#some of it are actually from my own experience

[hairspray-heart]

Tbh this is something I'm noticing increasingly in online spaces, not just tumblr. The more things get censored to make online audiences attractive to advertisers, the more people get horny about every fucking thing. You can't go anywhere online without running into it on some level, and I think it's related to the puritanical anti-sexual content bent of many social media sites, where users are just a demographic, data to be sold to advertisers.

I also see young people who are seemingly experiencing extreme phobias toward anything sexual, which seems like it's related to being raised on/by an internet culture that revolves around social media standards. These are the same people who self-censor in person because they are actually afraid to say anything that advertisers wouldn't like, because those are the rigid social rules they're used to. Saying "smex" or "unalived" in college classes because they can't make themselves say the Forbidden Words.

So it's going in both ways, but much of the Tumblr demographic is millennials and early zoomers, compared to other places are are primarily younger zoomers and gen alpha. Not everything is generational, of course, but if you were born pre-Obama, you also probably experienced some era of an internet with significantly more sexual outlet via porn and similar, especially if you were on Tumblr when we had porn.

There are plenty of other factors for individual leaning. But based on the rough estimates I have in my head, I see more "sex leakage" from folks closer to my own age and more "sex suppression" from folks young enough to be my nephews (who are ages 2-18; much of the anti-sex and anti-porn sentiment I see is broadly people under drinking age at the very least, although cultural factors like religious belief has a moderating effect).

Notable exceptions are TERFs of any age (anti-sex work in most cases I see), drag queens of any age (broadly sex-positive in my experience), a certain brand of Christian/Catholic I occasionally run into (broadly sex-negative and definitely anti-sex work), and people who have done sex work (context matters: everyone I know who did it voluntarily or for survival supports keeping it legal and having protections; I do know people who have survived involuntary sex work or trafficking may have different views). These situations appear to mitigate any potential generational influence.

Anyway as far as I can tell, we're strongly polarized on sexuality because it doesn't sell to advertisers so much of our social media is sexually stifled and filtered, but also humans in general are a sexual species* and having no outlet for that makes it spill over into places where it doesn't belong or make sense, especially the more social media becomes a place we're the Purity Police will Get you... except if you horny post on Tumblr dot com.

*I fully acknowledge that asexuals exist and that isn't what I mean; that is the exception statistically and there is nothing wrong with having sexual urges because that is part of what most people experience at some point.

I think that banning porn has made this website more sexual over time, actually. When people had that porn outlet you could mostly just post in peace but now can’t mention any random thing without people relating it back to their horniness. It’s gotten worse, I tell you. I was here before the porn ban. Occasionally accidentally coming across a sex gif was the price we paid for mostly keeping on topic.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS THE EPILOGUE

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @flipthepaige @wbbgetsmewetter @mariahthealchemist @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @kplum10 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd @lupinqs @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ohmybueckers @ykylalex @hcneymooners @cherryswisherz

warnings 17.8k words, sexual content, a whole lotta paraye content!

kalena speaks 🪽! i fear the time has come to wrap up paige and raye’s story… but maybe i’ll post something for them again! who knows? this is long… like the longest thing i’ve ever written bc y’all know i love some plot 😊 thank you so much for all the love and all the support throughout it all, i hope you enjoy the epilogue with my babies 🥹

December 2025 — Aspen, Colorado 

“Paige hurry up!”

“Ma, I’m trying!”

Weightless snowflakes fall from the sky and onto the wood just below my feet. I’m not used to the cold, living in Georgia followed by California to blame for that.

My knees knock together slightly when a rush of wind blows over, Uggs on my feet, white snow suit pulled on top of layers of sweats and leggings to keep warm— with my hands stuffed into my pockets.

The scenery was beautiful, hills and the large Rocky Mountains covered in a thick blanket of snow. We had just gone skiing down it hours ago, and Paige taught me how to snowboard yesterday. String lights in the town illuminate a nice yellow hue. It’s the first time I’ve gotten to experience a white Christmas, even if it wasn’t actually Christmas yet.

The add on of having a secluded cabin to ourselves was a plus too.

“Baby it’s fucking freezing, God.” I hiss, watching her gloved fingers fumble with the key to the front door of the cabin. She cradles ski equipment in her hands, a large Nike backpack slung over her shoulder. And then there’s me, hands in my pockets watching her struggle with just a bit of amusement.

Paige looks cute, though it really isn’t much of a surprise. A black beanie is fitted onto her head and a black hood on top of that. She’s all bundled up in her winter clothes, snowsuit, beanie, swaddled in all black with an occasional touch of purple like a little kid going to school. Her skin is paler than normal and her nose and cheeks are reddened. Lips, pink, and smothered in vaseline. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her lips, and I can tell she’s just a bit frustrated.

“I know that, Raye.” She grumbles. “I know you see me with all this shit in my hands.” 

I smirk, seeing her struggle after offering to help just minutes before brings a sense of pride to my body. I was right, as I tend to be.

“I told you I’d help, you just wanna be big dog sooooo bad.” I tease, rocking back and forth on my heels. My body leans against the wall, the dark wood barely even felt thanks to all the layers I wear.

“Shut up.”

“Give me the key.”

Paige thinks it over. I can see the way her mouth opens slightly and her eyes flutter when she blinks. Her lashes are long, dark from mascara and slightly damp from one too many tumbles in the snow.

But she hands it over anyway. So I unlock the door, doing it with a kind of ease that makes her cheeks flush more than they already have. “Ladies first.” I smile, holding open the door for her.

Paige ducks her head under the frame, fitting all six feet and some inches of her through the door. “Whatever.” She huffs like a baby, making me giggle behind her.

She kicks her boots off by the door, I follow suit with my own, before walking all of our equipment to the nearby closet.

The cabin is spacious, definitely more than enough for just the two of us, but we use up all the space anyways. The living room has two large couches that face one another, chairs and wood furniture surrounding them both. The nearby fireplace illuminates the room and its high ceilings. A Christmas tree sat bare in the corner until I convinced her to decorate it with me. It looks messy, like we just threw something together last minute—which we did— but still. It’s us.

Everything is comfortable, warm and snug— perfect for our first vacation together. 

It doesn’t take long before she’s chasing me up the stairs, some joke that she did not find very funny to blame for. I push my way into our bedroom, navigating to the bathroom and ridding myself of my layers.

“No way you wore that many clothes.” Paige deadpanned. She watches me pull my beanie off my head, followed by my zip-up hoodie. “You didn’t sweat in that?”

“I told you it’s cold out!” I breathe, still catching my breath from dodging her in the living room. “I’m from the south, Ion know shit about snow, P.”

Paige’s clothes fall as well, starting with her black hoodie and long sleeve compression shirt underneath. It leaves her in front of me in a sports bra and sweats hanging fairly low on her hips. “It's almost 30 degrees outside.” 

“Which is cold! Don’t gaslight me into thinking it’s not cold.” I laugh, shedding the rest of my clothes and turning on the shower faucet. 

The sound of the shower running nearly drowns out the blonde’s voice. So much so that she pulls me to her by my waist just so I can hear her.

My back is pressed to her now bare chest, and surprisingly, she has this heat to her body that sends chills down my spine. A juxtaposition that makes my head spin.

“You’re really warm.” I sigh, tipping my head back onto her shoulder. Paige kisses my neck, slow, soft in a way that was intimate without being sexual. Which I find funny considering My panties are the only clothes I have on, her hands on my hips— about to get into the shower with her.

“Yeah? ‘Cause you’re freezing, mama.” She speaks into my hair, mussed by the beanie I wore nearly all day. “Let’s get you warmed up, how ‘bout that?” I turn to face her, wrapping my arms around her neck.

Her bun messily sits at the back of her head, strands tickling her soft skin. The rosiness of her cheeks stands out more than normal and I can’t stop thinking about how perfect she looks. The entire trip, her eyes are brighter than normal or her smile looks more carefree. She’s been gentler with me too. Overly domestic with how she insisted on making breakfast and led me down the slopes and even rubbing my feet that we sore from my boots. 

She made this memorable, and I can’t seem to think of how she’ll top the Christmases to come.

I run my thumb over her cheek, slightly dry from the cold but still just as soft as ever. Goosebumps arise on my skin from how her eyes stare into mine. 

“What?”

I shake my head, planting a kiss onto the corner of her mouth. “Nothing. You’re just pretty.”

Paige blushes some more, trailing her hand to my ass. She doesn’t even squeeze, just palming it in her slightly calloused hand. The other wrapped snug around my lower back.

“You’re pretty, Raye.” She hums. Her head turns and she meets my lips fully, sucking gently on my bottom lip like a piece of candy. “Been lookin’ perfect all week. Lookin’ like mine.” 

Mine. Still after five months, it makes my knees weaken whenever I hear it. Mine or my girl, the term girlfriend still nearly sends me into a school girl induced shock. 

“I am yours. You don’t even gotta worry about that.” I murmur against her mouth. 

Steam fills the bathroom. The stickiness of the humidity sticks to my skin, and I know I should be worried about my pressed hair sweating out, but I can’t bring myself to care when she’s languidly moving her lips with mine like she’d die if we stopped. 

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” She asks, pulling back with enough resolve to make me go dizzy. “Like foreal.”

“A few times.” I responded. “But, I’d love to hear it again.” I smirk, making the decision to reach for my scarf and wrap my hair. She watches the whole time attempting to keep her eyes on mine rather than my boobs which push towards her.

She laughs and it comes out throaty and deep, rumbling through her chest and through my body. “Get in this shower and I’ll show you.” She says teasingly.

I shake my head. “Nothing funny this time. My legs still hurt from last night.”

“We’ll see.”

—

Raye was setting her mug full of hot chocolate on the bedside table and sighing to herself when I walked into the room. Plaid boxers sit on my hips, an old UConn crewneck stretched over my top half.

She’s comfortable in the bedroom’s king sized bed, white comforter bunched up to warm her bare legs. Her navy blue bonnet sits on her head, skin glowing from the aftermath of her lengthy nightly routine. Lips plump and glossed from her lip mask, slightly pink. She wears one of my hoodies and the angel necklace I swear she hasn’t taken off since I gifted to her sits comfortably around her neck.

Raye’s back rests against some pillows on our headboard Her legs bent at the knee, acting almost as a table for her notebook. I exhale, leaning over to kiss her cheek as I join her.

“What’s this?” I ask, shamelessly leaning into her personal space to get a look at the notepad.

“New song.” She beams. Her eyes grow wide, twinkling in the soft lighting.

I find it adorable how she glows when she’s talking about her music, or when she knows that she’s in a groove. It’s the way you act when you truly love something, that’s how she feels about her music and watching it up close sends a warmth to my heart that I couldn’t even try to get rid of.

I fake a groan, nestling my head into her neck. She smells like coconut and fresh soap. The kind of smell that gets stamped in a file in my brain full of things I love about Maraye Carter. “Baby… we said no work while we’re here.”

She scoffs playfully. “You went to the gym before I woke up?”

“Okay, but I didn’t touch a basketball. We’re supposed to be finding a movie.” I complain, reaching to my left for the polaroids we took before leaving this morning. 

Suddenly the notebook is forgotten, tossed somewhere on the bed with a pen stuck in between the pages as a placeholder as she turns slightly to face me. “Wait, I wanna see ‘em!”

We’d taken nine out of the ten, all of which were scattered around the table. A few kissing ones, some silly faces that she insisted on, my arm slung around her shoulder with our ski goggles on— and the like.

“We’re cute, huh?” I tease, sending her a cheeky, tight lipped smile. Raye’s face mirrored my own eyes bright as she pushed my face to the side. “Look at your smile in this one, you love me so bad.” I jeer.

She doesn’t even try to hide it.

She reaches for the stack of photos, shuffling them like they’re a deck of cards. Her hands stop, eyes lingering a bit longer on one in particular. It’s from early in the morning, Raye sat on my lap in the old school kitchen just a minute or two after we ate breakfast. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her lips pressed to my cheek, just slightly kissing the corner of my lips. My eyes were closed just a bit, lip in that scrunch that she seems to be obsessed with.

“This one is mine.” I hear her decide. She sets it off to the side, going through the rest of them. “This we’re tossing. I look awful.” She laughs, hiding the photo from me before I can even reach for it and see for myself. 

Though I don’t think she could ever look awful to me. I’ve said that she could wear a trash bag and I’d still think that Raye was the most beautiful and perfect woman in the world.

“Let me see it!” I wrestle with her, giggles and soft breaths falling into my ears.

“No, Pa— move!” She laughs, pushing me back over to my side of the bed. “You play too much, Madison.” She groans, flicking my ear.

“Madison? Damn.” I choke out a laugh, taking the rest of the photos from her and setting them to the side. 

“That’s why I’m picking the movie. Move.” Maraye mumbles, reaching over the expanse of my body to grab the remote. I kiss my teeth in distaste, but still, I don’t even try to fight back.

Once my laughing dies down, I snuggle my face against her cheek, the warmth of her body shooting up through me. “I’m sorry, baby. We can jus’ keep that one to ourselves. I promise you look beautiful regardless.”

She ignores me, mushing my face away from her own and clicking on Home Alone 2.

I scoff and pull her into my lap. “Don’t try to act mad, you ain’t fooling nobody.” I speak into her neck, the feeling of my breath on her skin making her smile.

“I was writing a song about you and here you go annoying me.” Her pout is the cutest thing in the world to me, it makes her nose scrunch and her eyelashes tickle the apples of her cheeks.

“About me?” I question, a grin across my face. “Sing it, I wanna hear it, angel.”

“What happened to ‘no working on vacation?’”

My cheeks burn under her glare and I let out a sigh. “Fine. But I still wanna hear it.” I made my arms comfortable around her shoulders, the blanket we were wrapped in slowly slipping down Raye’s body. She backs away from me when I pucker my lips. “Are you crazy?”

“I wanna watch the movie.” She tuts, kissing my cheek before redirecting her gaze to the flatscreen. I don’t even waste a second of time trying and failing to pull her back. “Y’know I love this one.”

“That don’t explain why you’re avoiding my kiss.”

My hand slides to the back of her neck, pulling her back in to kiss me like I wanted. Raye’s lips glide against mine slowly. Even after all these months I can’t get enough of the feeling.

“Better?” She murmurs as she pulls away.

“Better, baby.” I nod. “C’mere.” We sink further into the bed, my arm around her shoulder, a designated spot for it at this point. She looks up at me briefly, the high points of her cheeks turning pink as she smiles. Her pretty hands grip the hem of the blanket, pulling it higher on my torso before nestling in my chest.

“Is it bad If I say I don’t wanna go home yet?” Maraye questions me. Her eyes don’t look up to mine, just locked on the opening scene of the movie.

“Gonna miss me too much?” I tease with a fake frown, but her lack of response lets me know she doesn’t find me funny. I divert my attention to her, getting a glance at her glassy eyes. “Why you all sad, angel? I’ll see you in a few weeks.” I brush her hair out of her face.

She shrugs, “can’t believe you did all this just so I can have a white Christmas.” Raye chuckles, wiping the tears from her eyes before they even get a chance to fall. “I just wanna stay with you and not worry about anything else.”

“Tour starts in two weeks, baby.” I remind her.

She sighs loudly, looking back at the screen. “I know.” She replies. “I don’t like being away from you.”

It warms my heart, which is beating so loudly in my chest I don’t even hear what’s being said in the movie. I hate it too, weeks at a time where I’m on the road, followed by her long trips as soon as I get home. 

“Me neither.” I comment honestly. My lips find the top of her head, Raye’s recently straightened hair feels cold against them. I don’t let her go, keeping her tucked in that spot of my arms and chest throughout the whole night.

—

January 2026 — New York City, New York.

“You look pretty.” I hear Brittney compliment Maraye who sits a few feet away from me. Her hand is smoothing over her hair, it’s dark red this time around, layered and in curls that make her look even more goddess-like than she already is, something new she’s trying out for her tour and I’m completely enthralled by it.

“Thank you, B.” She cheeses.

“Showin’ her all 32 is crazy.” I mumble, shuffling the cards in my hand and adjusting the collar of my polo.

“Can you just sit there and be quiet?” She snaps back, kicking my shin with her heeled foot.

The studio lights brighten and the producers on the other side of the threshold lets us know we’re shooting the first take. Brittney scatters off and looks over at my girlfriend with wide eyes.

She looks stunning, as per usual, but her dress that sits nicely on her body is what has my attention. It’s black, long enough to cover her up, but short enough to give me a great view of her moisturized legs. Not much, but enough to keep me mildly distracted.

“You ready?” Raye asks me, playing with the corner of the large index card.

“Always.”

We hear the famous click of the board and the yell of take one before Maraye sits up straight. She’s perfect for the camera, gorgeous smile and big beautiful brown eyes that would make anyone melt. I’m damn near drooling over her where I sit.

“Wassup y’all, I go by Maraye and I’m here with…” She trails her hand out to me, but my eyes are stuck on her and I freeze. “Paige!” She laughs at me, and I blink.

“My fault, my fault. Do it again.” I shake my head.

The producers do it all over again, the lights, the board, the directions.

“Wassup everybody. I’m Maraye, here with…”

“… Paige Bueckers.” I finished.

“And this is the GQ Couples Quiz.”

I never once imagined being on this show, for a multitude of reasons, but to do it with Raye was going to be so entertaining. Our relationship was pretty private, the closest thing to a confirmation being fans catching me in a suite at one of her shows or lingering too close to each other at public events.

And that time last week when the paps caught us making out in her car. It sent WNBA twitter into a frenzy, and her fans nearly threw a party.

Regardless, I was jumping at the opportunity to show off my knowledge of my girl to the world. 

“Easy dub, don’t y’think?” She asks, clearing her throat and crossing one of those beautiful brown legs over the other.

I laugh, “yeah, easy for me. Better watch out.” I tease.

“Wanna bet on it?” Raye turns and looks at me intently, a smirk on her face and a slight tilt of her head that leaves too much for my imagination.

“I do, actually.” I nod, adjusting the collar of my shirt. Today was one of the days that I let Brittney style me in whatever she pleased. Making my reaction to the high neckline a little more intense than she probably expected.

Raye grins, tapping her chin with a finger as she pretends to think. “Okay so when I win.” I roll my eyes at her choice of the word when. “I dunno if I can say this on camera.” She says, looking off to the crew behind the cameras that start laughing. 

“You need help, dude.” I shake my head, amused at her very obvious suggestion. I lean my head closer to her, turning slightly so she can speak in my ear.

My eyes grow wide as she speaks. Raye surprises me more and more as our relationship progresses. She pulls back from me with a smirk, and I’m positive that my entire face is flushed by just how horny she is.

“Okay. And if I win, you come out to Miami for Unrivaled.” I offer and Raye nods with a smile.

“I was gonna do that anyway.” She rolls her eyes that are nicely lined with black. “Deal.” She says, sticking her hand out for me and I shake it firmly.

I’ve agreed to let Maraye go first to get a feel for the competition. If she were to know that, she’d probably tell me I’m too competitive; taking it to heart. And I am. Because losing on the internet would simply be too embarrassing.

She gets comfortable in her chair, swiveling her hips in a way that makes me forget we aren’t the only people in the room.

“What is my favorite movie of all time?” She asks, holding those sleek white cards close to her chest. Raye has like 30 favorite movies, all of which depend on her mood. “The one that I always make you watch, like you literally have no choice.”

“Oh, Just Wright?”

She smiles with a nod, tucking the notecard at the back of the pile. “10 outta 10 movie. If you’ve never watched it, do so quickly!” Raye says to the camera.

“Let’s not drag it. 10 outta 10 is crazy.”

She shoots me a look, eyebrows raised and head turned. A look she gives me when she’s asking me to keep testing her.

“Don’t even. You think Die Hard is good.”

“It is!”

“Not. Anyways, what’s my favorite nickname for you?”

I dart my tongue out over my lower lip. “Dad— I’m just playin’.” Maraye’s hand reaches over the space almost instantly, slapping my thigh with her french tipped fingers. “Blondie? Or Madison, you been callin’ me that a lot lately.”

“You get the point for ‘Madison.’ I think your middle name is cute, babe.” She cheeses, blowing me a kiss.

“I’m too good at this.” I shrug, feeling myself a little too much.

“Chill. I guarantee y’ont know this one.” Raye rolls her eyes as she switches cards. “Where did we first meet, and what did I think of you. See that’s a good one, y’all ate a lil bit.” She looks over to the producers and gives them a thumbs up.

That’s my girlfriend, everyone.

“We first met on opening night, and I literally fell on you and you thought I was the sexiest woman to ever walk the planet.” I answer with a shrug.

Maraye shoots the camera a side eye before looking back at me with a fake grin. “You can get half a point?”

“You’re telling me I’m wrong?”

“Yes!”

“Wow, so I’m not the sexiest woman alive?” I feign hurt, my hand pressed against my chest, right over my heart.

She scoffs. “You definitely are. But that wasn’t what I thought at first.”

“Then what did you think?” I lean in.

“You’re gonna get mad If I say it.”

“Say it.”

“I thought you were sweaty and I was worried about my outfit” Raye muses, a smirk playing on her lips. I scoff, because while I should be embarrassed, the admission is so distinctly Maraye that all I can do is laugh. 

“Aight bro.”

“But I swear immediately after I thought that you were stunning!” She laughs in an attempt to neutralize. “Seriously! Got a li’l star struck right after, baby.”

I brush her off. “You’re ass kissing, whatever!”

Maraye lets out a gasp, a large dramatic, genuinely terrible, gasp that makes me think she should pick up a career in acting. “Watch your language, you can’t say that here!”

“Who said?” I fire back. The producers behind the camera wave me off, silently telling me that it’s fine. “See.” I push, sticking my tongue out playfully.

“Annoying.”

It goes like that for a while, Raye asking me questions— her favorite food (crab legs), biggest turn offs (snoring, a subtle dig at myself), facts about her that only I could know (what that tattoo on her ribcage says)— followed by me answering them and getting all of them right. 

She’s trying really hard to throw me off track, that look in her eye that always makes me think she’s lying when really she’s just good at faking it. But it’s my turn now, the cards both literally and figuratively in my hands now.

“You got one wrong.” Raye informs me, giving me golf claps with a slight grin that makes me feel like the only person in the room in a building full of people and lights and cameras. “I think I can beat that.”

I nod, finding her confidence amusing. Whenever it came to competition between us, I believed that Raye would always get either the 'easy' questions or she'd cheat, which she swore was never the case and that I was just a sore loser. “Yeah, we’ll see about that. What’s my guilty pleasure?” I read the card.

She sends me a smirk, silently asking if she should take it there or not. She doesn’t; she knows better. “Um, you like those wheel throwing videos, like the pottery ones.” Maraye answers and I nod.

“I wanna try it sometime, but she refuses.” I tell the camera.

Raye scoffs. “You’re messy! You’d get clay all over my clothes.” She’s right, the intimacy that would come from sitting in a quiet studio, dim lights, soft jazz or R&B echoing; would distract me to the point where I’d send a lump of wet clay flying across the room.

“What’s my go-to pregame meal?”

Raye clears her throat, answering without hesitation. “Pasta. Any kind. As long as there’s garlic. And some kinda protein.” She answers. “Grilled chicken is the current protein obsession, by the way.” She sends a wink to the camera, as if to say ‘yep I know my girl’ which she does.

I blink lazily, thinking about how her hair drapes over her shoulder. “Solid start, ma, but these are all easy questions.”

“You got my easiest question wrong.”

“Did not.”

“You absolutely did—”

We’re cut off by a producer clearing his throat, telling us to wrap up the bickering. I switch cards, getting back to the subject at hand. 

We kept going—my favorite hobby, lego building was her answer though it was really golfing. Maraye nearly tore the set apart swearing up and down I just lied on the internet at her expense. I asked her about our first date. She got the restaurant wrong but remembered how I wore that black Kith jacket she secretly loved, so I gave her a point. My least favorite thing about her (when she wakes up in the middle of the night to write before “an idea leaves her and blesses someone else.”) and dream vacations.

I sit there shocked, because not only does she remember these things, she remembers the little details. Restaurant excluded, she remembered everything. Topics that we had touched on maybe once or twice that she took and practically tattooed into her brain. 

I nearly stopped worrying about losing because watching her talk about me and us like it was a topic she studied for hours made up for it.

By the time I reached the final question—How did I tell you I loved you?—Maraye’s teasing, celebratory grin softened. “Okay,” I said, a little quieter. “This one’s serious. You get it wrong and we’re breaking up.” I joke.

Her eyes darken, not with doubt but with memory. Like it happened yesterday.

“I was headlining for ACL in Austin, and Cam called me saying you won rookie of the year and they were giving you your trophy that night and that I needed to get home.” She starts speaking. I could listen to her tell the story for hours. “So as soon as I got off stage, I got on a jet and rushed back. I made dinner, and you came in with your trophy all shocked that I was there.”

I hum at the memory. “I wasn’t expecting you back for another day or sum.” I justified, feeling my cheeks blush and neck tingle under the camera glare.

“We were eating and you said something— you’re usually not that funny but this time it made me, like, burst into laughter— I spilled red wine all over me and down my shirt.” 

“‘Usually not that funny” is crazy! Now If I take a point away—” I laugh, pointing a ringed finger in her direction. 

“Let me finish!” Raye slaps my hand away. “I was embarrassed as hell trying to dab my already ruined shirt, but when I looked at you, you just had this stupid doe eyed look on your face. You got up, kissed me, and said you loved me.”

I kissed her harder than I think I ever did that night. Tasting the wine off her lips and the little bit of garlic from our mashed potatoes. It happened exactly like that. I’d looked at her and just knew I was completely screwed, so in deep that nothing could possibly pull me away from her. 

“I’d like to point out that she stuttered for like five minutes before saying it back.” I let out a slow breath, looking at this woman like she hung the moon and the stars, which she probably did. “But yeah, you’re right, so another point for Ms. Carter.”

“I win?”

“You win, angel. We can do your thing once we get up outta here.” I nod, reaching for her hand as she stands up to climb into my lap. It’s natural, honestly I think not having her on it is more odd than when she does take a seat on me. “Well GQ, thank you for having us, but me and my lady got some things to tend to. Right, baby?”

“Yes we do.” She smirks, waving at the camera until the red recording light shuts off.

—

February 2027 — Miami, Florida

I don’t know why I ever assumed that Paige and I could be cordial in the same house for a few days.

We can’t.

Or, more like she can’t.

I say that because at whatever hour of the night it is, she lays here, spooning me lovingly— the warmth of her body completely engulfing my own— clearly doing everything in her power to wake me up.

It started with the groaning, which honestly she does all the time. I didn’t think much of it.

But then she’s breathing all raspy and shit in my ear, mumbling my name into my ear. Her hand traveled under my shirt, first only feeling on my abdomen but now it rests soundly under my tit, just cupping it like that’s how she normally sleeps.

I’d like to think I’ve been doing a good job ignoring her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers against my skin, voice husky with sleep and something heavier. “Ma.”

“Mmm.” I groan, digging my head further into my pillow before even getting the chance to open my eyes and look at her.

“Damnit, woman, wake up.” Paige groans, dragging out her plea in my ear. She’s grinding against me, quite literally humping against my backside in a way that makes me wonder who she is and what she’s done with my girlfriend.

I let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. My eyes flutter open, catching the soft blue cast of moonlight spilling in through the window. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Paige murmured. “Or early. I dunno, didn’t mean to wake you.” She lies, making me scoff in the midst of my sleep induced haze.

But her mouth was still on my shoulder, trailing up toward the curve of my neck. The kisses were light, almost lazy—if lazy felt like fire slowly licking through my nerves. I blink, finally catching a glimpse of the clock on my nightstand.

I turn my head just enough to look at her. Paige’s hair was tousled, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips already parted. That look she got when she couldn’t help herself. And it was absolutely, utterly irresistible.

“You didn’t mean to,” I echo, voice dry. “Sure.”

Paige smiled, guilty but unrepentant, and slid a thigh between my own from behind. Her hands draw patterns on my stomach, slow but all the more unrelenting. “You were breathing like you were dreaming about me, so I figured I’d check.” she whispered, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. She knows what she’s doing, my body instantly shivers on contact. “C’mon, ma. I only got you for two days.”

I sigh, turning over on my back languidly with sleep still clouding my vision. I can just barely make out her figure through the Miami city lights that peak through the window. Her boxer band peaking out from her basketball shorts and a thin tank top riding up her abdomen. In all honesty I think if I wasn’t so outrageously tired from my flight delay I would be letting her turn me out right now.

“Paige, I got rehearsal in the morning.” I whine, trying to stand my ground but goddamn does she make it hard. “You could’ve waited until morning,” I whisper, but my fingers were already curling around the back of her neck, guiding her mouth back down to my sweet spot.

“I didn’t want to,” she breathes against my collarbone.

She hovers over me, her hand cupping my chin with one hand, angling it to the side. She leaned into my neck and the kiss that followed wasn’t soft this time—it was full of quiet hunger, lips parting;sucking, hands starting to roam with familiar purpose. 

Paige’s palm found my hip and slid upward, dragging the hem of my pajamas—aka her Sparks t-shirt—with it. My vision finally starts to adjust, and my hand covers my face in an attempt to keep sleep from leaving me.

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“You have a hand. There’s a vibe in the—oh.” Paige cuts me off with a grip of my own hand, sliding it right between her legs where she clearly needs me the most.

She’s practically, no, literally soaked through her shorts. The material is damp against my hand, I can only wonder how much of a mess she made on the back of my shorts from her grinding.

“Ion want none of that. I need you. Fuckin’ soaked for you, Raye.”

My fingers press further against her core and she lets out a strangled groan into the air, arching into me. The slow grind of her body on my fingers igniting something low and pulsing in my abdomen.

“I was sleeping,” I say under my breath, but there was no protest in it, just the tremble of want behind my voice. Even as I try to hide it, the way she makes my cunt throb right now— with her pleading and grinding and purely submissive behavior— isn’t something I could even try to hide.

“It don’t look like it now.”

And it doesn’t. I was very, very awake.

“Lay back.” I give in, pulling my fingers away from her.

Paige doesn’t wait another second. She’s following my direction, rolling off me and lying on her back with her head nestled on a stack of pillows. I can’t help but giggle through my faux anger at her eagerness.

I find my way between her legs, nose nudging her own before our mouths meet again—open, slow, almost aching in the way we moved against each other, like we had all the time in the world but still needed more. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I pressed my body against hers in the dark.

“You’re a brat.” I groan against Paige’s lips. Her hand pulls me in deeper, so much further that I think she might swallow me whole. Her tongue navigates my mouth like it hasn’t been there in years, licking whatever mouthwash I used hours ago out of my mouth and into her own. “Waking me up like that, so needy, hm?”

She doesn’t answer, obviously too touch deprived to process the nature of my words. I trail my hands to the hem of her tank, tugging it over her head with ease.

My hand moved with unhurried certainty, gliding up Paige’s chest—fingertips grazing over ribs, pausing at the underside of her breast. I don’t push or rush, just touching like she’s some artifact that could break if I do too much.

Her hand digs deeper into my hair, tugging stubbornly at my scalp. I moan at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut before moving down her chest. I lick lightly at her nipple, pink and standing up for attention, before sucking on it. 

Paige’s lips parted around a soft gasp, one arm falling to her side, the other threading through my hair, urging me closer.

“More, ma. Fuck— just, anything.” She whines, which sends a blush to my cheeks that is noticeable even in the dark. 

Paige doesn’t do this much, she doesn’t give in completely or fall back and let me do as I please. There’s always a bit of dominance underneath all her sexual wants and needs. But now? Anything I do to her is better than me doing nothing at all, and that sets my soul on fire.

“Shut up, Paige.” I mumble, a free hand moves down to her shorts, the other groping and feeling at her chest in a manner that makes her whine. Breathy with a bit of an edge. “You woke me up, you’re gonna take what I feel like giving you.”

Lucky for her, what I feel like is getting my mouth on her. Since the moments we got together, Paige has made it known that she’s as much of a munch as could be, and while I might not be at her level yet, the pleasure that comes with watching her fall undone on my tongue is other worldly.

So I yanked myself back from her nipple, slightly missing the feeling of having it in my mouth. Her shorts come off first, down her tanned and muscular legs and onto the floor behind me.

My fingers press to her core through her boxers, and she’s soaked. So much so that I’m not even sure I can feel a bit of dry fabric. “I think you were the one dreamin’ about me, P.”

“Mmm, I was.” She confirms, pushing the hair in my eyes out of my face. Even in the dark, I can see how her blues lock on my browns, pupils dilated but eyes falling low. “Dreamin’ of you eatin’ my pussy, baby.”

I nearly moan at her voice, taking in her scent and her panty-dropping, Minnesota accent. My fingers break into her boxers, tugging the waistband down her crotch, her thighs, her calves— before also throwing them off the bed. 

“Is that right?”

“Makin’ me cum. You’d look so sexy with my cum on your face.” Paige whimpered, shifting beneath me, already trembling under the weight of my voice. “My shit’s so wet for you, baby. Need you to taste me— fuckkkk, Raye.” She groans, head falling back when My tongue finally meets her cunt.

The walls of her Miami apartment are thin, I know that and so does Paige but it seems like she doesn’t care. Her normally breathy and soft moans grow loud with just a few licks. Her hand deep in my hair, scratching my scalp like it’s her lifeline. 

Paige’s breath came in shallow little pulls, her chest rising and falling as if she were still catching up to what was happening—what I was doing to her. She lay there, pliant beneath me, the sheets gripped loosely in one hand, eyes half-lidded and shining.

“Just—God, just like that, ma. Y’do it so good.” I listen, eating her out just like that, tongue circling her clit before dipping inside for a taste. And Goddamn does she taste perfect. Like if an angel themselves made a potion and decided that that’s how Paige fucking Bueckers should taste.

I drink it all, lips wrapping around her swollen and throbbing clit. “Tastes so mmmm, baby. Soooo good.” I breathe into her, keeping my eyes glued to the figure above me. It’s as if I’m searching for something along the lines of approval and want. 

“Oh my fuckkk, gonna make me…” Her moan trails off, eyes rolling back before briefly snapping up to look at me. Her mouth forms a perfect circle tongue occasionally darting to the corner of her lips as she pants. “Raye, baby, I can’t.” She hiccups.

I look at her with faux pity, pulling back just enough to get a glimpse of all the sweat dripping down her skin. Paige was losing it, legs trembling around my head. “I don’t care. Woke me up for this, take it.” I grumble, but my feelings towards the matter left ages ago. I can’t bring myself to care about how tired I’ll be, when Paige’s slick is dripping from my mouth, lingering on my tongue.

My tongue dips back inside her, tasting her deeply. Paige's body convulses, her breath hitching as my mouth and occasionally the brush of my nose on her clit worked in tandem, bringing her to the brink of orgasm. Her cries filled the room, her body trembling with the intensity of her release.

“Gonna cum, fuck, I-I wanna cum, angel.” Paige babbles in that way that tells me she’s closer than she lets on, her hips lifting, pressing her against my mouth. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

“You wanna cum?”

“Raye.”

“In my mouth?” I tease, following it up with a long and hard suck on her clit. 

“Goddamn, ma. So perfect,” the praise sends a moan through me, and the vibrations push her over that edge. Paige’s voice and moans and cries echo loudly in my ears. “Yes, Raye.” Her chest heaves up and down as I work her through it, planting light kisses on her throbbing cunt. 

I lick my lips in an attempt to savor every last drop before wiping my chin with the back of my hand. “Good enough?” I joke, but there’s an underlying feeling of wanting to be praised by her behind it. Knowing that I really did make her feel that good. 

Paige’s hand leaves my hair, letting me crawl up the bed until we’re face to face. There, she cups my face, holding me delicately as she searches my eyes through her post orgasmic haze. 

“You get better at that every fuckin’ time.” She sighs, running a thumb over my cheek.

I smile, her taste still leaving its mark in my mouth. “You’re touching me like I’ll break.” My lips connect with hers, fast and insistent, allowing her to taste herself. Paige sucks on my tongue, groaning something about my explicit nastiness somewhere between hurried kisses and slow grinds of my hips against her thigh. 

“I just can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” She sighs into my mouth. I turn my head, deciding then and there that I want more.

I slow down the kiss, letting her deepen it. She pulls me close, snaking an arm around my waist and holding my face with the other. She kissed me like I really was fragile. The kiss built gradually, mouths sliding, breath mingling, a burn between my legs transforming into a drip of my slick.

Paige shifts up just barely, enough for my weight to fully press onto her thigh to make me feel owned. Grounded. “Do something, please.” I whine, grinding down harder, letting the drag of the seam of my shorts stimulate my cunt. “Baby, I—”

“I think you got it.” She says, an edge to her voice that turns me into nothing. “You need that, baby? Needa fuck yourself in me like this?” Paige kisses down my neck, licking her tongue up and down my neck before sinking her teeth into the skin.

“Ah, fuck!” 

Paige lifts my shirt, and I fight to get it off my arms, about to throw it over my head when she flexes her thigh and I instead throw myself onto her shoulders. My head in her neck, her hands on my tits, kneading and kneading; and sucking and fucking sucking on my neck.

“Y’know how much of a slut you are for getting off on my thigh, right now?” She hums, rocking me back and forth at a pace much different from the one I set for myself. It’s faster and my clit snags again and again on her leg. “Can feel that pussy just throbbing for me, angel.” Paige’s voice caught, and she kissed my jaw again, a quiet sound breaking in her throat.

I roll my hips in response, feeling my incoming release shoot from the nerves on my clit to my stomach. My legs tingle, chest and neck heating up. My fingers tremble, nails digging into Paige’s muscular back. 

“Paige.” I groan into her skin. Drool spills from my lips and down her neck, trailing her spine. “Close. Fuck, ‘m so, so fuckin’ close. Gonna cum for you.”

“Yeah, just for me. Gonna cum in your pants like a good girl for me.” She eggs me on, moving her lips to a different spot near my shoulder and I just know she’s decorating me in hickeys that’ll last long after I’m on a plane out of Miami. “C’mon, ma. Feels so good, don’t it?” 

“I’m cumming— fuckkkk!” I moan. High and uncontrolled and so messy I can feel my release seeping through and onto her skin.

Paige talks me through it all, as she’s so great at doing. Calling me pretty, and rubbing my back. Stripping me of my shirt and the soiled shorts and satin panties that literally stick to my skin. I fall into bed next to her, naked and warm and still both jaded from the orgasms. 

The room goes still again, save for the low hum of the fan and the soft rustling of sheets as we shifted, tangled around each other. Paige lay on her back, one arm behind her head, the other resting across my bare spine. I was sprawled half on top of her, chin on her chest, staring up at how pleased with herself she looks.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” I said, voice still scratchy from sleep—and other things.

She shakes her head, planting a soft kiss to the top of my sweaty head. “Can’t help it, shit finally went my way.” Paige laughs, her fingers trailing absent-minded circles along my back, the quiet night wrapped around us again—warm, safe, and full of everything we didn’t have to say out loud.

—

November 2027 — Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama

The heat was the first thing that hit me—thick, fragrant, alive. Something way different than California. There it was dry, but here it’s almost suffocating. Humid air that seemed to wrap around me like an embrace.

I can pick up on the smell of ripe fruit, blooming flowers, and ocean wind carried from miles away. 

Raye stands in front of me, phone pressed snug to her ear, as her conversation goes back and forth between English and Spanish. She wears a long multicolored skirt—one that I had a lot of feeling under on the plane— and a white tube top.

I drag our bags behind us, as we exit the airport, feeling sweat accumulating on my forehead. But it wasn’t just the weather that made me sweat—it was the crowd of people waiting just outside the airport doors, holding handmade signs and waving excitedly the second they spotted Maraye.

And it was very clear who they were here for.

She slips her phone in her tote bag the second her family comes to view. “¡Ay, por fin!” someone shouted, a man— tall with grays that decorated his thick curls and beard— and then Maraye was gone from my side, swallowed into a wave of arms and kisses and rapid-fire Spanish. 

I watched her cousins pull her into one chaotic hug, and her aunt wept dramatically into her shoulder, all while her grandmother stood behind them all, smiling so wide her eyes disappeared behind her glasses.

From what I’ve pieced together, Raye hasn’t seen this side of her family since she graduated high school years ago. The emotions are warranted. Even for her, she’s been talking my ear off about this trip for the last couple months, and now that we’re here it brings a grin to my face that I couldn’t wipe away.

I hung back, suitcases in hand, trying not to look awkward, but before I could retreat any further, a small boy—maybe six—looked up at me with wide eyes. 

“¿Tú eres la novia?” He asked shyly, squinting at me through the sun and craning his head up to me. I bend my knees, sinking to his height before sticking out a hand. 

“That’s me, yeah.” I smile.

I can feel eyes on me in an instant, the much needed conversation coming to a close as I talk to the young boy, Donovan is his name.

“Everyone, this is Paige.” Maraye said firmly, breaking away from the crush of family and walking back to sink her hand behind my head, ruffling my hair. “Todos sean amables con ella, she’s a bit nervous.” She whispers the last bit, making my cheeks redden more than they already are. 

There was a beat of silence—and then, as if a switch had been flipped, the group erupted again. Aunts and cousins came forward one by one, greeting me with kisses on both cheeks, calling me different variations of mija and bella and young boys already guaranteeing that they could beat me in one on one.

Tía Lydia, a woman I’ve known to be Maraye’s favorite aunt, even if she didn’t say it aloud, approaches me with a smile. I remember late nights when they gossip together for hours, or occasional FaceTimes where she’d pan the phone to me and suddenly I’m up to date with years old family lore that I’ll unpack for the rest of the night.

She hugs me tight, on her toes even in the heels she wears. “Thank you for bringing her here, we’ve missed her.”

“She’s missed you. Seriously, hasn’t stopped talking about it.” I hum, picking up on the scent of strong perfume and something sweeter— coconut? “Gracias por la invitación.”

Rate stands somewhere near, laughing her sweet laugh and letting her hair fly free in the wind. It’s grown longer in the last two years, once thick, shoulder length curls now cascading down her back. My eyes can’t stop looking at her amidst conversation, the glow of her brown skin, earrings down the cuff of her ear. 

That’s my girl. And she brought me here, to her family. 

Tia Lydia wraps her arm around my waist, holding Maraye’s suitcase against my protests. “Come, come.” She hums, shoes clicking against the dark concrete towards the car. “¿Te gusta el ceviche?”

I curse in my head, mentally unprepared to navigate through the language I’ve spent the last year and a half trying to learn for this specific moment. “Uh…yes. I’ve had it before.” I stutter, and I know if Raye is listening, she’s laughing at my english responses. “Yours is probably better, tho’.”

She laughs, the kind that reminds you of your favorite dish as a kid and just makes you smile. It’s all too similar to Raye’s, and the connection makes it all the more enjoyable.

By the time we reached the family home—nestled in a lush, flower-lined neighborhood that I think I instantly fell in love with—it felt like I’d already been adopted. 

My Spanish, if it could even be called that, was shaky; but it didn’t seem to matter. When we got into the home, sandals clacking against the hardwood and the stone, Raye’s family was already enveloping us into everything. Any possible jet lag was thrown out the window and replaced by a buzz that lingered through my blood and in the air. 

I played dominoes with her uncles, my natural competitive nature seeming to keep me in with their approval but still a bit out of the game. 

She had stopped by, handing out cold Coronas with lime like it was second nature, and it very well could’ve been. Raye took a seat in my lap, that was natural too. She pointed out what she thought I should put down here and there, and when win number one was finally under my belt, her uncle looked at me with a drunk smile, saying, “la mujer sabe mejor.” Which brought laughter over the table and a slap to his shoulder from my girlfriend.

The young boys were already insisting on playing me tournament style, even neighborhood kids joining in.

The wins came easy, so did the trash talk. “Don’t choke like game 6!” Ricky, an older cousin from Raye’s dad’s side murmured to me when I checked the ball.

The burn lingered a little, because I did indeed choke in my first finals appearance. Losing a rough game to the Lynx in Minnesota. I have to quit playing like shit whenever I’m there, really. 

But that dig turned me up, I beat him 11-0 and after that, they all quit.

I’m inside now, sweat sticking to my neck and the back of my buttoned shirt, It loosened some after between the legs dribbles and spin moves. Family members sit on the steps outside, others in the living room watching some soccer match. 

But I can’t seem to move from the kitchen entrance.

The kitchen was warm and alive, windows open to the breeze, light pouring in across the tile. Maraye stood at the counter beside her grandmother, their heads bent together over a pot of arroz con coco. She was laughing—freely, hands moving as she spoke, a little bit of flour smudged on her cheek.

And it felt like I’d just seen her for the first time again.

It reminds me of that dinner party all those years ago, nestled in the warmth of Cam’s kitchen. I’ll always remember that dress she wore—red, strapless, and tip-toeing the line between casual and scandalous— how her smile radiated so bright that it visited me multiple times in my dreams.

Her grandmother was teasing her gently in Spanish, and Raye rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but kept stirring the pot exactly how she was told. 

She moved so naturally here—like she belonged to the walls, the rhythm, the history in the room. She was free, the weight of being away from family for so long finally melting away. 

She wasn’t different from the woman I knew in our shared apartment back home, but here… she seemed brighter. Rooted. Full.

My heart swells as I watch her. How she sways along gently to the music that plays, hearing her speak more Spanish than I’ve heard from her in a minute.

I didn’t even notice that Maraye had caught me looking until she turned, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Paige.” She hums, “ven aquí.” She calls me over with a tilt of her head, flour and coconut milk staining her fingers. 

I walk over, trying to hide the sweat and nerves that stick to my body. Her grandmother gives me a look and a kiss on my cheek before fleeting the kitchen.

“What?” Raye asks, hands on her hips.

I shake my head, slow and full of awe. “You’re just…” my voice trails off, feeling slightly clouded from beer and the drug that is my girlfriend.

She bumps her hip with my own, sliding the wood spoon into my slightly trembling hand. I don’t know why my body betrays me like this, but there’s something about my girl being so domestic? Cooking in the moonlight and looking so ethereal.

“You okay, baby?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you all over again, mami.”

—

“¡No asunto divertido!” I hear my tia yell out after Paige, very clearly expressing her concern for what we both would be doing on the balcony alone. The blonde brushes her off with some Spanish slang that makes me muffle a giggle. It was getting better, and sitting next to my abuela at dinner fixed her accent too.

Music still drifted up faintly from the street below the balcony—lively cumbia rhythms rising and falling like the city had its own heartbeat. Bursts of laughter from my youngest cousins fill the air, alongside the clatter of plates being cleared and the sound of bare feet and sandals against the stone ground below. 

Warm light spilled from the windows of the family home, bathing the worn terracotta balcony tiles in a soft amber glow. 

Panama’s night air wrapped around me—humid, thick with the scent of bougainvillea, grilled street food, and the salty trace of the ocean somewhere nearby. Stars hung lazily above the old colonial rooftops, flickering through the haze.

I stand at the railing barefoot, wine glass in hand. I focus on breathing in the moment, taking in the fact that the last time I was here, I probably didn’t realize the impact this place would have on my life. My cheeks were flushed from dancing, the humid air clung to my skin in a way that made me feel undone in the best way. 

To my right sits Paige on a straw woven two-seater. She had shed her button up, sitting soundly in a white shirt and baggy jean shorts. Her hair is damp, either sweat or the aftermath of her water balloon fight with the neighborhood kids. Her sandals were kicked off ages ago, pulling her knees to her chest as she does the same thing as me. Watching. 

She was good, unbelievably good with everything. Conversing with the adults, entertaining the kids, driving me crazy. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so sure of anything the way I am about Paige. She looks buzzed, eyes bouncing between wide and low from multiple Coronas and a shoddy seven hour flight. 

“Too much?” I ask, a lazy grin tugging at my mouth. “My family’s a lot.”

“They’re perfect,” Paige says softly, her eyes still wide from the whirlwind of hugs, dancing, food, and Spanish spoken too fast for her to keep up with. “I’m prolly the one who’s too much. I nearly cried when your tía brought me another plate of food.”

I let out a breathy laugh, dragging my feet closer to where she sits. When I sit, my eyes fall back over the view. The slight breeze and rumble of rain in the sky, sun setting beyond the horizon.

“You didn’t cry. I saw how you devoured that second pla—”

“Ight that’s enough outta you.” Her hand meets my shoulder, shoving me playfully. “I’m deadass. She been calling me ‘mija’ all night. It was over after that.”

And it’s something about the way ‘mija’ falls from her tongue that makes my legs cross and my heart simultaneously swell at the same time. My hand traces the patterns over my skirt, thinking to myself.

“She loves you. Everyone does.” I sigh, looking over my shoulder to her. “You’re part of this now, P.”

The blonde brood her legs off the edge of the seat, scooting closer until she sits right behind me, my body between her legs. Paige takes my hair in her hands, pushing it over my slightly tanned shoulder. A breath falls from her lips as she sets her chin on my shoulder, the smile on her face fading into something softer, more fragile. “You mean that?”

It’s simple, but the three words weigh so much heavier. 

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t.” I look at her, like I really looked. The clearness of her bright almost glass-like skin, freckles that came in a light brown with age, pink lips and the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking into. My eyes are steady, full of a quiet kind of certainty. “This place… this family? It’s my heart. And I wanted you here because you are, too.”

My words settle in the air, traveling through the wind. 

Paige’s eyes flutter closed as she leans into my exposed upper back. She places a kiss, small and lingering, on the tattoo there. A dainty libra constellation that Paige watched me get the entire time. Her lips are warm on my skin, like a kiss of life. 

She tips my head towards her, closer, so close I smell the papaya off her breath. Paige leans in and kisses me, slow and grateful, lingering as the breeze stirred the night around us and sent goosebumps to my skin. “Truth time?” Paige questions against my mouth.

It’s become our thing. After a bit of overthinking while on the road or those nights where we just needed to vent. Truth time insured a moment of no judgement, just the truth.

So I nod, letting her say whatever she wants.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly from cheers and competitive yells. “I want this with you. Not just the trips or the dancing or the family dinners. I want it all, angel. The quiet mornings, the hard stuff, the little things. I wanna know your people. I wanna be your people.”

I can feel my throat tighten in a mix of emotion and thoughts of the future. The apartment we share transforms into a home, our home. 

I set my wine glass down and cup Paige’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones like I was grounding myself in something real.

“You’ve always been my people, baby. My person since forever.” I murmur, voice thick.

We sat in the silence that followed, surrounded by the laughter from inside that we stepped away from. 

The world moved on around us, but here—on this quiet balcony tucked in above the chaos—it felt like we carved out a space where only love existed.

Where only I existed with her.

I turn back around after a beat. Back pressed to Paige’s chest. And after a long stretch of quiet, I could feel her laugh softly, the breath of it brushing against my ear. “I think we should have a balcony like this at our first home. Could picture you rocking our baby out here.”

My voice gets caught in my throat.

“All pregnant and shit, glowing. Our kid in your arms. I’ll even learn how to cook foreal, I’d do that for you.” She decides, voice as certain as ever in my ears.

I grin. “That a proposal?”

“Maybe.” Paige nudged me. 

“I’m just saying. I’d say yes.”

Paige pulls me in again, holding me tight against her. “Good. Because I plan to ask.”

—

July 2028 — Crypto.com arena, Los Angeles, California 

“You need to breathe.”

“I’m trying!”

“She’s in love with you, stop freaking out.”

“This is so cliche, Cameron.” I breathe, running my fingers through my hair, attempting to keep it as straight and uniform as possible.

Cam sighs through the phone. “You’re telling the one who got proposed to at the Eiffel tower about cliches?” And when she puts it like that, my breathing just barely starts to regulate itself. “She has no idea. I got her all dressed up, she went with Cassie to get her nails done, just please pull yourself together.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” I speak, mostly to myself, and Cameron hangs up.

It has been planned like this for a week, an impulsive decision that kept me scrolling through google when she slept on my chest and pulling whatever strings I could while at the practice facility. I even spent the last hours of All-Star weekend searching for and buying the perfect ring: a delicate gold band with an oval cut diamond tucked into the center.

I was going to do it there. Similarly to how I asked her to be my girlfriend in the comfort of our hotel room.

But then I decided she needed something more. Something big but still private, still just us.

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and I dig it out of my cream colored dress pants. A black polo is fitted on my body, diamond jewelry around my neck and a bezeled watch around my wrist— courtesy of Raye’s anniversary gift a few nights earlier.

maraye: you ready? i’m coming in now  7:38pm

paige: Yeah, the locker room is unlocked!  7:38pm

I hadn’t told anyone, choosing to just tell Raye we were having a post-anniversary dinner. Which isn’t a total lie, since the festivities of my fourth All-Star appearance caused our celebration to include crashing in bed with makeup still on our faces.

I hadn’t told Azzi, nor my mother, and definitely not Nika or Kaylee. So besides Cam and Cassie making sure she went where she was supposed to and when, it was all me. 

And I’d been waiting.

I hear the voice of a man outside of the door, voice greeting my girlfriend, and only a few seconds later she’s walking into the room. Slightly worried about what could be waiting for her, but I keep calm; normal. 

Raye wears all black, but not in a way that dulled her. It clung to her in all the right places, silky and smooth, with a deep V-neckline that shimmered just slightly under the locker room haze. Her collarbones were kissed with gold, delicate hoops in her ears, and her hair—a cascade of defined curls—was pulled into a loose, romantic updo that looked effortless but elegant. 

Timeless. 

Like she had just stepped out of a dream I once had but could never name.

Like she stepped out of her own song.

Like she was the angelic sound of music I heard for the first time from the couch.

I stand up from my locker, dragging my feet over to where she stands, the ring box feels heavy in my pocket as I meet her halfway.

She wraps her arms around my neck, mine settles around her lower back. She smells like she always does, sweet with just enough undertones of grown and sexy. I lift her off the ground just barely, listening to how she groans into my ear.

“You look good, papi.” Raye nearly growls in my ear, causing me to stifle a groan by biting my lip.

I set her back on the ground with a squeeze, pulling back to look her over once more. “Aye chill out with that, I wanna get through our plans before you start acting up.” I laugh, pressing my lips to hers. It’s short, but full of all the emotion I’ve been holding out on by not seeing her all day.

“You’re right, my fault.” She smiles.

“Mmm but you still look fine tho’, fine as hell.” I hum, dropping my arms and sticking a hand out for her. “Come this way.”

Raye takes my hand with not a beat of hesitation. “We’re going through the court?” She asks, suddenly confused as to why I’d choose this way and not the entryway she came in with.

I brush her off, lying and telling her it’ll get us to my car faster. And then, it’s go time.

“Y’know, I was gonna ask you on a first date the night of Cam’s dinner party.” I confess. Raye nearly trips over her own feet, but I balance her before she gets the chance to fall. “You think we would’ve still been together?”

I walk her through the back door of the locker room, and she stops in her tracks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Kea told me you were seeing someone, but then you told me it wasn’t official yet. I was gonna ask you out when we were leaving.”

“I think we would’ve been.” She answers, finally picking up her feet and walking with me closer to the court. My hands sweat with anticipation and a part of me hopes she doesn’t notice. “I still would’ve found out just how much I like you.”

I nod. “Let’s say in this hypothetical scenario; I ask you out and you say yes, what would’ve happened if Julian still asked you to be his girl that night?” It’s all word salad, something to keep my mind occupied while I try to remember the monologue I’d created.

She stutters, pace just barely slowing down. “I dunno. I was still straight. Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out like this.” Raye shrugged. “Why are you asking about a hypothetical?”

We stand in front of the tunnel entrance and I don’t answer, instead, I pull back the thick black curtain and gesture my head towards the court. “C’mon.”

“Why are we—”

“Mami I love you, but please stop asking me so many questions. Go.” I laugh. My girlfriend rolls her eyes, giving me one more look before dipping behind the curtain. Her pace is slow, but she walks in and I follow behind and I nearly have to hold my hand down in order to not cop a feel of her ass.

The court lights are low, just enough to set a yellow hue over the classic purple and gold hardwood. Candles decorated the baseline, creating a walkway for her to follow until she got to her seat. The seat was illuminated by a single spotlight.

The seat where I saw her for the first time.

There, lays a bouquet full of pink and white roses and lilies scattered in between. 

Raye takes one look at it all, before freezing. Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Paige…” She whispered, voice full of shock and confusion.

“I know.” I say, my voice barely even there. “I want you to walk down there and take a seat for me, can you do that?” I ask softly, suddenly realizing that all my nerves were for nothing. Because in the three years I’ve been blessed to call her mine, she’s always let me know that it’s been me. Now all I have to do is ask to make it official.

The sound of her While We’re Young plays softly overhead. It’s the first song she ever wrote about me.

“I’m askin’ you about a hypothetical because this whole time, I’ve been wondering if we’d still get this far if things were different.” I start, feeling the pressure ease off my shoulders with every step. “Like what if Kea never introduced us that night?”

Raye thinks to herself for a moment. “I probably wouldn't have chosen to partner up with you at Cam’s.” She answers.

“And we wouldn’t have become close friends. You wouldn’t have caught feelings for me, and I wouldn’t get the opportunity to love you the way I do now.” I say.

Raye sits soundly in the court-side seat, clutching the bouquet in her lap and crossing one glowing leg over the other, and I swear I see her eyes glaze over. There’s something heavier there, a realization or maybe even a memory of that night in May.

“The other day, I was going through old practice videos, and I came across practice on opening day.” I step back from her, treading carefully towards the top of the arch. “And I started thinking about the play we ran.”

She lets out a laugh. “When did you have time to do all this thinking?” Raye jokes, and I laugh along with her.

“It’s easy when my girlfriend sleeps like a hibernating bear.” I responded. 

Raye gestures her hand for me to continue, looking at me with wide brown eyes that I’m still obsessed with all these years later.

“The original play was for D to set a screen here.” I point to my left side at the top of the wing.

“I was gonna come off of it, handoff to Kea and she gets right to her spot for a middy. If it didn’t work out, I was trailing behind for an open three and Cam would be available in the paint.” 

She listens intently, my demonstration of the play even without a ball in my hands helped too. Her basketball knowledge has drastically increased since we got together, particularly from watching film with her.

“It was gonna be the easiest way for us to break their zone. But instead they played man. So when I came off the screen, Siegrist called for a switch and McCowan was now guarding me.” I explain.

“You had a mismatch.” Raye hums.

“I had a mismatch.” I agree, continuing with my demonstration.“So instead I faked the handoff and just drove. I went for a lefty, she fouled the shit out of me, and I ended up here.” 

I stand right in front of her now, a grin on my face that mirrors the one she looks up at me with, tears just barely brimming her eyes.

The song tails off and I silently applaud myself for my perfect timing. 

“The very thing that led me to you was a last minute decision. God’s plan brought me to you, Raye.” My voice wavers ever so slightly, throat tightening as I realize the magnitude of the moment. “When I found out you were with Julian, I told myself—of course. Because you were smart, and breathtaking, and kind in that way that makes everyone lean in when you speak.”

Maraye laughed through her tears, squeezing the bouquet tighter in her hands.

“And I tried to be your friend,” I continued. “I was your friend. But somewhere between our third late-night phone call and the night at Waffle House when you told me about how you didn’t feel seen, something shifted. You started making room for me in your life. And I—I fell. Hard.”

My fingers tremble at the thought of reaching for the box in my pocket, but I press on. “I never thought I’d be the one. I had hoped, and prayed for it, but I didn’t think it would happen like this. But you… you surprised me. You let yourself love me. And in doing that, you changed everything.”

I pull the box out, cracking it open before sinking to my knee. And even through it all, Raye lets out a gasp. A little gasp full of everything she’s yet to say to me. 

“I used to think love was supposed to be overwhelming, and I was so scared. Scared of fucking it up for you, for us.” I whisper, holding the ring between us. “But with you, it’s peaceful. It’s steady. It’s choosing each other, again and again, even on the hard days.”

A beat of silence.

“And I want to keep choosing you, Maraye. Every day, every version of you, in every season of our lives. So…” My voice wavered, thick with love. “Will you marry me?”

Maraye didn’t answer right away—sending a quick bout of anxiety to my core. But then she’s sliding off the seat, cupping my face, and kissing me so deeply it said yes a hundred different ways before the words finally came.

“Yes,” she whispered against her lips. “You know that, baby. Of-fuckin-course I’ll marry you.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding, sliding the ring on her finger. We both laugh and cry through it, and then Raye’s kissing me again. Deeper, hand in my straightened hair as she tugged me close—candles flicker around us, and the weight of our story humming in every corner of the arena.

—

May 2029 — Los Angeles, California

The door slams harder than I intended.

No one tells you how hard planning a wedding is. They also don’t tell you how hard it is to plan a wedding while also working on finalizing an album.

I drop my bag on the floor, exhaustion running through me to the point where I can’t even bother to set it on the hook. I set my keys down, kicking off my tennis shoes and nearly falling flat on my face as I do so. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” I groan, stopping dead in my tracks and taking a deep breath and counting to five. Then ten.

It doesn’t help.

The silence in the apartment kills me. It leaves me alone with the thoughts of not doing well enough, not completing enough work. Not, doing anything worth remembering.

It all weighs on me. Wedding emails. Guest list edits. The label riding me every second of the day about finishing this album. Another vendor dropping out. A migraine blooming behind my eyes. And Paige is not even home yet, which—okay, unfair to be mad about because it’s not her fault that her first three games of the season are on the road. But I missed her. Needed her.

I trudge into the bedroom, shedding clothes as I walk. Leggings hitting the floor in the hallway, Sparks hoodie falling somewhere near my vanity, bra thrown on the edge of our bed. The forest green and navy slip dress I wore to bed last night hangs over the vanity chair, and I throw it on lazily.

“Just 15 minutes.” I say to myself, slinging the comforter over my body.

I was out cold in two.

When I woke up, the light outside had changed—dipped into that lavender-blue of mid evening. The headache that had been ruining my life for the last few days had dulled but not disappeared, and my mouth tasted like sleep. Even through the groggy and heavy haze, I sit up slowly.

That’s when I heard it. Water.

It lapped gently alongside the faint clink of glass, a low hum that might’ve been music or, well, humming.

My legs swing over the edge, painted toes padding against the rug in the floor before I sleepily entered the attached bathroom.

Paige was already in the tub, hair piled in the messiest possible way at the back of her head. The curve of her shoulder dips out under the suds and gleams in the candlelight. An empty glass rests on the ledge beside her. Lavender steam curled through the room, carrying the scent of bath oils and eucalyptus. The playlist— our playlist—was mellow, that’s usual R&B with a hint of jazz.

My body naturally leans against the door frame, languidly blinking sleep from my spirit.

“Hi.” I murmur.

Paige raises her head slowly, setting her phone delicately on the floor by the tub. “Hi, baby.”

“I didn’t know you were home.”

“We landed early.” Her chain glistens against her tanned skin, diamond studs in her ears that dance whenever the light shifts. Paige’s eyes rake over my body, and suddenly I’m hyper aware of the puffiness around my eyes and the slight slump of my shoulders. “It looked like you needed the sleep. Figured I’d soak off and then make us some dinner.” 

I walk over to the tub, sitting cautiously at the edge of the tub. “God, I’m so fuckin’ happy you’re here.” The sigh I let out, I didn’t even know I was holding in. Seeing her like this was like oxygen, I fucking needed it to survive.

Paige leans closer to me and I meet her halfway on instinct, holding her face with one hand. She tilts her head just right, brushing her nose with mine before locking our lips. I hum, allowing the blonde to part my lips with her tongue. She navigates my mouth like it’s her own, like she knows every nook and cranny; where to suck where to lick, and I let her. 

Her hands pull out from under the water, suds sticking to the back of her hands as she runs them over my thighs. Paige sighs, kissing me harder—faster. 

“Get in.” She mutters, dragging me against the ledge and closer to her. “C’mon, it’s still warm.”

I shake my head, something about being here with her and wanting to eat her alive feels more rewarding. So I angle her head in my hand, guiding her lips in the way I want them to go. It’s all teeth and tongue, with the occasional bout of spit against my chin. 

Paige is messy, pulling me into her like the last week and some change of her being on the road altered her brain chemistry. “Baby, get the fuck in.” She pants, pulling back enough that I can see her low eyes and swollen lips. “Needa take all this offa you.” 

I hesitate, but ultimately let her hands travel to the edge of my slip dress. She lifts the hem higher and higher until I break away to pull it off of myself. Paige doesn’t even give me a moment to shed my panties, she pulls me into the tub with her mouth pressing kisses to my cheek. 

“Talk to me.” She whispers against the skin, wrapping her arms around my waist. “What’s wrong, ma?”

I brace my arms around her neck, head comfortable against the side of her face. And it’s quiet for a moment, just breathing and the sound of water moving here and there. Skin to skin.

“Nothing.” I shrug, closing my eyes. But Paige knows me, the front I’m putting on just to keep her calm. To not stress her out.

She nods. Her chin resting in the crook of my neck. “How was dress shopping?” She decides to ask. An answer builds on my tongue, then stops when I feel her fingers against the back of my thigh. She draws slow circles, her nails just barely scratching the skin.

Then I let it out, my voice low and rough either from sleep or something heavier. “It’s… I dunno. Nothing special.” Paige kisses my shoulder slowly, like she’s still figuring out whether to press further or just let me enjoy the silence. “It’s just— I’m so tired, Paige. I’m trying to be everything. Good at work, good at planning, good for you— and I’m failing.“

Paige wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tighter, almost like a lifeline. “You’re not failing. You’re the toughest woman I know, trust, you’re not failing.”

“I cried today,” my voice trails off, “because someone ate my yogurt in the mini fridge; and none of these dresses look like me.”

Paige chuckled softly, pressing her lips to my jaw. “That’s valid.”

I take a deep breath, pulling back just enough to look at her face. How her hair is damp and sticks to her neck and shoulders. The slight flush from the heat in the bathroom. And it hits me then that I really do get to marry her, the ring on my finger is not a fragment of my imagination but it’s real. 

“I love you,” I whisper suddenly, voice thick. “But if one more person asks me if a damn napkin color really represents our ‘aesthetic,’ I’m eloping.” 

Paige simply smiles, something amused with a hit of understanding, before she kisses me softly. “You’re allowed to feel like that, ma. I know you’re goin’ through a lot to make this work.” 

“I just don’t wanna worry about a wedding and a fucking album for a few hours.”

Paige hums, trailing short kisses across my jaw and down my neck. Her hands move with precision, softly messaging my arms to my shoulders, feeling down my back and all we way down. Her hands settle on my thighs again, her fingertips toy with my panties— and suddenly I’m all hers.

“Lemme handle it.”

The water sloshes softly around us as Paige shifts in the tub, her knees brushing against mine beneath the surface. Steam curled between our mouths, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. 

Paige’s eyes, heavy-lidded and warm, searched mine, through the exhaustion and stress. My face was still drawn from the day, but my gaze softened just enough. There was something raw there now. A flicker of want. Of need. I needed her.

“I missed you.” Paige sighs.

“I’m right here.” I grumble. “And I’m needy. Horny, if you will.”

She grins, letting out a laugh before pulling me in. And that’s how it starts. A gentle kiss— brushing of our lips, a deep inhale of her scent.

My fingers find her face again, holding her jaw as I kiss her again, slower this time, but with more pressure. I poured every ounce of tension into it—every tight knot I’ve spent trying and failing to unwind, every unspoken frustration, every moment I’d smiled through exhaustion. Paige took it all, desperately. She kissed me back like she was drinking me in, trying to soothe all my edges and wrinkles from the inside out.

But then all the softness and slowed movements disappeared within the blink of an eye. She was rougher, more primal. Her hands kneaded at my ass, forcing a groan to spill from my lips. It gives Paige the perfect opportunity to make my mouth her own again. She slides her tongue against mine while my hands grip at her wet hair.

Paige whimpers softly against my mouth, tilting her head to deepen it, lips parting even more for the kiss to get messier. I groan, low and quiet, as Paige’s fingers dig into my waist beneath the surface, holding me there, pulling me in like she was afraid I could drift away if she let go.

I reach under the water, tugging my panties down my legs with a fight that nearly makes me curse her out for not letting me take them off before getting in the water. Soapsuds fly over the ledge, and when I finally get them off they’re tossed onto the floor. Landing with a loud, wet plap.

“Lemme get this stress offa you, yeah? Let's make you feel good," she whispers, her voice husky with desire.

“Please.” I beg, not even caring about how desperate I sound. 

I let her, leaning back, pressing my palms to the sore muscles of her legs. She trails her hands back under the water, her engagement ring cool against my skin.

Paige presses against my thighs, spreading my legs wider. Her fingertips trail up the skin and then carefully—and I really mean carefully—she brushes against my clit. I bite my lip.

She kisses her teeth, “you’re swollen, baby. It hurts huh?” Her voice is so sultry that I swear my own arousal leaks out of me like a faucet. “I gotta have you, Raye.” Paige glides her finger through my slick, muttering something about how wet I am and I make a joke about if that’s me or the water. To which she replies “nah it’s all you.”

Her finger dips inside, pushing in and out at a pace that is the perfect mix of rough and still so intimate. But I crave more. That toe curling, leg shaking stuff that she’s given me more times than not. 

“You get me so wet, P.” I confirm, letting the stimulation travel from my core up into my stomach. “I—I need more, please? It’s not enough.” I start, whining and growing frustrated. Paige can sense it, of course she can sense it. Because she leans in, pressing her lips to the valley of my breasts, kissing gently like they were artifacts she wanted to preserve. 

Her finger curls just slightly. “I know what you need. This pussy been mine for years, you think Ion know?” Almost as if my request pissed her off, she snatches her finger out of me. Paige looks up from my chest, licking her pink lips before grinning. “How you want it?”

I inhale slowly and ragged. “I want it hard, Paige. Just fuck me.” I cry. The soft sex is good—fuck, it’s so good—but when she gets in her zone, fucking me like she hates me, I just can’t get enough. 

My hand grips her wrist, tugging her long fingers closer to my cunt. 

And then she’s sliding in, two fingers this time.

I lost it.

They fit in with just enough stretch to remind me just how long it’s really been. But she’s a pro, in all meanings of the word, and gets to work right away. Paige pulls me closer again and meshes our lips. “Gotta stretch you out so my cock fits, baby. Nice and wide.” She grunts against my lips.

Paige begins to stroke her fingers faster and on instinct my hips meet her halfway. Water sloshes in the tub, falling in splashes on the floor. 

“P, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! It feels so good.” I moan. I lose control of everything, breaking the kiss as my head falls back and my nails dig into the depths of the back of her neck. “Love it when you fuck me like this.”

“Such a slut, Raye.” The blonde kisses her teeth, her free hand pushing hair out of my face. “Prettiest li’l slut f’me.”

She knows just what to say, just what to do— where to touch that makes me fall apart for her. And I think I’d rather die than to live a life where my body isn’t hers for the taking. So I spread my legs wider, enough to create room for the blonde in front of me. And she just takes it. 

Takes and takes and takes.

My eyes screw shut at Paige’s words, my entire body shivering as I work harder against her fingers. The slickness between my legs only intensified, climax growing and building inside me with every passing second. I could barely manage coherent thoughts, let alone words. But I do just enough to murmur, “needed you, baby. Such a sl—ut for you.”

Paige smiles at that, deciding to suck across my skin. She leaves marks behind, and normally I’d find something to say about it but right now I don’t care. I let her mark me up like I'm property. My hips roll simultaneously, taking what her fingers do to me.

“ ‘M gonna fuck you stupid after this. You want that?” She asks. Her mouth moves lower against my skin, over my breasts and to my nipple that peaks out over the surface. Her arm wraps around my hips as she pulls me closer.

Paige encloses my nipple with her mouth. Plump lips over the pebbled skin and tongue running over the bud. It’s as if it’s natural to her. Licking and sucking to the point I’m wishing it was my clit in her mouth. 

My eyes flutter closed, body melting into Paige's touch. I could feel the tension in my muscles beginning to ease; being replaced by a growing heat in the pit of my stomach. 

"Paige," I gasp, hips moving in time with Paige's strokes. "I’m close."

"I know, love," she murmured against my tit. "Just needed a good fuck? I know you missed me, ain’t you?"

I nod, helpless as my release comes in like a wave. My legs tremble and her name falls from my lips like a sin. “So bad, Paige! Shit!”

Paige held me tight, her fingers continuing to stroke inside me gently as I rode out the pleasure. "That's it, baby," she murmured. "Just feel it. Gimme that shit, ma. You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

My body relaxes. Breaths fall from my lips and Paige presses kisses to my chest. My cunt throbs almost uncontrollably; sore but still so fucking needy. And she feels it.

“C’mon. I think you got a few more in you.”

—

“Daddy…” I hiccup, chest heaving from the aftermaths of three orgasms. Maybe four, but between this one and the one before that, I think I could’ve passed out. Paige buried her tongue inside me just after I regained consciousness from her fingers. Then the strap came out and somewhere along the way everything became a blur.

Sweat sticks to the hollow between her collarbones, and a drip trails down the valley of her breasts. It’s cinematic, really. Her chain hangs around her neck, engagement ring gleaming on her finger when she uses that hand to rub her chin.

She looks at me in disbelief, as if I’m not from this Earth. It sets my soul on fire. 

The strap hangs deliciously from her hips, harness snug and a dildo her skin tone just resting between us. My slick covers it, and now that I’m seeing it in the light of our bedroom, a blush finds its way to every surface of skin. 

The sheets are wet, and I can’t tell if it’s from me or the water that literally clung to us in the sex-drunk endeavor to get to the bed. 

“Shhh shhh. Just gimme one more. I know you got one more.” She coos. She holds the sticky base in her hands, tapping the tip of the strap against my swollen and overstimulated cunt. 

A rush of pleasure runs through my body, and she doesn’t stop. Tapping my clit, running it over my folds, slipping inside just an inch and then pulling out. Over and over again like the reaction she gets from me is better than anything else she’s ever experienced in her life.

“Tell me you can take it.”

I gasp. “I can take it, fuck, I can take it. Just— please, daddy.” I beg. My hand snakes behind her head, tugging her down to my level. Our foreheads touch, as if she’s talking to me telepathically. “Inside, baby.”

Paige captures my lips in a deep kiss as she slowly pushes into me. I can’t even gasp, I just groan. Heavy and thick with the pleasure she’s engraved into my brain for the last some hours. Even then, my cunt stretches again to accommodate Paige's cock. 

The blonde doesn’t wait. Doesn’t falter or waver. She works fast, snapping her hips into mine while I suck sloppily on her tongue. Paige breaks the kiss, her eyes locked onto mine as my body moves under her. My tits bounce in her face, hands attempting to figure out where to grip and scratch.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Paige groans, her voice filled with pleasure. "So fuckin’ tight and wet. Yo’ shit just creaming for me, Raye. Damn." She says it like it’s unbelievable, and honestly, it is. It’s unbelievable how almost four years in she still can fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. How after spreading me open and licking me clean, she’s still drawing come out of my cunt. 

My back arches into her, eyes rolling into the depths of my head. “You—mmph—‘re deep as fuck, oh my God, Paige.” It comes as a near squeak. Paige keeps going.

“Mhmm. Deep in that shit. Deep in my pussy.” She fucks me like I’m a toy. Rutting her hips inside and out like she’d die if she stopped. 

My hand grips the sheets, the other scratching down her arm. Paige’s thrusts become even deeper and more forceful. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal symphony of love and fucking desire. 

Her hands grip my hips, her fingers digging into my flesh as she slammed into me.

My body was on fire, heavily over stimulated from however many times she’s made me come and the pleasure only building with each thrust. I could feel the orgasm coiling in my stomach, ready to explode. "Daddy," I gasp, voice filled with desperation. My hand trails low, pressing against her abdomen. I don’t know if I’m pushing her away or trying to draw her closer. But I do know I don’t want her to stop. "Don’t stop, don’t stop! Fuck!”

“Baby move your hand.” Paige orders. I barely watch her bite her lip, something about the way my eyes roll stop me from seeing it all. My jaw falls slack, back arching even further.

“Gonna—”

“Raye, I’m not playin’. Move.” She says again, pushing my hand off to the side and getting back to her pace. Thrusting hard, so hard that the headboard bangs deliciously against the wall. “Gonna cum all on my shit, y’hear me? Cum with me, same time.”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“Yes! Yes, daddy I’ll cum on—awwww fuck!” I moan, legs trembling around her hips.

Paige leans down, her forehead pressing against mine again. "Cum for me, baby," she commanded, her voice harsh with desire. "Cum all over my cock."

With a cry, my body convulsed, my orgasm completely consuming me. Paige held on tightly, her thrusts becoming erratic herself as she chased her own release. With a final, deep thrust, Paige groaned, her body shuddering over mine as she came. 

We lay there for a moment, our bodies slick with sweat, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Paige slowly pulled out, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked at the mess between my thighs. The come dripping from my folds and coating the strap. She unstrapped the harness and tossed it aside, then almost animated, she collapsed soundly against my chest.

We fit perfectly, like a puzzle.

I run my fingers through her wet hair, scratching delicately at her scalp and Paige groans.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?” I responded.

Paige sits up, resting her chin on my chest. I look into her blue eyes, watching them go from dark to light all over again. She looks at me with a kind of softness that makes my heart swell.

“We’ll get your dress designed.” She starts. “I want this wedding to be perfect, and it’s perfect as long as you’re happy.” She breathes, pressing a kiss to my sternum.

“But, Paige—”

“We’ll wait. However long it takes for me to give 110% to helping you out. You’ll have the dress of your dreams, the wedding of your dreams; big or small, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever. I—I just can’t watch you stress yourself like this. Okay?”

Her words settle in the air. And when she puts it like that, it’s impossible for me to say anything other than okay.

— 

April 2030 — La Jolla Cove, California

The taste of champagne and a bit of Don Julio still lingered in my mouth. Alongside the taste of cake, and of course, the strawberry flavored lip gloss of my wife.

I still haven’t wrapped my head around that title.

The wedding was perfect. The location felt like a dream, and I truly couldn’t have picked a better woman to marry, than Maraye. 

She wore this gown that clung to her like it had been stitched with by hand just for her body: the corseted bodice sculpted to her curves, every bead and crystal catching the light like tiny stars. The intricate pattern radiated from her waist like a burst of light, tapering down into that full, ethereal skirt. It shimmered—better yet, it glowed—with every step she took, moving like water and starlight all at once. 

Her hair had been straightened and pulled into an updo that still managed to perfectly frame her face. Her skin glistened against the pure white silk. 

I was left at a loss for words.

We took photos. The white of her dress sat beautifully against the pure black of my suit and the forest green of our wedding party. 

She read vows that made me boohoo cry at the altar and I slid a wedding ring on her finger then audibly made her gasp in front of all our guests.

But I loved it because it was her.

When we got to the reception though, all decorum was off the table. We’d changed into something more freeing— comfortable— and drank and danced and kissed like nobody was around but us. Kaylee gave a speech, so did my dad, and Cassie took the cake when she started an emotional spiel about how lucky she felt to have watched our journey from the beginning.

KK controlled the dance floor, Cameron and Sydel drank until their livers almost gave out, Destin sang, and the list really just went on. 

Now, the reception hall was nearly empty.

Our wedding planner, hired after I realized Raye was never going to stop stressing herself out, talks to the manager of the event center. Some conversation I can’t really care too much about when my wife is standing ten feet away in the most casual silk dress. 

The warm hum of the string lights still glowed above the dance floor, flickering like stars over a room filled with the sweet aftermath of celebration. Half-empty glasses lounge on tables, rose petals strewn here and there, and the lingering scent of jasmine, sweat, and laughter.

I leaned against one of the support beams, barefoot and flushed, my shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar now, bouquet ribbon tied loosely around her wrist. My wedding band rests on my finger.

It was perfect for me, not too much but still not too little. Raye would rather die than give me a mediocre gift. It’s a thin band, diamonds sitting soundly against the metal— and the night we met, etched somewhere on the inside. 

I watched as Maraye stepped back onto the dance floor, her reception dress gathered slightly in her hands to keep from dragging. Her curls were wild, makeup smudged from hours of joy, but my eyes burned her into memory—steady, sultry.

I look back at our planner, noticing that we have at least five minutes to ourselves before needing to get going. 

I approach her slowly, feet padding softly until I reach her with an open palm. She looked up at me with wide eyes, like I was a myth, or something of the sort. “I wanna show you something.” I murmur.

She doesn’t say anything. She just slips her hand in mine, soft almond shaped nails just barely gazing at my palm. 

We walked hand in hand, and I let my mind travel to the first time she held mine. On the way to our first date, I remember how sweaty my hand had gotten, the nerves that had accumulated. And still, to this day, my hand gets just as sweaty and I get just as nervous.

We walk into a secluded room. Pictures of us with family and friends flashing by on tall screens. It’s dark except for the light that the pictures let off.

Maraye called this place “memory lane.” A place for everyone to stop and look at how far we’ve come. From fleeting glances and a scandalous relationship to a written-in-stone marriage.

A song plays softly, our song.

The soft strum of bass fills the room and Raye, the music connoisseur that she is, picks up on it immediately. 1+1. Beyoncé.

She turns to me slowly with a grin. “I was wondering why they didn’t play our song tonight.”

“It’s my little surprise.” I explain. I pull her in, settling her arms on my shoulders as I hold her hips. Not rough, just soft enough to keep her grounded with me. 

Our bodies pressed together, warm and close, and we began to sway—slow, intimate. The kind of dance that wasn’t about the steps or knowing what the hell we were doing, only the pull between us.

“I’ve been waiting all night for this part,” Maraye murmured against my ear. “No more eyes. No more interruptions.”

“No tías asking us to leave room for Jesus.” I add on and she laughs. Full and wholehearted. My eyes flutter shut as her hands slid over the expanse of my upper back—then back up, until they were toying with the flyaways at the back of my neck.

Raye sang softly with the lyrics, her mouth brushing my temple, her breath hot and close.

“I don’t know much about guns, but I… I’ve been shot by you.”

I trembled, just a little. Then, my face turned and met her lips in a slow, indulgent kiss—one that didn’t ask permission, one that said we made it. That said take me home and never let me go. It deepened, just enough, perfect for dancing in a reception hall with my wife.

“Looks like the whole world belongs to you with that kiss,” she teased.

I let my fingers trail over her jaw, whispering softly, “pretty sure it does.”

There was no rush. Just my fingertips tracing her collarbones, the weight of wedding rings brushing against bare skin, and the burn of want simmering under the sweetness of love.

“You’re driving me crazy singing in my ear like that.” I admit, voice dipping a little lower now, fingers slipping under the loose strap of Maraye’s dress. “Gotta give me a private concert when we get to Bali.”

She smirked, a full face smirk that looked too close to my one. But I guess that’s what happens when you spend all this time with someone. “I dunno if there’ll be enough time for that between…you know.”

Then she shifted closer, pressing our bodies tight, and began to sing again—“Make love to me… when the world’s at war… pull me in close…”—just for me. Her lips gaze my skin, each note sinking deeper than the last.

“I love you so much.” I say, words trailing off with the music.

“I love you too, Paige.” And I don’t let myself believe otherwise for a single second.

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🌸🌷🌸

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

With Neptune Square MC you probably don't see yourself in a »typical« career. Also, other people or the public so to say has a false understanding of your role in the society, your status, career and even about your relationship with your parents. You are confused about your profession or your life path. You quite literally might need to pretend in your job (such as being an actor) or you feel like you cannot be you, but instead play a role (counsellor). There is a barrier of illusion here, because in your career you cannot be just you, but it's often a role you are »pretending« for.

Moon opposite Chiron: with Chiron hitting the Moon here, there is usually an emotional vulnerability from the past (either from the family or the mother) and you feel it comes up again and again in your relationships. You often feel emotions are »too much« or you don't feel understood emotionally enough. You have felt that it is not safe to express your feelings at home. Yet now you deeply understand other's emotions, but at the same time you are scared of emotional closeness.

Uranus square Pluto: you often feel repressed, restricted in a public job or working for another's company. You like going against the norm. You may lose your job and randomly start your own company, because you don't like to be controlled. Only when you are in crisis or chaos, you actually end up making a change.

Jupiter trine Saturn: you build things really slowly in life. You often approach it with structure and a vision with a plan. You may even help build a school or a company. This aspect is very much »start up« energy.

Pluto in the 4th house, you grew up in a family where there was survelliance of some sort or family member were too critical. This rarely means actual death of a family member, but instead you lost something very important, like divorce of your parents or loss of a healthy family dynamic. You felt you couldn't trust emotions and relationships at home, so at times you have a hard time trusting others or have a hard time building long-term, stable relationships. Feelings of safety, protection and love were not openly expressed. Or they were conditioned with power, control or sometimes even fear. One parent usually had weak control or was completely physically or emotionally absent. You may feel that you don't know who you really are when you peel off outer mask or the influence of your family. You may often move, renovate your home or quite literally lose it and build a new one. Or you destroy everything what you had and build new emotional and physical connections. You could also move far away due to feeling of releasing the burden of family legacy or to break from your heritage, inherited patterns. You may not be as patriotic too, almost like there is sort of disdain for your home country. There is an indirect transfer of trauma from a family member, you feel like you carry the weight of events you didn't directly experienced.

Lilith in the 4th house is tricky. I would say even more than Pluto in the 4th, because at least Pluto can »reintroduce« themselves and transform many points in life. Lilith here touching your roots, emotional world, family, what can end up happening is you isolating yourself a lot. You often have a feeling of rebellion or being left out like a general feeling or feeling you experience at home or with your family. But often you isolate, when you don't work through your past family patterns. Usually this placement later on builds a home and a family life completely based on their own terms and principles.

If you have North Node in the 2nd house, yeah figure out your values in life as soon as possible. Because when you don't, you end up being too giving and sacrifical to others. In this lifetime, you need to develop financial literacy, develop talents and practical skills. Your life lesson will be learning to be self-sufficient, knowing your worth and creating generational wealth basically. You probably came from emotional dependency or an environment with addiction, substance abuse problems, but you need to learn stable confidence in your adulthood.

Surprisingly, Uranus in the 12th house is that one low-key placement that could ALSO indicate having a feeling of leading a double life. And what I mean by this, you have your outter mundane, normal life and an inner life full of »aha moments«, deep transformations, secret rebellion, resentment towards the old structures or anything that you deem too conventional in community. There is this feeling that the real »you« is hidden or within you, but not visible to others. You have an inner understanding that you are different from others, but you never say that to others or share this with others, you keep quiet.

With Neptune in the 12th house, here a double life could also be found. But from much different reasons than Uranus in the 12th. There are usually troubles differenciating between what's real and what's ficional, imaginative or illusory. So you often don't say anything, because you feel others just won't understand or see you as someone »just a little odd«.

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[thetarotyapper]

how will your future partner/spouse feel and react when you dominate them for the first time (18+)

paid services 18+ paid services tarot community ko-fi

(how to pick a card? observe the given images and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. scroll down to read your message!! remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates! ps.- if you feel drawn to more than one card/image/pile, feel free to read the others too!! if the chosen pile doesn't relate to you, feel free to choose another. the choice is yours<3)

જ⁀➴ pile I

your person has literally been WAITING for the moment when you will dominate them babe like i'm not even kidding😭. they've been patient and they've been holding back from suggesting this idea because they don't know how you'd feel about it. and to be honest, they don't mind being the giver, but they wouldn't mind being the receiver either you know👀. for some of you, i'm seeing that your person might have been bored or exhausted at some point because they have always been the dominant one, but once you take the lead - OH THEY WILL LOVE IT. AND I'M SEEING THAT YOU'LL LOVE IT TOO AKJSAKAKKAKA. like their reaction is going to be so….. satisfying. you’ll find yourself wanting to dominate them over and over again because of the pretty faces they make before they will - well…..you know….reach climax. you being dominant is going to bring a new thrill and excitement into this relationship. this is like the missing piece in your relationship because once y'all realise you like to switch roles and be 50/50, your relationship is only going to progress for the better. 

there's going to be so much passion - IT'S SO HEATED. like i'm not even kidding when i tell you that your person is going to remember this moment FOREVER babe, like mark my words!! this experience is going to be so spiritually transformative for them, there's no going back. 

your person is literally going to melt in your hands and i’m seeing an image where they are “sacrificing” their life for you. basically, they'll let you do anything you want to them lol and they won’t protest. they'll love the thrill of you taking control and putting them in their place. they also love the view when you're on top of them🤭. i'm seeing here that your person has mustered up all the courage and asked you to take control over them. BYE SUDDENLY I HEARD THEM SAYING “use me”. UM SIR MA'AM I GOTTA GO Y'ALL DO YOUR THING I AINT COMING IN THE WAY KAJSJAJAKAKA. and oh, use your strength on them. manhandle them - they really like it. ANYWAYS BYE I'M LEAVING JJJAJAJJAHAHAJ. 

just kidding, obviously i'm not gonna leave just yet hehe. i'm having too much fun doing your reading, pile 1 hahaha. 

i'm seeing here that you are actually good at dominating them and taking the lead, like you're so confident - your confidence is literally gonna make them WEAK. they're going to be a complete mess at the end of the day. and oh how y'all love it (Y'ALL ARE SUCH FREAKY FREAKY PEOPLE, PILE 1). your person wants, and by wants i mean WANTS to be used by you like a toy. they might even be into BDSM because i see them wanting to try literally so many things with you - like please chill out, you can't try out everything at one time😭. they're so needy for you, and you know what pile 1? honestly this is goal’s because you're gonna love the way they are going to beg for you (pile 1, i see what you're doing here👀). 

y'all are going to be so experimental and honestly speaking, HOW DO Y'ALL HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY. like the passion is so strong here, i don't think this is going to be a one-time-thing. this is literally the BEGINNING of something better and deeper. i'm seeing that y'all will also come up with your own creative ways in making your person reach climax faster. i see you learning their weak points and what turns them on. they will even tell you what they want you to do to them. 

expect a lot of whimpering and begging from your person hahaha. they'll like it when you tease them and make them beg in order to reach their climax. the thought of you having the power over when they can feel good turns them on so much *COUGH COUGH* Y'ALL NEED A ROOM I'LL GIVE Y'ALL SOME SPACE WKSMNSMAMA BYEEEE.

જ⁀➴ pile II

babe let me start off by saying that your person is VERY SMART. like this all seems so pre-planned - i’m actually speechless 😭. i'm seeing here that your person will purposely make you mad so that you can dominate them and put them in their place. UM PILE 2’s PERSON???? WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO?? WHAT HAPPENED TO HI?? WHAT HAPPENED TO HOW ARE YOU?? it's so funny to me because while i was doing your reading, this is the first energy i got from your person like okay sir/ma'am i see what stunt you're pulling here👀🤭. i literally hear them thinking, “YES, MY PLAN WORKED!!” when you get mad and put them in their place. 

i'm not even kidding when i tell you this, pile 2 - your person gets off at the thought of you taking control over them. like it just does something to their brain, i see their happy hormones releasing when you dominate them. they're going to love it when you go slow at first, being gentle and loving - caressing their cheek and all, but then BOOM - they're going to go crazy when you increase your pace and put them in their place. i see their eyes rolling back and them biting their lips. they're going to try so hard to bite back their moans but they're going to fail so miserably. i see them acting like you didn't do a good job and to prove them wrong, you're going to be more intense AND THIS IS THEIR PLAN - and you're also pretty adamant huh, pile 2. you ain't gonna give up THAT easily. you keep on falling for their traps all the time😭. and to be honest, i don't see any complaints from their end, nor from your end - so y’all are DEFINITELY enjoying this. and one more thing i gotta add pile 2, you know exactly what you're doing. it doesn't matter if it's the first time you're being dominant, YOU KNOW THE WAY. it seems like you've studied them before and you've noticed where they like to be touched and you're going to use this to your advantage. your person is not even going to make any particular requests, YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO. 

and i see that maybe y'all will even switch roles in between. like when you dominate them and make them reach their climax, they're going to dominate you immediately after that so you can feel good too. it's basically like, “if you make me feel good, i'm going to make you feel even better”. OH MY GOD i see y'all like tryna compete and see who’s better at making each other climax first and your love making can go on for hours just to prove y’alls point - this also seems like another one of your persons tactics 😅. i'm seeing here that your person might have a mommy kink. they might even have a degradation kink. 

they will like it when you reward them for their good behaviour. they'll like to listen to you and i see them being so obedient - it's like they don't want your mood to change 😭. they don't want to miss out on this good opportunity and will literally do their best to keep you in this “dominant zone”. i'm also seeing that y'all will like to spoil each other after everything is done. 

there's this elegance in the way you move and make them feel good, i literally don't know how to explain it. you will just look really good while making them reach climax. maybe it's your dedication or maybe it's the way you will remove all your frustration on them because they made you mad - but like there's just something about your face that made me stop for a second. i see your cheeks turning rose pink while making them feel good. it almost looks like you're a natural when it comes to this. and your person is going to LOVE this about you. 

i see a proud look on your face when you make them reach climax. it's like your job here is done. your priority was to prove them wrong and show that you can easily make them melt under your touch, and when they do submit to you - you've won. it's all you ever wanted - to see them a complete mess, begging for more.

જ⁀➴ pile III

your person is someone who is very shy and might not communicate their urges to you. they might feel embarrassed and reserved. but here's the thing, they're open to trying it. and when i tell you that this experience is going to be life-changing for them, I MEAN IT. 

for the longest time, your person might have had this mindset that the “man” should be the “dominant” one (my readings are flexible and can apply to any gender and sexual orientation - but in this reading i’m getting the feeling that your person thinks that the masculine energy should be the dominant one and the feminine energy should take on the submissive role. and here, your person is the masculine energy, that is why they are feeling like this). but i would be lying if i said that they haven't thought about being dominated by you. they've definitely thought about being dominated, but it feels so wrong to them. but at the same time, it feels so…. right?

i’m seeing here that the both of you will have a discussion about trying to switch roles and you both will mutually agree on it. AND GUESS WHAT???? Y'ALL ARE GOING TO LOVEEEEEE IT. i feel so many emotions right now and this is exactly how y'all would feel - nervous, overwhelmed, but also excited. your person is going to LOVE it when you praise them and they might be hesitant about this idea at first, but oh they're going to ENJOY IT. there's going to be so much love and trust here, i feel so emotional. like the feelings here are so genuine and there's genuinely so much love here i feel like crying. your person is a sweetheart and their nature is very reserved and shy. they take a lot of time to trust someone, so when they let you take control over them - that means they really really trust you. 

i’m seeing that both of y'all would experiment and see what you like and don't like. in terms of intimacy, you both seem inexperienced and this is a great opportunity to understand what y'all prefer. Y'ALL ARE ALSO CREATIVE OH MY GOD. like y'all will find ways in making each other feel good - and your person is going to LOVE it when you talk them through it. i literally see them covering their face because they're embarrassed and didn't know they'd enjoy being so submissive. I’M LITERALLY GIGGLING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THEIR REACTION IS SO CUTE. also, from the beginning of your reading i've been getting the feeling that your person might wear glasses and when they're covering their face, their glasses will get in the way and it'll be fogged up and their face will be red - LIKE THE VIEW IS SO PRETTY.

being submissive will make them feel like they are losing a part of their masculinity (according to your partner) and you will have to reassure them that there are no such toxic expectations from your side. i feel like your person might come from a very conservative and misogynistic background and you can't even blame them because that's how they're raised. but the only difference here is that your partner is willing to try out new things and that is because they love you. i can't get over the emotions they feel for you. they're more than willing to change their ways and their thoughts for you because they love you so much. your love is going to change them. and i'm so proud of you, pile 3 - because you gave them a space where they can truly be themselves and break away from all the stigma.

your love is so deep, i literally see y'all building a family together. you both know that you have found the one and you're ready to settle down. your person is comfortable being intimate with you because they know that they're going to settle down with you someday (and even marry you). they're not open to everyone and they aren't the type to mess around. when they reveal their naked and true self to you, it means that they really trust you and they have a lot of faith in you. y'all are destined to meet. your destiny was already written. your relationship with this person is going to change the perception of love for many because in this day-and-age, love has lost its meaning. but when people look at your relationship, they will understand what true love is. 

my lovely pile 3, i'm sorry if this reading wasn't fully centred around the main theme - but what i found so heart touching about your pile is that there is genuine love and true feelings here. i'm not even kidding when i tell you that i felt so emotional throughout your reading. i'm so glad you're here and the world deserves more people like you. never stop being you<3 

hi loves!! i hope this reading finds you in good health and i hope you are doing well. i would be so glad if you could like my post and re-blog it, and please let me know which pile you picked - i would love hearing your thoughts!! take care of yourself and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3

(note: tarot & oracle cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, feelings and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!)

જ⁀➴ all credit for the pictures and dividers goes to their rightful owners and creators

[snakebites-and-ink]

Not gonna pick on one in particular, but there are a few people in the notes arguing that beginners need those black-and-white rules. This misses my point entirely. I'm saying that there are ways to teach people to avoid common pitfalls while still leaving room for creativity.

I'm not saying you just throw the words "be deliberate" at them instead of telling them how to write better. I'm saying if you want to tell them how to write better, do it by explaining what things do and letting them make the call from there.

Early elementary might be a different story because they’re literally still learning the basic rules of grammar, but I think generally people underestimate how much beginners can comprehend, if you’d just offer the explanation instead of infantilizing them by assuming they're not ready for it. If someone's old enough to have unrestricted access to the internet (where I see a lot of this inflexible black-and-white advice), they're old enough to understand a basic explanation of why you want them to stop doing a particular thing that's having the wrong effect.

Being told (incorrectly) that something is an absolute requirement for writing can stick with someone for years. Years longer than they actually needed that "rule". Especially if it comes from someone they view as an authority on the subject. It can form habits that stop being helpful after just a little bit of experience. It can stunt a growing writer. It can worsen people's anxiety about their work and slash their confidence in doing things that break the mold. And they might never know when they can let go of those "rules" if no one ever tells them.

My point is that while hard-and-fast rules can be helpful for a season, they will eventually become deleterious if you don't leave room for those rules to be discarded.

Yeah, some people can figure that out on their own, and that's awesome. But some people need to be told or shown that they can before they'll feel able to break the rules. Like the person shocked to find that this was allowed. Like some of the people in the notes of this very post who said they needed to hear it. And can they really be blamed for assuming it's true if everyone they view as an authority tells them that those are the rules and that's that?

If you want to give good advice to a beginner, present them as general guidelines rather than universal rules, or explain the effect of something rather than presenting it as an imperative, or even just provide a disclaimer that it's for beginners and people with enough experience can break it. Just because they're still learning doesn't mean they’re incapable of comprehending nuance. Most writers online are in the teenage to adult range, so stop treating them like second graders.

Let it be their choice.

I've already said that my number one piece of writing advice is to read.

But my number two piece of advice is this: be deliberate.

Honestly this would fix so many pieces of bad writing advice. Don't forbid people from doing something, tell them to be conscious and deliberate about it. This could help stop people from falling into common mistakes without limiting their creativity. Black and white imperatives may stop a few annoying beginner habits, but ultimately they will restrict artistic expression.

Instead of "don't use epithets": "Know the effect epithets have and be deliberate about using them." Because yes, beginners often misuse them, but they can be useful when a character's name isn't known or when you want to reduce them to a particular trait they have.

Instead of "don't use 'said'" or "just use 'said'": "Be deliberate about your use of dialogue tags." Because sometimes you'll want "said" which fades into the background nicely, but sometimes you will need a more descriptive alternative to convey what a character is doing.

Instead of "don't use passive voice": "Be deliberate about when you use passive voice." Because using it when it's not needed can detract from your writing, but sometimes it can be useful to change the emphasis of a sentence or to portray a particular state of mind.

Instead of blindly following or ignorantly neglecting the rules of writing, familiarize yourself with them and their consequences so you can choose when and if breaking them would serve what you're trying to get across.

Your writing is yours. Take control of it.

It probably sounds like I'm preaching to the choir here because most of my mutuals are already great writers. But I'm hoping this will make it to the right people.

[dreamersparacosm]

i want jealous jungkook too...but do you know who i want him to be jealous of? BAM. I WANT OC AND BAM I WANT THEM

tpod!jungkook would absolutely be jealous of a dog. like he already fought to have you, now he has to fight with his own dog?? what kind of world is this?

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which jungkook’s biggest competition isn’t a man, but his own doberman.

warnings ; none!

Here’s the thing about Jeon Jungkook: when you’re in Korea, he simply forgets how to function like a normal human being.

Sure, he could go to rehearsals. He could hang out with the boys, lift heavy things at the gym, play with Bam at the dog park until one of them drops dead from exhaustion. He could — and does — have a life outside of you.

But unfortunately, that’s impossible to uphold currently. Because Jungkook, in all his stubbornness, has decided that when you are in Korea, you are his life.

So he waits, with the particular blend of patience and agitation that only the hopelessly devoted can manage.

He waits while you sit through endless meetings in the Seoul office where he assumes you're probably reshaping the course of fashion history. Meanwhile, he — professional idol, household name, literal global phenomenon — spends his entire afternoon fluttering around the house like an overgrown golden retriever preparing for your arrival back.

When you finally do appear, hours later than you promised (”just a quick check-in meeting,” you said, like a liar), he’s orchestrated the perfect welcome. There’s even some of your candles lit that you got from the market the other afternoon.

He made sure to put on that stupid grey hoodie you once said you liked, the one that makes him look especially ‘boyfriend-coded’ which is insane because he is your boyfriend, but whatever, he’s trying to a better man for you.

There he stands in the entryway as your keys jiggle in the lock, heart metaphorically cupped in his hands like an anxious teenager, waiting for the moment your eyes find him after a day at work.

The door swings open with comedic timing.

You enter, still clad in your professional clothes, designer bag hanging from your shoulder. Your gaze performs a quick sweep of the space, a radar searching for something that’s not him.

Somehow, impossibly, you miss the tall international superstar practically vibrating with anticipation directly in your line of sight.

It’s too late; your attention has already locked, with laser-guided precision, onto what is apparently the actual love of your life.

"Bam!" You gasp, the name ripping from your throat with the same intensity usually reserved for reunion scenes in war movies. His dog doesn’t fight it, just wags his tail and pants excitedly when he realizes you’re home.

Just like that, Jungkook experiences the unique displeasure of watching himself become irrelevant.

He stands, a bewildered expression on his face, as you drop your bag, drop your coat, drop your body at Bam’s unsuspecting feet. Within seconds, you've transformed from fashion industry powerhouse to someone talkimg in a baby voice to a dog on his entryway floor. “Oh my god, Look at you, you handsome boy! Did you miss me? I missed you so much, mwah!”

You're now kissing the dog. Not polite little pecks, but full-on, emotionally-invested mouth kisses, as if you've spent your entire day in meetings plotting how to most effectively transfer your affection to this four-legged creature while breaking his owner's heart.

Jungkook watches this betrayal unfold, holding a spatula, like he’s someone who's just realized he's accidentally enrolled in the world's most elaborate third-wheel masterclass.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He clears his throat once.

Nothing.

He shifts his weight to his other foot.

Still… nothing. No passing glance.

Sprawled on his floor in complete surrender, you’re essentially involved in an impromptu romance with his pet. Jungkook — who has spent the last three hours committing culinary crimes against rice and desperately channeling his mother's cooking spirit — stands frozen.

It’s fine. Completely fine. Absolutely, one hundred percent acceptable.

Except for the tiny detail that he’s mentally drafting adoption papers for Bam.

He clears his throat again, louder this time and pointedly.

Finally, as if emerging from a trance, you glance up. “Hi, baby," You chirp, lips puckering in his direction, clearly expecting him to bridge the gap.

As if he's some lovesick sitcom husband whose entire world revolves around whatever affection you decide to toss his way. (Which…alright. Maybe he is. But acknowledging that would undermine his current position.)

Jungkook stares back at you, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a flat line.

Your eyebrows furrow, lips still suspended mid-pucker. When his statue holds firm, you slowly lower your mouth into a frown.

"...Hello?" You venture from your position on the floor, blinking up at him.

"Hi," He returns.

You narrow your eyes into little slits, hands still rubbing Bam’s head. "Come here."

"No."

"Why?"

"You kissed the dog," He announces petulantly.

You blink again. And then, because you are exactly the kind of woman who built a million-dollar career off smelling blood in the water, you grin.

“Oh my god,” you say, already laughing. “Are you—?”

You dramatically disengage from Bam, remaining on your knees but pressing both hands to your chest in a theatrical gesture. “Are you jealous? Of Bam?"

Jungkook's jaw flexes. He glares at some fascinating invisible point approximately six inches to the left of your head.

“I'm not jealous," He mutters, hands clasped behind his back as he avoids your gaze. (Which is exactly what someone jealous would say.)

"You're jealous of your own dog," You whisper, tone faux sympathy.

You shift your weight back, settling onto your heels, craning your neck to study him like he's a fascinating psychological case study.

Bam, however, is blissfully unaware of his central role in this drama. He wags his tail so hard that his whole butt is moving side to side like a windshield wiper.

"I leave for a couple of hours," you observe with fascination, "and you've already picked a fight with a literal puppy."

"He's not even a puppy anymore," Jungkook snaps back instantly, as if the classification of his ‘competitor’ is somehow the most pressing issue in this standoff.

You gasp, one hand flying to clutch at imaginary pearls. “Oh my god. You're calling him old? You're losing it, Jeon."

"I'm not losing it," He grumbles defensively.

The evidence suggests otherwise.

You rise to your feet slowly and saunter over to him. He stands there, arms still crossed, watching you approach with a suspicious squint.

You stop inches in front of him. Looking up through your lashes with innocence that wouldn't fool a toddler (but still somehow works on global superstars), you deploy your sweetest, most saccharine tone: "Baby," you murmur, "Love of my life."

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers toying with the neckline of his hoodie. The very one he selected for your approval, now weaponized against him.

"Don't tell me you're scared," you whisper with mock concern, eyes wide. "That Bam's gonna steal me away?"

His response surpasses non-verbal communication: silence paired with a scowl.

You grin evilly, and you lean forward until your lips brush against the shell of his ear. “He does have better hair than you," you tease.

Jungkook jerks back like he’s been electrocuted, mouth falling open in outrage.

"I knew it," he declares. "I knew you liked him better!"

Your laughter echoes throughout the whole room. His expression remains fixed in accusation, still treating your interaction with Bam — who has now abandoned you two to roll on his back in blissful oblivion — as a mortal enemy who must be defeated.

You wipe under your eyes dramatically, pulling yourself together with exaggerated effort before tilting your head.

"It's okay, baby," you console with insincerity. "Some men just can't handle the competition."

The scowl on his face deepens.

You nod solemnly, caressing his bicep. "Maybe you should work on your wagging. And your fur. I mean, Bam's coat? Impeccable."

Jungkook's mouth drops open again in shock.

You heave a long-suffering sigh, the sound of someone burdened with the great responsibility of being with a ridiculous man.

“God,” you roll your eyes, stepping into his space and grabbing a fistful of the front of his hoodie. “You’re so dramatic.”

And before he can launch into another argument, you yank him down and press your lips to his. Firm, no-nonsense, entirely fed up, but still soft because, unfortunately, you’re obsessed with him. (But he’s obsessed with you right back.)

He smiles against your lips, the ones that taste like some coconut lip balm you always wear.

Of course, though, he can’t leave it alone. Has to get the last word in, even when his hands are sliding up your sides and his chest is rumbling with happiness.

“You taste like dog,” He mumbles into your mouth and when you pull back to glare at him, he grins wider, looking downright pleased with himself.

masterlist + request

[gotta-winwin]

b(a)d chemistry | j.ww

⭐ starring: jeon wonwoo 💌 genre: fluff/crack | wc: 2.2k 💬 preview: he had brown eyes that looked up at you from behind black-rimmed frames and a voice that scolded your intelligence so infuriatingly right.

cw/tw: chem major! wonwoo x lit studies! reader, sassy man apocalypse, crack, a lot of swearing

🪽fic rating: pg 13 ☁️ masterlist & a/n: i’m writing this in the library with my brightness all the way down. no shame. (maybe just a little shame). the great gatsby x wonwoo agenda is going to haunt every narrative i ever write :)) thank you to @gyubakeries for betaing!

now playing: she by harry styles, the way i loved you by taylor swift, party 4 u by charli xcx

this is an addition to my 500 followers event: click here to read the masterlist!

If heaven was for real, you thought it must look something like him. 

He had brown eyes that looked up at you from behind black-rimmed frames and a voice that scolded your intelligence so infuriatingly right. His fingers emphasized each page flip and his lips pursed against the side of his pencil, eyebrows furrowed with intense concentration and deep seeded fury. 

Jeon Wonwoo was a beast in the classroom and it made your wandering mind wonder how that passion might translate in bed.

“That’s wrong.” He always said it so simply, as if your mistakes were simply unsurprising and a fact. “Change it.”

You roll your eyes. There was a reason Wonwoo was still single despite being one of the most revered guys in your university, and it was because no one had yet to stand their ground when facing his stupid superiority complex and lack of tact. 

“This is dumb.” You poke at your test papers with the butt of your pen, slumping further down your seat. “Why do I have to take chemistry anyways? We’re not even in the same department.” 

He raised an eyebrow at your complaints. “You’re the one who signed up for the week-long major switch experiment.” 

Right. You let out a louder groan than the last. “Boooo..”

Wonwoo laughs, and your lips quirk into a suppressed smile.

“You won’t be laughing when it’s your turn. You swapped with me, remember? I’m a lit major.” 

Wonwoo pales. “I forgot about that.” 

There’s a shared smile that passes between the two of you, as if you were trading some silent understanding of a joke. He’s awfully pretty when he smiles. 

Wonwoo slaps your test paper and it jolts you out of your bubble of bliss. “Back to work, rookie. Your values are still wrong.” 

Never mind. He’s definitely heinous and ugly on the inside.

You watch his glasses slip down his nose. He looks so awfully pretty asleep. 

Shaking your head, you reach over to remove it, placing it on the table in front of him and returning back to your workbooks. 

Five hours later and chemistry was still gibberish to your eyes. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Seokmin stops at your table on his way out of the library, arms ladened with his own workbooks. You vaguely remember that he had switched majors with Seungkwan, trading in his music major for environmental science. It had to be some sort of sheer luck that the two had been paired together, for you knew both boys would succeed at either major anyway. 

“Hi Seok.” You smile lazily his way, glancing at the sleeping Wonwoo next to you. He had not stirred. 

“How’s the swap going?” 

You snort. “I hate chem. And Wonwoo’s berating is not helping.” 

“He’s just trying to help in a way he knows how to.” Seokmin defends the classroom beast and you realize you’ve forgotten that they’re actually pretty good friends.

“I don’t know how you put up with him, Seok. I’ve only been alone with him for less than a day and I want to rip my eyeballs out. Or his eyeballs, I don’t know yet.”

Seokmin laughs. “You’re funny.” He starts walking towards the exit, looking back at you with a smile on his face. “Good luck! Maybe finally having someone smarter than you will do you some good.” 

You’re offended, but you know he jests. “He is not smarter than me!” You protest. “I’m smarter than him, the fuck?” 

You fail to notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrowing in his sleep, his lips parting to counter your remark before closing again. 

“Good.” You give your sleeping project partner one last glance before returning to the stupid chemistry question. “Still sleeping. I hope it stays that way.” You mumble the last part mostly to yourself, your eyes already glazing over from the word problem. “Why is Sally mixing so many fucking liquids, just drink water or something.” 

Wonwoo snorts in laughter but passes it off as a snore. He peeks an eye open. You look awfully pretty when you’re frustrated. 

Wonwoo swears he’s not looking at you in an obsessive way. He insists it’s a perfectly normal way to be looking at someone, ignoring how it definitely feels more like a stare than a look. 

You’re hunched over the latest book in your repertoire, pen scratching whatever thoughts down in the margins. 

“Quit it.” Mingyu bumps his shoulder to catch his attention. “You’ll scare her. Hell, you’re scaring me.” 

“Shut up.” He ignores his friend and continues to look. You’re too engrossed in the novel to register his stares anyways. “I bet it’s some stupid book about yearning for love and way too much making out.” 

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “It’s about some guy who throws parties every night hoping one girl might show up.” For a sports major, Mingyu knows a surprising amount about books. 

Wonwoo frowns at the idea. “That’s dumb.” 

“Yeah.” 

He forces himself to look away, staring down at the sandwich in his hands instead. 

“You’re kind of doing that though. Don’t pretend like you didn’t beg Professor Choi to partner the two of you together so you could speak to her. You hate literature.” Mingyu smirks. “You know I’m fucking right.” 

“Shut the fuck up, bro.” 

You see Wonwoo smile a real smile for the first time when you show him your chemistry test grades. 

“Holy shit.” He grabs the papers from you, pushing his glasses up as if it could change the score he was seeing. 

“It’s good, right?” 

He smiles, and it’s one that’s full of teeth and so unguarded. “Yes. You did so well. I can’t believe-” He shuts up the moment he realizes he’s rambling. 

You point a finger at his face, the brightest expression on your face. “You were happy for me. You’re happy for me. You fucking smiled.” It’s a bigger win for you than the actual test score. 

He grabs the hand still pointing in his face and gently pushes it down. “Shut up.”

“Admit it.” You pester on. “Admit you’re happy for me.” 

“I’m happy you didn’t fail miserably.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Jeon.” You laugh when he grimaces. “You–”

His heart lurches because– just for a second– he thinks you’re about to say you’re in love with me. And you’d be right. 

“--smiled.” 

His shoulders sink along with his heart. 

He looked so awfully pretty happy. And you looked so awfully pretty when you were annoying him. 

You look at Wonwoo and realize you can see a future with him. He no longer enrages you with just one glance. You see him and he looks awfully boyfriend shaped. 

You mime a gag at the thought and he turns to look at you. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah, fine.” 

He’s mindlessly playing with the pages of the book you had given him. “Do I really have to read this? You know I’m going to ace the exam either way.” 

You frown. “You don’t read for the exam, you read to read.” 

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day.” 

You know he means it as a joke, yet the words sting anyways. “That’s mean.” You tell him. 

“It’s true though. It’s just words.” He pushes the book back to you. “I’m not wasting time on this.” 

The future you saw shatters right before your eyes. You shove the book back towards him. “Why do I even bother?” 

He watches as you leave, your hair bouncing in the afternoon wind. He frowns. He’s always been the smartest in the room. He’s always known exactly what to say. Yet one look at you and he’s rendered as dumb as any other guy. 

He hears you talking about him to his friends the next day. Mingyu has his hand around your waist, and although he knows how close you are with his roommates, it still rubs him the wrong way. 

He figures it hurts him more than usual because he knows he has no right to be feeling any sort of ownership towards you. 

“He’s an idiot.” He hears you complain to Seokmin and Mingyu. 

They nod solemnly. “It’s been known.” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. He hated when you insulted his intelligence. 

“And we all know I could’ve aced that chem test without him.” 

Now you were just lying. Wonwoo frowned at your words. 

“You know he’s hopelessly in love with you.” Mingyu tells you, and Wonwoo lets out a low groan. 

You roll your eyes. “Right. And Professor Choi’s in love with Professor Yoon.” 

“Yeah, that actually happened.”

Wonwoo ignores your shocked expression, cranking up the music blasting in his ears. It drowns out whatever Seokmin was enthusiastically telling you, his arms waving passionately in the air. 

Wonwoo knows you’d never love him back. He’s not that much of an idiot. 

His resolve breaks on the third day. Wonwoo’s confronted with the fact that he misses your usual bickering and the way you’d glare at him from behind your computer screen. He misses the sound of your nails clacking on the keyboard, how they’d grow more furious the more frustrated you became with him. He missed riling you up. But most of all, he missed those rare moments where you’d put your rivalry aside and smile at him in a way that made him believe– for a split second– that you could love him. 

Wonwoo finishes the book you gave him in two days. It would have taken him half the time, if it hadn’t been for the time he had taken to read your handwriting in the margins. 

It was the book Mingyu had been talking about, the book he had watched you read in the school courtyard that one time. 

“Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.” 

He liked that line, and the things you had written in the margins on the side. There is beauty in conversing in a language only two can understand. To the world it looks like fighting, to them it feels like finally finding a worthy opponent. 

Wonwoo can’t help but feel as if the whole novel was one long love letter from you, to him. 

“Y/N!” 

You turn to face him. Your body reacts to his voice despite your brain telling you not to. “What do you want, Jeon?” 

He pushes a battered copy of The Great Gatsby into your hands. Your copy. 

“I finished.” He’s a little breathless as he speaks, looking at you for a reply. 

“I thought–” 

He doesn’t let you finish. “I’m sorry. I was crass. And rude. And I’ve always been a little pretentious.”

“Yes, you have.” You turn to walk past him, but he steps in front of you, blocking your path. 

“Let me finish.” His brown eyes plead with yours, and you relent. 

“I’ve always been those things, you know that. You’ve called me out for it since preschool. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the only person I can spar with word for word. You throw my shit back harder and witter and the only time I truly feel alive is when I’m with you. Yes, I’m mean. I’m rude. I make fun of you all too much. But I-” 

He pauses. He can’t say it. That he loves you. 

“Read the book.” He says instead. “Please.” 

He looks awfully pretty begging. 

things i wish i said

god, i have a lot of that

got a bad habit of shoving my foot in my mouth

when i’m around you

like my mind’s spinning far too fast 

i swear i’m not usually like that

i wish i had told you how much i cared 

in such a way that made me fear

wish i had taken a moment to explain to you my mind

that i really do love you despite what it might look like

– that’s what i tell everyone

wish whatever i had to say you already knew

if you could hear exactly how i meant it

see exactly how i see you

feel the jumble of whatever i feel

when i said that i hated you

there were other things i left out

like the fact that i hate you because there was nothing else i could’ve felt

that would’ve made us make more sense 

that i really didn’t hate you, and my words were too harsh

i hated you cause i love you a little bit too hard

i hated the ten foot drop i feel when i see you

not you

i could never really actually hate you

Wonwoo sees you smile a real smile for the first time when you meet him for coffee after his literature exam.

You have an irritatingly smug expression on your face as you greet him. “I heard you failed your exam.” 

“Shut up.” He had failed his exam. “Words are not my forte, alright?”

“Look at that, Jeon Wonwoo, finally admitting he’s not good at something.” 

He laughs, and the sound echoes somewhere deep in your chest. “I guess I’m learning.”

“Nice juxtaposition in the poem, by the way.” You smile at him from behind your coffee mug. 

He frowns. “A what now?” 

You laugh and it feels like the fucking sun shining on his face. 

“I love you too, Jeon. Even if it was a shitty ass poem.” 

He smiles. It’s unguarded and full of teeth. 

[ourdramaqueen]

So, it depends on the project. For oneshots, I usually have the outline/planning and actual writing in one doc, with the outline often at the beginning, though I may cut/paste bits down to the writing section as I get further in the writing.

For long stories, it's mostly the same, but I may occasionally have the planning/notes in a separate doc. But the story itself is always one doc.

For The Sexual Education of Wednesday Addams series (Private Tutor 'verse), I quickly realized that I would need separate planning docs (and spreadsheets) for various purposes: Family histories and other backstories; a long-term series timeline including key events from my series, backstory events that I need to keep in mind, and important canon and historical events which may impact the storyline; research into various topics/locations, etc. etc. Each story in the series is its own doc with the outline and planning and, where necessary, links to other docs or websites inside it.

I'm actually experimenting with transferring at least some of these documents to Campfire (which saves chapters as separate sub-docs within a project, and keeps all your research and character and world building docs at the tip of your fingers, too). What's holding me back from transferring over completely is mostly that, unless I missed an update announcement to that effect, you still can't make edits by collaborators show up as suggestions or comments like they would in Word or Google Docs, etc. But they keep updating, so hopefully that will become possible soon. It would be good to be less dependent on Google. (Campfire explicitly allows writing of fan fiction, you just can't publish it on their platform.)

hello writers.

[oidingus]

(unsolicited feedback re: disability, feel free to ignore /gen) you’ve made some really charming animations but i unfollowed around the time of the bloody one because of how often you make Viktor collapse and separate him from his mobility aid made me uncomfortable as a disabled person. coming across your recent tender animation reminded me of this discomfort and thought i’d idk let you know in good faith in case it’s helpful. for context, my disability makes me esp. prone to falls but they’re almost never a surprise and i’ve lived with it so long it almost never happens because even when i’m not taking care of myself as well as i should, adjusting my behavior to prevent them is a crucial part of symptom management and just like getting shit done. i know Viktor’s a fictional character but to me it feels infantilizing. i also see it so much in fics (despite it never happening in the show, certainly not under normal circumstances as an adult) that it gets a little frustrating. like Viktor, my condition is also getting progressively worse but you generally get better at managing it with age. certainly being on your deathbeds could contribute to worsening symptoms but when you’ve been doing it your whole life you’ll literally be in a condition that would send others to the ER, faceplant, then be right back at it ASAP—no blink, no acknowledgement besides maybe needing to get shit back in place/occasionally take a breather. obviously idk your background—maybe you’re disabled too and you’re pulling from your own experiences—but just in case not i wanted to share as honest, well-intentioned food for thought, esp. b/c ableism is the default and so incredibly baked into (esp. US) culture that even many otherwise very progressive people literally hold views closer to eugenicists than those guided by equity/disability justice. oh and re: canes admittedly there are days i might not use it to go a couple steps in my own house but others attention/concern (even from people you love) can be tiring, so unless it’s very early in their partnership when Viktor is more stable/sucking it up more because he still believes he can overcome prejudice by projecting a good enough image, Viktor ain’t going anywhere without that cane/crutch. frankly he needs a powered wheelchair BUT ANYWAY if you chose to read all the way through i genuinely appreciate your time and hope it’s helpful food for thought.

That was actually very helpful and thank you so much for taking the time to write it! Yes i focus mostly on the earlier years of their knowing each other, but still. And to anyone reading it: I would really appreciate any insights on how to approach Vik's disability better, feel free to dm me if you can help me with the factchecking

[transgenderer]

thinking about the concept of "rich people" and the way it has splintered in the modern day. so for most of history you had the vast majority of people who worked very hard in immense poverty (poor people), and then the other major bloc was people who owned enough land or slaves or serfs or mines or whatever to have a significant passive income (rich people). there were people in a third group who worked for a large quantity of money but i believe this was a very small group, personal artisans of the king and suchlike.

but now, there is an appreciable quantity of people (10% of americans, maybe? depends where you draw the line) who work for a living (i mean. not farm labor. but meaningfully work. they usually dont want to do it), and make an income from that work commensurate to the passive income one would receive from a very large holding in days of old. however, their actual passive income is much much smaller (because the passive income one can receive from wealth is only a small percentage of the size of that wealth). so these are meaningfully rich people, but theyre rich people who have to have a job, and would stop being rich people if they stopped having a job

my point is not like, that you should pity these people or anything, but rather that they dont fit neatly into the previous dichotomy. "rich guy who has to have a 40 hour a week job" and "rich guy who will still be rich if he fucks around all day" are very different types of guys to experience being. and you could say "oh this is just the bourgeoisie" but not really, the bourgeoisie of old *owned* stuff they made money from. their economic position was really not so different from the aristocrats. the new "working rich" are a different thing that i dont think there's a great term for (some call themselves HENRYs "high earners, not rich yet", which i think is a bit silly and defensive)

for some concreteness, i guess i should list some working rich: doctors, lawyers, many but not all computer-touchers, finance guy, business owners of businesses small enough that they are one of the main employees and without sufficient profit to replace themselves

[rista-senpai]

Distant hearts

pairing- Nagumo Yoichi x reader

summary: you are Takamura’s granddaughter, a well-trained assassin who never got the chance to shine. That was until one day, when The Order observed your skills and offered you a position in the association.

All new colleagues seemed happy, everyone but him. His dark coat, eyes, and hair all indicated how much he loved hiding. And how much he loved hating you, the opposite of him, who he considered had no right to be there, also, the one who hates how you make his heart skip a beat.

tags & warnings-> reader is 19, Nagumo is 27, age gap, turned into a series, office au, forbidden love, enemies to lovers, playboy x sweetheart, angst and smut, Takamura is still everyone’s nightmare except Nagumo’s, mentions of blood, reader has awfully little experience, also there might be some Shishiba x reader here and there

status: ongoing

credits: fanart by @/chachaxx_x on X

CHAPTER FOUR

Who would've guessed that being on a mission with Mr. Tease-Until-You-Snap would actually feel... kinda nice? Not in a "let's get married and retire to a cottage" way, but in the he holds your hand like he means it kind of way. Publicly, Nagumo was a dream—kissing your cheek, brushing lips against your temple, whispering something flirty into your ear just loud enough for your target to hear. His arm wrapped around your waist like he owned you.

And damn, the IT magnate you were assigned to eliminate? Head-over-heels the second he laid eyes on you. You played your part perfectly—sharp wit, that coy smile, dropping clever remarks that left him completely hooked. Even now, playing golf with the guy watching your every move like you were the prize at the end of the course, Nagumo was burning with something a whole lot hotter than jealousy.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

But neither was the way Nagumo stormed over, jaw tight, eyes locked on you like you were the problem, not the creep ogling you like a snack.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you, "fixing" your posture from behind. His body pressed too close. His breath fanned over your neck. His hand slid over yours, guiding the club.

“What the hell are you doing, Nagumo?” you hissed, trying not to let your knees buckle under the sudden contact.

“Helping,” he murmured, voice low and laced with heat. “You weren’t focused on the right target.”

“You mean my ball?” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected, but the way he molded to your back made your brain short-circuit for a second.

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“What do you even see in that guy?”

You smirked. “God, have you seen him? He’s hot.”

Nagumo stiffened.

You could practically feel the possessiveness rolling off him like a storm.

“What I see,” he growled, “is you getting way too into this role and forgetting what we’re actually here to do.”

You lined up your shot with a little more force than necessary—maybe because his grip was a little too tight, or maybe because your heartbeat was doing somersaults. You swung.

And whack—your elbow landed right in his ribs.

“Oh, oops,” you said, turning with your most innocent smile. “Sorry, darling.”

He blinked, then snorted, shaking it off like it was nothing. “You hit like a kitten.”

You leaned in just a little, voice silky. “Keep getting in my space, and I’ll show you claws.”

He grinned—sharp, wolfish. “Is that a promise?”

“Maybe, senpai.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Huh. So you’re still calling me that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You tell me. You didn’t use it once today… or last night.”

Your cheeks burned instantly, memories flooding back like a wave crashing over your sanity. That kiss. That damn kiss. It had to be for show, right? Just him flexing his acting skills—his control. That had to be it. Still, you hadn’t a clue how you were supposed to sleep next to him again tonight. Especially after how the two of you had silently avoided each other all morning… until breakfast forced you into the same space.

“Don’t just bring that up like it’s nothing…” You said, breath catching. You could feel the heat rising from your chest to your ears, and it wasn’t just the weather.

Nagumo’s eyes didn’t move off you. They were sharp—dangerous. Like a predator deciding if it was time to pounce. You needed space. Now.

“I’m gonna go get some water. It’s… hot out,” you mumbled, standing up too quickly.

He tilted his head with a smirk, voice smooth as always. “You’re on an island, sweetheart. What else did you expect?”

You stepped into the cool hallway of the complex, glass panels stretching around you, reflecting your flushed face. The sunlight danced off the floors, but you barely noticed—your thoughts already spinning.

Your fingers itched for something familiar.

You pulled out your phone.

📞 Shishiba

You hesitated. Just for a second. Then pressed it.

The line rang once. Twice. Click.

“You finally remembered me,” came his voice, low, teasing, and a little rough like he’d just woken up.

Your lips curved. “I was going to call you last night…”

“Were you?” There was amusement laced with something else. “Didn’t seem like it. I figured Nagumo was keeping you occupied.”

You leaned against the wall, lowering your voice. “It’s not like that.”

“I can still feel you on my skin, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Tell me again it’s not like that.”

Your breath hitched. You glanced around instinctively, but the hallway was empty. At least, you thought it was.

“I passed your apartment earlier,” he said softly. “Your windows were open. Felt weird seeing it empty.”

Your stomach tightened. “I miss you.”

“Then say it.”

“I miss you, senpai.”

A low groan came through the speaker. “Don’t say that shit when I can’t touch you. I can’t stop thinking about that night. About you… on your back, clawing at the sheets, begging for more.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Do you still taste like wine?” he asked, voice dipped in sin. “Or has Nagumo left a new flavor on your lips?”

You gasped. “Shishiba—”

From behind you, a warm hand snatched your phone.

You spun around.

Nagumo stood there, towering, deadly silent.

Your screen lit up for a second longer, just long enough for him to hear:

“Don’t forget whose name you screamed first, sweetheart.”

Click.

Call ended.

The air turned thick with tension.

Nagumo stared at your screen. Then at you.

“You weren’t just calling to check in,” he said, his voice low, dangerously calm. “You slept with him.”

You froze.

He tilted his head. “The night before we left… it was him in your bed, wasn’t it?”

Your silence was the only answer he needed.

Nagumo took a slow, deliberate step closer. His jaw clenched, eyes scanning you like he was trying to burn the truth into your skin.

“That’s why you’re running,” he whispered. “Because even now, standing here with me, you’re still thinking about how he touched you.”

His hand reached out, knuckles brushing your jaw—not soft, not rough, just enough to remind you that he was here. That he wasn’t backing off.

“Should I show you what it’s like when I make you scream, baby girl?” he asked, voice thick with challenge. “Or are you too sore from last time?”

You sucked in a breath, every nerve alight.

He leaned in, lips grazing your ear.

“Careful who you give your body to, princess,” he murmured. “Next time, I won’t just steal your phone…”

His voice dipped into something darker.

“I’ll take everything.”

Nagumo’s words hung in the air, thick with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. The hallway felt smaller, the space between you both charged with a kind of electricity that you didn’t know how to handle.

His hand still lingered on your jaw, and your pulse raced at the feel of his touch. You wanted to pull away—needed the distance—but something about the way he looked at you, with that mix of control and barely contained hunger, made your body betray you.

He watched you like he was savoring every reaction, every flutter in your chest. And maybe, just maybe, part of you wanted him to keep going. To push you further.

"You don't get to hide from me," he murmured, his voice low, rough. "Not now. Not after what I heard." His eyes narrowed, searching yours like he was trying to decipher something deep inside you, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. The tension was suffocating, and you could feel the heat rising again, swirling between the two of you.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, Nagumo took a step back. His fingers left your skin, but the absence of his touch was like a physical loss.

"Get a grip," he said, his tone back to its usual cool. He didn't look away from you, though. He didn’t need to. "We're still on a mission, baby. Don't lose focus."

You clenched your fists, trying to steady your breath. Focus. Right. You were supposed to be here for one thing. One thing only.

But with him—with Nagumo—felt like everything was blurring together. The lines between the mission, the games, and whatever twisted dance you two were doing had been erased the moment he touched you.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look at him.

"I’m not the one losing focus," you shot back, your voice steady despite how badly your heart was thudding. "You’re the one who can’t keep it in your pants."

Nagumo smirked, that wolfish grin returning like he had won something.

"Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice light but still laced with heat. He stepped forward again, closing the distance just enough to make your breath hitch. "I think you’re the one who’s been playing with fire all along. But if you want to pretend it's nothing, fine. Just know, I’m always watching."

Your mouth went dry as he turned, walking away with the same confident swagger, like none of this mattered to him. But his words echoed in your mind, lingering far too long.

"Next time, princess... I won’t let you run."

You watched him leave, every part of you still buzzing with that intensity, with the sting of what had just happened. And as much as you wanted to forget, as much as you needed to push everything back into that neat little box you’d shoved it into… You knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Taglist: @shadyyouthcloud @milabyxz @mitsurisupporter @cjafjatkstke @raspberrizzz @mimisdaydreamingbubble

[callsign-rogueone]

Heyyy idk if you will do it or not because it might be a little weird request but I hope you do it!

Soo I would love to see how they would be like if their girl was being a little insecure cause she’s a little chubby(chubby girl requesting this))and like how would they comfort etc.I hope you really do it and I hope you don’t find it very weird😅

it's not weird! fellow chubby girl here to declare to you that none of our boys would mind if their girl is a little extra soft. some of them might even prefer it... I'm getting ahead of myself.

if you have doubts, my points are three;

they are all beautiful human beings inside and out, and see you for who you are (and also do not give a fuck what society thinks)

they are all gigantic and therefore all of them could still feel like the strong manly protector even if their partner isn’t Violet-sized

when I started this reply I had a third thing in mind. that was an hour ago, and it’s gone now. I’ll replace it with “and because I said so.”

now, moving on. the kind of scenario that I had in mind is that they hear you say something negative about yourself. and today’s categories are:

1) it would be upsetting how logical they’re being about this if they weren’t so cute while doing it:

I have a whole scene written for Dain and love of him being so sweet to her when she’s upset that her pre-Basgiath clothes don’t fit anymore. the TLDR of that is that she’s still the girl he fell in love with years ago, regardless of her looking different now. he reminds her of that, and that it’s for a good reason, that it means she’s healthy, and that it's part of a natural process. so while that isn't exactly the same scenario, I imagine him still being his logical self.

I know I lump Dain and Brennan together all the time, but he is also going in the logical category because he is also a nerd (affectionate), and the thought of you ever being insecure about anything just never crossed his mind. he does have some experience in the reassurance category via Violet, who is on the other end of the spectrum, but it works the same way. he has the whole "you are more than your physical presence and also there is nothing wrong with looking the way you do" speech down pat.

2a) gives you a very sweet speech about how much they love you

Bodhi owns this category. he might actually cry if you say mean things about yourself, because it genuinely breaks his heart to hear that the person he loves most in the world doesn’t love themself. he’s so sweet and loving to you, but also manages to know precisely how you want to be comforted. for example, and maybe I'm just weird, but when I'm having a "bad body image day" I don't want to be touched. I won't elaborate because I don't want to be negative or triggering. but my point stands that Bo would know exactly what you want in that scenario, and does it automatically.

Sawyer is also in this category, though he'd be a little bit more awkward than Bodhi. him and insecurity are old friends, and while his are much different than yours, he knows how it feels to be embarrassed by just existing. he starts by saying what he wishes someone would have told him two years ago, but nobody was around to (wrong. Love was there for him. as much as she could be, anyway.) and when he gets past the general stuff (promising he loves you, etc etc) and into the specifics, he trips over his words a little, and is definitely blushing a little (a lot) but it's so cute and you can tell it's 100% genuine.

2b) listens quietly to everything you have to say, and THEN gives you the speech:

Cam is rather quiet and aloof, from what we've seen in the books. he's not very chatty, probably because he's trying not to give himself away, but also I think that's just in his nature from being the ignored last-priority son... ANYWAY. he sits there listening, and once you finally run out of steam and stop talking, and you see him there, not having said a word, your heart breaks a little, because does that mean he agrees with you? nope. he was just listening and waiting his turn to speak. he knows the pressure to keep up appearances from being part of the Royal Family, so while he doesn’t agree with the statements you’re making about yourself, or the idea that pretty = thin, he understands that there’s outward pressure to look a certain way, and also rants a teeny bit about how much that's bullshit. (as an aside, should I keep calling him Aaric in these posts? or make the switch to Cam? I like Cam better. idk.)

Liam is an observer through and through. he's also sitting there listening, though he's easier to read -- you can always tell his emotions from the way he looks at you. there's so much softness and genuine sadness in those lovely blue eyes, because like Bodhi, he's so saddened that his favorite person feels this way about themself. I also see him as more touchy than Cam, so maybe your eyes just catch his mid-rant, and you see how he's looking at you, and just break... and he's there to hold you and help you glue yourself back together, holding you if/when you cry, and speaking to you so gently...

3) is more playful about it

Garrick is immediately offended — excuse you, how dare you say those things about my beautiful girlfriend. gets handsy, presses kisses everywhere he can reach, and even proves to you that he can still throw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. holds you like that, upside down with your legs hanging in the air, until you're dizzy and giggling, your mood thoroughly lightened. if you're up for it, he'll continue demonstrating the extent of his attraction to you long after he sets you back down.

Ridoc is also in this category, to nobody’s surprise. while he's not tossing you around, his approach is similar to Garrick's -- lightening the mood, providing a distraction, and proving to you that you're fucking sexy, and not despite of your appearance, but because of it. of course, both he and Garrick know when to fuck around and when to be serious, so if this was a genuine breakdown on your behalf, he's choosing the 2a or 2b approach instead. he's incredibly emotionally intelligent. and I think his constant joking is partially because he wants to provide others a distraction from all the shit going down at Basgiath.

bonus category: 4) immediately assumes that someone else put these ideas in your head. "who said that to you? I just want to talk to them." (no he doesn't)

Xaden is not tolerating any kind of slander about his partner. but when you tell him it wasn't anyone in particular, it was just your own head, he softens. his response is kinda a mixture of all of the above. we know that he's a speech-giver, but also very physically affectionate with his partner... so expect speech followed by the both of you clearing your calendars for the next hour so that he can kiss every inch of you.

[crumblekitten]

LUKE CASTELLAN NSFW ALPHABET.

(book Luke not show Luke.)

warnings: somewhat dark content, proceed with caution.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN INTERNET CONSUMPTION .

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) He’s so touchy, always touching you and cuddling mumbling praise and soft kisses.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Hands. He loves his hands I have absolutely zero reason to why I think this but I do, he is also in my mind a HUGE tits guy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) If there’s not a safe way for him to finish inside you (wrap it before you tap it) he will probably finish on your chest or thighs. I also head-cannon that when he left camp he just started drinking so…. It’s bitter, does not taste very good. D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) While at camp he stole your underwear and jacked off into it, after he conveniently placed them In Your laundry thinking you didn’t notice (you did)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) This man was 19 when he left camp, HE KNOWS NOTHING. Well that’s in terms of actual experience, he would probably have some kind of knowledge of what he was doing and would learn quickly from experience with you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Mating press, missionary, cowgirl. Pretty basic in terms of positions. G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) If the very rare occasion where your having romantic sex he’s going to be a little less serious, but normally he’s serious considering most of his kinks are on The harder side of the spectrum.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Pretty well groomed, but his happy trail is definitely lighter than the rest of his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) He can be romantic, most of your encounters just aren’t, it’s mostly the aftercare that’s more romantic though.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Not that often I would say since he has the power to keep you near him at all times while he’s with Kronos, but at camp it was rare occasion but he would do it sometimes.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Huge breeding kink. Also spit? He would spit in your mouth and would let you do the same to him. And HEAR ME OUT, blood kink just the image of him covered in blood, then getting it all over your chest and face is just UGHHHHHH a few other rapid fire, knife kink, sir kink, choking, menstruation kink, smoking, marking, body worship, BDSM in general (with exceptions of course) is just his thing, also if you get your nails done he loves that.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) At camp the woods was most convenient for you but you’ve probably also fucked in the Hera cabin a few times before you left camp just as a little ‘fuck you’. But on the princess andromeda it’s definitely the stateroom or his office.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) If he sees blood on you, mainly blood on your chest he’s going crazy. Also if you call him ‘sir’ (not daddy he will immediately shut it down if you call him that thanks to Hermes A+ parenting) also skirts.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Oh my gods, when it comes to eating you out he is FERAL you have to pry him away even then there’s no promises that he won’t just pin your hands and overstimulate you, when you give HIM head he is just… there two ways it can go, at the start of the relationship he was so whiny and could not keep quiet for the life of him but now that he’s left camp…he’s rough gonna full ass use your throat (with permission).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) His fatal flaw is wrath, he would just destroy your insides while just telling you how good your being for him, and he’s just praising you and not even fully registering how fast and rough he’s being.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) For a while at camp your entire life was quickies but now he would rather take his time, you still do them of course but would rather take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He’s willing to experiment but there are some things he will just say no to outright, one of those being anything with other people, your his and his alone.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Decent stamina I would say about 3 rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) I would say he doesn’t own any himself but if you do he’s teasing you with them, ether with punishment or reward.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He can dish it out but can’t take it for the life of him in the rare moments he’s being the sub.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) While topping he’s on the quiet side, mostly with dirty talk and soft grunts, but when he’s subbing he’s so unbelievably whiny like just pure pathetic energy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) The first time he got his ass kicked by Percy in the sea of monsters after they got the fleece you had the roughest sex of you life, he was just so angry and you where willing so…call it stress relief.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) A little over five and a half inches, but he’s got girth and he knows how to use what he’s got.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) He’s in his twenties are you kidding me? He’s horny as shit.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He would fall asleep after a while, would stay up after you for a little just watching you or doing work.

My requests are currently open if you want to send something in

[cabeswaterdrowned]

what do you think are the main similarities vs differences between Ronan and Andrew?

Hey! I don’t know how long this has been in my inbox (which I have been neglecting in recent months) but sure I actually have quite a few thoughts on the comparisons in the fandom and where I see them as accurate/inaccurate.

Let’s start with the similarities; they’re both traumatized mentally ill gay men who react to their trauma in ways that aren’t palatable to those around them because the ways in which they act out are destructive to themselves and those around them, are perceived as troubled/angry/having issues with authority, they’re both iterations of the bad boy with a softer side trope (although imo very different iterations, but I’ll get to that later), they’re both members of two trios one of relatives and one that’s a polyamorous triad / friendship group and there are certain parallels in these dynamics (although also a lot of differences imo, which I’ll get to later), they’re both characterized as extremely loyal to the point of being dog-like, they’re both motivated by their care for other people and have little regard for their own life (with Ronan he’s clearly suicidal, with Andrew he canonically self harms and there is a case to be made for him being suicidal imo, no it’s not explicit and jury’s out on whether Nora meant to imply it but there is room to read him that way), oh and they both love cars.

However, there are loads of differences and I do feel like blanket comparisons of them within the fandoms tend to create false equivalencies that do a disservice to one char/source material or another which is why I’m excited to get into my thoughts on that matter. 

•Let’s start with their backgrounds and how they are perceived by those around them, because I do feel like important context for comparing their behaviors is that Ronan grew up wealthy and has always had *some* type of support system (not a healthy one, but he has always had someone caring about him on a basic level of doing what they can to keep him alive). The way people around Ronan view and react to his mental health is quite terrible, however his wealth does protect him from certain systemic forces as there are limits to what the police / mental health institution / Aglionby staff can get away with in their treatment of him / the level to which they’re allowed to dehumanize him. Meanwhile Andrew’s whole storyline is like. Imagine the worst ableism you can imagine being allowed to go completely unchecked due to classism and here are the effects. (It is relevant to acknowledge that both of them have a lot of white privilege though and that comes across in the way they interact with police in the texts, they’re rude and violent to them in ways chars like Nicky or Henry could never afford to be). On the other hand I do think Andrew is perceived as being self-sufficient and competent by those around him (his friends, his family, even the upperclassmen who hate his guts view him as being capable of protecting Kevin and see him as a formidable force), whereas Ronan although he’s seen as *scary* by outsiders gets kind of treated with kid gloves in a way by those closest to him (Gansey and Declan are both guilty of this). 

•In terms of their mental health they both experience depression or depressive episodes, however Andrew’s depression is characterized more as a numbness/apathy, the absence of feeling etc. whereas I don’t think language like that is used to describe Ronan’s emotional states nearly as much with him there’s more focus on anger and grief  (Andrew has a lot of anger too but it manifests differently). 

•imo this is partially informed by the class difference and how it influences their worldviews, but Andrew is a much more strategic character than Ronan is. Yes he can be reckless and impulsive, however he is constantly surveying his surroundings, the other people around him, and is very perceptive with sizing up threats and maintaining the structure he wants to impose. He’s control-oriented and cerebral in the way he interacts with the world in a manner that’s more similar to Adam or even Gansey than it is to Ronan imo. I do think Ronan is far more observant than a lot of characters give him credit for, and he’s more emotionally intelligent than Andrew is (would also say Andrew and Adam are similar in their low empathy issues) but he’s just not a strategist and he doesn’t care about control in the way Andrew/Adam are obsessed with it (can be traced back to them both being abused poor kids who were constantly robbed of control growing up, and therefore are hyper aware of the hierarchies around them and how they are being weaponized against them (although Andrew does not glorify or find those hierarchies to be aspirational in the way Adam does, he’s more Ronan-like in how he feels about them even though he has Adam-like perceptiveness of them) and so their strategy is to be hyper vigilant and to take advantage of weakness where they see it)). 

•While both of them are well developed characters who go beyond the typical bad boy with a soft side character sketch, I do think the jerk-with-a-heart-of-gold trope is played straighter (only straight thing about him etc. ) with Ronan than it is with Andrew. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, just an observation. Andrew is a much harsher, significantly more morally ambiguous character than Ronan is (I don’t think of Ronan as a particularly morally ambiguous character tbh. Adam and Hennessy, those are morally gray characters but Ronan is as I said. Much more of a jerk with a heart of gold character). 

I think Andrew’s narrative could be looked at as a really effective subversion of that trope (it’s been too long since my last aftg reread for me to Really go into my thoughts on how this is accomplished know I would have a lot to say on this topic if it were fresher in my mind), whereas Ronan’s narrative sort of. Utilizes that character conceit to explore topics around grief and trauma. Both are good storylines (well. Ronan’s og trc storyline is good anyway) but they accomplish different things to me. 

•When comparing and contrasting Andrew & Aaron & Nicky with The Lynch Brothers I would say a big stand out difference is Andrew being so much in the *protector* role, not that Ronan isn’t protective especially of Matthew but that family dynamic is like. Yes Declan and Ronan are Matthew’s coparents (lol) but ultimately Declan is the Guardian tm and responsibility for both of his brothers fall on him. I would say that Nicky and Andrew have a sort of coparenting dynamic when it comes to Aaron (one of my favorite genres of aftg fic is actually exploring this dynamic pre series while the twins were in high school I find the possibilities fascinating) but it’s more of a Nicky is good cop while Adam is bad cop type of parenting dynamic. They sort of bring different things to the table but share in the responsibility (which makes them sound oddly functional lmao they’re Absolutely Not). That also goes back to what I was saying about Andrew being treated as more mature and adult by those around him than Ronan is while on the flip side also being dehumanized more (and there is analysis to be mined from Andrew being a character who comes across as extremely mature or extremely immature at different points in the books and how that can be read as a reaction to his CSA trauma but that’s a different meta). But yeah, Andrew is treated as an adult and a protector in that dynamic in a way that Ronan is not is basically what I meant. I also think while Ronan-Declan and the Twinyards have a fair amount of parallels Ronan and Declan just had a stronger foundation before their issues really took hold, and that prevented them from cold shouldering each other to the extent Andrew and Aaron do for a lot of canon. I also think it’s worth noting that Andrew and Declan (not counting Greywaren) are the chars who find what their ain’t shit dead parent did to be unforgivable while it’s Ronan and Aaron who love and in Ronan’s case defend them. I feel like there are definitely other comparisons of note in their dynamics but that’s all my brain is supplying at this time. 

•When comparing and contrasting rodansey and kandreil, well the most obvious and key difference is who is “in charge” in the dynamic because Andrew is clearly the Leader of the pack in the same way Gansey is (yes their leadership styles are different but it’s equally true for both dynamics) whereas Ronan is the character who never vies for leadership while Gansey-Adam engage in their psychosexual power struggles, and despite (or more likely because of) being the most abrasive character of the bunch he tends to serve as a point of relief in their conflicts (ex: doing something awful enough that adansey had to start speaking to each other again after the Gansey-offers-to-buy-Adam a phone debacle). Andrew and Ronan are both seen as “non-competetive” and as lacking the drive Kevneil/Adansey have but I would argue they both are driven characters in certain ways it’s just that their goals and motivations aren’t about things like academics or a quest or sports or leadership, Andrew is scarily driven when it comes to protecting/preserving himself, the select people he cares about and whatever structurally is allowing things to run as he wishes (he’ll help Coach or the upperclassmen out when the result helps him protect Kevin or keeping the team in line so they don’t mess things up for him and his family, for instance) and Ronan is passionate about things like dreaming and the farm it just isn’t the type of traditional ambition Adam has. However neither of them are interested in being #1 for the sake of it, Andrew prefers to be in charge for protection / self-preservation / control but he gets no pleasure out of it, so that is something that kind of.. neutralizes them when it comes to certain inter-group conflicts. So that they have in common. 

•Kandrew & Ronsey comparisons — well in terms of similarities there is the dog motif of it all. in terms of differences, ronsey have a more static power dynamic where Gansey is always in the “master” role, their dynamic does change over the series but mostly in the sense that they both form other bonds and Gansey isn’t Ronan’s sole reliable connection by the end of the series. But there’s never like. A dramatic change or a time / circumstance when Ronan is more in power in the dynamic (yes he’s the more powerful character magically but that never impacts the nature of his and Gansey’s relationship). Kandrew meanwhile have a sort of. Double inverted master-pet dynamic going on where yes Andrew is Kevin’s *guard dog*, Riko calls him a pet etc. but there are also times where certain characters see Kevin as Andrew’s possession and Andrew has a lot of authority over Kevin in certain situations due to the nature of their deal. I also think there’s more of an evolution to the power dynamics of their relationship from TFC to TKM then there is for Ronsey which I’m sure I’ve talked about before but I’m too lazy to go into my thoughts so just check out my Kandrew tag if your curious. They have a more contentious relationship than Ronsey do (this is a pro for me as I like contentiousness <3) for sure, in a lot of ways I find Kandrew and Adansey to be similar as they’re the relationships between characters who love each other to very insane, codependent degrees but fundamentally misunderstand each other (class difference plays a role in both cases) and they tend to have the ugliest conflicts, also they’re the dynamics I’ve spent the most time hyper focusing on in these trios that says nothing about me and my preferences at all <3. 

•Andreil & Pynch comparisons — the most obvious difference is that even at their most contentious Pynch were never nearly as antagonistic as Andreil were in the beginning lol. Andreil have a true enemies to lovers arc whereas Pynch are slow burning, but their early TRB dynamic only looks adversarial when you compare it to the Gansey dynamics in early TRB, there’s always some level of friendship there it just deepens significantly as the books go on. I also think that Pynch are both more concerned with societal norms than Andreil are, between Ronan’s Catholicism and Adam’s obsession with conformity + the ideal WASP life, and that influenced the type of relationship they try to have in td3, whereas Andreil are very comfortable with not fitting into typical boxes for relationships. And I will say that while as a series I definitely prefer trc to aftg as a series, I do find andreil to be a more compellingly developed romance overall than pynch. I do think the difference between a sole narrator and multi pov affects this.

There are definitely other points to compare/contrast but these are the ones my brain supplied atm. Andrew is more My Type of character than Ronan is since I unfortunately can not resist an emotionally repressed neurotic freak with control issues it’s a peak male character design from my pov, but I don’t think that makes him a better character than Ronan just more appealing to me (while trc appeals to me more than aftg as a media for other subjective reasons). When it comes to objective writing I would say that Ronan is a more developed character but that Andrew’s narrative is more cohesive and so in some ways more successful. 

[krirebr]

Lips Like Sugar 1

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, power imbalance, explicit language—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: This one's a little different for me, but I had so much fun writing it! I hope you enjoy it too. But don't worry, my trademarked angst isn't gone forever. 🤭

Huge thanks to @biteofcherry for talking through the initial idea with me and @bigtreefest for being a sounding board throughout the whole writing process.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Sixty days.

That’s what the certified letter said. The one he had to sign for. The one from Linda.

When she and Harlan had told him they were cutting him off, he’d rolled his eyes. What did that actually mean? He wouldn’t have access to his trust anymore? Whatever, that was fine. He had his checking account. He had his house. He had credit cards. The only thing he thought it really meant was that he wouldn’t have to see any of his asshole family ever again. He was coming out ahead, all things considered.

Except. He didn’t actually have much of anything, as it turned out. His parents were on his bank accounts and credit cards. The deed to the house was under Linda’s name. And she was fucking evicting him.

It was this panic, wrapping itself around his chest and squeezing, that he wasn’t used to. That he didn’t know what to do with. He’d gone out of his way, worked hard to make sure he never felt this way. To make sure his life was comfortable and easy. And now his asshole granddad and bitch mother had ruined all that. Now he had sixty days to find a place to live.

He needed to come up with a plan. He could do that. He was good at plans. But where to start? He couldn’t afford a place he’d actually be willing to live in on his own right now (he couldn’t afford a shitty place either, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that). His grandfather, during the announcement of Ransom’s new status, had suggested he get a job, but fuck that. Ransom knew, deep in his bones, that he wasn’t meant for work. And also, any job that wouldn’t make him want to shoot himself required relevant experience and degrees and all sorts of other things Ransom didn’t have. So getting a job was out.

He could sell his things but, as he’d been so rudely informed by this entire situation, he didn’t actually own much. The only thing of significant value that his name was actually on was his car. But he’d rather cut off his own arm than sell his vintage BMW. So he marked that down as an absolute last resort. 

He could see if he could stay with a friend until he got things figured out, but all of his friends were assholes and he already knew that none of them would say yes. Plus, all of his friends were assholes and he’d sell his own body before he asked any of them for a favor.

Actually…

Okay, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. He knew exactly how hot he was. He’d been very aware of that since he was a teenager. And if he sat down and actually thought about what his biggest skills were, it’d be fucking and talking. In that order. This could work.

But how to go about it? He wasn’t eager to go out and stand on a corner in barely anything at all hours. Same went for sitting in a hotel bar and hoping for the best. Plus, he didn’t like the uncertainty of all that. He needed a reliable, steady stream of income that would be there whenever he needed it.

And that’s when he remembered Andrea. 

His friend Chad had dated her for about six months. Well, “dated.” Everyone in their circle knew exactly what that arrangement was, even if Chad had never admitted it. Ransom pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text.

Hey, where did you meet Andrea?

The dick took two hours to respond.

Andrea? At the grocery store. Why???

 Ransom responded immediately with an eyeroll emoji and followed it with

Cut the shit, asshole. What was the app?

The three dots to show Chad was typing appeared and disappeared three separate times before Ransom finally got the truth.

SUGR

But watch out, bro. That shit was way more expensive than it was worth.

Ransom smiled. That was exactly what he was counting on. 

He didn’t bother correcting Chad about which side of this arrangement he was hoping to be on. He didn’t need the embarrassment of anyone knowing that mommy and (grand)daddy had finally cut him off. And if this worked the way he hoped it would, no one would ever need to know. 

The first setback was that he had to pass a background check before he could join the app. What a fucking hassle. And it took a whole week before he got the email telling him he could move forward with setting up a profile. He could physically feel the number of days he had to find another place to live ticking down. The constriction around his chest got tighter with each one. 

But in that week of waiting, he became even more convinced that this was a good idea. There had to be tons of old hags desperate enough to bankroll him in exchange for sex with a hot youngish thing. And he’d be able to suck it up and do what was needed if it meant his lifestyle wouldn’t have to change. Hell, that's what viagra was for.

The other thing he’d done while he waited was take about a hundred pictures of himself. He’d used all his best outfits—designer sweaters, skintight t-shirts, pants that hugged his ass. He did fifty pushups and then took a bunch shirtless so that he was sweaty and his abs popped. He had a few that were just of his junk in gray sweatpants. And then he threw in a couple straight up dick pics for good measure. He was ready.

But, ugh, there were so many forms to fill out first. He had to agree to all of the terms and conditions. The company reserves the right to blah blah blah. The company does not guarantee yada yada yada. Agree, agree, agree. 

There were forms that asked him to detail the expenses he wanted covered and another that wanted him to rate kinks based on his interest. These were both optional so he skipped them. Was he the only one who understood what was happening here? He'd do whatever she wanted that guaranteed him the most money. That was it.

Finally, he got to the point where he could build his actual profile. It automatically imported some of the biographical information he had to give to set up his account, which wasn’t ideal. Hugh D. 35, stared back at him. He normally hated his given name, but he didn’t hate the way it kind of seemed like Huge Dick here. He could work with that. But that 35. That– that felt old for this sort of thing. He tried to change it to 30, but it wasn’t editable. Well. That was fine, right? He was going after women. Weren’t they known for being less shallow than men? That was part of the whole thing, wasn’t it? Yeah. It’d be fine. It just meant he knew what he was doing in bed. That’s what mattered.

He moved on to pictures. They only let you add fifteen, so he combed through all the ones he’d taken and picked the fifteen best. He scrolled through the ones he’d chosen before he clicked save and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was good. He was hot as fuck.

He skipped through all of the useless essay questions. Who cared what his interests were or what he was offering?? His dick pics spoke for themselves. 

But he did put something in the headline area. Call me Ransom. >20k/month only

Perfect. Done. Save. Now he just needed to sit back and wait for the DMs to roll in.

The DMs did not roll in. It’d been forty-eight hours, and he’d gotten absolutely nothing. He couldn’t understand it. What was wrong with these women? He was offering himself up at a fucking steal.

He’d figured the onus was on the buyer to make the first move, but maybe he’d gotten the etiquette wrong. Maybe he needed to sell himself a little more aggressively. 

He went to the browse feature and set his filters for women with the biggest budgets. Then he sent a random ten of them a simple “hey”. Then he made himself close the app.

When he came back a few hours later, he was chagrined to find that he hadn’t gotten any responses. There must be something wrong. When he went to the chats to make sure he hadn't missed something, half of them weren't even there anymore, and he couldn't find the corresponding profiles either. He refreshed the notifications page. He restarted his phone. He uninstalled then reinstalled the app. Nothing made a difference.

Finally, as he was checking his settings, a message popped up.

Honey, what are you doing?

Yes! Finally! 

He clicked on the profile. Carolyn M., 55. Under what she was offering was rent, living expenses, and a negotiated allowance. Perfect. 

He wrote back

I'm looking at your pictures and touching myself. What are you doing?

The response was immediate. 

Oh my god, no. That's not what I meant.

He stared at her message, confused, but then she sent another. 

I'm going against all of my instincts to just block you, and I'm going to take pity on you instead. 

He was typing before he even fully processed what she'd said.

Excuse me??

This is not the way to get what you want.

What the fuck??

You’re obviously new to this, so let me explain something to you. Yes, these relationships are transactional, but most of us are looking for a genuine connection as well. No one who wants that is going to contact you based on your profile. 

Who the hell did she think she was? Ransom knew what he was doing. He’d never had any issues picking up women. He didn’t need help. He locked his phone with a scoff and threw it on the couch as he got up and moved to his bar. He deserved a drink after dealing with that bullshit. 

As he poured himself a glass of eighteen-year-old scotch, he paused. This bottle was $700. Who knows what everything in this bar totaled to? And this whole house. Fucking shit. He was down to forty-nine days. He didn’t have time to fuck around.

He took a large gulp of his drink and then picked his phone back up. He could do this. He could play the game. He could fake anything if it meant his life didn’t have to change.

Fine. How do I fix it?

Start by filling out the information. Be honest. Any prospective match will want to get a sense of who you are. Right now the only thing I can tell about you from your profile is how highly you think of your own dick.

This fucking bitch.

Okay, sure. What else?

You are demanding a lot of money without giving any details about how that money will be spent. Anyone who sees that will immediately feel taken advantage of. The best version of these relationships is an equal give and take. A lot of us are here because we enjoy taking care of someone. We don’t enjoy feeling like a faceless ATM. Give an actual, honest account of the expenses you would like covered.

God, this was annoying. But he had to keep his eye on the prize.

Anything else??

Put some actual effort into your first message to someone. Something you think you might have in common, something you liked about their profile, or a relevant fact about yourself. ‘Hey’ isn’t going to get you anywhere. And don't just jump into sexting immediately. 

Despite himself, he took a screenshot of the conversation. If it helped him get more money, it was worth it.

Alright. I’ll do it.

You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone helps you out like this.

He rolled his eyes.

Thank you.

He hoped she could feel the sarcasm coming through the screen.

Well, look at that. Maybe you can be someone’s good boy after all.

The heat that rushed to his face at that– He didn’t know what that was. Annoyance probably. What else could it be?

He was about to send something snarky back when her status suddenly switched to offline. Goddamn bitch.

Ugh. It took so much effort to take things seriously. To act like he cared. This was exhausting. 

But he could do it if he kept the goal in mind: being the pampered pet of some rich old lady. Once he’d achieved that, all he’d ever have to do again was get it up for her once or twice a week, tops. He just had to get there.

So he poured himself another glass of whiskey and took a slow sip as he looked at the first section of his profile he’d previously left blank. The About Me header stared back at him as the cursor blinked. Come on. He could do this. What did these women want to hear?? He wished he could see other prospective babies’ profiles. Do some market research. 

He skipped down to the next section: Looking For. He’d already selected women with no age restrictions. Now he just had to get into the specifics. Ok, this he could do. Buttering people up was a skill he’d been honing his entire life.

A woman with life experience who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go out and get it. Someone to share good times, good food, and good sex with. And yes, someone to spoil me rotten. 😉

That was cute, right? Yeah, these old bats would love that.

Ok, now it was on to what he offered. He remembered what Carolyn had said about not wanting to feel like an ATM. He needed to make it seem like he’s was bringing something to the table (more than just his dick, that is, which, honesly, should have been enough).

I’m offering companionship with plenty of intelligent conversation. I’ll keep you from being bored at any functions you may need to attend, and I’ll look great on your arm doing it.

That seemed good enough for now. He could change it up depending on what he found waiting for him out there. 

He switched to the form for expenses. For rent, he put approximately 10k a month (he’d looked around the Boston area for what was available and that seemed to be the going price for the sort of place he wanted) with a note that his lease was ending soon and he’d need a new place to stay. That was close enough to the truth and made him seem like more of a charity case, which would normally bother him, but right now was exactly what he wanted. He divided up the rest of his asking price across utilities, clothing, and other expenses.

On the kink list, he started by putting yes to everything, figuring that’d make him more expensive. But would that look weird? Desperate? Fake? He went back and randomly switched a few to maybe and a couple to no. Ok, that was done. 

He went back to his photos and removed the straight up dick pics. He left the sweatpants one, but moved it to the end. And he added a couple more of himself in sweaters that he knew made people drool.

There was only one thing left. This fucking About Me. Come on! Okay. Okay.

The only thing I love more than reading is getting to talk about what I’ve read. I’m well-educated, and I’m at a point in my life where I just want to be able to enjoy things with good company. I love trying new restaurants, and I know my way around a whiskey menu. And as for other realms of experience you might be curious about, let’s just say I know what I’m doing. 😏

Ugh. God. He hated this. The whole thing was so fucking corny. That had to be good enough right? The last thing he did was delete everything but Call me Ransom from his header. And then, without overthinking it, he hit save and immediately put down his phone.

Goddamnit, fucking Carolyn was fucking right. The whole thing made his blood boil. But now, finally, the messages were rolling in. Sort of. Moderately. But it was something.

He’d gone back and tweaked a few things based on the response he was getting, and each improvement seemed to have made a difference. He was starting to get the hang of this bullshit.

But, frustratingly, he hadn’t managed to hook a whale yet. He’d had some promising conversations, but none had ultimately gone anywhere. How exactly were these conversations supposed to move from “Hi, how are you?” to “What say we make this official and you bankroll my entire life? I promise I’ll lay the pipe real good.” The one time he’d tried that, it hadn’t gone over well.

But god, the days were running out.

He sat down with his phone, hoping to find something that would help him strategize, when a new message popped up at the top of the screen. 

God, you’re pretty.

Ransom stopped and stared at the message. 

He couldn’t remember ever being called pretty before. Handsome, sure. Gorgeous, hot, all the time. But pretty– Pretty felt different. And he couldn’t explain why.

He clicked through to the profile.

And there you were.

Don’t you want to be good for me? the line under your profile picture read. Ransom swallowed involuntarily as he kept reading.

You were forty-nine, had founded your own business (although you gave no clues as to what that was), and you were looking for someone to take care of. Glancing at what you were offering, Ransom surmised that what he needed wasn’t outside of your budget.

He moved on to your photos. He picked up a little more caginess there. There were no straight-on pictures of your face, but he spent several moments looking at a close-up of just your smirk, soft lines framing your mouth. Then, as he continued to swipe through the pictures, he stopped again at one that was just of the back of your legs clad in shiny, thigh-high boots, with some of the tallest stilettos he’d ever seen.  Something about that image made his breath catch in his throat.

He moved back to your message and stared at it again, his fingers drumming against his leg. After thinking about it for far too long, he fired off a short response.

I know.

Your reply was immediate.

Yeah, I bet you do.

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[aspecpplarebeautiful]

im aromantic, and im in a queerromantic relationship with my girlfriend. it is functionally a romantic relationship, there is nothing that makes not a romantic relationship beyond my own personal discomfort with the term. its just a relationship, queerromantic on a technicality

but im aromantic. ive never experienced any sort of attraction. im not even sure if id label this romantic attraction, but its something very very very close to it. shes my world, i want to marry her and live with her and love her forever. she made me realise im not asexual (graysexual lesbian now!). im fine with our relationship being perceived as romantic, shes my partner, my lover, my significant other, were dating

except were not. and i feel so blinding bad for being that little bit uncomfortable with 'romantic'. and shes so nice, she doesnt even care about it, our relationship is just what it is, and labels are for my sake, mostly. she just wants me to feel comfortable, i know. and, shes my girlfriend. my girlfriend.

i post about her a lot. i cannot shut the fuck up about her, i mention her as often as i can because i just constantly think about her, i am, in all meanings of the word, incredibly lovesick. stupidly in love. but im aromantic. i post and talk a lot about being aromantic, its such a core part of my identity, ive helped irl friends discover their aromanticity. its the only flag ive up on my wall, ive a cardigan in aromantic colours, it was the only pride pin on my bag for a while

so i just... feel bad. because im aromantic. im aromantic. this relationship has not changed that. but ive gone from constantly talking about being aro and not understanding romance and always being annoyed by it and by people who are in love because i didnt understand how anyone could ever be like that. and im still aromantic, and i still stand by that romance should NOT be everywhere, but... i understand the people constantly talking about their significant others now, because im one of those people now. and it feels like a betrayal of myself. im someone who the past version of myself would find annoying beyond comprehension

it feels like im betraying the aromantic community and my aromantic identity, because im an aromantic person who found love that is functionally romantic. how can i talk about being aro when my every other post is about my lovely amazing girlfriend? how can i wear the aro flag if im in a relationship? how can i reblog posts about the aromantic experience when im just... not perceived like that anymore?

i feel like a traitor. im so sorry.

-⭐anon

You're not a traitor, I promise, Anon. Be careful with labels that you're not letting them box you in. Aromantic doesn't mean you're not allowed to have a partner or care about them a lot, in whatever way you do care them. And whatever your current relationship or your current feelings, none of that takes away from your aromantic experiences and feelings.

One of the big reasons why the label aro exists at all is because alloromantic society boxes us in, and tells us we have to experience things related to relationships, romance, etc. in a certain way and do them in a certain way. By doing things your way, using your labels, such as aromantic and queerromantic, and allowing yourself to feel a connection to the aro community are all ways of breaking out of that box and letting you do things your way and experience things in a way that's right for you.

Remember that aromanticity isn't a rejection of having partners, it isn't a rejection of love, some aros even experience romance in some circumstances or in their own way which may not be exactly how it is for alloromantics, but still valid (not to say whether this is the case for you or not, only you can decide if your current feelings are actually romantic or not, but instead to say that you're still good either way). Instead aromanticity is a way that you can take ownership of these things and make your own decisions whether these things are right for you or not, whether you want to participate in them or not, how you want to participate in them, etc. So long as you are doing things in a way that works for you, and you are being true to yourself and what you personally want, you're not betraying the aro community.

Remember too Anon, that there are so many ways to be aro. And your way is valid and it matters too.

I'm sorry you've been feeling so stressed about this, but I hope this helps, or at least gives you another perspective to consider.

All the best, Anon, and take care!