tell han you’ll try to make it.

it’s saturday night, the game is starting in 30 minutes. that’s exactly how long the bus ride to the stadium is from your dorm. after a lot of pep talks to yourself, you realized you couldn’t hide forever. you were going to have to move on from what happened that night. you knew it wasn’t the end of the world but your anxiety had made you feel much worse. you arrived at the stadium after the first pitch was thrown. you were quickly able to find lia & renjun in the sea of people. they greeted you with hugs and forehead kisses (courtesy of lia). you hadn’t been to a game since the season started so you were kind of lost to what was going on. by the middle of the 9th inning your university was up by 3. it was a small lead but they were so close to victory. three strikes was all that was needed for your uni to win the championship. you hate to say it but seungmin had been pitching amazing as usual. as he pitched the first ball you saw his face contort. you realized something wasn’t right. you saw him wince in pain and he hit the ground. he was holding onto his right hand as he was yelling things you couldn’t make out. after a few minutes you saw the coach and medical staff escorting seungmin off the field. then the announcement came, seungmin was hurt and they were switching pitchers. your chest felt heavy. you were able to see the tears in seungmins eyes. all you wanted to do was go down there with him and hug him. but you couldn’t, not after what he had done to you. after seungmin was replaced everyone could tell the new pitcher had no idea what he was doing. the game quickly ended with a grand slam from the opposing team. the final score 4-3. they had lost the championship.

you knew you shouldn’t be doing this. you should be with lia and renjun comforting han. but you couldn’t stop yourself. at first you were walking towards the locker rooms, but now you were full on sprinting. you had to find seungmin. you just felt like he needed someone and you wanted that someone to be you. as you neared the locker room you slowed down a bit to catch your breath. then you heard it. low sobs coming from inside the locker room. you carefully pushed the door open and that’s when you spotted him. seungmin was sitting on the ground, head buried in his hands as if he was trying to hide away from the world around him. you carefully approached him and sat next to him.

“seungmin.”

the boy looked up and his eyes widened in surprise. you were the last person he expected to see.

“go away. your not even supposed to be in here.”

“i know, but .. i wanted to check on you.”

you heard a scoff coming from him as he spoke, “check on me? oh please i don’t need your pity.”

“it’s not pity seungmin. you’re hurt and i wanted to check on you. i was worried.” did you actually mean what you were saying? why would you worry about seungmin? especially after how he treated you.

“this stupid injury cost the whole team the championship. it’s my fault we lost.”

“you didn’t know you were gonna get injured, i’m sure no one is blaming you min,” you stopped as soon as you said it. you called him by his nickname. a nickname you were never worthy of, or so you thought. you noticed a slight blush appear on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“only my friends call me min.”

“yeah i know, i’m sorry.” there was a long pause. it seemed like both of you were scared to speak. scared of saying the wrong thing. scared of hurting each other. seungmin was the one who broke the silence.

“i’m sorry,” you never thought you’d hear those words coming out of his mouth. “i’m sorry for what happened at the bowling alley. i know it’s hard to believe but i didn’t want to do it. it was karina’s idea.” he took your silence as a sign to continue. “she’s always been jealous of you. she heard something from one of the guys a few days back and she got mad. she really should’ve been upset with me, not you.”

“what did she hear? was it something about me,” you asked nervously unsure of what response you could get.

“yes and no. it’s something i said,” he paused and you looked over at him. his face was completely red. “this is hard for me please bear with me,” he said pleading with you.

“seungmin, i won’t be here forever,” you mustered to him as you stood up. seungmin was quick on his feet.

“wait, please.” his figure towering over you, but he couldn’t meet your eyes. “i told jeno that i- fuck this is hard,” you heard him gulp. “i told jeno that i liked you. that i’ve always liked you and that i’ve only ever picked on you because i wanted your attention.”

your mouth was agape. seungmin, the boy who you’ve had a crush on since that fateful day on the playground, was confessing to you. you were in shock. seungmin was trying to read your face but he couldn’t.

“please say something. reject me, slap me, kiss me whatever just please. i know i messed up big time but i can’t stand the idea of me losing you, please yn i-“ you cut him off with a gentle kiss on the lips. it was like you had always pictured it. his lips were soft and he immediately melted into your touch. it’s like your lips were molded to fit each other perfectly. you pulled away when you were both out of breath.

“seungmin i’ve always liked you.” you saw his face turn a bright red shade. you kissed the tip of his nose.

“i promise i won’t hurt you ever again. please stay by my side.” you could see in his face that he was sincere. you realized how in love you were with him.

“lia was right, we did have en enemies to lovers story going on,” you giggled as you saw seungmins puzzled expression.

this was just the start of your new chapter with seungmin. a new chapter in a story that you never wanted to end.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" I imagine this as Sebastian saying it to Reader. But the thought of the reader saying it to Sebastian after he wakes from a night terror (in this scenario, they have escaped Urbanshade) is very sweet to me

True to their word, they got you out.

You and Sebastian were finally free from Urbanshade's horrors.

Innovation Inc. managed to extract enough data from all the loose assets you've given to him to formulate an escape plan.

Thank god you have connections to the labs, otherwise you would have been just as doomed as any other EXR-P.

But you were more relieved that Sebastian didn't have to stay trapped in that place anymore. He didn't have to move from place to place and fight to survive constantly.

Even better?

There was actually a way for him to become human again.

Urbanshade deemed him too far gone in his mutation to reverse the countless painful surgical processes they put him through....but they were nothing but liars who didn't see the point of investing in the resources needed.

They could have done it all along.

Innovation, on the other hand, got every bit of data on the experiments that they needed, going right to work on him as soon as you both arrived to the labs.

Obviously, he resisted at first...as all the trauma he experienced from before didn't go away instantly.

He was afraid of another surgery, being touched and injected with foreign substances and restrained. Not to mention the heavily potent anesthesia he needed since he's developed such a strong immunity to it.

But you convinced him that if he hoped to become human--he needed this.

It took a week or two, with him being in and out of the operating room and you trying to pass the time by chatting with your colleagues about exposing Urbanshade's secrets to the world..but eventually they did it.

They gave him legs again. HIs ear fins were now back to being human ears--and anything else that made him look like an anglerfish was removed and replaced with stitched flesh. His third arm was amputated but preserved for future study.

Somehow, they even got his size to shrink. No longer was he a gigantic beast, but instead an actual human-sized person who got to sleep on the bed beside you.

The only things left of his previous self were some of his sharp teeth (which he didn't mind keeping) and his skin still bearing a somewhat light blue tint to it, although it was not as pale.

It was incredible.

He cried the first time he saw himself.

He felt..human, again. And you were happy for him.

Although...

While he was getting better physically, no amount of surgeries would be able to get rid of the emotional pain Urbanshade and the criminal justice system had put him through.

From getting an unjust sentence for something he didn't even do to screaming in horror at his monstrous reflection for the first time...all of those events still like to replay in his mind.

Not to mention he conditioned himself into never letting his guard down for any reason.

He'd wake up if he heard somebody so much as cough in the next room or squeak their shoes a little too loudly.

While the hardest part was over, it was still going to be a long and agonizing recovery process for him.

Tonight, however, Sebastian was sound asleep, whereas you were sitting at the nearby desk, pencil scratching at the notebook in your hand. You were just trying to brainstorm ways to get Painter and Eyefestation out and away from the Blacksite.

Of course those two were nothing short of a nuisance during your many runs to escape with the Crystal...but Sebastian considered them friends, as they were the only ones who could communicate with him and never tried eating him. So you did feel a little bad for leaving them behind.

You were sure Eyefestation was put out of her misery, knowing that she couldn't swim very far up due to the pressure changes in the ocean--plus she wasn't willing to let go of her vendetta against humans.

Innovation could very easily turn her into a normal shark again who could still speak telepathically...but they couldn't cure her hatred.

For all you know, she could want to kill Sebastian now simply because he was (mostly) back to being human.

Painter, on the other hand, could have escaped with you if you had more time. He deserved a better life besides wasting away mining robux and being tethered to the IDS. He always talked about Sebastian's promise to get him out, too, so you wondered if he felt betrayed and lied to...

Until you recently learned that Innovation figured out a way to communicate with him and help throw more dirt on Urbanshade via an encrypted channel. So there was a chance his AI could be transferred over to this facility if his physical body was destroyed.

That gave you hope to see him again.

But until then, they told you to look after Sebastian, and that was fine by you. He was all you cared about right now.

"GAH!"

Snapping your head over, you could see the man jolt upright all of the sudden, eyes wide as he clutched at his chest, breathing hard. You noticed the sweat dampening the front of his shirt, and closed your book. "Seb?"

"Shit. I was...am I...a-am I still...?" He mumbled to himself, bringing a trembling hand to his forehead, before he squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't be there..please, please, please, god.."

To his relief, he felt nothing but the tiny bumps that formed a stitch beneath his black bangs. But even so, his fingers kept grazing over his skin and ears, wanting to be certain those things weren't there anymore.

"It's okay. You're still at Innovation. My buddies got rid of them."

Feeling the mattress dip, Sebastian looked to see you sitting on the bed, too. You looked concerned, but not overly worried--as this has become a rather normal occurrence ever since he finished those rounds of surgeries.

"I know that, but..I've had them for a long time." He lightly scoffed, trying to calm himself down, but you could tell he was still shaking and very overwhelmed by his nightmare, tears stinging his eyes. "I..I-I can't just...forget about it like it never happened, you know. Like those bastards didn't.....gh.."

He got choked up, and you opened your arms to him, waiting to see if he was willing to accept your offer. Being a giant anglerfish, he never wanted anybody to touch him, and you understood perfectly why.

So for him to curl up into your embrace was a bit of a surprise, but you held him closely; not too tightly so he was uncomfortable, of course. "I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me." You consoled, feeling him rest his head on your shoulder, sniffling quietly.

A few tears dampened your sleeve, but you didn't mind them.

It made you realize that he probably took his humanity for granted--now there was no longer a huge size difference between you two.

Ever since escaping the blacksite, he's become a bit more attached to you, wanting to constantly be near you. Even back then, he's been friendlier to you than most expendables.

He'd never outright say your presence comforts him. But you could tell through the small gestures and "exceptions" he makes for you that you're the only good thing to enter his life at Urbanshade.

"You're okay, Seb. We're both okay now."

"Y-Yeah, I know..I know.." He muttered, slowly trying to wriggle out of the hug, to which you let him go and allowed him to sit up. "Sorry you gotta put up with me being like this. Thought I would've been over it by now.."

Despite his words, he was still physically shaken up, the nightmares not so easily leaving his mind.

"There's no rush to "get over" any of this." You frowned a little, putting your hand on top of his as a comforting gesture. "I sure as hell haven't. Every time I think I can get some sleep, I find myself getting chased by those stupid mutant fish over and over again.."

Sebastian just scoffed. "You think being chased by one is bad? Try becoming one and having to live through-"

But he stopped himself after seeing the look on your face, as well as you removing your hand and getting up. "Sorry. I'll..get you some water-"

"No. Don't leave. Please."

You blinked in surprise as he grabbed at the hem of your shirt with lightning speed, although when he realized you were staring...he quickly let go and coughed awkwardly into his fist.

"I know I'm not the only one who went through some messed up shit. I don't know how you dealt with it."

"What?"

"..dying over and over again. I would've gone fucking insane if I had to live through that."

"Well, I almost did...but it was worth it. Because we're both free now." You offered him a reassuring smile. "And technically Painter, too. We'll have to talk to him sometime."

"Yeah? Think he'd wanna chat with me after I basically lied to him?" He muttered, sounding uncertain. "I promised him that we would get out. And he could paint all the landscapes he wanted to."

"My colleagues are still figuring out how to unhook him from the IDS without further corrupting him, but they're making good progress. He'll be on his own little computer in here in no time."

"That's good. I just hope he can forgive me. I really only asked him to stall.."

"I'm sure he'd understand, Seb." With a sigh, you picked up your book. "He knows we're safe and he's giving Innovation whatever they need. So I wouldn't worry."

Sebastian simply nodded, looking to his hands--specifically to the ring imprint that was still on one of his fingers, frowning a little as he stared at it.

Even though his humanity was restored, he had already been declared dead a long time. Everyone he knew and loved was convinced that he was a guilty man who deserved execution. It didn't matter if they caught the actual criminal or not.

He just couldn't return to normal life after all he's been through. After all he's seen.

No.

But he could start over with you.

It was funny to think that you were once an expendable prisoner he glossed over, assuming you just wanted to buy his wares and march onwards to your next death--to which he'd laugh in your face and show you the document you already had memorized.

Now, you were the only person he could trust. The only person he was willing to be vulnerable around.

Because you helped free him.

You were the reason he was able to become human again.

[deaths-accountant]

Not an essay, but in Year 9, Religious Studies did a half-term on the Holocaust, which I was excited for, as I liked history and hated RS. But it turned out they didn't really teach us anything. So it transpired that we were assigned to make a piece of art based on what we learned about the Holocaust.

Which was kind of an insane thing to ask 13–14-year-olds, who had largely been treating these lessons as much of a joke as every other RS lesson. I procrastinated on this because... err... what, and because I had other things to do. So I ended up, the day before, still having no idea how to do this respectfully and drawing a stick figure outline with a yellow star and blood on it, surrounded by barbed wire.

The outline turned out terribly distorted, which, in the writing we were supposed to submit with it, I said was due to starvation. The yellow star had a line down the middle from when I drew it wrong, which I turned into it being cracked down the middle. I said that this represented the Nazis attempting to divide the Jewish people but them staying together—I knew this was bullshit. I had heard the stories of people in concentration camps betraying each other for any chance to cling to survival, but it was exactly the kind of platitude we had been taught in RS for the past few weeks, so I figured it would go down well.

I handed this in apprehensive but expecting the teacher wouldn't have the nerve to call me out on it. I was prepared to be told that I hadn't done the homework properly, but I wasn't prepared to be told it was one of the best in the class and asked to speak about it in front of the class. The marking was meant to be for the writing, not the art itself, you see.

This was a bit shocking at the time, and I definitely hated having to get up at the front of the class and say the same bullshit description in front of everyone. But in hindsight, I think it shows a real failure of Holocaust education.

We weren't being taught any history, and we weren't expected to say things that were true—we were expected to recite positive platitudes about Holocaust victims. And the course was filled with all the same busywork that Year 9 education on any other topic is, not conveying any sense of seriousness. Not that a sense of seriousness would have saved it when you're trying to do Holocaust education without actually teaching people about history.

Fundamentally, it was playing off the stereotyped idea of the Holocaust—that the Nazis were a unique evil who came out of nowhere, that there was no resistance and no heterogeneity, who had no motivation, and that everyone they victimized was a perfect, angelic victim who never tried to save themselves.

It was an education by a probably tired teacher, aiming only to get students to say "Jews are good," rather than to teach them what happened during the Holocaust. As if making people say that is going to stop anyone from becoming antisemites.

It was a sanitized view of the Holocaust, which reinforced the idea that there are no lessons that can be learned for our society. It was a course that resulted from someone being told they have to teach about the Holocaust without knowing how to do that. It was a course that didn't itself know how to treat the Holocaust respectfully because it wanted to treat the Holocaust as a magic wand to wave to get children to say that they don't hate anyone—and because our education system isn't designed to bother teaching children anything until they reach GCSE age.

Someone making a piece of art like that, not for a homework task, wouldn't just be bad art—it would be outright offensive. But the teacher wouldn't say that because she didn't have the time, or the understanding, or the energy to care. And if she did, she would basically have had to reprimand most of the class for actually doing the task that she set.

I thought I'd pulled off a great heist at the time, but realistically, the teacher just had no incentive not to buy my bullshit.

I guess the lesson here is that just saying you'll do Holocaust education isn't enough, and it needs to actually be resourced. In an endogenously marketised school system, where resources are only available for examined courses, it will default to reinforcing preconceptions, because that's what's cheapest.

Have you ever basically bullshitted an essay and gotten a great grade?

[billiesguitar]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 ←last part || next part→

Fuckboy!Billie x Nerdy!Reader

- Part 2 || Au masterlist ||

Warnings - Billie slightly manipulating reader,short chapter,mentions of sex (no smut tho)

As soon as Billie left the room, I began to regret everything. what the hell was I thinking? I hastily put my clothes on and head back to my dorm, making sure to leave that orange post-it on her bed.

a week passes and i hadn't heard from her. Thank God. I made a point to rush past her in the halls and cafeteria, I regreted everything and genuinely didn't want to talk about it or hear about it ever.

But one evening, when I was studying in the library, I felt a presence behind me. I looked up and there she was, her dark hair in a messy bun and those piercing eyes staring straight into my soul. She had her hands in her pocket, leaning against the bookshelf.

"hm, funny seeing you here." she says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes and continue my reading, pretending she's not there. But she doesn't leave, she sits next to me, her leg brushing against mine.

"You've been avoiding me." she says, her voice low and teasing.

"I have not," I reply, trying to keep my cool.

"Yes, you have," she counters, "why?"

"Because, Billie, that was a mistake." I whisper, "please don't tell anyone," I beg.

"wh-" I cut her off, "promise me you wont tell anyone,"

She leans closer, "Why should I?"

"Because, I'd rather not draw that type of attention to myself." I reply, my voice shaking slightly.

"What do you mean, 'that type of attention', what kind of attention?" she asks, her smirk growing.

"You know what I mean," I mutter through gritted teeth.

she smirks, "no I don't, care to explain?"

"fuck you." I pick up my things and rush out of the library, ignoring her laughter.

she follows me out, "Okay okay, I'm sorry, I promise I won't tell anyone," she says, "But you know you liked it."

I roll my eyes at her and head back to my dorm to continue studying in peace.

The next day, I'm in my dorm when my phone buzzes, it's a text from a number I don't recognize. "What number is your dorm?" It's Billie, I know it is. I ignore it, pretending not to know who it is. my phone buzzes again

"It's Billie, we need to talk." I sigh, what could she possibly want? I decide to text back "about what?" "about what happened that night" I groan and text back "What do you want to talk about?" "I want to see you again, to appologize."

I think about it for a moment before finally replying, "Fine." "the door number?" I send it to her, and immediately regret it.

Within minutes, there's a knock on my door. I take a deep breath before opening it to find Billie standing there in a hoodie and some shorts.

"Hey," she says, her eyes searching my face for a reaction.

"Hi," I reply, stepping aside to let her in.

Her eyes scan the room before landing on me again. "So, about that night." she starts.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, trying to sound firm.

"Why not?" she asks, sitting on my bed.

"Because it was a mistake," I repeat, "I don't do that sort of thing."

"What, have sex?" she scans my face again, "or have sex with a girl?"

I blush, "Both, I guess." I look up at her, "I guess, I'm not ready for everyone to know that I'm, y'know…"

"Gay?" she finishes for me.

I nod, feeling embarrassed.

"You don't have to be ashamed," she says, "It's who you are."

"I know," I murmur, "But I'm not ready to tell everyone."

"That's okay," she says, her voice soft, "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

We sit in silence for a moment before she speaks again, "But I'm not going to lie, I want to see you again."

My heart skips a beat, "Why?"

"You're interesting."

"Billie-"

she cuts me off, "doesn't have to be sexual if you don't want. just friends?" she flashes me a seemingly genuine smile, and I stupidly fall for it.

"Okay," I say, "but no funny business."

"Scout's honor," she says, holding up two fingers.

We sit and talk for hours, about everything and nothing. We watch movies, she makes fun of my love for romance, and I tease her about her love for horror. And somehow, we find ourselves lying on the bed, our heads on the same pillow, watching the sun rise.

It's comfortable, being around her, and I find myself forgetting the fear and embarrassment I felt that night.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

𖦹Scarlets' note - -ˋˏ- suble forshadowing??

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TAGLIST - @iluvapplesxh @imurmomsfavgf @hkkuugu @krosep @stonerfromlesbos

[quickstappen]

track 004: the see is calm (before the storm)

A/N: i know i've disappeared for a while but it turns out that second year of college is very different to the first. now finally after two months i've got it under control so hopefully we'll have a semi-regular schedule for now, i'll try to post something every two weeks (on weekends most likely). anyway, this one's not very plot heavy but it's needed for the story, enjoy!

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liked by carlitosalcarazz, oscarpiastri and others

paola_sainz contrary to popular belief, I do actually work sometimes ;) keep your eyes open guys, things are getting done here

tagged: sean_cliff

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F4ST_C4R oh please say its a new collection, i was too late for the 1st one and it sold out 😭

oui_lyanne who the fuck is sean

↳ 4ND1 from what i can see he's another designer

↳ oui_lyanne ooh, collab maybe? 👀

↳ f1w1tch OR the super secret boyf

L3CH41R well, looks like she's not in spa after all

mcwilliams are you gonna comment on the williams/carlos announcement??

↳ prplsector i mean,, why would she?? it's not her announcement, she's got a job

lightning_enjyr oh my god are those pieces from the new collection?? 😳

danielricciardo Respect the grind 💪🤠

↳ sadiebull sorry what is daniel ricciardo doing

↳ fastkiwi trying to relate to the youth lol

shithappens oh god women in suits 😳

STARG3N guys,,, what is carlos alcaraz doing in the likes

↳ hamilteaa the tennis player???

↳ STARG3N yeahhh

sean_cliff you know it's always a pleasure working with you 🤭

↳ paola_sainz oh I know, I am brilliant of course

↳ elmatadorf1 jesus what a self-centred bitch 💀

predestined55 no one's gonna buy this crap anyway 🐍

carlitosalcarazz We need to play again sometime! 🎾

↳ paola_sainz do your job at the Olympics first, then we'll see 👏

↳ isawthesainz THEY KNOW EACH OTHER???

↳ dutchlion sure looks like it 👀

oscarpiastri You gonna spend the whole summer break working too?

↳ paola_sainz actually no, this one guy invited me to visit his family you know

↳ oscarpiastri Lucky guy

↳ lightning_enjyr oui_lyanne surely you see my point now

↳ oui_lyanne everyday i am closer to believing you

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paola's messages:

paola_sainz posted new instagram stories!

caption 1: a little pitstop before our journey ;)

caption 2: mid-rant and a little drunk but he's fine, alive and well

⟶ alex_albon replied to your story!

alex_albon oh thank god you're with him, he hasn't been answering my calls and texts

paola_sainz yeahh, we figured. me and Osc are with him rn but we have to leave in the morning

alex_albon shit, how is he really? do you seriously have to leave?

paola_sainz he's better than yesterday, mostly pissed atp but I'm sure that the self-hatered and misery will come soon

paola_sainz and yeah we have to, we've been trying to visit Oscar's family together for ages

paola_sainz I think he's going home for the rest of the break

alex_albon jesus, that's good at least

alex_albon I'll try to reach out again

paola_sainz good idea

caption 3: couldn't take this little guy home, apparently "2 is enough cats Lola"

⟶ maxverstappen1 replied to your story!

maxverstappen1 I think you should've taken him anyway, he is very cute

paola_sainz I knoww! I named him Barron Meowmilton

paola_sainz unfortunately, I do not fancy sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future so we left Barron at a local shelter ;)

maxverstappen1 Ah, I understand

maxverstappen1 We'll always remember you, Barron Meowmilton

caption 4: and we're off to see the future in-laws ;)

⟶ hattiepiastri replied to your story!

hattiepiastri has my brother done something we don't know about??

paola_sainz nahh, dw about it, you'd be first to know after your mum

paola_sainz I'm just sure I'm gonna marry him someday, there's no other option

hattiepiastri you're both so disgustingly gone for each other it should be studied

hattiepiastri can't wait to see you though

paola_sainz girll me too, it's been too long

paola's messages:

liked by jensonbutton, hattiepiastri and others

paola_sainz can confirm that kitties are just as cute down under as in the rest of the world ;)

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shithappens paola talking about cats at all times? fork found in kitchen

arthur_leclerc did you try to take the cat home?

↳ oscarpiastri take a wild guess mate

↳ paola_sainz don't know what you're talking about mate

↳ oscarpiastri I have a feeling that you're gonna grossly overuse mate now

↳ paola_sainz now why would I do that... mate 😇

barbiegirl what are you doing in Australia girllll

elmatadorf1 thank god she's not going home with Carlos, he doesn't need her 🐍

jensonbutton Come back in one piece please

↳ paola_sainz don't you worry about that Jense, I am well taken care of ;)

oui_lyanne yeah okay she's actually in australia

charles_leclerc You're right, that's a very cute kitty

lightning_enjyr did you buy any new records?

oscarpiastri Have you seen the sights yet?

↳ paola_sainz not really, my tour guide has been kinda busy

↳ oscarpiastri That's a shame, there's a lot of great things to see

↳ paola_sainz don't worry mate, I've been looking at different kind of sights plenty enough, lot of beach days yk? I can wait a few more days 😉

↳ oscarpiastri Oh, well in that case 🫢

prplsector oscar is brave fr, I'll give him that 😳

4ND1 god the tension is this comment section is something else

ada_moore if Oscar's not the boyfriend and I was the boyfriend I am straight up fighting that man in some dark alley because that is so flirty and for what (if he IS the boyfriend, carry on please, the energy is unmatched)

L3CH41R how are her outfits always so good???

predestined55 Carlos just signed a contract and she's talking about cats and being a slut in the comments, great 😒

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hattiepiastri posted new instagram stories!

caption 1: did you know, we're killer on karaoke nights?

caption 2: doing all this late night talking

caption 3: we're keeping her oscarpiastri, if you don't wife her up I will

⟶ oscarpiastri replied to your story!

oscarpiastri You don't have to worry about that

paola_sainz posted new instagram stories!

caption 1: g'day mate! celebrity crush meet up officially checked out from my wishlist

caption 2: the locals showing me the best ice cream places in town

caption 3: hands that have never seen manual labour

⟶ oscarpiastri replied to your story!

oscarpiastri hey!

paola_sainz you're offended like it's not true

caption 4: bad bitch on the beach

liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and others

paola_sainz most unexpected crossover of the year? maybe not as unexpected as you think! me and Robert did some cool things this week and I got to meet some sweet pets, I might not come back from 'Straya

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N3CKSTRI excuse me- Robert Irwin and Paola Sainz in one place? i might actually die

prplsector spain's sweetheart with australia's sweetheart, way too cute

dutchlion can someone actually explain to me how people can hate her? if you don't like her content just stop looking at it, but actually hating on her?? can't imagine

robertirwinphotography It was good to finally see you! The animals already miss you

↳ paola_sainz oh god please don't say that, I'll cry for real 😭 I miss them too

shithappens i dunno, i still think it's pretty unexpected

fastkiwi the way this isn't even the wildest thing she's done this season 😳

predestined55 can you like rot in hell now? two faced bitch 🐍

barbiegirl they'd look sooooo goooood together

↳ zoebryne_x ik right??

logansargeant Is zookeeper next on the cv?

↳ paola_sainz you're laughing but I'd be an amazing zookeeper

↳ logansargeant Who told you that? I wouldn't trust them, you'd end up taking all the animals home

↳ paola_sainz Robert said I'd do great!

↳ logansargeant I think that's just his job, plus he's too nice to tell you the truth

↳ paola_sainz you're mean, see if I bring you gifts when I get back

4ND1 can I meet Robert Irwin now??

oscarpiastri Still looking at sights?

↳ paola_sainz why, you jealous mate?

↳ oscarpiastri Don't worry, just curious

lightning_enjyr are they even trying to hide it atp???

elmatadorf1 can she just injure sth since she's playing tennis so much? maybe then we'd get a break from her stupid face 🤢

↳ STARG3N you guys are literally insane what the hell

madi_races every time i open the comment section i get whiplash, on twt everyone is trying to figure out who the boyfriend is, the press is eating this all up, people are placing bets and here is oscar just shamelessly flirting, it's like a different universe

arthur_leclerc I'm coming with you next time

↳ paola_sainz ditch Charles and come here then

hammertime_1 guys i really don't think Oscar's the boyfriend, she's just way out of his league

isawthesainz jesus she's so cringe, excuse me while i throw up

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paola's messages:

NETHERLANDS 2024

liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant and others

oscarpiastri And we're back 👍 break at home was good but it's nice to be racing again

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laile_f1 he's never beating the calm cat allegations

catstri81 that is the most oscar caption to ever caption

maximumformula he's doing the dad pose 😭

4ND1 i can't with him 😭 he's just a guyy

chat_withmani ohh he's posted the girlfriend!!

elmatadorf1 i can't believe he still has a seat

↳ prplsector can you guys stop being fucking petty for a minute

paola_sainz so did the girlfriend like it in the down under mate?

↳ oscarpiastri Yeah, since she's now best friends with my sister I'm pretty sure she did mate 🙄

↳ paola_sainz what, you jealous of your sister?

↳ oscarpiastri She basically stole my girlfriend

lestappen116 he looks so happy 😭

fastkiwi it was good to see you back at home

landonorris Let's go mate! Good weekend 👍

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paola's messages:

click here to be added to the carved my name taglist!

taglist: @blushmimi @Ale-522 @joalslibrary @jaydaaasworld @vroomvroommuppett @sugarhoneylemons @formulaonebuff @clove0 @rockyhayzkid @glitzyditzy @coriyaps @irishmanwhore @gr3yhues @kikiki04 @fall-bambi @nichmeddar @sunfairyy @formulaal @marauders-wife @theseus-jpg @heavy-vettel @anxxiousaries @linaversion @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @d3kstar @camelliaflow3r @delululeclerc @lesliiieeeee (xxx - couldn't tag you)

DISCLAIMER: i do not know anything about this people, this is not real life, this is just something for fun, i do not know anythings about their life or personalities!

[emjayewrites]

ghost in the machine • jobe bellingham - part i

SYNOPSIS: What started off as something casual, Jobe now finds himself developing feelings that he is unable to shake.

PAIRINGS: Jobe Bellingham x Justine Campbell (fc: @/themiaamoore)

WARNINGS: cursing, falling in love type stuff, depictions/mentions of sex, jealous!jobe (18+ only) MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @judesvirtual, @judesprincess, @yeea-nah, @leilaxaliel, @f1-football-fiend @bbgkoo @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @henneseyhoe @judes-hoe @judebellenthusiast @imjustheretomanifest @greedyjudge2 @whoevenisthiz

A/N: Another one for Jobey….this is set in the Football Baes Universe. Read Hey There, Delilah to catch up. Please let me know if you wish to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @jobesbabe

It’s been almost two weeks since he last seen Justine in person due to their crazy schedules, but they speak to one another frequently through text, calls, and their ever growing meme thread. However, the Snapchat notifications were slowly killing him. Every time Jobe opened the app, there was Justine – and more often than not, Keyon somewhere in the frame. Study sessions, coffee runs, group dinners that somehow always ended up being just the two of them in the final snaps. Each post twisted something in Jobe's gut, making him grip his phone a little tighter and cause a scowl to form on his face.

Birmingham felt different during this brief break. Usually coming home meant peace, but now the streets held the possibility of running into her. Which is exactly what happened at Venetta's Caribbean Kitchen, where Justine was helping her mother during the lunch rush.

Jobe had frozen in the doorway, his mum beside him. Justine looked up from wiping down a table, their eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment before he deliberately turned away, guiding his mum to a different section.

"That was rude, Jobey," his mum had said quietly, but Jobe just shrugged, studying the menu like he hadn't been eating here since he could walk.

Later, back at his house, Jobe's phone buzzed with a text: Real mature, ignoring me like that earlier.

He didn't respond, but the message burned in his pocket through dinner with his parents. The food on Jobe's plate might as well have been cardboard. He pushed the chicken around listlessly, his mind replaying the moment at Venetta's over and over. The way Justine's face had fallen when he'd ignored her, how her hand had tightened on the cloth she was holding.

"You've barely touched your food," his mum observed.

"May I be excused?" Jobe asked, already half-rising from his chair. "Just… not feeling well."

His parents exchanged a look he pretended not to see. "Go on then," his dad said softly.

His phone buzzed again as he climbed the stairs to his room: So you're not gonna say anything?

Lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, a FaceTime request lit up his screen. Justine's name made his heart jump, but he waited three rings before accepting.

"You're being a proper dickhead, you know that?" Her accent was thickened with anger and some Jamaican patois flavored her words. "Who you think you are, walking past me like I'm invisible?"

Jobe couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. Angry Justine was always a sight – her eyes flashing, curls seeming to crackle with electricity.

"Wipe dat smirk off yuh face before mi dweet fi yuh," she snapped. ("Wipe that smirk off your face before mi do it for you).

"How you gonna do that through the phone?"

"Bombaclaat!" The curse exploded from her. "You're such an asshole." The call ended abruptly, leaving Jobe staring at his blank screen.

His attempts to call back went straight to voicemail. His texts remained unread. Frustrated, he grabbed his headset, turned on his PS5, and opened COD, finding Jude already online from his home in Madrid.

"You sound stressed," Jude's voice came through crystal clear in the headset.

"It's nothing."

"Right. Nothing to do with Justine?"

Jobe's character died spectacularly as he lost focus. "How's Lila?"

"Coming tomorrow. And don't change the subject." Jude's voice carried that older-brother wisdom Jobe usually tried to ignore. "What'd you do this time?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because I know you."

They played in silence for a moment, then Jobe sighed. "Saw her at Venetta's. Ignored her."

"Mature."

"She's been hanging out with this guy from her teaching program."

"Ah." Jude's knowing tone was irritating. "And you're jealous."

"I'm not—"

"Stop playing COD and go see her."

Jobe hated it when Jude was right. After saying goodbye, he turned off the game and headed downstairs to the entryway closet to fish out his Adidas slides and slipped his sock-covered feet into them. He grabbed his keys and turned around just in time to catch his parents making out on the sectional like teenagers.

"Ugh, can you guys do that in your room or something?"

His parents just laughed, breaking apart. "Where you off to?" his mum asked.

"Out."

"To see Justine?" His dad's knowing smile was insufferable. "Tell her we say hi."

"Yeah, yeah..." Rolling his eyes, Jobe escaped to his car. The drive to Justine's was muscle memory at this point, and for a bit, a SZA song played through his speakers. It was some sappy song about love that hit too close to home, so he quickly switched to his Stormzy playlist, the beat helping clear his head.

When he arrived, he walked up the short path and knocked. Mr. Winston Campbell, Justine's father, answered the door. Despite being nearly a head shorter than Jobe, the man had a way of making him feel small. Jobe shoved his hands in his pockets, partly from nerves, partly from the cold.

"Kind of late, isn't it?" her father said, fixing him with that look all dads seemed to perfect.

"Yes, sir. Sorry. Is Justine home?"

After what felt like an eternity of fatherly intimidation, Justine appeared. Even in sweats and a messy ponytail, no makeup, she was the most beautiful thing Jobe had ever seen. Her natural curls were pulled back, revealing the face he'd found himself thinking about more and more lately.

"What are you doing here?" Justine asked, her arms crossed.

"Taking you out."

She rolled her eyes but grabbed her keys anyway, telling her parents she'd be back later. Mr. Campbell's stern "Not too late" followed them out the door.

The night air bit at their skin as they drove through Birmingham's streets. Jobe kept sneaking glances at Justine, the way the streetlights caught her profile, how she absently moved to the Stormzy track still playing. Every little thing she did lately seemed to catch his attention – the way she chewed her lip when thinking, how her nose scrunched when she was upset.

They stopped at their usual corner shop for snacks. Justine loaded up on Haribo and chocolate buttons, the same thing she'd done that first time months ago when this thing between them started. Back then, he hadn't known how she'd get under his skin, how her laugh would become his favorite sound.

The park where everyone their age hung out was empty this late. They sat on the hood of his car despite the cold, Justine already tearing into her sweets.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For being a dickhead."

Justine cut him a look of disbelief. "Mmhmm."

"I'm serious, Jus."

She unwrapped a chocolate button, popping it in her mouth. The familiar gesture made his heart do something stupid in his chest. "Why'd you ignore me today?"

Jobe watched her lick chocolate from her thumb, trying to organize thoughts that had been jumbled since Halloween. "Been seeing you with Keyon. On Snapchat."

"Ah." Her smile was knowing. "You've been jealous."

"Can we... can we be exclusive?"

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "What?"

"Not like... dating exactly. Just... exclusive. No fucking other people."

Justine's laugh echoed through the empty park. "Oh my days, you really have been jealous."

"Jus..."

"Keyon's just a friend," she said, sobering. "I'm not interested in him like that."

Relief flooded through him. "So...?"

"So what?"

"Exclusive?"

She studied him for a long moment. "You mean you want all the benefits of dating without actually dating?"

"Did you have to say it like that? At least until we figure things out, yeah? My schedule's mad, and you've got teaching..."

"But we won’t be seeing anyone else."

"Right."

She popped another chocolate in her mouth, considering. "And should I agree to this?"

Jobe turned to face her fully, taking in the sight of her – ponytail, oversized sweats, chocolate-stained fingers. "Come to Sunderland next weekend. I'll make it worth your while."

"That's a long drive..."

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "I'll make it very worth your while."

Her smile was slow, dangerous, and tempting. "Yeah?"

Instead of answering, he kissed her. She tasted like chocolate and possibility, her mouth warm despite the cold air. When they broke apart, her eyes were slightly glazed.

"Is that a yes?"

"To Sunderland or being exclusive?"

"Both."

She pretended to think about it, but her smile gave her away. "Fine. But you better make it worth the drive."

"Trust me," he said, pulling her closer. "I will."

They stayed at the park until the cold became unbearable, sharing sweets and kisses. Justine tucked herself under his arm as they walked to the passenger side of the car, fitting against him perfectly before Jobe helped her slip inside. The drive home was quiet and comfortable, Stormzy replaced by something softer.

Pulling up to her house, Jobe killed the engine but made no move to get out. "Text me when you're inside?"

"Such a softie," she teased, but her eyes were fond.

He watched her walk to her door, Mr. Campbell's shadow visible through the front window. As she disappeared inside, his phone buzzed: Inside safe. Thanks for tonight x

Driving home, Jobe couldn't stop smiling. It wasn't exactly what he wanted – not yet – but it was a start. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

His parents were still up when he got in, curled together watching TV. "Good night?" his mum asked, knowing glint in her eye.

"Yeah," Jobe said, unable to hide his smile. "Really good."

The coffee shop near campus buzzed with its usual mid-afternoon energy as Justine settled into her favorite corner spot. Her laptop was open to a half-finished lesson plan, but her mind kept drifting to the texts from Jobe lighting up her phone.

"The usual?" Keyon appeared with two steaming cups, sliding her oat milk latte across the table.

"Thanks." She took a sip, appreciating how he always remembered her order perfectly. Their coffee meetups had become routine – a break between classes where they'd complain about their teaching placements and swap horror stories about particularly difficult students.

Today though, something felt different in the way Keyon watched her. He seemed nervous, fidgeting with his cup sleeve.

"So," he started, clearing his throat. "I was thinking… maybe we could grab dinner sometime? Like, not just coffee."

Justine's stomach dropped. She'd been afraid of this, had noticed the way their friendship seemed to be shifting lately. "Key…"

"I know, I know. You've got that thing with the footballer."

"It's not just that." Though Jobe's face flashed in her mind – his smirk when she'd agreed to be exclusive, how he'd kissed her in that park like he was trying to prove something. "I'm not looking for anything serious right now," she said finally. "Got too much going on with school and work."

And there was Jobe. Whatever they were doing wasn't serious – couldn't be, with his schedule and her life in Leeds. But it was… something. Something that made her drive two hours to Sunderland on weekends, something that had her checking her phone between classes for his texts.

Keyon nodded, understanding but clearly disappointed. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

The rest of their time passed normally, talk turning to their upcoming assessments and placement reviews. But Justine's mind kept wandering to the weekend ahead, to the apartment in Sunderland where she'd be spending it.

Later, walking across campus to her next class, Justine's phone buzzed. Made it worth the drive yet? Jobe's text read. Jus: Considering I haven't left Leeds yet, no. Jobe: Soon though. Jus: Cocky. Jobe: You love it.

She did, and that was the problem. He could make her smile with just a text, and he seemed to know exactly what buttons to push. It wasn't supposed to be like this—they were just supposed to be having fun, getting their rocks off between his matches and her teaching rounds.

But somewhere between late-night drives and morning-after breakfasts, something had shifted. Not that she'd admit it, especially not to him.

That night came faster than expected. The drive to Sunderland was familiar now, her playlist full of songs that reminded her of Jobe. She'd done this twice before, but this time felt different. Maybe because of them being exclusive or how he'd kissed her that night in Birmingham.

His apartment building came into view – modern, sleek, the kind of place young footballers gravitated toward. She punched in the code he'd given her ages ago, took the elevator to his floor.

The door opened before she could knock. Jobe stood there in joggers and a t-shirt, looking unfairly good for someone who'd just finished training.

"You cleaned," she noted, stepping inside. The usual chaos of his bachelor pad was notably absent.

"Don't get excited," he smirked. "Ordered dinner too."

"And here I thought you were trying to impress me."

His hands found her hips, pulling her close. "Don't need to try anymore, do I?"

She should have had a witty comeback ready. Should have pushed him away, maintained some distance. Instead, she let him kiss her, melting into it like she always did.

His lips were soft but demanding, knowing exactly how to make her forget why this was complicated. One hand tangled in her hair while the other pressed against her lower back, holding her close.

When they broke apart, his eyes were dark with want. "Dinner first," he said, voice rough. "Then I'll show you exactly how worth it this drive was."

Justine could only nod, already anticipating the night ahead. This thing with Jobe might not have been what she planned, might complicate everything from her studies to her family dynamics.

But as they settled on his couch with takeaway containers, his thigh pressed against hers, she couldn't bring herself to care. Some things were worth the complication.

Even if she wasn't ready to admit exactly why.

After dinner, the air between them grew charged, thick with anticipation. Justine followed Jobe to his bedroom, her heart racing as he closed the door behind them. He shot her a smirk as he crossed the room, pulling her close without a word, and slanted his lips against hers.

She let out a small gasp as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, and that allowed his tongue to slip inside her mouth. When they finally broke apart, his gaze was dark with intent.

"Dinner’s done," he murmured, his voice thick and rough. "Now I’ll show you exactly how worth it this drive was."

Justine felt her breath hitch, anticipation building as he pushed her towards the bed. He paused to turn and open the bedside drawer, fishing out a condom. Removing his joggers, t-shirt, then boxers, Jobe tore the foil packet open and slipped it on, his eyes rarely ever leaving hers, the hint of a smirk still on his lips.

"Your turn," he said, his tone laced with mischief.

Rolling her eyes, Justine shimmied out of her clothing and as soon as she was naked, his hands guided her to turn onto her stomach — face-down, ass-up. Jobe bent her slightly forward and she moaned as she felt him press against her from behind. When he leaned in close, she could feel his breath hot against her neck.

"You think you can handle what’s coming?" His voice was low, teasing, a dare wrapped in a whisper. One hand slid along her waist, holding her steady, while the other traced its way up her back, finally tangling in her hair. He pulled her head back gently, just enough to make her pulse quicken, reminding her of exactly how much he liked things rough.

Justine's witty comebacks disappeared the moment he entered her, the world narrowing down to nothing but the rhythm they set together. He moved with a purpose, each thrust deep and steady, making her toes curl. His grip on her hair tightened just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain, and she couldn’t help but let out a whimper, fingers clinging to the sheets as he set a relentless pace.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured, voice husky as he leaned over her, pressing his chest against her back. "Act all tough, but you melt the second I get you like this."

She let out a breathy laugh, managing just enough wit to shoot back, "Don’t flatter yourself, Jobe."

"Flatter myself?" His hand pulled her closer by the hair, his voice in her ear like a dark promise. "You’re the one begging for it."

His words only fueled her, making her clench around him as he drove into her harder, the intensity building. She gripped the sheets, her mind blurring with each thrust. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, her body surrendering entirely as he held her firmly, guiding her movements.

"Fuck....Jobe!"

"I know, I know," he said smugly as his thrusts became erratic. With both of his hands in her hair and his manic movements, Justine felt like she would explode from the sheer pleasure of it all; and she did, her orgasm erupting from the deep within her and causing her to tremble like a leaf. Jobe's orgasm hit soon after and he collapsed on top of her, his body glistening with sweat before pulling out and discarding the condom.

Afterglow looked good on Jobe. The usual cockiness in his expression had softened to something almost vulnerable as he traced patterns on her skin, pressing gentle kisses to the marks he'd left on the base of her neck. Their breathing slowly returned to normal, the intensity of earlier giving way to this quieter intimacy that always caught Justine off guard.

"So…" He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with that boyish grin that did dangerous things to her heart. "Worth the drive?"

"Mm. Solid seven out of ten."

The indignation that flashed across his face made her bite back a laugh. "Seven? Now you're just chatting shit."

"What can I say?" She stretched languidly, hiding her smile at how his eyes tracked the movement. "I've had better."

"Nah, you're moving mad right now." His hand slid down her side, making her shiver. "The sounds you were making five minutes ago tell a different story."

"Maybe I was faking it."

His laugh was low, knowing. "Justine."

"Jobe."

"You're a terrible liar."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling as he pulled her closer. "And you're annoying."

"Yet here you are."

"Unfortunately."

His response was to kiss her again, slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did, just for tonight.

The weekend had passed in a blur of tangled sheets and takeaway containers. Now, watching Justine pack her bag for the drive back to Leeds, Jobe felt something twist in his chest. She moved around his flat with familiar ease, finding her scattered belongings – a textbook on his coffee table, her charger by his bed, one of her hair ties on his bathroom counter.

"Don't forget to eat something proper," she said, zipping up her bag. "Not just those protein bars."

"Yes, mum."

She flipped him off, but kissed him goodbye anyway. The flat felt too quiet after she left.

Monday's training session was intense, preparation for the upcoming Millwall match in full swing. Between drills, Jobe's mind kept wandering to the family section of the stadium, imagining Justine there in his jersey. He shook the thought away – she wasn't his girlfriend, just because they were exclusive didn't mean...

"Come on, Jobe!" His coach's shout brought him back to reality.

His phone lit up with his dad's contact photo as he left training. Strange – his old man calling for a second time today? Around lunchtime, his dad shared the news that he'd been called up for England U21s to face Spain and The Netherlands, which was a huge opportunity for him and for his career.

Surely everything is figured out... "Yeah?"

"Can't a father call his son?" Mark Bellingham's voice carried that tone Jobe knew too well.

"Again though? What's up, Dad?"

"I forgot to ask about Justine. How is she?"

There it was. Jobe sighed, adjusting his grip on his gym bag. "She's good. Teaching placement's going well."

"Good, good." His dad cleared his throat. "And you two are being safe, yeah?"

"Dad."

"I'm serious! You're young, sexually active—"

"Can we not?"

"Just making sure." A pause. "So... is she your girlfriend now? Because your mum has been talking about Christmas in Norway, and if she's officially your girl..."

Jobe's stomach flipped at the image of Justine bundled up in the snow, wearing one of his jumpers. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Just is." He reached his car. "Look, need to get groceries. Talk later."

"Use protection!"

Jobe hung up before his dad could embarrass him further.

The grocery store's fluorescent lights made everything look harsh. His cart filled quickly with the basics – frozen pizzas, energy drinks, protein bars, cereal. He was debating between Frosted Shreddies and Cookie Crisps when a laugh made him turn.

"Let me guess – living alone?"

The girl was exactly the type who usually caught his attention before Justine. Tall, blonde, expertly applied makeup, outfit designed to turn heads. She had that look he recognized – the one that said she knew exactly who he was.

"Uh, yeah."

She stepped closer, perfectly manicured hand resting on his cart. "I could help you pick out some real food. Maybe cook for you sometime?"

"Sorry, I've got someone."

The words tumbled out before he could think about them. The girl's smile faltered, a quick "Oh" before she walked away.

What the fuck did I mean by that? Jobe thought, staring at his sad collection of frozen meals. Sure, they were exclusive now, but "got someone" sounded... serious. Like something you'd say about a girlfriend.

Back home, after shoving most things in the freezer, he FaceTimed Justine. She answered surrounded by textbooks, hair piled messily on her head, glasses perched on her nose.

"Productive day?" he asked, settling onto his couch.

"If you could say that. This lesson planning is killing me." She glanced up, smirking. "Nice shopping trip?"

"How'd you—"

"Your freezer door is still open. Look at all those pizzas. You're such a child."

"Oi, those are quality meals," he quipped as he got and slammed the freezer door completely shut.

"Sure, babe."

The casual endearment made his chest warm. Before he could examine that feeling, Justine's attention shifted.

"Oh! Love Island USA's starting. Watch party?"

They settled into their virtual date night routine, Justine occasionally scribbling notes while Jobe provided commentary as he watched from his living room.

"JaNa is literally perfect," Justine sighed as the camera panned across the villa.

"Kordell's moving mad though."

"Right? And Aaron's such a dick."

"Serena could get it though."

Justine threw him a look through the phone screen. "Could she now?"

"You know what I mean."

They watched until Justine's yawns became too frequent to ignore. "Get some sleep," Jobe said softly. "Early class tomorrow, yeah?"

"Mm. Night, J."

After they hung up, Jobe turned off the TV to go lay in bed and stared up at his ceiling as memories of the weekend played through his mind. Justine in his t-shirt making coffee, curled against him while they watched match replays, kissing him awake in the morning.

His dad's questions echoed in his head. Maybe "complicated" was just another word for scared – of wanting more, of admitting this thing had grown past their original arrangement. The England callup would mean a week and a half without seeing her, and the thought bothered him more than it should.

His phone buzzed: Night Night. Missing you already x

Jobe smiled at the screen. Maybe complicated wasn't so bad after all.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[jayhyunglover]

S for Studying or Sylus.

Inspired by his myth

Warmings: none just fluff , mentions of burning

Pt2 here

--------------------------------

How did I get here ? That's actually a good question. Let's say I got thrown or offered?

Whatever I was thrown there in a fucking chest.

Why am I here? To learn obviously . Learn about that creature hiding in this crypt full of treasures.

I got up dusting my clothes before adjusting my glasses over my nose. Jerome the small chameleon in my hair rested on top of my head to observe our surroundings. Taking an once over of the crypt before looking down at the chasm beneath my feet.

If I tripped I'll be dead for sure but I am gonna die in a few weeks anyway. I shrugged

"Well well well , what do we have here?" I heard a deep voice said the sound more like a rumble making me turn around to take in the figures behind me

"HOLY SHIT" I shouted before running to hide behind the chest I arrived in.

I wasn't a coward (well I didn't think so) but when I read about a Dragon from my late uncle's notes I was thinking about some I don't know 20ft tall reptile with wings and tail not a fucking *beautiful* man with wings and tail.

I peered up at him from where I was hiding taking in his silver hair, red blood eyes and dark scales. A red Gem was embedded in his chest pulsing light faintly

"I must say it's the first time someone reacts so strongly to my presence. I don't know if I should be flattered or offended" he spoke again his voice a rich deep baritone that sent tremors in my body.

"So little one" he leaned down resting a feet against the chest to look at me , crimson eyes hypnotizing "may I know who you are ? And how did you find you find your way in my lair?"

My mouth was wide open , my eyes probably bulging out of their sockets.

Why is he so beautiful and majestic and Gosh that blood red gem glinting against his chest. Was it his heart? I had so many questions but found myself asking the most stupid one.

"Are dragon always that beautiful?"

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he threw his head back and laugh

Laugh? Why is he laughing did I say something funny ?

"My , my , my , you're surely something Little human" he pushed the chest with his feet before crouching down in front of me his scorpion like tail flicking to brush against my face making Jerome shift and hid deeper in my hair the sight earning a surprised look from him.

"You're hiding a lizard in your hair?" He asked in disbelief

"Its my friend his name is Jerome" I corrected.

"Interesting" he murmured more to himself than me before feeling his tail graze my cheek. It was cold and sharp .

"Does it inject Venom?" I found myself blurting out before touching the pointed tip earning a slight hiss from him.

Shit I guess I shouldn't touch it so casually

"Sorry" I murmured before quickly getting up making him do that as well.

Why is he actually so huge ?

"You haven't replied to my question yet" he reminded me before feeling his tail wraps around me to bring me closer and yet again I found myself touching it utterly fascinated.

"Do you have a death wish or just stupid?" He asked seemingly baffled by my shameless actions

"I actually do have one . Can I examine it ? And why is it smooth ?" My fingers traced over it making him automatically release me , his breath deepening , the tip of his ear reddening??

No its probably a trick of the light.

Just who was this woman and what does she want?

When he heard this ruckus earlier Sylus excepted to find some thieves trying foolishly to steal him or hunters sent to end him not a woman who didn't know how to keep her hands to herself and couldn't stop eyeing him like he was the treasure she came looking for.

Everything about her was off putting from those neat glasses to the small lizard hiding in her locks. She just wasn't what he faced usually and it grated at his nerves.

"Your eyes are so pretty" she peered up at him leaning in to take a closer look , the gesture making him take a step back

Is he scared of me? I tilted my head in disbelief

"Who are you?" He asked again

She didn't seem to mean any harm. Well his blood pressure couldn't say the same but that was another problem to deal with.

"Oh I didn't introduce myself you can call me Athena but I am nothing like the wise Goddess" I chuckled "and you?"

She was seriously asking for his name . Didn't she know he could kill her in an instant ?

Yet he found himself responding anyway

"Sylus"

"Sylus? Its oddly fitting" I murmured before sauntering towards him to take a closer look at his appearance under his watchful gaze.

"You still haven't told why are you here human"

"To learn" I replied eyes flickering up at him

"To learn?" He repeated voice tinged with disbelief.

Who the hell in their right mind would come in a dragon's lair to learn?

"About you , the dragonic specie" I precised before taking out my notebook to jot down thoughts and observations.

Strange he couldn't help but thought. Wasn't she aware of how dangerous he was?

"So you live here?" I asked walking deeper in the crypt towards the mountain of cold Coins and treasure before sitting down and laying on it.

.

Sylus just watch her from afar and a distant part of him almost found her cute

No way she might be an hunter in disguise trying to charm him to get him to lower his guard-

"How the hell you manage to sleep there?" She exclaimed before letting out a wince .

"Guess it's not fit for your graceful body" he commented before walking over his clawed hands pulling her up on her feet

He touched me . Great graciousness he touched me.

"Your hands are so big" I remarked

They could easily snap my neck in two.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" He asked voice almost teasing

"More like an observation" I retorted reaching out to touch it

Why is she so intent on touching him?

But even as his mind protested he let her touch him this time. Her touch was tender almost reverent as if she was afraid of breaking him while he was the one who could easily crush her.

"Aren't you going to run away ? Try to escape ?" He asked crimson gaze fixed on her face gauging her reactions

She couldn't possibly stay here with him and learn right?

"Why would I try to escape? I came here for a purpose" I asked eyebrow knitting up in confusion before looking up at him.

He scoffed red eyes narrowing at her before stepping closer.

"You're just a mere human with no defense . Aren't you scared I'll eat you or burn you alive?" He murmured lips dangerously close to her ear.

"Burn ??? Wait how do you spit fire Exactly? Do you just combust dioxygene or is there a gland involved"

Here she was again with those damn questions.

He groaned the sound making me instantly shut up.

Maybe I should slow down on the questioning if want to learn something before he make a meal out of me.

Sylus was glad she finally closed those pretty lips shut before he went insane.

"If you are determined to stay here , then stay out of my sight" he grumbled before walking away

Why the sudden switch up ? And how the fuck I am going to learn about him if "I stay out of his sight"

I was tempted to follow him and pester him more with questions but decided against it expanding my lifespan to one more day.

--------------------------------

A/N: this is an idea I got from Sylus's myth and i am gonna make it a series i hope you will like it . And I am sorry if Sylus is a bit OOC and also english isn't my first language

Tags : @jinwoosbabyboo @chibichibi-mia @loveanddeepthroat @poisonf0rest @plutotheplum @lalunanymph-main @chaos-in-deepspace @zaynessnowflake

[novlr]

I have a bad habit of never finishing writing I start - I work hard on a story, make it to 3/4 of the way through, then lose passion for it and start something else. I know the key to overcoming this is discipline, and I’m trying very hard to make myself keep going with my current story that I like very much and spent so much time researching and outlining, but it’s a struggle every day to make my writing goal. Any advice for how to re-ignite writing spark or how to push through to the end?

We can lose our drive to write for a lot of reasons. It often indicates a growing maturity as an artist — you understand the craft better and your own (current) limitations better, and so you begin to feel overwhelmed in a way you didn’t before. It can also be that external anxieties are getting in the way or simply that you’ve lost interest in your current project. 

Hope is not lost. Read on for some tips on reclaiming your writing spark. 

Shift gears

Sometimes, all you need to reignite your writing spark is to engage your brain in a different way. If you’re struggling with your novel, take a break and try writing a poem or a piece of flash fiction. Or, you could try drawing sketches of your characters, a map of your story’s world, or some possible outfits for your climactic battle scene (it doesn’t have to be good. No one’s going to see it). 

The trick is to stay creative but to approach your work from a different angle. 

Change location

If you’ve been trying and failing to write at your desk, surrounded by crumpled up dreams drafts and last week’s candy wrappers, you may be suffering from an environment with stagnant energy. Try taking yourself on a writer’s date: go to a location that fits the tone of the project you’re working on (lux hotel lobby, seedy theatre bar, the wilds of a nearby park), and see if that gets your creative wheels turning. 

Dress [in]appropriately 

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg has a chapter called “Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette Hanging Out Your Mouth”. By this she meant, “Use outfits and props to step outside yourself and get a new perspective”. You might find it helpful to have a special “writer’s sweater” that you only wear when you’re writing or to dress like someone confident and cool enough to smash writer’s block in the face. 

Do some soul-searching

What’s really going on here? If the above tricks aren’t doing it for you, there may be some bigger issues at play that are inhibiting you from connecting to your writing spark. 

Write letters

I’ve written about the restorative powers of letter writing before, and I’ll mention it again: handwritten letters are a great way to get the words flowing. You don’t actually have to send them when you’re done (although you can if you want to); the recipient doesn’t even need to exist. Simply by putting your thoughts down in a low-risk way, you’re unclogging your creative pipes. 

Join a writing group

There’s power and accountability in numbers. You can find writing groups online, through community centres and writers centres, or by sticking a flyer up in a bookshop and starting your own. There’s even a Novlr writing community on Discord where we share tips, struggles, and just generally talk craft! By inviting other people into your writing practice, you’ll have some support and encouragement to keep you going. 

Find your writing spark with writing prompts

The internet is awash with writing prompts. These can be a helpful way to get something down on paper and stretch out your writing muscles. Whether it’s a premise, an opening line, or a character study, writing prompts can give you a gentle, creative push and even inspire new work.

Experiment with found structure

If writing a traditional story feels like pulling out your own teeth, try a found structure story. This means using fictional “found material” like shopping lists, calendars, to-do lists, ticket stubs, banking records, and so forth to create a narrative. 

Here’s an example: Imagine a week in which a bride-to-be prepares for her glorious wedding, is left at the altar, rages in misery, and ultimately emerges healthier and stronger. Now, write her shopping list for each day of that week. How does it change from beginning to end? How much emotional detail can you communicate to the reader through the items that appear on these lists? This can be a fun way to create a story without the anxiety of writing it.

Set a petty life goal

I am a proud champion of the value of pettiness as a motivator. There are plenty of noble reasons to write: to share powerful stories, to help readers in need of healing, to inspire others to write stories themselves, and to draw attention to important social issues or minority identities. 

There are also some really inane and selfish reasons to write: to become more famous than your ex, to appear on TV and make your ex regret everything they’ve ever done to you, to have your book made into a movie and receive casting consultation rights and pitch your favourite actor in the lead role and allow them to take you for coffee as a thank you. But the thing is… these are the motivations that are really going to pull you out of the dirt when you need it most. Find the silly driving goal that really gets under your skin and hold onto it for dear life. 

Forgive yourself

Many writers experience a lot of shame when they aren’t writing as much as they feel they should. Needless to say, this shame only makes the writing harder. Allow yourself the space to take some time when you need it, process your struggles, and return when you’re ready. The page will be waiting when you get back.