#these were the ones i was most interested in noting

[supernovafics]

𝐃𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 8.7k words

summary: in which you and steve randomly meet at a bar and realize that you two can help each other out with a similar problem

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol/drinking, mentions of past bad relationships (very recent breakups), smut (18+), oral (f!receiving), protected p in v sex

author’s note: i genuinely can’t believe how long this ended up being lol hope yall enjoy though!<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“We could be the greatest wingwoman and wingman for you right now if you just let us, dingus.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Robin’s words. “I already let you guys drag me to this bar, isn’t that enough?”

Robin responded with a simple, “No, it’s not” before taking another sip of her drink, while Eddie said something about how if this were a year ago, they wouldn’t have had to force Steve to this bar because he would have suggested the idea himself. 

“Monica changed you for the worse, man,” Eddie continued, and Steve only frowned at him. 

Robin gave Eddie’s arm a quick whack. “Hey, we promised no Monica slander tonight. At least not right in front of him.”

Steve gave them both the most unamused look. “You guys really had to make a deal about that? To not talk shit about my ex?”

“Okay, don’t say it like that,” Robin told him. “It would actually be super warranted if we did wanna talk shit about her. She was super pretentious and she hated all of your friends; me and Eddie, especially.”

Steve couldn’t think of a rebuttal to that on the spot, so he ended up saying nothing. And then he reminded himself that Monica had brutally dumped him two weeks ago, so why should he even want to defend her to his best friends anymore?

“There’s seriously not one girl here right now that you could maybe be interested in?” Eddie asked, and Steve was grateful that the conversation was at least slightly shifting away from Monica.

But, he didn’t even take a quick look around the bar before answering Eddie’s question with an immediate “No” and hoping that the subject would change again.

Eddie groaned and then proceeded to finish what was left of his beer, and Robin sighed before saying, “If you at least talked to a random girl here, and just maybe flirted a little bit, don’t you think you’d feel a little less sad about the breakup?”

“I’m not sad about it, though,” Was Steve’s immediate response, and it was only kind of a lie. 

It really wasn’t Monica breaking up with him that made him sad; it was more about him spending almost a year of his life with someone that he knew he probably shouldn’t have been with in the first place because of how incompatible they were. That hard truth was what made him feel sad and a little stupid. Actually, scratch that, a lot stupid. But things with her had become so comfortable and routine that it eventually felt easier staying than leaving. 

Robin simply gave him a look before shaking her head. “You’re a terrible liar. Last night I saw you watching that one National Geographic documentary that you only watch when you’re sad. Which I still find kinda weird, but you’re my best friend and I love you and all of your weird coping habits.”

“Wait, which documentary is it again?” Eddie asked, laughing a little. “The one about the whales or the one about the lions?”

“Whales,” Robin answered. “And it's like three hours long.”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Steve abruptly said before Robin or Eddie could say anything else. 

He left his half-drunk beer with his friends and walked away from the high table they’d been occupying for the past hour and headed toward where the bathrooms were down a random hallway. 

“Don’t try to sneak out the back. We have your location and we will find you,” He heard Robin say from behind him. “And don’t turn it off now that I just mentioned it.”

Steve laughed as he held up his hand, giving her a quick thumbs-up in response. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

There was only so much waiting and hiding you could do, so you decided to ask the first guy that you saw exiting the bathroom. 

“Hey, are the two girls sitting at the end of the right side of the bar looking this way?” 

Surprisingly, this random guy didn’t question why you were asking him that, or why you couldn’t check that yourself, or even question why you were so obviously hiding in this slightly secluded hallway where the terrible bathrooms were. 

Instead, he stepped out of the hallway a little bit and took a peek around the corner for you, and then turned back to you after a second. “Yeah, I see two girls looking this way.”

“Shit.”

“Who are they?”

“My friends.”

The confused look he gave you was immediate. “Why are you trying to avoid your friends?”

You sighed as you leaned back against the wall behind you. “Because they’re trying to convince me that going home with a random guy tonight will help me get over my boyfriend who just broke up with me.”

The laugh he let out in response surprised you. It also made you feel equal parts offended and amused. 

“Is my devastating heartbreak funny to you?”

For the most part, you were exaggerating; your breakup with Elliott hadn’t actually been all too devastating— no outward lying or cheating, just a lot of miscommunications and bad timings— but you kind of wanted this random guy to feel at least a little bad for laughing at you. 

“Shit, no, sorry,” He said, and his cheeks reddened a bit in what you could only assume was embarrassment, and you suddenly felt kind of bad about getting so defensive. “I just laughed because my friends are trying to do the same thing for me, too.” 

“Oh, sorry,” You said, feeling slightly worse now that you knew that you two were in the same boat. “Sorry about your breakup.”

He shrugged like it was fine. “How long have you been standing here hiding from your friends?”

“Five minutes, maybe,” You answered as you pulled out your phone to quickly check the time. Seeing that it was a little after ten thirty let you know that you’d actually been standing here for closer to ten minutes, but you didn’t correct yourself. “My plan is to somehow find an opening to slip out the front door, and then I’ll send them a picture from my Uber telling them that I left.”

“Solid plan.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Maybe a little bit,” He said, giving you a small smile, and it was then that you were realizing, or finally noticing, that this guy was cute; even in the shitty bar lighting you could tell that. 

Maybe it was because of his sweet smile, or maybe it was the denim jacket he was wearing over a plain white t-shirt that suited him really well. Or maybe it was his hair that looked as if he got out of bed and pushed a quick hand through it and then proceeded to leave his home, and you meant that in the best way possible.

Either way, this guy was really cute and so clearly your type— even though you felt like you were in no place to consider anything romantic with anyone, you could recognize his attractiveness— and you were suddenly being hit with an idea.

“Wait, you said that your friends are trying to set you up with someone here too, right?”

He let out a sigh. “Yeah, they are.”

“And I’m guessing by that sigh that you don’t wanna do that?” You asked, and when he shook his head in answer, you continued. “Okay, I think we maybe can help each other get out of here. This might sound a little insane since we literally don’t know each other at all, but let’s just pretend we really like each other in front of our friends— like, be super flirty and whatever. And then we’ll leave here together, letting them think that we’re gonna…” The thought of saying the word suddenly made you feel awkward, so you didn’t. “Do what they want us to do.”  

After taking a moment to process your sudden idea— you honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy said no because it was pretty weird— he nodded. “That’s actually a really great idea.” 

“Thank you. I’m known for my great ideas, actually,” You said, smiling at him as you reached out to grab his hand and intertwine it with yours. 

If the thought of saying that you and this stranger were gonna have sex made you feel awkward, then abruptly holding his hand should’ve felt weird too, but surprisingly it didn’t. “Alright, let’s just act like we’re super into each other, I guess.” 

“I’m Steve, by the way,” He told you. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably important information to know,” You said and then proceeded to tell him your name too. 

You led the way to your friends and the small corner of the bar where they were lingering by. 

“Hey, guys, this is Steve,” You said and slapped on the happiest smile you could muster at the moment. 

“Steve,” Danielle was the first one to say something after noticing your and Steve’s interlocked hands. “What’s your last name?”

“Harrington.”

And then Amy was jumping in. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” 

“What do you do?”

“I work at the record store down the street.”

“So, you’re a music guy?”

“Not really, I guess. My friend got me a job there.” 

You decided to stop the interrogation before Steve got scared away by this back and forth questioning Danielle and Amy were doing. “Okay, okay, that’s enough of the interview. His friends are gonna think he ditched them or something.”

“You guys should come over to the table we’re at,” Steve said and then pointed in the direction of where his friends were with his free hand. “There’s enough room.”

You nodded at his words. “That’s a great idea.” 

If Danielle or Amy were aware of this act you were putting on— how you were no longer rejecting their idea of you flirting with some guy to “get over” Elliott— they didn’t call you out on it. Instead, they agreed that going to the table with Steve’s friends was a good idea. 

Quick introductions were made, and then the group settled into typical small talk. However, you and Steve deliberately fell into your own kind of “flirty conversation” and played it up for your friends, all of whom tried to pretend that they weren’t intensely watching you two, but they failed miserably at hiding their staring, which was exactly what you both wanted. 

After a few minutes of exaggerated smiles and elated laughs, Steve leaned in close to your ear. “How long do you think we’re gonna have to do this?”

You softly giggled like he just whispered the sweetest thing to you and then leaned into his ear. “Follow my lead.”

You pulled back and then shifted so that you were standing closer to him, and he quickly took the hint and wrapped his arm around you. 

“Hey,” You said, grabbing the attention of your friends and his, which was easy because they had already been half-listening to you and Steve anyway. “We’re gonna head out of here, so we’ll see you guys later.”

There was a mix of confused and surprised looks that crossed all over their faces for the briefest moment, and then Amy was the one to first say something. “Really?”

“Yeah,” You nodded. “I want to take Steve to my place to show him something.”

“Since I’ve never seen the second Home Alone movie, we’re gonna watch that,” Steve added. Out of all of the movies he could’ve said, you weren’t sure why he was mentioning a Christmas one in September, but sure, you’d play along. 

“You’re gonna watch a movie?” Robin asked, somehow looking both skeptical and amused. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yup,” You agreed as you reached up to lace your fingers with his hand that was around your shoulders and used that to push yourself even closer to him. 

“Okay,” Eddie said, failing to bite back his grin. “Have fun watching a movie.”

“We will,” Steve told him and gave your hand a light squeeze. 

“I’ll text you guys later,” You said to Danielle and Amy, who were looking at you with equally surprised but happy looks. After so many years of friendship, it was pretty easy to read each other, but you hoped that they couldn’t see through what you were doing; you hoped you were faking all of this well enough.

Neither of them said anything, though, and they instead nodded and said different versions of “We’ll talk to you in the morning,” which let you know that they were just happy that you were actually following through with what they wanted you to do tonight. 

Steve pulled his arm from around you and just went to normally holding your hand, and you two said final goodbyes to your friends and then headed away from the table. You two stayed practically attached at the hip until you were out of the door. The cold hit you immediately, but it wasn’t too unbearable with your jacket on, although you still wished that you had opted for a better dress. You gave Steve a quick look as the bar door closed behind you both.   

“Nice idea with the movie thing, even though Home Alone 2 is so random,” You said with a laugh. “They all definitely think we’re about to go have sex in my apartment.”

“I’ve kinda used that movie line before,” Steve said. “It’s been a while, but Robin and Eddie still know what it means.” 

You gave him an amused smile. “Okay, so Home Alone 2 is code for ‘I’m about to go hook up with this random girl’?”

“No, I don’t use the same movie every time,” He laughed a little. “That one was just the first thing that came to my mind this time.”

You nodded as you slipped your hand from his and you reached into the pocket of your jacket to pull out your phone. You opened the Uber app and ordered a car so that you could finally go home. 

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the night?” Steve asked as you slipped your phone back in your pocket. 

“Head home and probably finish the bottle of wine that I had been drinking before my friends dragged me here, and then call my ex and leave very stupid voicemails.”

You didn’t mean to be so honest— if your friends had asked you that question, you would’ve lied and avoided any and all mentions of Elliott because you wanted to make it seem like you were dealing with the breakup just fine— but talking to Steve made you want to be truthful for some reason; maybe because you two were going through the same thing. 

“That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

“It’s not,” You agreed, but didn’t say that you wouldn’t still be following through with it. 

Things became quiet as you two stood on this sidewalk, not at all as close as you two were when you were trying to play things up in front of your friends. There was actual space between you two for the first time in the last ten minutes, and you weren’t looking at him anymore, instead, you were focused on the quiet street. The faint sounds of all the noise coming from inside the bar managed to fill the silence, and you wondered if this was the part where you two were supposed to go your separate ways. Now that you helped each other get what you both wanted, what else was there to say or do? 

You were about to mumble something along the lines of “Thanks for your help tonight,” but Steve was speaking before you could. “My ex texted me earlier.”

Weirdly enough, you actually felt a little relieved that he was keeping the conversation going. You honestly didn’t mind talking to him. There was something about this entire conversation that felt so simple and easy, even though you were talking about kind of shitty things. 

You looked at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“My friends would say bad. And a part of me knows it’s bad too, but I don’t know,” He shrugged. “It’s kinda tempting.”

You understood what he meant completely, but you still gave him advice that you probably wouldn’t have taken for yourself. “Okay, well, if my opinion matters at all in this, which I know it probably doesn’t, you shouldn’t text her back.”

“And then, in that case, you shouldn’t drunk call your ex,” He reminded you. 

“Why did you two break up?” You asked instead of outwardly agreeing with his words. 

“She did it two weeks ago over the phone,” Steve told you. “She said that things were feeling “off” between us and maybe they always had been.”

“Ouch,” That word felt like an understatement to represent just how shitty breaking up with someone over a phone call was, but it was all you could manage to say right then. 

He gave you a quick nod, breaking your gaze for a second, and then he threw the question your way. “What about you?”

“He wanted to move to California, and I wanted to stay here,” You answered. That was the short version of it; the easy version of it. 

“Okay, that sounds pretty amicable,” Steve responded. 

You almost simply agreed with him just to let this part of the conversation end, but it didn't feel right doing that. For reasons you couldn’t fully recognize just yet, you didn’t want to lie to Steve. 

“It wasn’t,” You admitted softly. “The moving thing came up months ago, and if we were smart, we would’ve just ended things then, but we didn’t. I told him I didn’t want to move, and he said that was fine, but it definitely wasn’t fine. He started pulling away and being a dick, and we both became really shitty toward each other by the end of it until he finally broke up with me and then moved like he wanted to.”

“Okay, nevermind. That sounds like it sucked.”

“And yours seems pretty bad too,” You said. “Doing it over the phone is such a fucked move. Did you see it coming?”

“No, but also yes, which probably doesn’t even make sense,” He answered, and in your eyes, it did make sense, but you didn’t interrupt him to tell him that. “There was something that always felt “off” about us, but in the moment, it never seemed like that big of a deal. Looking back now, though, it’s so obvious that we were never gonna work, and I guess it’s kinda good that she ended it.”

“But, she texted you today,” You reminded him. 

“Yeah,” He said and then sighed. 

“I still don’t think you should say anything back to her,” You told him. “Now, after hearing that she broke up with you over the phone, she definitely doesn’t deserve a text back.”

“If you don’t call your ex tonight, I won’t text mine back,” Steve said, giving you a look that you couldn’t fully decipher, but you were still nodding at his words. 

“Deal,” You said and then held out your hand for him to shake— because it felt like the obvious thing to do, even if the “deal” you two were making was a playful one— and he did. You didn’t understand how his hand was still warm after being out in the cold for the past few minutes, but it was nice all the same. 

As if on cue, a car pulled up in front of the bar with the all too familiar Uber sticker in its windshield. You looked at it for a quick second and then at your phone to make sure it was the right car. And then after that confirmation, you looked at Steve. 

“You coming?”

The confused look he gave you was immediate. “You want me to?”

You nodded and smiled at him. “Yeah, how else are we gonna make sure we both follow through with the deal we just made?”

“Makes sense,” Steve said, nodding back with a small, amused smile on his face, and then he followed you to the car. 

You two sat on opposite ends in the backseat, and it was probably the first time all night that the silence between you two felt a little awkward.  

“Can I read the text she sent you?” You asked, halfway through the ten-minute ride. “Sorry, if that’s weird, I don’t know why I’m so curious.” 

“Not weird,” Steve told you as he tapped on his phone for a second and then handed it over to you. 

You took a brief look at the previous messages sent between them, which was a lot of simple stuff, and then you focused on the most recent one. 

I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. Maybe we can meet up soon and talk? Let me know when you’re free. 

It was hard not to roll your eyes at the message. It felt almost too painstakingly equivalent to something Elliott had said to you the day he moved out of your apartment. His one final attempt to get you to change your mind and move to California with him, as if all the damage to your relationship hadn’t already been done. 

You were about to hand Steve his phone back, but then you noticed something. 

“Steve,” You said, looking at him in the darkness of the car. “Why is there still a heart by her name?”

“I haven’t gotten around to changing it yet,” He answered, which didn’t sound like the best excuse to you because you thought about how promptly you had changed Elliott’s contact name to “Asshole” once he left the apartment for the final time. 

“Alright, let me do the honors for you,” You said as you deleted the red heart and then Monica’s name entirely and simply put “EX.” “Okay, here you go.”

You handed the phone back to him, and he looked at what you did and then laughed a little. “I don’t know why I thought you were gonna make it something a lot meaner.”

“It was tempting,” You started. “But, I don’t know her, so I don’t know what mean stuff would’ve been the most fitting.”

Steve nodded as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “What’s your ex’s name?”

“Asshole in my contacts and Elliott in real life,” You answered and Steve laughed again and then said a quick, “Got it.”

You made it to your apartment building five minutes later and it took another five minutes, due to very shitty elevators, to make it to your actual apartment.  

“Welcome to my place,” You said to Steve as you flicked on the light and then pulled off your jacket and hung it on one of the hooks by the front door, and slipped off your shoes. 

“Did you just move in?” Steve asked, following suit and doing the same with his jacket, and then toeing off his shoes by the door as well. 

The half-emptiness of your apartment didn’t really faze you anymore, but you understood how unfinished the place looked to someone who was seeing it for the first time. 

“Oh, no, I’ve been here for almost three years now. When Elliott moved out, he took a lot of things, so it looks a little weird and half-decorated now,” You quickly explained, hoping that you successfully masked the sudden awkwardness in your voice because you now felt the tiniest bit embarrassed that you brought him here. “I’m still working on getting a new TV, so for now we can just watch something on my laptop if you want.”

Before Steve could say anything in response, you grabbed your laptop from where it sat on the small coffee table in your living room and then handed it over to him. “I’ll be right back; I need to get out of this dress. But you can put on whatever you want.” 

“Okay,” You heard him say as you headed toward your bedroom. 

It didn’t hit you how sort of insane this entire situation was until you closed your bedroom door behind you, and you were left alone for the first time since you met Steve near the bar bathrooms. Now, logical thinking was kicking in, and you considered just how much of a bad idea all of this was. 

There was a guy who you barely knew in your apartment, and you had no plans on having sex with him, so this wouldn’t end up being a one-night stand kind of thing. So, what would happen instead? You two would simply talk and genuinely watch a movie, and then what?

Although you had no idea what the answer to that question was, it actually didn’t completely scare you. Because yes, this was kind of an odd set of circumstances, but you and Steve were going through the same thing, and that somehow made everything feel different. You weren’t nervous around him, and you hadn’t been all night; instead, things had felt weirdly easy, you realized. And you decided to keep leaning into that easy feeling and not overthink whatever this was or would be.  

You slipped out of your dress and put on what was probably the most comfortable pair of pajama pants you owned and a simple t-shirt. When you stepped out of your bedroom and headed back into the living room, you saw Steve sitting on the couch, and a small, slightly amused smile tugged at your lips as you noticed what was playing on your laptop, which was opened up and back on the coffee table.

“Okay, I definitely didn’t expect you to put on a nature documentary,” You said as you sat down next to him, leaving a fair amount of space between you two. “I don’t know why I thought you’d put on something super boyish. Like, Die Hard or one of the million Fast and Furious movies.”

“Oh, I was planning on putting on Die Hard after this,” He said, and you immediately took notice of the playful tilt in his voice.

“An ocean documentary and Die Hard sounds like a solid double feature,” You joked back with a smile, and Steve laughed in response and then proceeded to tell you that this documentary was specifically about whales. 

A comfortable silence began to linger as you grabbed the throw blanket that was folded on the back of the couch and spread it over your lap and then offered some of it to Steve, which he accepted— it was long enough to fit you both comfortably even though you weren’t right next to each other. And then you focused on the documentary and the Australian narrator talking about the vastness of the ocean. 

“We can watch something else if you want,” Steve abruptly said about five minutes in. His words slightly surprised you because you had actually been finding the documentary pretty interesting so far and you hadn’t done anything to show otherwise. “My friends always hate when I put this on.”

You looked away from the laptop screen and at him. “How often do you watch this?”

“Whenever I’m not feeling great,” He answered, turning a little to look at you too. “Like, sick or sad.”

“Okay, and with your breakup, I guess this has been on repeat these past two weeks?” You asked, and the nod he gave you in response made you think that he was embarrassed by that answer, and you immediately wanted to make him not feel that way. “My personal sad go-to has been putting on this one reality show where people do dumb obstacle courses to win money. There’s like twenty seasons of that show and I’m halfway through it.”

“That’s what we should actually watch after this,” Steve said, giving you a playful smile. 

“Yeah, and we can wallow in our collective sadness,” You nodded in agreement, which made him laugh. “And this will probably sound weird or just not even make sense, but I’m not even sad about me and him breaking up, because I know that it definitely needed to happen. I’m sad about basically wasting the last two years of my life with someone who didn’t end up being “the one” or whatever. Thinking about that feels so much worse than the breakup itself.”

Steve gave you a look that you couldn’t decipher at all. It was probably the first time all night that you felt slightly self-conscious under his gaze. You got the urge to look away from him and focus back on the whales on screen, but you didn’t. 

Instead, your eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sorry, it’s just, I feel the exact same way pretty much,” He told you. “I’m not really that sad that Monica broke up with me, I just feel really stupid that we were even together in the first place. She didn’t really like my friends and would always make fun of my job.”

“Didn’t you say you work at a record store? What is there to make fun of about that?” 

“She would say a lot of stuff about how ‘it’s a job that’s going nowhere,’ but then play it off like she was just joking.” 

You were unable to hold back your grimace. “Wow, that sounds terrible.”

You noticed the embarrassed look cross his face and you felt the immediate need to change it.  

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not judging,” You quickly told him. “Elliott called me a lot of mean things by the end, and I still stayed with him, so I know all about making dumb decisions in a relationship.”

Steve frowned at your words. “How mean?”

“So mean that you’re actually the first person I’ve even mentioned that to. It still feels way too embarrassing to bring it up to my friends,” You admitted, and it was then that you had to finally look away from him. “I don’t really get why it’s so easy to talk to you.”

“Probably because we’re basically strangers,” Steve said, and after considering his words for a second, you nodded. “And fuck him, by the way, for whatever mean shit he said to you. That sounds pretty terrible too.”

“That’s why I wanted to call him tonight and leave equally as mean drunk voicemails, but you talked me out of it,” You said, finally meeting Steve’s eyes again. “You’re right, though, it would’ve been stupid to do that.”

Steve shook his head. “Oh, when you said that, I thought you meant that you wanted to leave the sappy kind of drunk voicemails where you talk about wanting to get back with him or something.” 

“Oh, no way. I was just gonna list off a bunch of bad things about him,” You responded. “Like, the kinds of things that when you’re dating the person, it just seems like a little quirk or bad habit that you can overlook, but in hindsight you’re like, why did I put up with any of that, y’know?”

Steve nodded understandingly. “Can I hear the list?” 

“You sure you wanna hear me rant about my ex?” You asked him with an amused smile, and Steve laughed a little and nodded again. “Okay, he would always forget to turn off stuff before he left the apartment; the TV, lights, anything really. He never did the dishes and would always get a little annoyed when I asked him to do it. Oh, and he hated whenever I would beat him at any kind of games.” 

“That’s a very solid list.”

“Also, he,” You started and then immediately cut yourself off, realizing that maybe you should have at least somewhat of a filter. “Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

Steve gave you a look. “Wait, now you have to say it.”

“He never…” You looked away from Steve’s curious gaze and instead focused on the blanket draped over your lap. You pulled at a random loose string as you said your next words. “He never went down on me.”

“Really?” He asked, and you simply nodded because it suddenly felt too hard to form words right then. “You were together for almost two years, and he didn’t do it once?”

You nodded again and then finally found your voice. “He said he wasn’t a “fan” of it. Meanwhile, he loved when I gave him a blowjob.” 

It was pretty obvious that your filter was completely gone at this point; if it had ever even really been there in the first place when it came to Steve. 

“Wow.”

You tilted your head at him. “I can’t tell what that wow means.”

“It means that he’s an idiot and you should’ve been the one dumping him, not the other way around, and also, once again, he’s definitely an idiot.”

You laughed a little. “Woah, who knew one word could mean so much?”

“Yeah, it has a ton of connotations to it,” Steve joked, smiling at you. 

You both went back to watching the documentary on your laptop, but there was something about this part of the conversation that didn’t feel over yet. You didn’t feel like you could just go back to watching this whale documentary as if you hadn’t just admitted the most embarrassing thing about your sex life.  

“Um, what about you, though?” You asked, and Steve looked at you again, a confused furrow to his eyebrows like he didn’t fully get what you meant by the question, so you elaborated. “What was shitty about your sex life?”

Steve was quiet at first, and for a second, you thought that maybe for the first time that night, you two had reached a question that was “too much,” or worse, there had been nothing bad about his sex life with his ex, so he had no answer to give you.  

“Um, she always wanted to do the same thing,” Steve finally answered after what felt like the longest stint of silence ever, and you were completely confused by that response. 

“What do you mean?”

“She only wanted to do missionary. Nothing else,” He explained. “And I know that it’s a classic, I get that completely, and it definitely is. But sometimes you just wanna change things up, y’know?”

You nodded instead of outwardly saying anything because you didn’t want to admit that aside from the lack of oral, your sex life with Elliott had been pretty good. 

“So, almost a year of just missionary?” You asked, and Steve gave you a nod that seemed equivalent to the one you’d given him when it was you answering this kind of question. “What would you do if you could choose?”

You noticed his cheeks turning the tiniest hint of pink as he considered the question. “Oh, um, girl on top, I think. That one’s pretty good.” 

You weren’t sure why you expected him to say something a little crazier, but you didn’t tell him that. 

“Good choice,” Was what you said instead. 

There was another lull in the conversation, and maybe that was where it should’ve finally ended, but there was something about it that still didn’t feel entirely over just yet. 

“I could—”

“We could—”

Your and Steve’s suddenly spoken words stumbled over each other and made you both stop abruptly.  

“What were you gonna say?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You can go first.”

“No, no, I’m a gentleman,” Steve told you, a small smile on his face. “So, ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but there was nothing serious behind it. “I was gonna say that maybe we could… Maybe we could help each other out. Like, show one another what the other was ‘missing out on’ while they were in their relationship.” You then rushed out your next words before Steve could respond to your previous ones. “What were you gonna say?”

“I was gonna say that I could do what your ex didn’t want to do for you.”

“Just me?” You asked, and he nodded. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair if you got nothing out of this.”

Steve gave you a quick shrug. “I wasn’t really thinking about me.”

You teasingly smiled at him. “Wow, you truly are a gentleman.”

He laughed. “I told you.”

“If we did actually do this, though,” You started. “I would also wanna do your thing too.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. If you go down on me, I’ll happily ride you.” 

Finally outwardly saying the words made you laugh a little; you couldn’t help it. None of what was happening right then felt exactly weird, but it was definitely… surprising.  

“This is such an insane conversation,” Steve responded, laughing too. 

“Oh, yeah, it definitely is,” You said, looking away from him and focusing back on your laptop screen for a second. “We could just go back to watching the documentary and pretend this never happened.”

“Is that what you wanna do?”

“Not really, no,” You admitted. Logically, your answer probably should’ve been the opposite, but you honestly couldn’t imagine saying yes to his previous question and actually pretending that this conversation hadn’t happened. “Do you?”

Steve shook his head. “No.”

“Okay, so it’s settled then. Should we shake on this too?” You asked, mainly joking with your words. 

“Yes, definitely,” He said, playing along. “That’s the only way it will be real.”

You scooted a little closer to him, closing most of the space between you two on the couch, and then held out your hand. “So, deal?”

He grabbed your outstretched hand and shook it. “Deal.”

This was the second handshake shared between you two, but this one felt charged with something different than the one outside the bar. 

Steve’s hand was warm against yours, and you were also noticing how soft it was too. Your eyes stayed on his, and even though you didn’t really know him that well, if at all, you still felt as if you somehow understood what was going on in his head because it matched exactly what was happening in yours. 

With your hands still linked together, he pulled you closer, and then let go at the last second to find your cheek and slot his lips against yours. It was messy at first, a sudden clash of tongues and teeth, but it also felt really good, and it took only a second for you two to find your collective rhythm.  

Steve was a great kisser, which surprised you because first kisses with people were never this good, and they definitely never felt this right. There were always some sort of growing pains as you navigated what to do and figured out what the other wanted, but that somehow wasn’t the case for you and Steve. 

You definitely didn’t expect your first post-Elliott kiss to be damn near perfect, and you decided not to think too much about what exactly it meant that it was happening with Steve; a guy you’d barely known for two hours. 

“You’re really good at this,” You mumbled against his lips. 

“What? Kissing?” He whispered back in between each one. 

“Yeah.”

Steve pulled back to look at you, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “Thanks. You’re really good too.”

You suddenly started feeling shy under his gaze, so you quickly leaned back in to get him to stop looking at you so sweetly. His hand still holding your cheek kept you steady and further warmed your already burning skin, and you let out the softest sound against his mouth when his free hand slipped beneath your shirt and found your waist, giving the bare skin a quick squeeze. 

You wanted to move out of this awkward side-by-side position and sit in his lap, but you also wanted to get off the couch completely, so you abruptly pulled away from him and stood up. Wordlessly, your hand found Steve’s again, and you led him to your bedroom. 

The second the door was closed behind you both, Steve’s mouth eagerly found yours again, which made you smile into the kiss, as he walked you back toward the bed. The second the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed, he gently pushed you down on top of it.  

Before he could even ask or say anything, you were pulling your t-shirt off and tossing it somewhere to the side, and then doing the same with your pajama pants. The look he gave you as you now lay on your bed, half naked with only your bra and underwear on, made something stir in your stomach. 

“You okay up there?” You asked after a moment, making your voice light and playful, and also trying to push away the feelings that were starting to make a home in your stomach. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just… Fuck,” He let out a breath. “You’re really pretty.”

You had to turn your head and look away from him then, but you still couldn’t help but smile at his words as your cheek pressed into the blanket. 

This was just supposed to be another case of two people helping each other out. This wasn’t supposed to be so sweet and nice and serious, right? You weren’t sure, but you could inwardly admit that you liked hearing him call you pretty. 

You still weren’t looking, but you could feel Steve settle on top of you and lean in to press his lips to your exposed neck, making you let out a quiet moan. 

He sucked on your skin, a sensitive spot on the underside of your jaw that had you mewling for him, as his hand moved down toward your cunt. He pulled your underwear to the side and slowly pressed his middle finger into your slick folds. 

“Shit,” He mumbled against your neck. “You’re soaked.”

You let out a soft breath. “Like I said, you’re really good at this.”

He pulled away from your clit and out of your wetness completely and you let out a whine in protest, but then his fingers were hooking into the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs. Your bra was next, and you sat up a bit so that he could unhook it and toss it to the side. 

“Fuck,” Steve said, leaning back to simply just look at you for a moment. “You look so perfect for me.”

You were completely naked now, and he was still fully clothed, but you didn’t even feel shy under his lust-filled gaze because you really liked the way he was looking at you in this moment.

Before you could make any move to grab at the ends of his t-shirt to at least pull that off of him, his mouth was on you once again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips and then moving to your neck and continuing lower and lower. 

Your eyes slipped shut, and you let out the softest sounds as he slowly trailed down your stomach and went to your hips and then to your inner thighs, teasingly pressing his mouth against your warm skin at every spot. You felt his hands hook around your thighs and pull you closer to him. 

“Hey,” Steve said to grab your attention, and your eyes met his. Looking at him with his head between your legs and his mouth so close to where you needed him to be was probably the hottest thing you’d ever seen. “Tell me if you want me to do anything differently, okay?”

You nodded before softly saying, “Okay.”

Your head fell back against the bed when his tongue ran a long slow stripe up your slit. He stopped at your clit, circling the bundle of nerves before latching his lips around it and giving it a quick suck. The gasp in pleasure and surprise you let out in response was immediate. 

After one too many rejections from Elliott, you told yourself that you didn’t like oral anyway, always reminding yourself of other times with past partners when it had been rushed and sloppy. But now you knew just how much you’d been lying to yourself because this felt fucking phenomenal. Steve’s mouth felt perfect on you, and there was nothing about this moment that felt rushed or half-baked, like he was just trying to quickly get to the next thing. 

He slipped two fingers inside of you, pushing in as deep as he could go and his mouth went to your clit again. Your fingers threaded through his hair as he lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Steve could tell just how much you were enjoying yourself with every tug on his hair and the contented sounds you were making above him. 

His hand still on your thigh squeezed roughly as he started to suck hard on your clit, which pushed you closer and closer to the edge. It should’ve maybe felt a little embarrassing— how quickly he was about to make you come only from his mouth and fingers— but everything just felt so fucking good that you didn’t care how fast he was making the tight knot in your stomach feel as if it was going to explode. 

“Steve, I- I’m gonna… Fuck,” You trailed off with a loud moan. Words were alluding in this moment as Steve continued his ministrations against your dripping cunt; his mouth on the most sensitive part of you and his fingers deep inside you, curling against an almost too perfect spot.  

Your own fingers pulled a little harder at his dark locks, which made him moan against your clit and the vibrations from that abruptly sent you over the edge. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” The words fell from your lips in a sort of whispered chant as your back arched sharply off the bed and you saw stars behind your eyes. 

Steve continued exactly what he was doing as you came, your moans and whimpers sounding like music to his ears. He happily took and lapped at everything you gave him, absolutely loving the taste of you on his tongue. He continued to finger you and eat you out through your orgasm until he felt you become too overstimulated. 

“Fuck,” You squeaked out when his tongue did one final teasing lick against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck, that was really good.”

Steve pulled away, and he sat up a little, smiling as he watched you come down from your high. “I’m sorry you’ve had to miss out on that for the past two years.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Thank you for the condolences.” 

Your heart rate slowly returned to normal, and you turned to Steve, who was now sitting next to you, and you took notice of the obvious tint in his jeans. 

You reached out to palm his hard length. “Girl on top is what you wanted, right?”

He let out a low groan. “Mhm, yeah, but only if you want to do that.”

“Steve,” You said so his eyes would meet yours, and then you proceeded to give him the reassurance that it seemed so clear that he needed. “I really want to do that for you.”

He looked at you so sweetly, and this time you didn’t look away, you simply just smiled back at him as you crawled into his lap. 

Your fingers immediately grabbed the ends of his t-shirt to pull it up and off of him. “Let’s make things even, yeah?”

He nodded, and you shifted back a bit so that you could work on the button of his jeans. You then lifted your hips so that he could push his jeans and boxers down his legs and off him completely. 

Your eyes became glued to his hard cock. You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but he was huge and you could feel yourself becoming wetter at the thought of him filling you up. 

“You have such a pretty cock, Steve,” You whispered as you wrapped a hand around him and brushed your thumb over his slick tip. He groaned in pleasure, and one of his hands immediately found your hip in response, squeezing the bare skin. 

A part of you wanted him to be rougher; you honestly didn’t mind the thought of finding Steve-shaped bruises on your skin in the morning. However, you didn’t tell him that because this moment wasn’t about you.  

“Does that feel good?” You asked instead, voice soft and gentle, as if you couldn’t tell the answer to your question just by all the sounds Steve was making and by the way he was twitching in your hand. 

“Perfect,” He groaned out, eyes meeting yours just for a second before he was looking down and watching as you kept slowly stroking him from base to tip. “Fucking perfect.”

You smiled and wondered if this was how he felt when the roles were reversed and you were the one who was a mess below him. 

“Shit, I need,” Steve let out a strangled breath and his head fell back against the headboard with a soft thud. “Really need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and let go of him to reach over and grab a condom from your nightstand drawer.  

Steve watched as you tore open the foil packet and slipped the condom on his cock; it was probably one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. 

“Do you want me to turn around and take it that way, or like, how do you want this?” You asked, meeting his half lidded eyes as you went back to stroking his cock. After what he’d just done for you, you wanted this to be perfect for him. 

“No, I wanna see you,” He said, free hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. 

You could feel your skin warm under his touch; somehow, that felt like the most intimate thing he’d done to you so far tonight. You nodded at his words instead of saying anything because you were pretty certain your words would’ve failed you anyway. 

You lifted your hips so that you could line him up with your slick entrance and then your eyes met his as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, completely taking his cock inside of you. 

Your and Steve’s collective moans filled the quiet air, and you were the one to break eye contact with him because your eyes were pinching shut. 

Both of his hands shot to your hips to keep you from moving, which was good because you needed a moment to adjust to the feeling of being so full of him.  

“Shit, I’m gonna fucking explode if you move right now,” Steve mumbled, looking down at how well you were taking him. 

“That’s okay,” You told him softly. Your hands rested on his shoulders for a quick moment, and then they tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He let out a chuckle and met your gaze. “I want this to last more than two seconds.” One of his hands came up to find your breast. “And I also want you to come with me.”

You hummed at the feeling of his fingers squeezing your already hard nipple. “Still such a gentleman.”

Steve laughed again, and that sound turned into a low groan when you lifted your hips ever so slightly and then sank back down onto him. 

“God, you feel so good,” He rambled out. “Taking me so fucking well.”

His words sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. “‘M so full.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked teasingly, and you simply nodded, words failing you the moment he pushed up into you. 

Whatever control you had was lost. You were technically riding him, but he was doing most of the work, and it seemed as if that was exactly what he wanted. He had a near-bruising grip on your hips as he guided your movements and hit all of the right places with each thrust. 

Your face became buried in his neck when it all felt like too much. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

Your words were whispered against his soft skin, and you could feel his nod in response. “Yeah, me too.”

He slipped a hand between your bodies so that he could find your clit and you sucked in a breath when his thumb started circling it.

“I wanna see you,” He groaned when he felt you clench around his cock, and at first all you could do was hum against his skin in response. “I wanna see you come for me.”

You pulled back and met his gaze, hands finding his bare shoulders to keep you steady. It was harder to do than you expected because of how much you wanted to let your eyes slip shut and simply just take everything Steve was giving you. 

“Hi,” You softly said to him instead of closing your eyes or letting your head fall back in pleasure due to his teasing strokes against your clit. 

“Hi,” He gave you a smile that made your stomach flutter and his hand on your hip pulled you harder against his cock. “You gonna come for me?”

You could only moan in response and give him a meek nod, forcing your eyes to stay on his. The knot in your stomach was tightening and tightening, almost ready to completely unravel. 

“Go ahead,” He said as he thrusted up into you. “Let go.”

“Ah,” You dug your nails into his shoulders the second your orgasm hit you. He looked at you so fondly, like he truly cared about making you feel good, and that only made you come harder, walls fluttering around his cock. 

You once again buried your face in the crook of his neck, sucking the skin and leaving red marks that would be there later. You landed on what you would later realize was an especially sensitive spot on his neck because the second your tongue grazed over it, Steve was letting out a loud moan and spilling into the condom. 

“Fuck,” He muttered as he came and his hands squeezed your hips to keep you firmly planted on his cock. 

You pulled away from his neck to watch him come apart beneath you. It was probably the prettiest thing you'd ever seen— his blown-out pupils, his mouth slightly parted in a moan, and a few locks of his messy hair falling against his forehead. 

Your and his movements slowed as you both came down from your highs. With his hands still on you, he shifted things so that you two were lying sideways on the bed. His softening cock slipped out of you in the process and you couldn’t help but quietly whine at the feeling. 

You two became a tangle of limbs and warm bodies, and your arms circled around his neck to push yourself even closer to him. 

“Was that good for you?” You asked, soft words hitting right against his ear. “You did like all of the work when it should’ve been the opposite.” 

His fingers began mindlessly stroking the bare skin of your back. “No, that was really good.” 

“Mm,” You hummed in response. “Okay, but it does slightly feel like I ended up getting a better outcome to the deal than you.” 

Steve let out a laugh at your playful words as he pulled away from you, and it took a lot of willpower to not protest his actions and keep him close to you. He pointed at a door, silently asking if that was where the bathroom was, and you nodded in response and he headed in.

You got up from your bed and started picking up the clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around the room. You slipped on your t-shirt and underwear, and when Steve emerged from the bathroom, you handed him his shirt and boxers.

It almost felt a little comical remembering that when you first let Steve into your apartment, you inwardly told yourself that you weren’t gonna have sex with him, and this wouldn’t turn into a one-night stand type of situation. 

And now here you two were. 

However, weirdly enough, the thought of this moment following the typical one-night stand rules— Steve leaving right now and you two never seeing each other again— didn’t sit right with you. 

“Have you really not seen Home Alone 2 before?” You asked Steve as he finished slipping on his t-shirt. The talk of that movie had been such a minor moment in the conversation at the bar earlier, but still, you remembered him mentioning it. 

“No, I haven’t,” He answered. 

“Me neither, actually,” You told him. Christmas movies had never really been your favorites. “Do you maybe wanna watch it now?”

You knew what your words meant— that you didn’t want him to leave yet, that you wanted him to stay a little longer— and he understood that too. 

He gave you a small smile and nodded. “Okay. And this is probably the best time to also admit that I’ve never seen the first one either.”

You let out a laugh as you headed into your living room, where your laptop was still playing the documentary from earlier, and Steve followed right behind you. “Okay, double feature it is, then.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts<333

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which one night changed everything

The atmosphere from the stage was still buzzing in your bones.

You’d just wrapped your sold-out show in New York, the city’s skyline glittering like applause, and the rush of it all—the screams, the lights, the way the crowd had sung your lyrics back at you—was impossible to shake off. So when your manager asked if you wanted to head back to the hotel, you grinned, slid your sunglasses back on even though it was well past 11pm, and said, “I feel like dancing.”

Which is how you ended up here: in a club in SoHo, drink in hand, bass vibrating through your chest, trying to let the night swallow you whole.

Until you crash right into someone.

“Oh, shit—” you blurt, watching your drink spill straight down the front of a tall blonde’s jacket and shirt. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The girl takes a half step back, blinking at the wet mess now soaking her clothes. But instead of freaking out, she just laughs. A soft, breathy kind of laugh that catches you off guard.

“It’s fine,” she says, brushing at the wet fabric. “Honestly. I’ve had worse fouls.”

You blink. “Are you... sure? I literally just baptized you in tequila.”

She smiles then—kind of sideways, kind of cocky—and that’s when it clicks.

You know that face.

“Wait… aren’t you Paige Bueckers?”

She arches a brow. “Guilty.”

You laugh, then clap a hand over your mouth. “God, this is so embarrassing. First time meeting you and I immediately drench you. Nice to meet you, I’m a walking disaster.”

“Well, I like disasters,” she says, grinning. “Especially ones with good taste in tequila.”

You laugh again, this time more relaxed, her tone somehow instantly calming.

“Can I at least buy you another drink to make up for it?” you ask, already half-turning toward the bar.

She hesitates for a second, like she’s about to say no, but then: “Only if you drink it with me.”

So you do. And then one turns into two, and then the crowd starts to feel too close, too loud, too much. She leans toward you, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Wanna find a quieter corner? Or ditch this place completely?”

You look at her, at the little dimple in her cheek, the warmth in her eyes, the way she’s looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing in this club.

“Let’s get outta here,” you say.

The New York night air hits like a wave of clarity. It’s cooler now, streets still buzzing, the hum of late-night taxis and laughter in the distance.

You and Paige start walking, no destination in mind.

“So,” she says, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. “You always that graceful with drinks?”

You groan. “Don’t remind me. I swear I’m not usually a hazard.”

“No complaints here,” she teases. “It’s probably the most memorable way I’ve ever met someone.”

You glance over at her. “So you’re saying I made an impression.”

“Oh, definitely,” she says, nudging your shoulder. “You sing and spill drinks. Real triple threat.”

You laugh, heart fluttering unexpectedly. “You were at the concert, weren’t you?”

“I was,” she admits. “I’ve been a fan for a while now. Didn’t expect to end the night wearing your drink, though.”

“Hey, you’re lucky it wasn’t red wine. I’ve ruined tour outfits with that before.”

She smirks. “Good to know. I’ll make a note, don’t let you near wine in public.”

You both fall into a rhythm as you walk, trading jokes and stories like you’ve known each other for longer than the hour you’ve shared. The city fades around you, becoming background noise to the conversation.

She tells you about basketball, how weird fame can feel, how much she misses home sometimes. You tell her about tour life, how lonely it can get between cities, how much it means when people connect with your lyrics.

“Do you ever feel like... even when you're surrounded by people, you're still kinda alone?” you ask, not really sure why you're getting this vulnerable. Maybe it’s the way she listens—like she actually cares. Maybe it’s the tequila. Maybe it’s just her.

“All the time,” she says. “Especially when I’m traveling or doing press. It’s like... everyone's around, but no one really sees you, you know?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

There’s a pause. A comfortable one.

“You’re easy to talk to,” she says quietly.

You smile, glancing at her. “You too.”

You reach the edge of a small park. She gestures toward a bench. “Sit for a minute?”

You nod, and the two of you collapse onto the bench like it’s your own little world.

“So, real question,” Paige says, turning to face you slightly. “Do you always run into basketball players after your concerts, or am I just lucky?”

You laugh softly, “Very lucky. It’s usually just fans and a very enthusiastic sound guy named Trevor.”

She grins. “Trevor sounds like competition.”

“Trust me, Trevor’s happily married. To my lighting designer.”

“Well then,” she says, leaning back, stretching her legs out. “Guess I’ve got a shot.”

Your heart stutters, just a bit.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, playful.

“Yeah.” She turns her head, looking at you with those soft blue eyes. “Would it be crazy if I asked for your number?”

You blink, heat blooming in your cheeks. “No. It wouldn’t be crazy at all.”

You grab her phone and type it in, your name saved with a little sparkle emoji at the end. When you hand it back, she’s smiling like she just won a game-winner.

“I’m really glad I ran into you tonight,” she says, voice soft now. Almost like she’s shy.

You look at her—at the way the streetlight catches in her hair, at the gentle curve of her lips—and your heart does something weird and warm.

“Me too,” you say honestly.

It’s almost 3am when you finally call it a night. She walks you to your hotel, hands deep in her pockets again, the city quieter now.

At the door, she pauses. “Hey. If I text you tomorrow, you’ll answer, right?”

You grin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She starts to turn away, then glances back, her smile small but real. “Goodnight, mystery singer.”

“Goodnight, soaked-in-tequila basketballer.”

You both laugh, and then she’s walking down the street, head ducked slightly, like she’s trying to hide how much she’s smiling.

You watch until she turns the corner and disappears.

And somehow, you already know—this won’t be the last time you see her.

Your phone buzzes the next morning before your eyes even open.

You groan, roll over, and blindly reach for it on the nightstand. One eye cracks open.

Unknown Number: Is it too early to say I miss talking to you?

You blink. Then grin.

Tequila-soaked Paige Bueckers apparently turned into Smooth Paige Bueckers overnight.

You sit up, rubbing your face, the memory of last night rolling in slow and warm—her laugh, the way she said your name, that quiet moment on the park bench. It already feels like a dream.

You text back:

You: I don’t know, Paige. We’ve known each other for, what, 6 hours? This might be moving too fast.

She replies immediately.

Paige: Damn, already getting curved.

Paige: Can I at least take you out before you block me?

You grin, flopping back against the pillows, heart beating a little too fast for someone just out of bed.

You: Depends. What does a Paige Bueckers date look like?

Paige: Lowkey. Chill. Snacks are guaranteed. Good conversation. Great company, if I’m lucky.

You: You’re cheesy. I kinda like it.

Paige: Good. ‘Cause I kinda like you.

You stare at that one for a second too long. Then—

You: Pick me up at 7. No drinks involved this time.

Paige: Deal. No tequila. Just me and my charisma.

She picks you up outside your hotel exactly at 7, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a UConn hoodie that’s definitely too comfortable-looking to hate.

You slide into the passenger seat, glancing at her. “Points for being punctual.”

She smirks. “Would’ve been earlier, but I had to make sure I looked cute enough to impress a superstar.”

You roll your eyes, hiding your smile. “You clean up well, Bueckers.”

“And you,” she says, eyes dragging down to your outfit—just simple jeans and a bomber jacket, but the way she looks at you makes it feel like a red carpet moment, “look... dangerous.”

You laugh, cheeks warming. “This is why you played point guard, isn’t it? All smooth talk and clever moves.”

She shrugs. “I just see the opening and go for it.”

Instead of some fancy spot, she takes you to a rooftop food truck park in Brooklyn that you never would’ve found on your own. There’s string lights overhead, picnic tables, music playing from someone’s speaker, and people just vibing.

You both grab tacos and sit at a table tucked near the edge, the skyline stretching behind her like it’s part of the scene.

“You weren’t lying,” you say, taking a bite. “Great food, good company. You’re off to a good start.”

She grins, chewing thoughtfully. “Glad I didn’t blow it.”

You laugh. “Not yet.”

For a while, you just talk.

About music. About basketball. About growing up with big dreams and trying not to let them crush you. She asks about your first time on stage. You ask about her first time hitting a game-winner. She leans in when you talk about your new album, the one you’ve been pouring your soul into. You listen closely when she tells you about rehab and injuries, how hard it is to sit on the bench when all you want to do is fight.

“You’re more than just your game, you know,” you say, eyes softening as you watch her.

She blinks, surprised. “Not a lot of people say that.”

“Well, not a lot of people really see you, do they?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you. And then she nods, a tiny smile curling at her lips. “I think you do.”

It’s nearly midnight again by the time she drives you back. She parks in front of your hotel and turns off the engine, but neither of you makes a move to leave.

You glance at her. “So... you planning to ghost me after this?”

Her head whips around. “What? No. Never.”

You smirk. “Just checking.”

Paige looks at you for a second, eyes full of something soft. “Can I be honest?”

You nod.

“I wasn’t planning to go out after your concert. I’m not even a club person. But my friend dragged me out, and… you crashing into me was the best accident of my month. Maybe longer.”

Your throat tightens a little at that. “You’re not too bad yourself, Bueckers.”

A beat passes.

“I wanna see you again,” she says quietly.

You lean in, just enough for her to notice, but not enough to push.

“I’d like that.”

She smiles, and it’s the kind that hits deep. The kind that stays with you.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” she says.

“You better.”

You squeeze her hand before stepping out, heart fluttering stupidly in your chest.

And as you walk into the lobby, you check your phone.

Paige: I already miss talking to you again. Goodnight, pretty girl.

You bite your lip, smiling like a complete idiot.

You: Goodnight, smooth talker. Dream of me.

Paige: I will.

The next morning, you get a text from paige, a very vague one, to meet you at an address. The only thing she told you was to dress as if you were to workout. You questioned her, but all she sent you was he basketball emoji..

You show up in sneakers and sunglasses, trying to look chill but already sweating under the sun and nerves.

Paige’s standing under the chain-link fence, basketball spinning in one hand, the other casually in her hoodie pocket like she’s in some Nike ad. She sees you and grins.

“There she is,” she calls, tossing the ball to you. “You warm up, or should I go easy?”

You catch the ball with a fake glare. “You better go very easy. If I break an ankle, my tour manager will come for you.”

She laughs. “Deal. But only because you’re cute.”

You flush. She doesn’t even try to hide the smile that follows.

She does go easy—at first.

You start off playing HORSE. She nails everything effortlessly: off the backboard, spin move into a jumper, even a ridiculous one-legged fadeaway that makes you double over laughing.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you say between laughs. “You’re good. You’re like... disgustingly good.”

She grins. “Your form isn’t bad. Just needs... you know. A few years of elite training and a God-tier jumper.”

You fake pout. “That’s all?”

She walks over, dribbles behind her back, and then stands behind you, pressing a hand lightly to your back.

“Here,” she murmurs, positioning your elbow. “Relax your wrist more.”

Your breath catches a little at how close she is, how gentle her voice turns when she’s focused. You glance back at her, and she smiles softly.

“There you go. Now try.”

You shoot.

It bounces off the rim.

“Tragic,” you say.

She grins. “We’ll work on it.”

Later, you sit side by side on the edge of the court, water bottles in hand, the late-afternoon sun dripping gold across the pavement.

“That was surprisingly fun,” you say.

Paige nudges your leg. “You didn’t even cry after I beat you. I’m impressed.”

“Oh, I’m crying inside.”

She laughs, head tilted toward the sky, and for a second, the noise of the city fades into background static.

“You ever write love songs?” she asks, voice quieter now.

You look at her, tilt your head. “Yeah. All the time.”

“Anyone ever write one about you?”

You shrug. “I don’t think so.”

She nods slowly. “You should be someone’s muse.”

The way she says it—like it’s already written in her—makes something stir in your chest.

“Maybe I’ll write one about this,” you say, trying to keep it light. “Tequila, HORSE, getting coached on a public court.”

She laughs. “I better get a writing credit.”

You smirk. “You’ll get the bridge.”

The sun dips below the buildings by the time she walks you back to your place. You reach your door, both lingering again like last time.

“This was fun,” you say.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, rubbing the back of her neck. “More fun than I expected, honestly.”

You bite your lip. “Is that your way of saying you like hanging out with me?”

She leans against the doorframe, close enough that you can smell her cologne again.

“I love hanging out with you.”

A pause.

“I don’t want this to just be... like, a New York thing,” she says, quietly.

Your heart stutters. “I don’t either.”

She looks relieved. “Good. Because I wanna keep seeing you. And texting you. And maybe... calling you just to hear your voice.”

You smile, stepping a little closer. “You can call. But only if you sing backup on my next album.”

She raises a brow. “Even if I can’t sing?”

“Especially if you can’t. It'll keep you humble.”

She laughs, shaking her head. Then her eyes drift to your lips, and for a moment, the air changes.

She doesn’t kiss you—yet—but she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and murmurs, “Goodnight, superstar.”

And just like that, she’s walking back down the hallway again, hands in her pockets, heart probably racing just like yours.

You’re somewhere between Paris and Berlin when the first wave of really missing her hits.

It’s late. You're curled up on the leather couch in your tour bus, city lights slipping past the window like streaks of gold. The after-show adrenaline is still buzzing in your chest, but it’s quieter now. Less electric. Less... full.

Your phone lights up,

Paige: Hey, superstar, just finished practice. Everything hurts. I’d kill to hear your voice right now.

A smile find its way on your face, heat creeping up your neck. You quickly click on her contact, hearing it ring twice before you see her face pop up on the other side.

“Superstar!”

She looked exhausted but still was excited to hear your voice. You started taking about anything, just wanting to be in the presence of each other even thousands of miles away. 

“Play me something?” she asks, seeing your guitar on your lap.

You strum softly, trying to find the right chords. You made up some lyrics on the spot, something about missing someone in the quiet moments. You could see her eyes starting to close, the weight of the day finally catching up to her, but before she fell asleep, you heard her mumble.

“You’re gonna make me emotional before bed huh? That was beautiful. You always sound like home.”

You let your eyes linger on her face as she falls asleep.The distance grows louder over the next couple of weeks.

She’s in Dallas, grinding through practices and media days, trying to earn her minutes. You’re bouncing from Amsterdam to Rome, meeting fans and filling arenas—but something always feels missing.

At night, you call each other.

Sometimes it’s FaceTime at 1am your time, where she’s brushing out her curls with a hoodie on, sitting on her kitchen floor with a smoothie and sleepy eyes.

Sometimes it’s you whispering in a stairwell, your voice hoarse after a show, as she talks you down from the chaos of being known.

One night, the call turns heavier.

You’re in a hotel room in Madrid, lying on your back in the dark. Paige is on the other end, quiet.

“You still there?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“You.”

Your breath catches.

“This is gonna sound dumb,” she continues. “But sometimes I think about how easy it would be to let this fade. Like, I know the world wants us to let things go when they get hard.”

You stay silent, listening.

“But I don’t want to let this go. Even if it means texting across time zones and calling you when I should be sleeping. Even if I have to miss your shows and you have to miss my games.”

“Paige,” you whisper, voice cracking, “I don’t want to let this go either.”

You hear her exhale on the other end, shaky.

“Okay,” she says. “Then we won’t.”

There’s a pause.

Then she adds, quietly, “When the season starts, I want you at a game. I don’t care if it’s one or five. I just... I want to look up in the stands and know you’re real. That this isn’t just a midnight thing.”

Your chest aches, full of something fierce and warm.

“I’ll be there,” you promise.

A week later, she texts you a photo: her standing on the Wings court in her new uniform. Number 5. Media day.

Paige: I’m officially a pro. Not bad, huh?

You: You look hot. Like, I’d-throw-my-bra-on-the-court hot.

Paige: You’re gonna make my pictures look weird cause you keep making me bush.

You: I will be framing those photos.

Paige: Keep gassing me up.

It’s not easy.

You miss her laugh, the way she casually touches your hand when she’s not thinking. She misses your voice in real time, not just in echoes.

But you keep showing up for each other.

In stolen hours. In blurry video calls. In the voice notes that fill the silence between spotlight and stadium.

And one night, after a sold-out show in Prague, you sit alone on a balcony, phone in hand.

You call her.

She picks up immediately.

“Hey, superstar,” she says, tired but warm.

You look at the sky, at the stars above a city you’ve never been to before.

“I think I’m falling for you,” you whisper.

There’s silence.

Then a quiet, breathless, “Yeah?”

You nod even though she can’t see it.

“Hard.”

You hear her swallow.

“I think I’ve been falling since the moment you spilled that drink on me.”

You laugh, tears springing to your eyes.

“I don’t know how this works,” you say honestly. “But I want to keep trying. With you.”

“I do too,” she says. “We’ll figure it out.”

A pause. Then—

“I love that it’s you.”

You whisper back, “Me too.”

You're in Venice when the song first hits you.

Not the full thing. Just a feeling. A line. A chord progression that won’t leave you alone.

You’re in the back room of a centuries-old venue, sunlight leaking through antique windows, your team buzzing around about stage setup and lighting angles—but all you can hear is the soft melody playing over and over in your head.

“I like me better when I’m with you…”

It slips out under your breath, almost a whisper. You don’t even realize you’ve picked up your guitar until you're already strumming the first few notes, chasing the rhythm that’s been living in your chest since that last late-night call with Paige.

You close your eyes and lean into the feeling.

“I knew from the first time, I’d stay for a long time…”

You hum the lyrics into your phone’s voice memo app, fingers dancing across the strings. You’re not writing for a crowd tonight. Not even for the label. Just... for her.

The next few days are a blur of writing sessions between sound checks and flights. You’re scribbling verses on napkins, whispering melodies into your phone while your head leans against cold hotel windows, everything wrapped in Paige's voice, her laugh, her sleepy texts from halfway across the world.

Paige: Just saw you announced the Italy show. The crowd’s gonna lose it. Wish I could be there.

You: I wish you could too.

Paige: What are you working on? I can feel the writer brain from here.

You: A new song.

Paige: Is it the sexy one or the sad one?

You: Plot twist: it’s the soft one.

Paige: I’m intrigued.

Paige: I like soft. Especially from you.

You don’t tell anyone you’re going to perform it.

It’s still raw. Still new. But something about tonight feels different. The air’s crisp, the square outside the venue in Milan is packed with fans, and your hands are itching to share something real.

So you slide it into the setlist—right before the encore, no announcement, no title.

Just you and your guitar under the lights.

You walk out on stage, soaking in the roar of the crowd, and then let the silence settle.

“This next one,” you say into the mic, “is about someone who makes me feel like the best version of myself. It’s new. It’s honest. Be gentle.”

The first chord hits and you swear your hands tremble.

But then you sing.

“To be young and in love in New York City To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me…”

The crowd quiets. It’s like the whole city is holding its breath.

Your voice wavers slightly when you hit the chorus—because suddenly, you see her.

There. In the third row. Hat pulled low, hoodie on, but you’d know her anywhere.

Paige Bueckers.

Smiling. Eyes glassy. Hands folded against her mouth like she’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

You falter for half a second, heart slamming against your ribs. She came.

You blink through it, focus, and sing directly to her like she’s the only person there.

“I like me better when I’m with you...”

Your voice breaks a little on the last line. The crowd cheers like they felt it too—but you’re only watching her, and she’s clapping with tears in her eyes, mouthing the words back to you even though she’s never heard the song before.

After the show, you rush backstage, adrenaline crashing through your chest, half expecting it to have been a dream. But she’s there, waiting in the hall.

When you see her, you don’t even hesitate.

You run.

She catches you in her arms, lifting you slightly off the ground like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You bury your face in her shoulder, laughing, crying, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you whisper.

She pulls back, brushing your hair from your face. “I wanted to surprise you. Took a red-eye right after practice. Nearly missed my connection.”

You cup her face, forehead to hers.

“I thought about you the whole time I wrote that song.”

She smiles, soft and teary. “I knew it was about me the second you started.”

A breathless laugh escapes you. “Of course you did.”

“You really like yourself better when you’re with me, huh?” she teases.

“I like everything better when I’m with you,” you say, voice breaking with truth.

She leans in and finally—finally—kisses you.

It’s slow. Deep. Everything you’ve been aching for since you left New York.

And in that moment, nothing else matters.

Not time zones. Not distance. Not the flashing cameras or the headlines.

Just her.

Just you.

You wake up to warm sunlight spilling through your hotel window and a very real Paige Bueckers fast asleep in your bed, her cheek squished against the pillow, hair a little wild from the night before, one hand still curled against your hip.

You smile.

You don’t move. You just watch her, soaking in the softest version of the girl who once had a tequila sunrise spilled all over her. The girl who now knows every version of you: stage star, sleepy mess, secret romantic.

She stirs eventually, blinking up at you.

“Hi,” she mumbles.

“Hi,” you say back, brushing a piece of hair from her face. “Still real?”

She nods, smile lazy. “Very real. Very jet lagged. But worth it.”

You spend the day wandering Milan like a pair of tourists with a shared secret.

Coffee and fresh pastries at a tiny café. You both try to pronounce cornetto with your best Italian accents and fail miserably. Paige dips hers in espresso and groans like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

“I’m not going back to Dallas,” she says with her mouth full. “I live here now. I’m gonna play for... AC Milan Women’s Basketball or something.”

“That doesn’t exist,” you laugh.

“It will. I’ll start the team. Just to stay close to you.”

You explore side streets filled with blooming flower stands, boutiques, and locals on vespas. Paige snaps photos of you under every archway and old stone bridge, and you start teasing her about being your personal paparazzi.

“Smile,” she says, lifting her phone. “The light’s hitting you like you’re in a movie.”

“I am in a movie,” you grin. “You’re the love interest.”

She laughs, then slips her hand into yours without hesitation. No nerves. No hiding.

Just you and her.

You’re walking near the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II when you hear the first shutter.

A camera click. Then another.

You glance up and spot a guy with a long lens a few feet away, pretending to admire the architecture.

Then a girl with her phone out, eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, clutching her friend’s arm. “It’s her. That’s them.”

You meet Paige’s eyes.

She squeezes your hand, calm. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t want to hide. We can keep it private but I’d never want to keep you a secret.”

And with that, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek—right there, in the middle of the plaza, with people watching.

@/BasketballUniverse: Is that Paige Bueckers in Milan… holding hands with [Y/N] after their show last night???

@/WNBAUpdates: Paige really said “distance who?” and flew to Italy mid-preseason 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 Love wins 🥹💙

@/concertswithY/N: I WAS THERE. I SAW THEM. She sang “I Like Me Better” and Paige was in the CROWD??!! They kissed after!!! I’m never recovering

@/PaigeBueckersFan69: so this means… that’s HER muse?? she wrote that song about HER???

Later that night, you're back at the hotel, scrolling through the chaos. You see blurry photos of you two on the street, kissing in front of a bookstore, laughing over lunch.

Some are stunning.

One shows Paige holding your hand while you reach up to adjust her sunglasses.

Another shows her staring at you like you hung the stars.

You hand her your phone.

She scrolls through slowly, then looks up at you.

“You okay with this?” she asks. “The noise, the questions, all of it?”

You wrap your arms around her waist.

“If it means I get to love you in the open? I’m good with it.”

She kisses you again, slow and sweet.

“I like me better when I’m with you,” she whispers against your lips.

You smile, because yeah—so do you.

Dallas is warmer than you expected.

The city hums with spring heat and WNBA excitement, the air heavy with the buzz of a new season. Posters of Paige and her teammates decorate downtown walls. There’s a billboard with her face on it just a few blocks from your hotel—smiling, fierce, confident.

You grin every time you pass it.

“She’s so cool,” you whisper like a fangirl to yourself, snapping a photo from the Uber.

She texts you before morning shoot around.

Paige: Today’s the day Kinda nervous Not for the game tho For you seeing me in my element

You: You mean sweaty, locked in, intimidating Bueckers? Yeah I’m shaking.

Paige: Shut up Are you coming to the tunnel?

You: Wouldn’t miss it.

You wait just outside the players’ entrance, baseball cap low, hoodie zipped, trying to blend in even though it’s impossible. The moment someone recognizes you, phones start coming out. You smile politely, taking a few photos, but your eyes keep drifting toward the hallway where you know she’ll walk out.

And then—

There she is.

Hair slicked-back in a bun, jersey crisp, headphones around her neck, and that unmistakable focused look in her eyes.

Until she sees you.

Then she melts.

“Hey, superstar,” she says, walking straight into your arms.

“You look insane,” you whisper, drinking her in. “Like… this is what the billboards don’t show.”

“You nervous?” she teases, hands settling on your hips.

“I might faint.”

She grins. “You better not. I need you conscious so I can wink at you when I hit my first shot.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

She leans in and kisses you—soft, fast, but right there in front of everyone. Phones flash. Reporters murmur. Her teammates whistle.

You don’t care. Neither does she.

She’s yours. And she’s about to light up the court.

You’re in the front row when it happens.

She drains her first three with a signature step-back, and sure enough, turns and winks right at you as she runs back on defense.

You practically melt in your seat.

By halftime, she’s leading the team in points. The Wings are ahead. The crowd’s electric.

You’re hoarse from screaming. Every time she looks over, she finds you. Smiling. Cheering. Clapping with pride in your chest like it might burst.

And she shines brighter every time she sees you.

After the game, you’re waiting in the tunnel again.

She walks out flushed, sweaty, and glowing. Her jersey is untucked, towel draped around her neck, and the second she sees you, her whole face softens.

“You killed it,” you say as she pulls you into a hug.

“I heard you yelling,” she says into your ear.

“I blacked out during the third quarter. I think I proposed.”

She laughs, stepping back, eyes shining. “I might’ve accepted.”

Back at her place that night, it’s quieter.

She showers while you lay in bed, wearing her warmup hoodie, scrolling through social media posts of her game.

Fans are losing their minds.

@/WNBASTanTwitter: Paige Bueckers showing out on her debut, and her girl was court side all smiles?? We are living in a rom-com.

@/BueckersFanClub: She winked at Y/N after that three 😭 THEY'RE SO IN LOVE

@/Y/Nupdates: We saw her perform “I Like Me Better” Now we saw HER be the biggest Paige stan They are ENDGAME.

When Paige comes out of the bathroom, damp hair curling around her cheeks, oversized tee hanging off her frame, you set your phone down.

“Come here,” you whisper, opening your arms.

She crawls in beside you, settling with a content sigh, head on your chest.

“I’ve never felt like this,” she murmurs. “Balanced. Seen.”

You press a kiss to her forehead.

“Me neither.”

“You think we can do this?” she asks. “Your tour. My season. The distance?”

You nod, sure.

“Yeah. Because we’re not doing it alone.”

She lifts her head to look at you, eyes searching.

And then she kisses you like she’s promising something. Something big. Something real.

You fall asleep wrapped around each other, limbs tangled, dreams quiet and golden.

And even though your next show is in Berlin, and her next game is in Phoenix, neither of you feels far anymore.

Not really.

Because love doesn’t care about distance.

And you’ve already written the song.

Berlin is electric.

The crowd is wild, the lights intense, the soundcheck rolls late into the night with the hum of neon signs outside your hotel window. You’ve played three shows in four days. Your voice is hoarse. Your body aches. You’ve been pouring every drop of yourself into the music, but no matter how loud the crowd gets—how bright the lights shine—there’s a dull ache that sits just behind your ribs.

You miss her.

You miss her voice. Her dumb jokes. The way she looks at you after a show like you’re magic and made of stars. FaceTime helps, sure. Texts too. But it’s not the same.

Tonight, you're sitting on the floor of your dressing room after the encore, sweating and spent, staring at the same message thread you’ve read a hundred times.

You: I miss you so much it hurts.

She hasn’t replied yet.

She had a team dinner tonight. You don’t expect a quick response. But your throat tightens anyway. Not out of doubt, not out of fear—just longing.

Real, raw, inconvenient longing.

There’s a knock at the door. You don’t look up.

“Can we just—” you start, assuming it’s your manager or a fan service person, “—give me ten?”

Silence.

Then—

“I brought something.”

The voice is soft. Familiar. Your heart slams into your ribs.

You look up.

And she’s there.

Paige.

In a hoodie and jeans, cap low over her head, grinning like the most beautiful problem you’ve ever had.

You scramble to your feet.

“What—what the hell are you doing here?”

She drops her bag and walks into your arms like she’s been holding the motion for weeks.

“Coach gave me a day off,” she whispers. “I booked the flight before I could change my mind.”

You bury your face in her neck, shaking from the adrenaline and disbelief.

“I didn’t think I could miss someone like this,” you breathe.

“Same,” she murmurs. “You sounded a little off the past few nights. Thought I’d come fix that.”

The next day is quiet and golden.

No venue. No schedule. Just you and Paige exploring Berlin with coffee in one hand and each other’s fingers intertwined in the other.

You ride bikes down cobbled side streets. She tries to pronounce German street names and butchers all of them, laughing until she nearly crashes into a pretzel cart.

You eat currywurst from a stand near the Brandenburg Gate, take a ridiculous amount of selfies in front of graffiti walls, and lay in the grass in Tiergarten Park, shoes kicked off, her head in your lap.

“You look good in the sun,” she says softly, squinting up at you.

You brush your fingers through her hair. “You look good in Europe.”

She grins. “I look good when I’m with you.”

That night, she insists on coming to the venue again.

Just to be in the wings. To hear you sing live. To feel the thing you’ve been building city after city.

You don’t tell anyone she’s there.

But when you sing “I Like Me Better”, you glance stage left—and she’s there. Hoodie up, leaning against the wall, smiling like you’re still the most magic thing in the world.

You sing the bridge like a secret just for her.

“Stay awhile, stay awhile Stay here with me…”

You're wrapped up in a blanket, legs tangled, room dim except for the glow of the street lights outside. Paige’s arm is draped over your waist, thumb tracing slow, thoughtful circles on your hip.

“I hate that you’re leaving tomorrow,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” she murmurs. “But we’ll have time soon. The break’s coming. Two weeks with no games. You’ll be off tour by then, right?”

You nod. “I don’t care where we go. As long as it’s you and me.”

“I’ve been thinking…” she starts slowly. “Beach. No cameras. No fans. Just us and sand and sunscreen and me putting your phone on airplane mode.”

You smile sleepily. “That sounds illegal. And perfect.”

She kisses your temple. “It’s a date.”

@/PaigeBueckers: 📍 Berlin ❤���‍🔥💙🎤 [Photo: A blurry one of you singing on stage, lit up like a supernova.]

@/Y/Nofficial: Replying to @/PaigeBueckers Who let you in?? 👀

@/WNBAStanTwitter: Paige Bueckers being the supportive girlfriend every artist deserves 🙌 This era is ELITE.

@/concertwithYN: If they don’t get married by 2026 I’m staging a protest

You didn’t ask where you were going.

All Paige said was: “Pack light. Swimsuits. Sunscreen. And don’t bring your laptop.”

Now, thirty minutes after your private plane touched down on a remote Caribbean island—no paparazzi, no tour buses, no practice schedules—you’re barefoot on warm white sand, mouth open as Paige grins beside you like she’s just pulled off the heist of the year.

“This is…” You exhale, spinning slowly to take it all in. “You planned this?”

Paige shrugs, smug. “I’ve had this bookmarked for months. Told myself if we made it through your Europe tour and my preseason, we deserved something stupidly romantic.”

You shake your head, laughing as you walk backward into the ocean breeze, hands up. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. In love with me.”

“Bold assumption, Bueckers.”

She steps forward, hands sliding around your waist, eyes playful. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You pause.

Heart loud.

She tilts her head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The days blur in the best way.

Salt on your lips. Sun on your skin. Paige in a bikini, hair slicked back from the sea, eyes soft like you’re something sacred. You try to read a book in a hammock, but she keeps poking your side until you chase her into the water, laughing like kids.

There’s a private pool. A villa with doors that open right into the ocean. You take turns making breakfast—her pancakes, your espresso—and slow-dance barefoot in the kitchen to whatever playlist Paige throws on.

It’s just you two.

No headlines. No pressure. Just the sound of your voices, and the ocean outside your window.

One night, you’re on the beach—blanket in the sand, wine bottle between you, sky full of stars.

Paige is lying on her side, propped up on an elbow, watching you talk about your next album ideas.

You pause mid-thought. “What?”

She blinks, like she didn’t realize she’d been staring. “You’re just…” She exhales. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding dumb.”

“Say it.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The moment freezes.

Her voice is soft. Unshaken. Like she’s known for a while.

Your breath catches. “Yeah?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah.”

You reach out, fingers brushing hers. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve been in love with you since Milan.”

Paige grins—relieved, glowing, golden. She leans in to kiss you, slow and certain, her hand finding the side of your face like you’re her favorite melody.

Later, when you’re curled up in bed, tangled in white sheets, limbs loose from ocean air and confession, she whispers, “You’re my person. You know that, right?”

You smile against her neck.

“Yeah. I do.”

@/randomtourist: Is this… @/Y/Nofficial and Paige Bueckers?? In Anguilla??? They just held hands walking into a beach cafe and ordered smoothies like a damn rom-com I’m shaking

@/Y/Nfanacc: Y’all see this paparazzi-free private vacay?? She’s off tour. Paige is on break. The timing.

@/WNBAStanupdates: If Paige Bueckers shows up to the next Wings game with a tan and a ring, don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Dallas feels different this time.

It’s not just the humidity or the promise of WNBA season in full swing—it’s the key in your pocket. It’s your suitcase by the door. It’s the way Paige slides your duffel next to hers in the closet without saying a word, like she’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“So,” she says casually, walking backwards into the living room. “What’s mine is yours. Except my last few Oreos. Touch those and we’ll fight.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “You’re giving me a key, but not cookies?”

“There are limits to love, babe.”

It starts slow.

A drawer becomes two. Your toothbrush appears next to hers in the bathroom, and then one day it’s her hoodie on your back while you stir pasta, and she’s setting your favorite mug down beside you before you even ask for coffee.

It’s easy. Too easy.

You don’t fight over decor—you both somehow have the same taste in soft throws, candle scents, and weird-shaped vases. You turn assembling furniture into a full-day event, music blasting, her standing on the instruction manual, you threatening to call Ikea customer service over the six leftover screws.

You crash on the couch that night, covered in sweat and sawdust.

She hands you a popsicle and kisses your cheek. “I’d build a thousand stupid shelves if it means falling asleep next to you every night.”

You mumble around the stick, “You’re such a sap.”

She grins. “You love it.”

You do.

God, you do.

The place is quiet without her.

Not in a sad way. Just still.

You’re curled up on Paige’s couch, her grey hoodie swallowing your body, a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table, and your old, worn leather songwriting journal resting open across your lap. The windows are cracked just enough to let in a breeze and the hum of the Dallas cityscape below. Somewhere, faintly, sirens. A dog barking. Life, just happening.

She’s at practice. You texted her a sleepy “miss you already” when she left this morning, and she responded with a selfie from the gym and a kissy-face emoji that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You flip through the journal lazily, half-looking, until your eyes land on a page you haven’t touched in over a year.

There are only a few lines, scribbled quickly one night after a concert in New York—shortly after you’d met Paige.

You touch the page softly, smile tugging at your lips.

You remember that version of yourself. The one who bumped into her at a club with tequila in your veins and stars in your eyes. The one who had no idea what was starting that night.

Your fingers trace over the half-written lyrics.

“Sweet baby, our sex has meaning Know this time you’ll stay ‘til the morning…”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head. You were so gone for her, even then.

You grab a pen from the side table, stretch your legs out, and start to write.

It’s easy, really. Once you start thinking of her—of her hands on your back after shows, her sleepy kisses on your forehead in the morning, her goofy dancing in the kitchen when you burn toast—everything just pours out.

You don’t write this one like a sad ballad.

You write it like a promise.

“Baby, let me be your woman So I can love you And if you let me be your woman Then I’ll take care of you…”

You underline the last part twice.

Because that’s all you’ve ever wanted—to take care of her. To be a constant in the whirlwind. To be the reason she exhales after holding the world on her shoulders.

You finish the final chorus just as the front door creaks open.

“Babe?” Paige calls, breathless from the stairs.

“In here,” you say, not bothering to hide the smile in your voice.

She rounds the corner, hair tied up, cheeks flushed from the Texas heat, gym bag slung over her shoulder.

She sees your journal and raises a brow. “New song?”

You nod slowly. “Not new… just unfinished. Until now.”

Her eyes sparkle as she leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “Can I hear it?”

You hesitate.

“It’s about you,” you say quietly.

She just grins. “Then absolutely yes.”

You grab your guitar from the wall hook, sit back on the couch, and start to play—voice low, rich with emotion as you sing her song.

“Nothing ever comes easy At least that’s what they say I know I’m not perfect But I’ll love you every day…”

You glance up once.

Her eyes are glassy.

You keep going.

“I swear that I will mean it I’ll say it every day…”

When the final note fades, Paige doesn’t say anything right away.

She just leans forward and wraps her arms around your shoulders, burying her face in your neck.

“You wrote that?” she whispers, voice thick.

You nod, hugging her back.

“I’d write a hundred more,” you murmur, “just to tell you the same thing.”

She pulls back, a little tear trailing down her cheek.

“I already knew,” she says, smiling, “but hearing it like that? Damn.”

You laugh softly, wiping her face gently. “You always get like this when I sing.”

“And you always pretend not to love it.”

She kisses you slow and deep, and when she finally pulls back, she’s grinning again.

“When are you releasing it?”

You shrug. “Maybe soon. Maybe never.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” you smile, brushing her hair back, “some songs are just for you.”

The lights dim, a single spotlight pools around the center of the stage. You step into it, holding your acoustic guitar close, and perch on the lone stool set out just for this. No flashy visuals. No backup dancers. Just wood, strings, and words that were once for her ears only.

You strum the opening chord, the crowd hushed, breath held.

“Sweet baby, our love has meaning… You stay through all my worst seasons…”

Your voice is gentle, almost like you’re whispering it across a pillow.

You don’t look at the cameras. You don’t even look at the crowd.

You look at her.

Every time your eyes lift, they find Paige. And every time they do, something in your chest softens.

“If you let me be your woman Then I’ll take care of you For the rest of my life, for the rest of yours…”

As the bridge swells, you can see Paige subtly wipe at her eyes. She tries to hide it, like she’s just blinking too long, like she’s got something in her lashes. But you know her. You know every tell.

And the truth is—she’s crying.

Not big, sobbing tears. But the quiet kind. The kind that come when something hits bone-deep. When you realize someone loves you that much.

You play the final note, let it linger.

And then—silence.

And then—roaring applause.

You stand, give a little smile, a nod of thanks. The spotlight fades as you walk offstage.

Backstage is chaos again—handlers talking over each other, compliments thrown your way, makeup artists adjusting things you don’t even notice. But your eyes are on the hallway.

And when Paige finally gets past security, she doesn’t say a word.

She just pulls you into her arms and holds you like it’s the only thing keeping her steady.

You bury your face into her shoulder, breathe her in.

“Did it sound okay?” you murmur into her neck.

She leans back just enough to look into your eyes, her own rimmed red and glossy.

“It sounded like everything I’ve never been able to say out loud,” she whispers. “You gave my heart a song.”

You smile, forehead to hers. “It was yours long before anyone else heard it.”

She kisses you quickly—just once, tucked into the corner of the hallway out of view.

@/LateNightTonight: Y/N stunned with a raw, intimate performance of their new single “Let Me” tonight. Not a dry eye in the room.

@/fangirlballer: I JUST KNOW Paige was in the crowd. I JUST KNOW. That was a love letter in song form and she wrote it with her whole chest.

@/WNBAtea: Paige was spotted leaving the studio hand-in-hand with Y/N and looked like she’d just sobbed through the second coming of Mozart. What do you mean this isn’t a rom-com.

That night, you and Paige don’t go home right away.

You find a quiet little diner that’s still open past midnight. Sit across from each other in a booth with fries between you and her fingers laced with yours across the table.

She keeps looking at you like you’re made of stars.

And for the first time in your career, you realize:

You don’t want to sing about pain anymore.

You want to write about her.

The lights of the arena are blinding, the energy nuclear, and the sound? Earth-shaking.

Game 5 of the WNBA Finals. Series tied 2–2. Winner takes it all.

You’re sitting court side at the American Airlines Center in Dallas, legs crossed, hair tied back, and Paige’s #5 BUECKERS jersey draped over your body like a second skin. Customized, of course. Small embroidered initials on the back near the collar: PB + YN. A subtle little secret between you and her.

The game hasn’t started yet, but the tension is thick enough to chew.

You can see her pacing.

She’s got her headphones in, but her body language is loud. Too tight. Too stiff. She’s stretching like it’s routine but you know her—this is nerves.

You wait for the right moment before slipping past security and finding her near the tunnel before final warmups.

She sees you and her shoulders drop just slightly.

“Hey,” you say softly, sliding your hand into hers, grounding her with your touch. “You good?”

She breathes out, eyes flickering over your face. “I will be.”

You tug her in gently, press your forehead to hers in a way that says breathe, baby, just breathe.

“You’re ready,” you whisper. “You’ve been ready. This is your game.”

She nods slowly. “But what if—”

“No,” you say, a little firmer. “No ‘what ifs.’ You are Paige Bueckers. You are clutch. You are brilliant. And you’ve worked for this your entire life. There is no one I’d trust more with this moment.”

Paige exhales shakily, blinking fast like she’s trying to hold back the flood. You smile, brushing your fingers over her cheek.

“And no matter what happens,” you whisper, “you already won me.”

That earns you the smallest grin—crooked, warm, hers.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay. I got this.”

“Damn right, you do.”

You watch her walk back out with a different kind of fire in her step.

And you go back to your seat, clutching your knees, heart already pounding.

The game is tight from the beginning.

Tensions boil. The crowd is deafening.

Paige? Paige is dialed in.

First quarter—three assists, a steal, eight points including a no-look jumper that has the whole bench on their feet.

Second quarter—she gets knocked hard on a drive, pops right back up, grinning, drains both free throws without flinching.

You’re screaming with the rest of the arena. Hands on your head. Heart in your throat.

But it’s the fourth quarter where she becomes something else entirely.

Two minutes left. Tie game.

She sinks a dagger three from deep. Next possession, she steals a pass mid-air and drives it coast-to-coast, finishes with a smooth reverse layup. Crowd: unglued.

Paige: ice cold.

You? Crying. Yelling. Almost fainting.

Final possession. Opponents down two. Clock ticking.

They go for a desperation three.

Paige jumps—clean block.

Ball flies loose.

Buzzer.

Game.

Dallas Wings are WNBA Champions.

The court erupts.

Players tackle each other. Confetti rains down like stars.

And Paige?

She turns in a slow circle—searching.

Then her eyes land on you.

And without hesitation, she sprints across the court, cuts past cameras and chaos, and pulls you into her arms.

She spins you in a circle, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I told you,” you gasp into her ear. “You’re that girl.”

She pulls back, eyes glistening. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did this,” you whisper. “You earned every second.”

Suddenly, the announcer’s voice booms through the stadium.

“And your Finals MVP… PAIGE BUECKERS!”

She freezes, looks at you like she can’t believe it.

You just nod, eyes wet. “Go get your trophy, MVP.”

“Paige, you just won the championship and MVP in your rookie season. How does it feel?”

She smiles wide, wiping sweat and tears from her face.

“It feels… surreal. I’ve dreamed about this forever. But honestly? The best part is knowing the person I love is here tonight wearing my jersey. This win is for Dallas, for the team, for everyone who believed in me.”

Cue crowd losing their minds. Cameras swing to you, stunned in your seat, face in your hands, smiling like your chest can’t hold it all in.

@/paigebueckers: CHAMPIONS. MVP. But the biggest win of all is you in my corner, always. 💙 @/Y/Nofficial, this one’s for you.

@/Y/Nofficial: You blocked a game-winning shot and then stole mine and 20,000 people’s hearts. My MVP. Forever. 🏆

@/fan: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME PAIGE DEDICATED HER FINALS MVP TO HER GIRLFRIEND???? ENDGAME CANNOT STOP CRYING GETTING MARRIED WHEN??

It’s nearly 2 a.m. when you unlock the door to Paige’s apartment—your apartment now, too. Or at least it will be once the boxes arrive.

Your shoes are off before you’re even in the living room. Paige follows you in, still in her Finals Champion shirt, hair damp from a post-game shower and skin still carrying the shimmer of victory.

The silence in the apartment is almost jarring after the chaos of the last twelve hours. The echoes of cheering fans still ring in your ears, but now it’s just the hum of the fridge, the soft creak of hardwood under your feet, and Paige’s breath, steady but tired, behind you.

She drops her duffel bag by the door and sighs like her whole body is unraveling.

You don’t say anything at first. You just turn, hold your arms out, and wait.

She walks straight into them.

No MVP speech. No cameras. Just her forehead against your collarbone and your hands threading gently into her hair.

“I didn’t realize how tired I was,” she mumbles into your chest.

“I know,” you whisper back. “You held it together all night.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

You kiss the top of her head. “You don’t have to now.”

She melts into you.

You don’t sleep right away.

You sit on the kitchen counter while she eats leftover pasta cold from the fridge, and you sip sleepy tea while your voice goes soft and low.

You ask her what it felt like. The game. The title. The moment her name was called.

She shrugs, eyes still puffy, smile barely-there. “It felt… like everything. And nothing. Like a dream I’ve had since I was a kid. But when I looked up and saw you in my jersey? That’s when it hit me.”

You blink slowly. “What hit you?”

She leans in and kisses your knee. “That I’ve already won.”

You press your lips together to keep from crying again.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

She grins, sets her container down, and walks over to where you’re sitting. Her hands go to your hips, her forehead finds yours again.

“So what now?” she whispers.

“Now…” you hum, “we rest.”

“Together?”

“Always.”

She’s sprawled across your lap, her championship ring sitting on the coffee table beside your Grammy.

You trace patterns on her arm with your fingertips.

“Do you ever think,” she asks quietly, “about what it would’ve been like if we never bumped into each other in that club?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d still be singing about heartbreak and tequila. And you’d still be pretending you’re not the softest person alive.”

She grins and leans up to kiss your jaw.

“You saved me,” she says. “In a hundred ways I didn’t know I needed saving.”

“You found me,” you counter. “When I didn’t know I was lost.”

[asxgard]

Abbot(t) x reader idea where instead of Dana, it’s the reader that Javadi confides in after her awkward Matteo ask-out and after the reader gives her props for going for it and explains that she’s had a secret crush on Abbott for forever, Myrna (who sees and hears all) either 1) pipes up and tells her she’s seen Abbott checking her out or 2) stays quiet and tells Jack about it later. Or both haha. I just feel like Myrna is like 4th in terms of who knows the most about the ED gossip (after Perla, Princess, and Dana) lol.

These Walls Have Eyes | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: Rumors always start somewhere — and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and Myrna overhearing you.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Myrna sees and hears all, I agree with you lol I hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.1k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: foul language, age gap (if you squint), Myrna being Myrna, references to Pittfest, pining, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, alcohol

not beta read

“He’s like a human Utah.” Javadi told you, eyes wide and breathless.

You ushered her down the hall, smirking, “I know a thing or two about a Utah.”

She looked over at you and your cheeks warmed at the thought of Dr. Abbot. You typically worked nights with him, and it took forever to stop flustering whenever you were in his company. You thought you had finally gotten it all under control, but like Javadi, your Utah had a habit of making you feel like you weren’t getting enough air when your eyes met.

“I wish I had some advice, but frankly, mine still makes me feel like that. Even after all this time.” You smiled at her and patted her arm.

“Does he work here?” She asked, before quickly adding, “Or she?”

“He’s the chief attending the night shift,” you told her. “I don’t think you’ve met him yet. Dr. Abbot.”

She stared at you, blinking, “You’ve never said anything?”

You waved it off awkwardly, “Never felt like the right time.”

“Oh.”

“But your Utah?” You glanced over your shoulder to peek at Mateo through the window. “You shouldn’t wait too long like I did.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t think—”

Your laugh was light, “No rush, kid. I’m just saying you shouldn’t let it pass you by. Life’s too short.”

Javadi looked at you like she wanted to say something, but decided against it, before being pulled away by McKay. You let out a long sigh that made Dana steal a glance at you, raising a brow. You smiled at her to assure her you were fine, but your stomach felt tight.

“You know, that handsome doctor eyes you up any time you ain’t lookin’.”

You jumped, startled. You turned to see Myrna behind you, smiling devilishly.

“What even are you talking about?” You asked, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

She raised her eyebrows and wheeled closer to you, “I’m saying, sweetcheeks, that it’s not one sided.”

You had the urge to roll your eyes, mostly at the nickname, but also at any of it being truthful. Jack never gave any indication that he was emotionally available, let alone interested.

“Alright, Myrna, let’s get you—”

“I’m tellin’ you! Dr. Abbot totally—”

You were grateful that Perlah swooped in to help you, wheeling her away, sending a knowing smirk in your direction. You gave her a playful scowl — if anyone knew anything around the Pitt, it was Princess and Perlah. Though, you supposed you could add Myrna to the list now since she had clearly been able to be a fly on the wall enough to gain all that information.

Mind spinning with possibilities, you tried to busy your hands, throwing yourself back in the work.

—

Jack arrived to the Pitt right after he had heard it over the scanner, never one to wait. After a quick debrief, he set to work.

“Hello, Dr. Abbot.”

He didn’t need to look to know who it was, though he sent her a side glance while he prepped some suture trays. He looked around to find a nurse, hoping they would take Myrna upstairs quickly — though in all the chaos of moving patients upstairs, she clearly had slipped through.

“I overheard something today…” she trailed off, a smirk hinting at her lips. “About a certain nurse having a crush on a certain attending.”

That caught his attention, though he only spared her a look with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m quaking in anticipation.” He said dryly.

Her shoulders shrugged, “Thought you might be interested, you know, you do check her out every chance you get.”

He ignored the way heat invaded his chest, suddenly aware of the nurse in question. You. You who had been plaguing his mind since you started. You who always offered him a smile. You who matched his dry quips and cutting sarcasm with ease. You who offered easy banter over bad break room coffee. You who stood in his silences like it was something interesting.

Myrna grinned at him, “She was talking about you.”

His heart seized, but his training pushed it aside. No time to get soft when a mass casualty was about to burst through the doors.

—

The end of shift came slowly, but blurred together by the carnage and chaos. After working 15 hours, you felt heavy. Your bones ached and you felt painfully dehydrated. In the aftermath, however, your mind caught up with you and you remembered Myrna’s words. They echoed in the back of your head, playing on repeat.

Mateo offered for you to come to share a beer outside before heading home. Your eyes flickered between him and Javadi, and you grinned, accepting.

Javadi gave you a bashful look that quickly grew excited when she spotted someone behind you.

“Remember Utah? Might not be too late.” Javadi said, subtly gesturing behind you with her chin.

You turned and spotted Dr. Abbot. Your heart started racing and you swallowed thickly. When you looked back at Mateo and Javadi, they both were grinning at you like fools. Leave it to the rumor mill to spread your crush like wildfire.

Outside, Donnie passed you a beer and while it did not seem like your best decision, you opened it and took a sip. Laughing with your co-workers made your shoulders feel lighter, but everyone slowly began to depart until it was only you and Jack left.

You took Robby’s seat on the bench with him once he got up to leave. Your heart thrummed in the silence, beginning to overthink Myrna’s words. You could not get yourself to move, however, stuck to the bench, enjoying the company of the man beside you.

“I learned something interesting today.” Jack said into the quiet, fiddling with his beer like he was anxious.

You turned to look at him, appreciating the way the shadows highlighted your favorite features. His cheekbones and the stubble, half his face hidden in darkness, his hazel eyes appearing almost black.

Might not be too late, echoed in your mind.

“Not to come in on your day off?” You offered lightly.

He leaned forward just enough for the light from the streetlamp to illuminate him, and the smile you caught made the air get trapped somewhere in your lungs.

Exhaling a breath, he shook his head and looked over at you. “Something about a work crush.”

“Oh, yeah, she said something to me earlier.” Trying to hide the smile while anxiety invaded, you failed. “Something something an attending has been checking me out.”

“She must have eyes everywhere.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, unsure where to take the conversation. He didn’t deny it.

It was edging close to something dangerous, something where there was no turning back.

But maybe you didn’t want to risk it falling back to the status quo.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime?” You asked after a beat.

He answered immediately, “Yeah, I would.”

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

[frvnkcastles]

BREATHE ME IN SWEET SUFFERING ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: He needs to get back home to you.

Warnings: Violence, female reader (feminine nicknames used), SPOILERS FOR BORN AGAIN

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s note: We are so back. I enjoyed the finale tremendously and my best guy always delivers. That last scene really did something to me and I knew I had to do something with it. I’m also near the end of my semester so I’m hoping to post more frequently soon!! <3

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

You were going to be pissed. Or at the very least, upset in a way that ate at him from the inside. That was the only thing on his mind as he sat in that cage, chained and beaten. Well, the only thing of two — the other being how he would escape, but he supposed those two were interlocked. After all, his main motivation for escape was to get back home to you. He could still feel your lips on his cheek, your grip on his arm as you bid him goodbye, even after all the punches he had taken today; none of it was enough to wipe away the memory of your sweet touches, always so gentle and tender with him.

”What’s going on?” you asked him when he emerged from the bedroom, his vest strapped to his chest and his gun over his shoulder. He looked like a man on a mission, and that was nothing new to you, except just a moment ago he had been all wrapped up in your little bubble of domesticity, counting down the minutes until the homemade dinner you had prepared for him just because. Jesus, you were heaven-sent.

”Karen called”, he rasped, his voice heavy with the guilt of letting you down, ”needs me to save Red’s ass.”

”Oh.” He heard the disappointment in your voice, no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. ”Okay. Be safe”, you added with a smile, putting great effort into not letting your dismay show, but he saw right through you.

With a sigh, he dropped his bag and stepped over to you, his tall frame looming over you. He cradled the back of your head and pulled you in to kiss your forehead. ”Hey”, he said sternly, tilting his head down to look at you in the eye, a solemn look on his rough features. ”I ain’t bailin’, aight? Y’know you’re the most important thing I got, sweetheart. I’ll be back for dinner.”

You gave him a smile, nodding in understanding. ”Okay, Frankie. I’ll keep it warm for you”, you promised, and taking in a deep breath, appreciative of your eternal patience with his antics, he kissed your forehead again.

And then, he walked out of your shared home.

God, you’d have a field day with this, him in chains. You’d probably say something witty to call him out on his impulsive bullshit. But deep down, you’d be worried and do your damnedest to help, he knew that. The thought made him crack a weak smile to himself, the split on his lip stinging but it was a good kind of pain.

He knew he had to act, had to get out of there. The thought of you sitting at the dinner table all alone, anticipating when his key would turn in the lock, carved at his soul.

”How’s it goin’?” he spoke up in the silent room, calling out to the guard pacing outside his cage. The man, young and foolish enough to turn his attention did exactly that, stopping in front of Frank. ”What do, uh, what do they call you?” he continued, feigning interest in his keeper. He didn’t turn on the charm often — in fact, he reserved it for you and for very desperate situations, and undoubtedly, this was one. With no guns to his aid, he stooped to sweet-talking his way out. He had gotten pretty good at that with you.

”Anthony”, the guard responded cautiously.

”Anthony”, Frank parroted him, ”you got a last name?”

The guard didn’t hesitate, and Frank knew he was getting his hooks in. ”Anthony Petruccio”, he elaborated, and nodding in approval, Frank adjusted himself in the cage.

”There ya go. It’s a good name. It’s strong”, he licked his lips, a crooked smile on his lips. He grabbed the chains, pulling himself up, forced to crouch down in the cage that was by no means suitable for a man of his sheer size. ”Where you from, Anthony Petruccio?” he asked, prepared to go along with whatever the guard would tell him.

”Jersey.”

Watching him closely, Frank staggered to the front of the edge, a grin on his face. ”Ah, Jersey”, he chuckled, ”you know, I-I thought so. I had a feeling, y’know?”

The guard was eating it up, and he could tell. He made small-talk like it was second nature to him, saying exactly what Anthony wanted to hear. He could practically taste your lips, so close to breaking free and running back home to you.

”You, uh, you got a lady, Anthony?” Frank queried, tilting his head at the man as he knelt down at the front of the cage. When the guard nodded, he chuckled again. ”Yeah? Yeah, I, uh, me too. My girl’s waitin’ for me, y’know? Told her I’d be back for dinner. Missed it a few times too many, and I ain’t really a fan of lettin’ my gal down. I’m, uh, a man of my word, yeah?” he went on, emphasizing the soft side of him, hoping to appeal to Anthony — and it was working.

”You know a lil’ about me, Anthony?” he asked then, and when the guard confirmed, he chuckled, ducking his head like he was bashful. ”A little bit, yeah? Then you, uh, you gotta know that my girl, she’s a real one, y’know? Ain’t too many people in this world who’d deal with my bullshit, stick with me through everythin’”, he explained, and the soft nod he received in response told him enough. He had painted a pretty picture for Anthony, earned his pity.

”I ’preciate you givin’ me a minute like this”, Frank smiled at him, standing up but still crouching before sliding one chained hand out of the small opening in the front of the cage. ”It’s an honor to meet you”, he added, and that sealed the deal — Anthony walked over to him, taking Frank’s hand to shake it.

Frank thanked him. ”I really can’t let my girl down, Anthony”, he spoke finally, before twisting his arm. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and as Anthony collapsed against the cage, Frank yanked on his arm as hard as he could, slamming him against the metal over and over again. And then, he bent his arm down completely, breaking it for good.

Satisfied with himself, Frank grabbed the keys from him, and in a blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving only an empty cage and poor Anthony’s body behind. He made his way home, careful not to get caught again, his only objective to have you in his arms.

As soon as he was through the door, you were all over him. Panicked gasps enveloped him, your hands running across his face and body, assessing the situation. ”Oh my God, Frank, I—I was so worried. Are you okay? Well obviously you’re not, Christ! Baby, I was so scared, I saw the news and—and I just—”, you stammered, but he just shushed you, taking your shaky hands in his own and stopping you from fretting over him.

”Hey, hey, shh, shh. Sweetheart, I’m here. It’s alright, hey, don’tcha worry, darlin’”, he tried to reassure you, looking down at your horrified face. He knew his words probably didn’t mean much, the swelling on his barely gone down and the rest of him just as tortured.

”You can’t be serious”, you sighed softly, looking over his face, ”you look like someone put you in a blender, baby.”

Mustering a chuckle, Frank dropped his forehead against yours. ”I’m fine, sweetheart. Real fine now that I’m home”, he insisted, cradling your face to pull you into a tender kiss. You could taste blood on his mouth and your tongue swept across the cut on his bottom lip, but he didn’t falter, kissing you slow and deep.

When he finally pulled away, he kissed your forehead, smiling against your skin. ”Sorry I missed dinner.”

[tiredandsapphic]

candids

pairing 𖦹 precrash!lottie matthews x fem!reader headcanons summary 𖦹 every soccer player needs her support photographer an 𖦹 i didn't waste my money on art school to not write this (this is for all my photo nerds)

꩜ before you start dating you were just trying to take decent action shots for yearbook, but for some reason your lens keeps finding her. she's mid-kick, sweaty and flushed, and its perhaps the most perfect thing you've ever seen. lottie notices, you're not as subtle as you think, she meets your gaze though the lens one day and smiles, at you.

꩜ you don't notice you're stupidly head over heels for her until you find yourself sketching her. not on purpose— just small doodles in your notes as you let your film develop. or the time she talks to you when you're not out taking pictures, saying "I like the way you look when you're not hiding behind the camera." fuck, you like the yellowjacket's midfielder who happens to be dominating all your film.

꩜ you both find random reasons to talk to each other, opposite interests or not. lottie will find you in the dark room to return a lens shield you accidentally left behind on the bleachers. she'll end up talking to you for 45 minutes instead, your drying prints long forgotten. or you pull her aside claiming you need more portraits for the athlete section. you drag her to the art hallway to take photos, but end up sharing mixtapes and laughing for an hour. the next time you see her she casually mentions liking one of the songs you shared, you die.

꩜ you tried to keep it a secret, but its so painfully obvious. both your friends and her know something is up. you wear her letterman jacket way too often, she has your film canister keychain on her backpack.

꩜ when you guys actually date after long mutual pining, the rest of her friends tease her for having a 'personal paparazzi', and lottie just grins as if its the best thing she has ever heard.

꩜ you love to teach her about photography, and she loves to learn. one day you're teaching her how to load film, guiding her hands. she smells like cinnamon and grass, and you're just trying to explain the mechanism but you always fumble or just crack.

꩜ you call it 'hanging out' when you go to the darkroom together, but you're definitely making out in there. you've gotten so good at making it sound like you're talking about ISO or shutter speed when the sound of someone walks by.

꩜ you love to snap a photo of her before every game, for luck.

꩜ when they win, lottie immediately runs to you, picking you up and spinning you. the team calls it 'photographer privilege'.

꩜ leaving little film photos in her game bag, jacket or locker with notes on the back before games— stuff like '#5 looks so cute today' or 'win or lose, im still kissing you after'. she won't admit it, but it helps her improve dramatically.

꩜ lottie lovessss to steal your camera and says "your turn", taking photos of you. you groan, pretend to hate it— but melt when she gives you prints later or showers you in compliments. she won't let herself be the muse every time, even the artist deserves admiring.

꩜ she panics when you cry about your critique on your portfolio. but she'll hold you so gently, whispering that no one sees people the way you do. you panic whenever she gets injured in a game, you sprint from the sidelines— camera long forgotten— before the coach can even react.

꩜ she knows your favourite film stock. your favourite camera brand. she loves to buy you the newest camera, no matter the price. she assure you with kisses when you complain about the price, feeling guilty but "your talent is priceless" she always says.

꩜ in return you make her photo books/collage books for her. photos of her, of you one dates, and small souvenirs from such. long hand written letter on the back of photos— decorated with pressed flowers.

nsfw꩜ .ᐟ you'll take photos of her in her most vulnerable state— and she lets you. they drive you wild, your little secret, pieces of heaven for only you to see. they're like holy relics to you.

[utilitycaster]

I was working on a significantly longer post, but I wanted to give a very high level summary of why I think the Mighty Nein are the mechanically best party and Bells Hells the weakest across the three main campaigns. I'm not sure the longer post will be helpful or effective, but if you are interested in seeing, let me know! I might also just post the first page or so which covers the three intro bullets here in much more depth.

Mechanically good is to an extent a subject measure but I believe that a good character build is either incredibly versatile (easily capable of most if not all of melee, ranged, and area of effect damage; healing capacity; buffing/debuffing; and tanking; as well as having significant prowess in at least one or two areas of out of combat utility, eg, transportation spells, highly valuable skills like charisma-based skills, navigation, or stealth, etc) OR a pinnacle of specialization (extraordinarily high damage output per turn/extremely high HP and AC tank). As you can see this is not limited to combat.

Party mechanics include composition; five very high damage output characters with no healing is not a good party, even they are individually good mechanically. A good party has a balance of the combat skills discussed above as well as the ability to find things out both magically (things like identify, scry, detect magic, legend lore, comprehend languages) and nonmagically (language proficiencies and skill proficiencies); ability to infiltrate both through stealth/small creatures and through social engineering/subterfuge; and ability to travel of their own power across long distances and planes).

Mechanics are situational: all rogues is good for a heist but not for open field combat against a horde of undead (hence my prioritization of versatility). In general, overlap/redundancy is good (two healers means you’re fine if one is down) but exact replication is not.

The Mighty Nein are able to do pretty much everything given that all characters but Yasha have at least one mental stat at or above 16 and they cover all three mental stats; the women of the party all have impressive physical stats; two clerics and a heavily support-based wizard plus a strong melee line plus a paladin multiclass plus a rogue covers all the combat skills. Caleb and both clerics have transportation spells (teleportation circle, teleport, word of recall, plane shift), Jester has Scry, and she and Caduceus both use Commune, covering forms of information gathering. Caleb has a familiar, both Veth and Beau are extremely good at stealth, and several party members have Polymorph should they need to infiltrate; nearly the entire party has Disguise Self as well. Given the heavy focus on versatility across the board, there are few if any D&D situations in which the Mighty Nein would not excel, despite having fewer magic items than either of the other parties for much if not all of their campaign. Ashley’s absences early on were noted, but Fjord and Beau held up the melee line and served as tanks (HP and dodge respectively) and Jester was able to handle strength-based tasks. Caleb also meant the party nearly always had a relatively safe place to stay.

Vox Machina, were slightly weaker due to an arcane caster being played by a dickhead and subsequently being asked to leave, and due to Ashley’s frequent absences were also down a cleric much of the time. I have frequently praised Sam and Marisha’s immense versatility in how they adapted Scanlan and Keyleth to fill as many gaps as they could. Vox Machina lacked a number of core arcane spells and did not have the redundancy that the Nein had, and because Keyleth often had to serve as melee/secondary tank in wildshape that meant they were often without AOE. However, they too had good representation across all mental stats and physical stats; two extremely strong ranged damagers plus a shorter ranged damager plus Grog on melee and as an impressive tank; and a heavily support-focused character in Scanlan. Keyleth was able to fill nearly any role in combat as needed. Out of combat, she also served as their primary ride, with Plane Shift, Wind Walk, and Transport Via Plants. Scanlan was able to handle a great deal of social infiltration scenarios, and Vax, Vex, and Percy all could as well. While they lacked someone who could cast Comprehend Languages, Vex’s polyglot ranger build covered a great deal. And, notably, Vox Machina’s build worked for their story - they did not need the same degree of arcane knowledge because they were able to outsource that organically to Allura and Gilmore, with whom they had built deep relationships, and instead focused on hunting down artifacts, tracking down dragons, and dungeon crawling, for which the twins especially were well-suited. While I think Vox Machina would have struggled through Aeor, I think they could have managed admirably if they’d been able to take Allura.

Bells Hells had similar problems to Vox Machina in combat, except with 8 people rather than 6. FCG and Fearne both could heal, but FCG’s subclass and Fearne’s temperament both worked against them, as FCG’s subclass naturally drove them towards tanking damage - however, there were three other tanks, and a full-time healer who did not need to stop healing to deal damage to avoid taking damage would have been more useful with this party comp. Imogen and Laudna both primarily focused on single-target damage with almost complete overlap of their skill area, and Laudna especially had a build heavily focused on keeping herself up; this is not inherently bad (Caleb also had Blur and Shield) but sorcerer is also the caster with the least versatility. FCG and Fearne rarely used AOE (somehow, despite two people having it, Bells Hells cast fireball less than Caleb, and FCG rarely used Spirit Guardians). The party was also, in a heavily lore-focused campaign, lacking in any high intelligence characters and frequently were unable to make basic history, religion, or arcana checks. Fearne’s choice to take levels in Arcane Trickster were good character beats and even added some useful basic skills (Identify, Disguise Self) but as a result of her never taking levels in Druid above 10, she did not gain access to Transport Via Plants nor Plane Shift. If Imogen or Dorian took Teleport they did not use it, and neither Imogen, Laudna, nor Dorian took/used Teleportation Circle. Bells Hells were entirely dependent on the Staff of Dark Odyssey, which could only cast Teleport once per day and which had both a physical penalty and, it was implied, a higher chance of malfunction. In short: almost all of the party focused on damage output, without much in the way of buffs or debuffs Ashton’s abilities were unreliable; Orym and Chetney, despite being primary tanks/melee damage in a party with 4-5 primary casters ended up doing most of the debuffing through battle maneuvers and blood curses. There is a reason why it feels like so much of Bells Hells’ story is them being lore-dumped upon and ferried around; it is because they did not have the means to discover information or travel on their own power.

[itsjustevil]

From what I could glean

Zac: "I know a couple of people that might be able to help us." This implies his character will be one of the initiators of the plot, and also that he'll have connections.

Ally: "My grandma gave me a MASSIVE mech suit." Ally Beardsley Nepo Baby Arc? Have they became what they swore to destroy??? YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE!!? Jokes aside, that doesn't necessarily have to be the case, there are other circumstances one could receive a massive mech suit, but another thing to note is that their character sounds to be the youngest, just going off of line delivery. Possibly they could be more out of their depths than the rest of the class.

Emily: "I will entertain the idea of joining your crew." Immediately picking up on the accent, this is the easiest to get a feel of. Her character will be one of the ones that will be recruited. The separation between the plot's initiators and the recruited is important I think, there will be varied character motivations across the board. Emily's seem to most clearly need extra compensation. Perhaps she will simply be sold on whatever it is the gang are trying to accomplish, but it might be interesting if her goals are more monetary or self interested. Also, her character will likely be noted as one of the more competent members of the crew.

Sioban: "I think I gotta go on one last adventure." Implies age, implies previous adventures. We could be getting higher leveled characters here from the start. Perhaps there is an external reason that prompts this one last adventure, but it could be that she wishes to reignite her glory days, or that she feels like her work isn't just done that. She could also be saying this to someone to whom she's promised to settle down for, trying to justify why she needs to answer the Call to Action.

Lou: "Put it away, we're doing something miraculous." Tells us he cares deeply about what it is they're trying to accomplish. Most likely he is an initiator with Zac, perhaps he even came to Zac first. Also, the way he says "put it away," he is emphasizing the importance of the task at hand over something trivial someone else is doing, but the way he says it is gentle, giving my father figure vibes.

Murph: "Our father put our name in the sky!" Nepo Baby 2, Nepo harder. Way harder to refute than Ally. The use of Our implies siblings. Perhaps he is simply speaking on the behalf of his siblings, but more interesting, he could be speaking to his sibling. The way the line is delivered, his cadence, this is an important line, something that's going to mean a lot for a different character I believe, if we believe he is speaking to a sibling. The character he's speaking to will likely be someone who is going to be a part of the crew too. Either he is casting doubt on the decision to join the others, emphasizing their place belongs here, that they have a duty to attend to and can't go off on an adventure they might not return from, or that because of their legacy they must join this adventure, they must live up to this legacy. This is a wild hunch, but I think his sibling will be one of the other PCs. My bet is on Ally. Two Nepo Babies in one season? Coincidence? I think not. The dynamic could be very interesting, unlike something we've seen before. Could also be Lou, that would be another interesting direction. Also, there is a small chance that there is a completely different reading, that when he says Father, he means in a religious sense. Whatever the case, Murph's character is bound to be a very prideful man.

[whatifitis]

♡ pit in my gut, in the shape of you - CL 16

♡

Summary: After a disastrous breakup, you manage to pick yourself up again and reach goals you always thought were out of reach. But what do you do when you run into your ex who does everything in his power to tear you down? Could you ever love again? And do you see your friend the way he sees you?

Author's Note: Omg another one of my old fics 😍 This one is very reworked though. Also, this fic is very much focused on y/n HOWEVER if it is wanted, part 2 has a lot more Charles with a lovely connection :D

WC: 5999

CW: angst, breakup, mentions of depression and its symptoms, Calum Hood portrayed in a bad light (IM A 5SOS FAN PLS DONT HATE ME), a stupid man being mean as fuck, fluff if you squint

You two were best friends. Everyday, you were stuck to each other's side. Whether you were out on adventures, or just at home watching the worst rom-coms ever made. You never got sick of eachother. Forever stuck to each other by glue. 

You always feared that those who loved you would eventually grow to hate you and get annoyed by you. That even the little things you did would result in them leaving, because they have before. But he never left. He stayed by your side for 3 summers. 

But then something changed. He stopped asking you about things; your interests, your days, your work. He stopped kissing you goodnight. He stopped bringing you lilies, your favorite flower. And one day, he just seemed to stop loving you. He left without a word. All he left in your two bedroom apartment was a note saying “I can’t do this anymore”. 

You had noticed the change in his behavior, but you thought, hoped, it was just a rough patch that most couples go through. You thought everything would go back to normal. You thought that if you tried enough, he would stay. You stopped going on tangents about anything and everything. You took on less hours at work to try and cook for him everyday and be present. You tried to make plans with him. But he still wouldn’t give you the time of day. You began to wonder what you did wrong. Where did it go wrong?. Did youtalk too much? Did he start to think your obsession with things was weird or childish? Or did he simply just fall out of love with you? What could you do to change and bring him back? 

The day he left was the day your whole world fell apart. You quit your job, stopped taking care of yourself, and stopped seeing your friends and family. Those around you grew worried, but there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t get you to eat, bathe, or even open the door to your shared apartment. 

2 years have passed and you have managed to move on. Now you have a new amazing job that you love and some new friends that you care for and know that they care for you as well. You moved out of the two bedroom apartment you once shared with your past lover, and moved into a one bedroom apartment that you absolutely adore. You decorated it to be somewhat like your dream apartment. You’ve got bookshelves lining a whole wall, the bookshelves filled with all of your favorite books and some memorabilia you’ve gathered from traveling and from sharing memories with friends and family. The rest of your walls are filled with posters and pictures of things from your interests to friends and family. 

After all this time, you still fear that if you put yourself out there, that people will start leaving you again. You truly don't think you can go through the heart break again. You’ve closed yourself off in some ways. You stopped sharing your interests with people. When asked about your day, you keep it to a minimum. If you saw a rat on the subway on your way to work, you would say so. But you would refrain from talking about how it was the size of your arm and that it was carrying 2 slices of pizza on its back. Something else that you had started doing that you hadn’t noticed was that you started dressing in more bland colors. No more rainbows, sparkles, odd patterns, but more basics in black, white and beige. All the colors and patterns can come off too strongly to some people, better to keep the brightness to a minimum. But you’re happier now. Happier than you were 2 years ago at least.

You now work at the biggest music production company in the country, hoping that one day, you will be able to touch people's hearts with your music and inspire others to follow their dreams, just like you had. One day, as you were on the way to a coffee shop during your break, you saw him. You saw his brown curly hair and his favorite jacket, the one you used to wrap yourself in on cold nights spent with him, walking along the riverside and just talking. He was waiting in line to order his favorite, an iced latte and a slice of banana bread. 

As you stood and stared in the doorway, you saw someone walk up to him and wrap an arm around his waist. She’s blonde and absolutely gorgeous. Probably the most beautiful woman that you’ve ever seen. Whilst you examine the woman, you notice something on the woman's finger. A ring. An engagement ring. Simple, but elegant. 

You debated whether you should leave or stay and pretend you didn’t see anything, as if the scene before you isn’t killing you on the inside. Before you could make your decision, he turned and spotted you. He stared at you from across the room, almost as if he was trying to place where he knew you from. The woman whispers something into his ear and he looks down at his fiance and laughs. 

You stood there, motionless, wondering did he forget me? Is it that easy to forget me? What we had? Or did he just not want to acknowledge me? How could he move on so easily? So quickly?

It was now your turn to order, so you stepped up to the cashier and ordered your usual,  an iced coffee and a cheese danish for yourself, as well as an americano and blueberry muffin for a friend of yours. Once you’d paid, you stepped to the side and waited for them to call your name, indicating that your order was ready. As you waited, you tried your best to not acknowledge him. You didn’t look in his direction and didn’t stand near them. But he kept taking small glances at you. You didn’t understand why he was doing this. Was it to see if you were jealous? If you were still heartbroken? Maybe he was trying to get a rise out of you. 

After some time, your name was called by one of the barista’s so you made your way to the counter and picked up your order, walking out the door as fast as you could. As soon as you stepped out the door, it felt like you could finally take the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. Taking the first steps back to work, you looked back at him, but he wasn’t looking. Instead, he was pulling the woman, his fiance, close and kissing her, as if he knew you were watching, wanting to make you feel some way. 

As soon as you got back to work, you dropped off the muffin and coffee at your friend's desk. As you were making your way back to your desk, one of your company's clients and a close friend of yours, the one she had bought a muffin for, walked up to you and told you that her boss wished to speak to her. Charles gave her a shy smile as he walked away. You raced to your boss’ office where you were told that you had to write a song for one of your favorite artists. You were told to write a ballad about heartbreak, a song that would make people's hearts sink when they listen to the song. You told her boss that it was no problem, not wanting to be a disappointment. 

Immediately, you got to writing. You sat in one of the small studios in the building and began writing. You wrote down various lyrics as you played various chords on the piano. You worked for hours on end until the sun began to rise again. You hadn’t eaten or slept, but you believed you had written one of her favorite songs yet. It was something you held close to your heart and you prayed it was good enough. 

Once you had finished writing the song, you noticed it was 5 am. You decided to race home quickly to refresh and then come back to the studio to show your boss the song you had just written, to get their input. To say you were nervous was an understatement. As much as you loved your job, you hated having to share your work, for fear it would not be well received. You were afraid that the songs you worked on wouldn't be enough. But you pushed through your doubts, because at the end of the day, if you don't believe in yourself, then no one will. 

You played the song for your boss, and they loved it. They told you to immediately record a demo of it and send it to the client. With that, you got to work. Stepping into one of the studios, you found Charles, the blueberry muffin lover. You immediately raced to him with excitement, telling him about how your boss had loved the song you had written and wanted you to record a demo for it and send it to the client, who just so happened to be your favorite artist.

“That’s amazing, ma cherie! I’m not surprised honestly, you’re an amazing songwriter and musician. It was only a matter of time before your talent was recognized.” he smiled softly at you. 

With the help of a producer, you recorded the demo and had it sent to the client, who absolutely loved it and wanted it to be the first single off their new album. You were ecstatic because not only did you love it, but so did your boss and your favorite artist. Soon after, the client came to the recording studio in the building and started recording the song with your help  and a few producers' help. 

Once you had finished recording the song, the client stood there in silence. You felt like you were melting in that studio, full of people you respect and admire. What if it turned out that the client didn’t like the song anymore? That they didn’t want it anymore? What if they wanted someone else to write a song for them? What if you really weren’t good enough? 

Finally, the client spoke, looking right at you “You know,  I don’t think I’m doing this song justice. I think you should record it, properly, and release it under your name. You’ve got an amazing voice and incredible song writing skills. I don’t think it’s fair of me to take this song from you.” 

You thought you were being messed with but after a few moments, realized that the client was being serious. It took a bit of convincing, but you agreed to release this song under your own name, totally not due to peer pressure. Of course you were shitting bricks at the thought of putting yourself out there as a singer, but it was something you were excited for? For the first time in a long time, you felt like you were on the right path. 

Leading up to the release of your first single, there were countless meetings and dinners with important people. People who had power and influence in the music industry. People that she had only dreamed of working with, never thinking it could be real. So many contracts that had to be signed. You began to doubt whether it was something you were worthy of. All these people were taking a big risk in working with you. What if you turned out to be a waste of time, money, and effort. 

One specific day, while you worked with lawyers and managers on getting your new career started, you stepped out of your office building to take a breather and gather your thoughts. But, as you did, you saw him, Calum Hood. The man who broke with silence all those years ago. He’s standing there with his big brown eyes looking directly at you. The two of you stood there staring at each other, 8 feet apart, not saying a word. 

After what seemed like hours, he walked to you, not breaking eye contact. Your heart started racing, wondering why he’s here, why is he walking towards you. As soon as you were in arm's reach of each other, he handed you an envelope. You reluctantly took it from his hand and saw your name written on the front, in beautiful cursive. 

“It’s an invitation… to my wedding. It’s in a few months and I want you there. I know I kinda left abruptly and you’re probably pissed at me, but I hope between now and the wedding, we can reconnect and be happy for eachother. I mean I’m engaged now and you’re obviously seeing someone.”

You were taken back by this comment, why does he think I’m seeing someone? 

He sees the confusion on your face “At the coffee shop, you ordered two drinks and two pastries. I assumed that you were getting it for your partner.” 

When he said this, you thought shit but you also thought, since he’s moved on, you should pretend that you have too. 

You looked back up at him and said “Yeah, I’m seeing someone. I met him here at work a couple years ago.” 

“Great, I’m glad we could both move on and be happy for eachother. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat or a coffee sometime. We can catch up and reconnect?” 

You agreed. You were curious as to why he left that day. It has been in the back of your mind for the past 2 years. Why not take this chance to find out? Setting a time and date to meet, you said your goodbyes to each other. 

For the next week, you worked and worked, trying to get your new life in order. PLacing everything where you wanted it to be or where it needed to be. All of this was so new to you and now your ex has been thrown back into the mix. You were actively trying not to drown, clawing at the waves to survive. 

You made your way to the coffee shop you and Calum had agreed to meet at. As soon as You walked in, you saw him sitting at a table in the corner. He smiled and waved you over. You walked over and sat down, noticing that he had already ordered for the both of you. In front of you, on the table, sat your favorite drink, but it was hot. You hated hot drinks. Even when it was freezing outside, you always ordered cold drinks. A pastry sat next to the drink, it was a pastry that you’d never tried. 

“I remember these were your favorites. I’m not sure if they still are but hopefully you still like them.” 

“Yeah, thanks” you said, plastering on a smile. You hated that you still loved him, after all this time. Even after he got your coffee order wrong and claimed it was your favorite. 

The two fo you sat there in silence wondering where to start. 

“So uh, how have you been since… you know” Calum says, giving you a toothy smile. 

“Since you left me out of the blue? Yeah I’m doing pretty good” you said with a laugh, almost masking the pain that still pierces your being. 

He lets out a chuckle

“I’ve got a new job, new apartment, new partner. I guess you could say I’m doing great. How about you?” you asked the man before you. 

“Yeah, I’ve been good. I got a big promotion, new house, and I’m getting married to an amazing woman.” 

When he said this, you felt your heart sink into your stomach. 

“Tell me about her.” you said

“Well, she is a nurse. During her free time, she volunteers at an animal shelter. She’s constantly bringing home stray animals as well, hoping she can find them new homes. One of the things I love about her. She uh, she also loves painting. She’s constantly painting something new. We have about 20 of her paintings around the house.” he says with a smile on his face. “She’s literally the perfect woman. I love everything about her. But enough about me. Tell me about your guy. What’s he like?” 

You panicked when he said this. You don’t have a guy. So you thought of someone you could describe, Charles. 

As you begin speaking, you unconsciously smile “Um, well, he’s a driver, like he drives in Formula 1. We met at work when he was looking for a company that could help him bring his compositions to life. We sort of hit it off from there. He plays the piano like it's no one's business. He can also play the guitar and he’s an amazing musician overall. He’s like a chess genius and one day he ran into the studio and told me about a great idea he had. He wanted to use the sounds of chess pieces hitting the board in a song. I mean it’s not a crazy idea. Billie Eilish used an Australian crosswalk sound for a song. Why can’t we use chess piece sounds?” You laugh when you say this, thinking about how absurd it is that Charles comes up with these ideas just out of the blue. 

You continued “He loves getting up early in the morning and going to watch the sunrise. And he loves cooking. He makes the best pesto dishes. Any dish with pesto, he can make into something you can only dream of eating. You should come over one day and try it.” 

“I’d love to. We should all get together one day and have dinner. My fiance and I and you and your mate.” 

“Yeah, just let me know when you two are free. Charles and I are usually only busy during the day.”

“I’ll check with my fiance but yeah, I’ll let you know. What else have you been up to? Any gossip going around that you can share? I’m sure there’s a ton with the amount of celebrities you work with.”

You hate that he’s asking this. You used to tell him everyday that you did not feel comfortable sharing anything you ever heard at work, as it was not any of your business and you wouldn’t want your business being aired out either. 

“Not so much gossip that I can share but, I am currently in the process of releasing a song.” “Really?” he asks in a doubtful tone. “That’s… amazing! I know how much you wanted to be a big song writer, and now you’re gonna be a big star.”

“I’m not so sure about being a big star.”

“Oh no, believe me, you are gonna go on to play in stadiums and sell out tours, and win awards. Trust me, I know you, and I know how talented and hard working you are. You’re gonna be the biggest star anyones ever seen." His tone makes him seem like he’s being sarcastic. 

You feel your cheeks turn red, not from flattery, but from anger? Embarrassment? He never once said he believed in you when the two of you were together. Never once stated that you were talented. Always changing conversation topics when you would bring up your work. 

“Thank you. I’m really excited for this next step in my life.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m glad we saw each other that day, and that we can talk now. And again, I’m sorry for leaving abruptly all those years ago. I’m not sure what exactly happened but, I’m sorry. I really am” he says. But, you’re finding it hard to believe him. You don’t think he’s actually sorry for his actions. 

“It’s okay. Things happen. People change and there’s nothing we can do about it. Listen, it’s getting late and I should get going, but let me know when we can all sit down and have dinner.” 

“Yeah of course, take care.”

The two of you  stand up and hug before leaving. As soon as you touch, you remembered what it felt like to be with him. Unconsciously, you sank into his arms immediately, not wanting to let go. For a second, you hoped that time would freeze. That you could be his for even another minute. Maybe there’s a chance he could love you again, like you weren’t hopeless. Maybe you could be enough this time. But eventually, you did part. You two walked out of the shop together and then went different directions. 

As soon as you got home, she panicked thinking I gotta talk to “my guy”. You pick up your phone and text Charles, asking him to meet you in front of her apartment building in an hour. He fortunately agrees without questioning it. 

An hour later, you meet Charles at the front of your apartment building. “Hey, What’s up? Are you okay? Why’d you need to meet so soon?” he says while walking up to you, worry sketched into his face. 

“Well you see, I may or may not have bumped into my ex who is now engaged and then talked to him and now he thinks that I’m also seeing someone when I’m not because I need him to think that I have moved on because he moved on and he invited me to his wedding and he needs to think I’ve moved on and that I’m happy.” “I-. Seems like you’ve gotten yourself in quite the predicament.” he lets out a small laugh. “But why do you need me, specifically?”

“I need you to pretend that we’ve been dating for like a year and maybe, possibly, pretty please, be my date to their wedding.” “Oh.” he laughs “I mean, sure. I’m down to help you out. Let me know what our story is so that I can get into character” he jokes. 

“Really? Are you sure? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know this is a weird request and stuff.” you explain, beginning to regret your decisions and panicking a bit. 

“Yeah. I’m totally down. It actually sounds kind of fun, almost like I’m crashing a wedding but I'm not. I also sort of owe you for all the help at work. I wouldn’t have been able to get some of those projects done so quickly without you.” 

“Oh, yeah that was no problem. But are you really sure you’re okay with helping me with this?”

“Most definitely. Text me the details when you can. We can begin scheming.” he tells you as he begins to walk away.

Before he disappears from view, you shout back a reply “Alright. Thanks Charles, I really appreciate it.” 

As he turned around, you swore you saw his eyes twinkle. 

Once he’d turned a corner, you went back up to your apartment and took a breath and wondered what the hell did I get myself into. 

A month has passed and it’s time for all four of you to have dinner together. You all met at your apartment. Since you've been working every hour of every day, your “partner” arrived at your apartment ahead of time so that he could prepare dinner for everyone. 

Calum and his fiance, Kayla, arrive and you all gather around the table and begin to eat. You all make small talk with each other, starting with whatever is on the news. As time went on, you all began to feel comfortable enough around each other to talk about what’s happening in your lives and how everyone knows each other. As far as Kayla knows, you and Calum were friends a few years back til work got in the way and you just lost touch.

Throughout the whole dinner, Calum tries to steal glances at you, but you don't give in. He tries grazing your leg with his foot but you ignore it. You don't understand why he’s doing this. He’s happily engaged with a new job and new house. 

Charles soon notices how uncomfortable you are and tries his best to subtly comfort and reassure you. Charles pulls your chair a little closer to himself, not realizing that he’s just saved you from having that man touch your leg again. He asks you if you’re okay and you tell him that you’re fine, giving him a smile that he can see right through. 

You all talk and laugh all night until it’s time for Calum and Kayla to go home. The couple say their goodbyes and leave, thanking you and Charles for hosting and cooking. 

Charles stays back and helps you clean for a bit, even after you’d reassured him that you could do it yourself. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks you. 

“Yeah, I just- It was just weird, the whole dinner thing.” you try to brush him off. But he doesn’t let up. 

“Don’t lie to me. I could see how visibly uncomfortable you were. Was he doing something to make you uncomfortable?”

“No, he didn’t do anything. Please just drop it. It’s been a long night.” you say, feeling exhausted. 

“Fine. But this conversation isn’t over yet.” he says as he begins to walk out. 

“Thanks.” you call out to him before he can walk out the door. “For helping me and for cooking dinner tonight. I really appreciate it. The pesto was really good. And thanks for checking up on me, you didn’t need to.” you try to put on a smile for him. But he can’t help but see right through it, and knows right now isn’t the time to push you to talk yet. 

He simply nods and tells you “It was no problem. I’m always here if you need anything.” He smiles at you as he walks out the door. 

A few hours later, you're in your apartment, getting ready for bed when all of a sudden, there’s a knock at your door. You walked to the door to see who could possibly be knocking at your door so late at night. You look through the peephole of the door to see Calum. You weren't sure what to do. Not only did you feel exhausted, but you also wanted to know what was going through his head, why was he here? 

Opening the door, you tell him to come in and ask him why he’s back here at your apartment, especially so late at night. 

He looks at you and just says “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I’ve loved you since the first night I met you. I never stopped loving you.” You’re confused and angry. He left you, out of the blue, and immediately got into another relationship. He made you feel small and foolish. He made you feel unlovable. Unworthy. He made you question your worth for so long. You had to fight claws and chains to come back from the depths of darkness that he threw you in. 

You look him in the eyes and ask “Then why did you leave?”

He holds your stare and says “Because I was an idiot. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“You didn’t know what you wanted? Really? That’s your answer?”

“Well it’s not like it’s entirely my fault that our relationship ended the way it did. I mean, you had as much of a role in our demise as I did.”

“Excuse me?” You can’t believe him and his audacity “Tell me, what the fuck did I do that made our relationship end? Please, tell me. Go on then.”

“Well I mean, for starters, you were always talking about yourself. You know what, no, you just were always talking. Nonstop. It’s like you couldn’t stand the fucking silence or letting someone else talk. Like who cares if you saw a rat on the subway. It’s New York City for fucks sake. That shit happens everyday.”

“What else?” you asked, trying to keep the tears from falling. 

“You are always so full of yourself. You really think you’re talented? You really think you can amount to something? You write songs. Woo fucking hoo, congratulations. Millions of people can do that, it doesn’t make you special. Just because you got given this new career, doesn’t mean shit. Talentless people make and release music all the time. It doesn’t mean shit. When are you gonna realize that you don’t matter. That people aren’t going to love you like I do.”

“Stop spewing that shit at me. You have no right to say that.”

“No, I have every right considering I wasted so many years on you.”

Eventually, you lost it. Tears were streaming down your face and you stopped holding back.

“I was a fool for loving you and thinking you loved me too. I did everything for you. Everything I did was all for you. But it didn’t mean shit to you. You kept me waiting for your love for years. And I acted like it was fine, like I was fine. I thought maybe someday you’d come around and that it would be something we laughed about when we were older. But I finally learned my lesson. I was naive and foolish to think you could ever love anyone but yourself.”

“Stop with the theatrics for god's sake. All you needed to do when we were together was give me space and be chill and hold your fucking tongue. I’m trying to give you a chance with me again. Just take me back and we can pretend this never happened. You can have a purpose in life again.”

You stare at him not knowing what to say or do, feeling trapped. You can’t believe this man, coming into your home and saying that shit. You can’t believe that at one point in time, you loved him. 

“Go.” you tell him. 

“What the fuck are you saying.”

“Go, get out. Get out of my fucking apartment, I never want to see you again.” You yelled as you pointed towards the door. He looked at you in disbelief “I walk out that door, then this is over for good.” He gestured between you two, “You won’t get another chance.”

“Leave. I don’t need you or your stupid ego.”

“Fine, just remember that you did this to yourself. Have fun spending the rest of your life alone and unsuccessful. No one in hell will be stupid enough to love you, at least not like I did.” 

He walked out of the apartment as you slammed the door shut. 

You had a lot of regrets in your life. But your biggest regret was him. You regretted putting him on such a pedestal. For treating him like he was the sun. For years, you watched him as he tolerated you. You were such a fool for him. You waited patiently, but you were never enough for him. You don’t think anyone will ever be enough for him. 

The whole time he spoke and bashed you, you thought that maybe he’ll never be satisfied. He could have the perfect life with a perfect house and perfect wife and perfect family. But at the end of the day, he will always want more. 

After years of doubting yourself, putting yourself down and believing every word he ever said to you about you, you’re finally at a place where you can confidently say that someday, you will be everything to somebody else. This person will think you’re so exciting. This person will never cease to amaze you. This person will always love hearing you talk, hearing you laugh, wanting to bottle up the sound so that he can listen to it whenever he wants. 

Your first single made it to the top 10 on the charts. YOur schedule was booked full with interviews from various magazines and entertainment channels. Everyone kept asking you “When’s the album coming out?” “Who's the song about?” “Is there a potential love interest in your life right now?” “This man claims the song was written about him, is it true?”. Millions of questions, some that you refused to answer. 

Your first few months of fame were chaotic to say the least. The only time you felt at peace and like you could be yourself was when you were in the studio where you first wrote the song. Oftentimes, you would sit in that studio and just sit in silence, savoring the calm. As you were about to close your eyes and take a little nap, you heard a knock on the door. You call out to the person behind the door stating that they could come in. The door opened and you saw that it was your “partner”. You smiled as Charles walked in, taking a seat next to you. 

“So, how’s fame treating you?”

“It’s pretty tiring if I’m honest.” you laughed.

“It looks tiring.” he laughs with you, “Why are you here alone? Shouldn’t you be mingling with the big names right now? You know, out partying and stuff.”

“Not my kind of thing. How are things with you? What have you been up to?”

“Just the same old stuff. The only difference is that my projects are getting out slower now that my writing partner is big and famous.” he says jokingly. 

“Writing partner? Really? Since when did I get promoted to your “writing partner”?”

“I’m only joking. But yeah, it’s not the same around here without you, cherie.” he smiles softly at you “I never got to check up on you after that dinner. Are you okay?”

“Well I mean, I’m as okay as I can be. No one really teaches you what to do when a “good man” hurts you, so.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. He seems like an ass. ”

“You only met him once.” you stated, letting out a small laugh. You continue “Yeah, you know what’s crazy? He came back to my apartment a few hours after dinner.” “Why? What did he want?” 

“He just asked for me to take him back, and when I said no, he told me it wasn’t just his fault that we ended the way we did. He said it was also my fault. He also said some other fucked up shit but, it doesn’t matter. He was right.”

“Whatever he said, that night, don’t believe him. You guys ended because he’s a dick, not because of anything you did.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“No, I don’t. But I do know you. I know you, ma belle. You are a talented songwriter. You are a hardworking person with so much fire and passion. You are someone who never gives up. Someone who will put others before herself. Someone who is unstoppable. Someone who loves unconditionally and is also unconditionally loved. Someone who remembers everyone's favorite order at the coffee shop so that no one feels left out. Someone that people look up to and admire. You are worthy of all the good in the world. I know who you are. ” You look at him, wondering if you really are worth it. 

But you simply replied “Thank you.”

When you’re left with your own thoughts, you start to wonder, would you be able to sail through the changing ocean tides? Maybe. Would she be able to handle the seasons of your life? Maybe. 

All you know is that you’ll always believe in yourself. Believe that there are people who love you. That supports you. That appreciate you. That see you, for who you truly are. For as long as you live, there will always be people in your corner, even when you don’t think they should be. So, maybe one day you’ll find your person. Maybe one day you’ll build a life with this person. Maybe one day, you will believe it when someone says they love you. 

Maybe one day.

[contract-crawdad]

Apartment 21 Theories and Headcanons

Let’s overthink Lyle’s weird as hell living space.

First off! The titular Lyle! Going to try to keep this section limited to what we can learn about Lyle through his apartment rather than just thoughts about Lyle himself, as he is possibly the single most-discussed character in the whole game. And we can infer a lot!

Jeanne’s dialogue confirms that apartment 21 is actually Lyle’s apartment, seeing as she does consider him her neighbor. It’s not a situation where Lyle moved into someone else’s abandoned apartment after the apocalypse started.

The D&D M&W stuff makes it clear that Lyle’s a fan of tabletop games! Do you suppose he’s part of an ongoing group, or is he looking for people to play with? It can be so hard to find a local playgroup! I like to think he and Edwin had a group going, maybe with a few other astronomers involved.

Considering we get the crossword book from him but also that it’s completely unstarted, I assume that it’s one of those things that’s he’s been meaning to get around to but never quite found the time (been there, buddy).

We can find anxiety meds in Lyle’s bathroom! Which is a minor if interesting detail. Lyle really does get more and more relatable.

Funnily enough, one thing that we don’t see in his apartment that we should be in there is the zoom lens that Edwin’s loan log says Lyle is currently borrowing! But considering his partly mechanical form, it’s possible that the zoom lens is simply part of his body now.

Lyle’s dark room! I’d wager Mr. Henderson wouldn’t exactly approve if it’s existence if he were to ever find out. This strikes me as something that breaks some kind of agreement found in you average renter’s agreement.

Notably you can only ever access the dark room if you kill Lyle to get the key! He doesn’t grant you entry under any circumstance, and it’s not exactly hard to see why considering what his ‘special project’ is.

On that note, Lyle will never attack you! It is impossible to get him to be the one to instigate a fight, you have to attack him out of the blue.

The photos of Sam make it clear that Lyle’s affection for Sam isn’t a new development by any means.

More concerningly, though, is the key you can find between two of the bookshelves. It’s SAM’S apartment key, which the more eagle-eyed and elephant-memoried of you out there will recall is the spare that’s missing from the plant outside Sam’s apartment! It’s dubious as to whether or not Lyle has ever used the key.

As far as I’m aware, the key has no actual purpose other than to serve as an ominous reminder of Lyle’s obsession.

What the fuck is Lokjaw’s deal. Seriously. Lyle. Why do you have a man in your unlocked closet? I can excuse the hamburger man you have locked in your bedroom (we’ll get to him), but this is just ridiculous.

My thought on why Lokjaw hasn’t just left the (completely unlocked) closet is because their mental state has deteriorated to the point where they cannot operate a door. Maybe they don’t even recognize that a door is a thing that leads to another place anymore.

But that’s assuming Lokjaw was ever human to begin with! I’ve seen theories that they were Lyle’s dog (credit to @crankyteapot once more), which would explain the mutant’s posture, strange lower jaw, and why they’re in Lyle’s closet in the first place!

But considering that there’s no dog bowl, no collar, and no reaction from Lyle if you kill Lokjaw? I’d wager that if they are a dog, they’re not Lyle’s dog, but rather just some random already-mutated dog he came across! It went sniffing around the closet and Lyle just shut the door behind it. This making it a problem for future Lyle.

Lokjaw does drop raw pork if you kill it, which is… hmm. Something.

I… don’t think there’s any pleasant explanation as to why it drops raw pork actually.

Something about Lokjaw, whether human or canine, makes me think they had a very nervous disposition. There’s something so defensive about their posture, and their facial expression seems so scared! Unfortunately for us, this translates to the mindset of ‘kill the thing that is scaring me’.

Unfortunately, the reason for Tumorhead’s presence in apartment 21 isn’t any clearer than Lokjaw’s! If anything it’s stranger because he’s in what appears to be Lyle’s bedroom, and he’s even locked in there by those strange fleshy growths.

On thing IS clear: the hamburger found around the room is pretty clearly implied to be meat that’s fallen off of a Tumorhead himself, judging by what happens in battle. Sam is the bravest man alive for taking this meat and cooking it.

@crankyteapot pointed out a few visual similarities between Tumorhead’s clothing and the Onlookers, and I could see there being a connection!

I really love the idea that Tumorhead, having looked outside but while still human, stumbled drunk into Lyle’s apartment and collapsed into his bed (with Lyle being too timid to correct them). The poor guy nursing a splitting headache that manifested very viscerally as his metamorphosis completed in his sleep.

Located in Lyle’s bathroom, we finally have an easy-to-explain mutant presence! The broken-down door makes it pretty clear that this guy forced his way in from F1 through Lyle’s shortcut.

Since this guy is pretty clearly implied to be from F1, I wonder if he has any association with that one gigantic eye in the unnumbered rooms? On one hand there’s some surface level similarities, but on the other hand Eyecluster’s eyes are functionally distinct: they’ve been modified into acid-launchers and it’s unclear if he can still see out of any of them!

My favorite detail is how Eyecluster’s posture seems off balance from the sheer volume of eyes he has, it’s a neat touch that conveys just how ungainly their newly added parts are! And I adore how the Visitor’s effects clearly don’t care about what an organ USED TO do. Your eyeballs spit acid now. Your hair can eat things. Your tongue is easier to get around on than your legs.

This is nothing but pure headcanon, but I like to think that on the morning Eyecluster beheld the Visitor, he woke up wearing contact lenses that he’d left on overnight by mistake. The unpleasant sensation in his eyes ended up heavily influencing the results of his transformation.

It’s what you all came here for, it’s LYLE BATHTUB THEORY TIME!!

So. Lyle’s bathtub. It’s weirdly long, right? And that’s not just sprite perspective weirdness! The comically long bathtub has actual inspection dialogue that reads ‘huh this thing is long as hell, weird huh?’ and it also points out that the whole room looks stretched. Sure enough, the less conspicuous but still very conspicuous counter across from it is also weirdly long!

But why? I’ll tell you why. I think Leigh stretched Lyle’s bathtub. it’s not what’s INSIDE the bathroom, but rather OUTSIDE!

The other side of the south bathroom wall is the hallway where Leigh chases you. You know, the hallway that she supernaturally lengthened so she could have more fun chasing Sam. Not only that, but this chase is required in order to access Lyle’s apartment in the first place, you cannot access Lyle’s bathroom without having done the Leigh chase!

So Leigh’s space-warping chase tunnel seems to have had some lasting effects on the adjoining rooms! Which makes sense. Sure, Leigh has some kinda of vague elongating powers, but you can’t tell me she knows how they work or how to use them in a way that doesn’t have some lingering effects.

Hopefully it’s helpful to Lyle! I mean, he’s larger now. He definitely would not fit comfortably into a normal bathtub, but on the other hand it’s also questionable if he even can bathe, what with all his mechanical parts.

[calmlb]

Higuchi’s Unrevealed Ability

my theory on what it could be…

i think that Higuchi’s ability will be called “Takekurabe” (Growing Up/Child’s Play) after her most famous work, and i believe it might have something to do with reincarnation. here’s why…

in this official art she is featured with red spider lilies, which are symbolic of death, but are also thought of as a bridge between heaven & earth…a reminder of the “cyclical nature of life & death”

Takekurabe also explores themes such as how life is fleeting. & also abt being forced into a role that you didn’t want, or wouldn’t have chosen for yourself

(plus potential foreshadowing: in this official art, Higuchi is surrounded by pinwheels— which symbolize childhood, but also the cycle of life, & the buddhist teaching of reincarnation)

back to reincarnation…

after being told that Akutagawa may never wake up, she reached out to him & a glow appeared around her hand— like she was activating an ability— before pulling away bc she remembered that he didn’t want her (or anyone’s) help

but this means that she’s able to give help in this sort of situation

additionally, the fact that she almost always appears in official arts w Akutagawa indicates that she will probably use her ability on him at some point, which makes sense considering his terminal condition

(note the pulse in the background, his bright eyes, & her white suit)

because we have yet to see her use her ability, i’m assuming that she can only use it once, so she’d be giving up her life for Akutagawa’s (a life for a life— his reincarnation)

this would imitate irl Higuchi’s unfortunately short life— with her having died at only 25 years old. it also makes sense to give her such a powerful ability since irl Higuchi is such an important figure in japanese history— japan’s first professional woman writer of modern literature

now for a less likely, but fun theory…

i wonder if Higuchi’s sister has anything to do with her ability (in bsd she’s unnamed, but her irl sister’s name was Kuniko so that’s what we’ll call her)

according to Higuchi’s bungo episode, despite her literary genius, irl Higuchi was practically useless without her sister

Kuniko was the one who made what Higuchi did possible & kept things functional behind the scenes

so i think it’d be super interesting (& a cool irl reference) if Kuniko was involved in some way with Higuchi’s ability (i also just want to see more of her bc this sister duo is so cute :’))

bonus: when i watched this anime adaptation of Takekurabe, this was the ending scene & i wonder if it was harukawa’s inspiration for this official art 🥹

white lilies represent purity, & since they were off by the side of the road, they might have represented the character’s fleeting purity. white lilies are also used at funerals to represent a soul’s return to purity & its journey to the afterlife… which circles back to the reincarnation theme 👀

[therosebookshop]

An Unhealthy Obsession

͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Warnings/Contains: Dead dove? Yeah, dead dove; yandere, yandere, yandere; not cringy yandere, if you’re looking for yansim type yandere you will not find that here; stalking on both sides; mentally unwell on both sides yeah duh; gender neutral pronouns and reader as always; you’re aware you’re fucked in the head and why, but therapy is expensive; an ‘accidental’ murder; I hc sol to have a tongue piercing because god knows he should’ve had one, that creep from the arcade but this time bbg Sol is there to save you first <3

A/N: um hi I got sucked in by sol and for any followers sorry I’ve been absent I have ✨burnout✨ so

Inspo: a tumblr post and the title came from ‘An Unhealthy Obsession’ by The Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra

Yandere.

A mix of two words- yanderu, “to be sick,” and deredere, “lovestruck.” Most of the time, yandere are portrayed to be sweet, caring, and innocent before switching into someone who displays an extreme, often violent or psychotic, level of devotion to a love interest.

You know you have a problem. Something wrong in your brain, having developed from your childhood abandonment and neglect. The need to be loved turned into an obsession with a boy in kindergarten. You’d thought he would be perfect for you, because he seemed so sweet and caring. And well.. that girl you’d pushed into traffic one day after she’d given him a flower and they’d sat together at lunch had been an accident, of course. A horrible, tragic one.

Your obsessions had never been this bad. Of course, some of them had been over fictional characters. Some had been over real boys in school, but they had never returned your feelings. And you’d cried your heart out after the rejections. You simply didn’t understand why they didn’t love you. You’d stalk them to see what they liked, change your clothing and your personality and everything, just for them. To be their type.

But this obsession… had turned so bad.

He plagued your every thought. His gorgeous eyes, pretty hair, nice hands. His lips, his arms, how tall he was. Everything about him was so perfect. He was perfect. The fact that he didn’t seem to have many friends.. well, that was okay. When you finally got him as yours, he wouldn’t need anybody else. He’d have you.

You’d gained a reputation as a weird kid, one that had apparently followed you to your new college. There was a boy at the back of your class, who was nearly always accompanied by a boy who was about a head shorter, blue hair. You were jealous. But you weren’t stupid. No, you had to plan carefully to dispose of the boy.

Years. Painful years, of learning about the object of your obsession. You had a whole wall in your closet covered in Polaroids of Sol, each one neatly dated on the back in a green marker that matched the green in his hair. You had shoeboxes full of Polaroids of him, too, all of those neatly dated in legible handwriting and stacked by date. You followed him home once to set up a camera in his bedroom, complete with a mic, right near his bed to hear him sleep. You recorded it once, for if you ever needed the comforting sounds of your darling to sleep and he wasn’t available. Surprisingly, it was hard to learn anything about him just from searching his name- a lot of the kids here were from richer families, more popular families. So you simply stalked him, learned everything about him you could, and kept note of everything about him in a black hardcover notebook, kept on your person at all times.

Every little tick, nervous habit, anything. Noted. How his tongue prodded at hot food before taking a bite. The absolutely hot looking tongue piercing he had. The cute way he fiddled with his sleeves sometimes, or tapped his foot. When people were being annoying he rolled his eyes, or crossed his arms. He had a sibling-like relationship with his best friend, and you had a few pictures of his cute little pout when he was teased.

You learned from careful observation that he was in the nurse's office every other day, so you started to give yourself little injuries to be in the office too. A cut, a bruise, other injuries.

Little did you know he was obsessed with you too. You'd heard this town could be dangerous for pretty young women at night, but you hadn't ever had any issues. Because he followed you home every night. Why would you need a recording of him sleeping when he climbed into your room through your window and spooned you every night? He knew about all the Polaroids and everything. And it made him more obsessed, that you felt the same way about him.

You started to leave him little gifts- cute ones like a tiny bouquet of geranium blooms held together with twine placed on his desk (he knew about the flower box in your living room), a hoodie casually tossed over the back of his chair (it smelled like you and was oversized, so fit him well). Or bigger gifts- a horse plushie, snacks. All of them were from you, he knew they were. It was obvious, how you'd always be at your desk, which was just a couple away from his so you could inconspicuously look at him, before he was in the classroom. How you'd watch eagerly as he put the hoodie on, or slipped the snacks or plushie into his backpack to take home.

Then came the day in art class- three Expressionism drawings. You weren't an artist in any form (unless taking a lot of photographs of one person counted, and it probably didn't) and anyway, even if you were, you didn't want to spend a lengthy amount of time with anybody but Sol.

Everybody moved around to their partners, and you were the only one left without one. And, as your eyes fastened on Sol... he didn't have a partner, either.

You went over, sliding into the seat beside him. "You don't have a partner, right?"

You'd never spoken to him before. Not once. You'd heard his voice so much, but now, actually face-to-face with the object of your obsessions and sleepless nights, your heart was beating out of your chest.

"No. I don't. He ditched me." He said. And god, is his voice hot.

"Well, I don't either." You have to remind yourself to breathe, even though your knee is bobbing under the desk. "Want to be partners?"

His eyes don't miss the rapid, nervous movement of your knee bobbing, heel tapping against the floor. The corners of his lip twitch slightly. Adorable.

"I don't see why not." He says finally, eyes focusing on yours, and you have to remind yourself again to breathe. His eyes are so gorgeous. Like warm honey. You could fall into them and be trapped, like a fly in amber.

"Great." And the word comes out a little breathless, a little flustered. "I'm (user), by the way." You offer your hand to shake. "What's your name?" Like you don't already know it.

He stares at your hand for a minute, as if contemplating. Then he shakes your hand. "Solvian Brugmansia. Just call me Sol."

His hand is warm and bigger than yours, unsurprising because of his height. You can't help but grin. "Nice to meet you, Sol."

You talk a little, ideas of what to draw. He had a sketchbook open on his desk, and to see it without straining your neck, you scooted your chair over, leaning into his personal space bubble. But for such an introvert, he didn't seem to mind one bit.

He smells so good, you think. Comforting. Like paper and something akin to blood- an irony smell. And something under that, something so distinctly him you want to bury your face in his neck. You want to rest your head against him, maybe put your hand on his thigh for 'balance'. To touch him in some way.

He shifts, clears his throat, and when you glance up at him you realize his cheeks are flushed, and he looks down at you. You realize when you can see the faint blemishes on his face- oh so pretty- that you're very, very close.

You lean away, flustered and embarrased. You don't think you blush- he can see faint pink on your cheeks- but you do grin like an absolute idiot. You've learned this through playing dating games (a way to familiarize yourself with relationships, to be as good a partner as you possibly can for your future darling). You're not grinning as wide as if he had flustered you with his words, but you've still got a smile on your face.

And almost without thinking, his hand squishes your cheeks between his fingers to tilt your face up. You're so pretty, he thinks, those eyes never looking away from his, eyes that he could spend hours staring into. With the faint blush coloring your cheeks and the smile on your lips, you could be a perfect subject to draw.

"Stay like that for me." He murmured softly. "I'm going to draw you for this project."

Your lips parted, cheeks growing red, even if you couldn't feel their warmth. He opened up a page of his sketchbook, releasing your face to start sketching. He tells you how to pose- your chin on your palms, head tilted slightly. You watch him as he sketches, how focused he is, his lower lip caught with his teeth. Your eyes soften. He's gorgeous like this, pretty eyes occasionally flickering between the page and you.

Your eyes unfocus, simply staring at him. When he looks up his eyes lock with yours. He can practically see hearts in your eyes, adoration in your gaze. His cheeks turn red. You're adorable this way, oh-so-pretty. Stunning, really.

There's not enough time to finish the drawing within class, so while everybody files out he makes you stay there, finishing the sketch. When he's done he closes his sketchbook and stuffs it into his bag. "I'll show you when I color it in." He says as you grab your stuff and exit the classroom.

Out in the hallway, the two of you stand off to the side. "Since we're, um, gonna be partners, we should exchange numbers. To keep in touch and talk about projects and stuff." You add.

Please, please, please-

“Yeah. Here, put your number in.” He pulls out his phone and opens the contact app before handing it to you. You couldn't stop grinning as you typed in your number and handed his phone back. Your phone went off- a text from an unknown number, no doubt him.

You changed his contact nickname to 'Darling ♡ ' in your phone, grinning to yourself. You're so much shorter than him, he can easily see your phone screen, and he smiles to himself. He's added your contact name as 'Pumpkin'.

The obsession was so obvious.

Over the next few days of the project, the two of you ended up hanging out a lot. Usually at each other's apartment. You even went to the arcade with Sol while Hyugo went and saw a movie nearby.

It was really a cute arcade date, and you dressed as cute as possible that day- oversized sweater, baggy pants, oversized chunky boots that you sometimes lost your balance in... but it was fine, because you always had Sol to lean into for balance.

At the arcade, you played games together, laughing. Sol went to get more tokens and you insisted on sticking by his side. Somebody brushed past you, and in your horrible balanced fashion, you stumbled.

Sol caught you by the waist, steadying you. "Are you okay?"

He seemed to realize what he'd done and cleared his throat, moving his arm, but you stopped him, lacing your fingers with his, begging he wouldn't freak. His cheeks went bright red but he didn’t pull away, and you grinned to yourself as you went up to the counter with him, giving him a cute little side hug while he bought some more tokens. His cheeks were even redder now. It was adorable seeing him like this.

The cashier smiled at the two of you. "How long have you been a couple for?" You hastily released him. Sure, you knew that could be considered slightly romantic, but-

"Not long at all." His arm loops around your waist to tuck you into his side. Your face flushes a bright red. He looks down at you, noticing your blush, and his cheeks turn a pretty pink.

When you get more tokens you go to plushie machines. One of them has horse plushies. You give Sol, who's at a claw machine with plushies of your favorite animal in it, a quick look before going to the machine and putting in a token.

You're laser focused on it, cheering when you get the plushie. You don't even notice when an unfamiliar man comes up to you with a sleazy look, his two bodyguards in tow. He throws an arm around your waist, and you startle away from him, horse plushie clutched in your arms.

"Hey there, pretty. You alone?" He reeks of tobacco, and your nose wrinkles.

"No, I'm here with my boy-" You try to back up, but you bump into one of his bodyguards that blocks your way.

"What kind of boyfriend would leave a pretty thing like you all by yourself? C'mon, come with me, pet. I'll show you a good time." He starts to try to pull you away, but you stomp on his foot, hard, and run. Sol was nearby, he can protect you-

You collide right into Sol, and he keeps you from falling, eyes darting over your face with concern. "What's wrong, pumpkin?" The cute little pet name slips from his lips without him even realizing.

"This man- he grabbed me- he wanted me to go with him but I ran-" You're shaking, Sol can tell, the horse plushie still clutched in your arms. His eyes literally darken in anger, looking up and around for the man who dared to touch you without your permission.

I'm gonna kill him.

He gives you a hug, and you hug him back tightly, the horse plushie held in your hand, the bag of other prizes you two had collectively won bumping against your back as he held it in his hand. "It's okay, I'm here now."

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingering. You smell amazing. He should find out what scent you wear, so he can buy one for himself.

But he should focus on the situation at hand. He runs his fingers through your hair. "It's okay. Let's go, yeah?"

So you walk home with him, and he holds your hand, keeping you close. Your hands are cold, and he pauses, setting the bag down at your feet and holding your hand to his mouth. His cheeks redden as he kisses the back of your hands, and you blush too.

He's so pretty. And so, so close. His eyes lock with yours, and you see the same sort of adoration and obsession in his eyes that are often in yours when you look at him.

And it makes your breath catch. He feels the same way. That's what that look has to mean.

He holds your hand the rest of the way to your cozy little apartment and you invite him in. He accepts, of course, acting like he's never been inside your apartment- he knows it like the back of his hand.

And maybe you do kiss him that night. Maybe he stays over, cuddling in your bed with you. Maybe more happens. But you're his. And he's yours.

But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee—

[pawnshopbleus]

Guitar Lessons

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Concept of sitting on Joel’s lap while he teaches you how to play guitar. *insert the gif of Cynthia Erivo thinking with her eyes closed while her nails roam around her bald head*

Author's Note: Just a little something I had in my mind that I wanted to get out. I want to start writing for Joel a little bit more.

Life in Jackson was boring before you met him. Having been born and raised in the commune, these city walls were all you’d ever known, but the moment you saw Joel, it was as if you knew you were meant to be together. He drew you in like no one had done before. Getting to know him proved to be harder than you thought. Joel would spend most of his time at home or with his family.

One lucky day, you got paired up with him while on patrol and tried your hardest to charm him. It didn't work the first few times, but after months of pining after him, he agreed to go on a date with you. Joel was convinced that you would finally lose all feelings for him after you witnessed how grumpy and dull he could be, but the opposite happened. You fell for him even harder. He tried pushing you away, claiming he was too old for you. 

“Darlin, I ain’t what you need. I’m too old for you, too broken. You should be with someone closer to your age.” 

“Who are you to tell me what I need and don’t need?” you scoffed. 

He was taken aback by your comment. 

“I want you, Joel.” 

He finally gave in after that, and five years later, the two of you were still going strong.

It’s one of the warmer nights in Jackson. You and Joel are on the porch of the home that the two of you share. The porch light next to the door provides you with some light. The dim light envelops him and creates a soft glow around him. The summer breeze softly shakes the wind chimes and rustles the leaves on the trees. On nights like these, Joel loved to sit outside with a beer, his woman, and his guitar, plucking away. 

“When are you going to teach me how to play?” 

He looks up from his guitar, brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn.” 

“I just want to see what all the fuss is about. It seems easy,” you shrug. 

Joel chuckles and then beckons you towards him with a flick of his head. He pats his jean-clad thigh, and you take the hint, settling yourself on his lap. 

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice so deep that it makes you shudder. After five years together, you still can’t get enough of that deep baritone voice. 

His hand guides your own up and down the neck of the guitar. Your fingers brush the chords, playing an incoherent tune. 

“You want to make sure that your guitar is tuned before you start playing anything. Then, you can start. The easier chords are C, D, Am, G, E, and Em.” He guides your fingers to each string, helping you play. You feel like a puppet, and he, the puppet master. 

You didn’t care about learning the instrument or how to read music, or which chord comes before which. You were the least interested in music that didn’t come from the radio, but you loved watching and listening to Joel play. You loved how passionate he was about his chosen form of art. You loved how teaching people the guitar was his own little love language. 

You look up at Joel to find him staring right back at you. You don’t remember when he stopped playing, and you don’t remember how the two of you made it upstairs to the bedroom. What you do remember is the image of him on top of you and the feel of his hands roaming up and down your soft skin. Maybe you should get Joel to teach you how to play guitar more often.

[asxgard]

This is for Frank Langdon where the both of you guys are doctors in the hospital but in different departments. However after a long and busy day requiring the efforts of the entire hospital, in your guys make it home to your apartment and he accompany you in the shower for shower sex. Just to hold each other and be close after the long day

Slow | one shot

Dr. Frank Langdon x f!doctor!reader

Requested

Summary: It was a shift with all hands on deck. You’re thankful that at the end of it, Frank’s hands are all over you.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Frank was interesting to write for! I think I might have a series brewing…

Also I’m not confident in my smut work, so I apologize if it’s lacking but I hope you like, anon!

Word Count: 1.1k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, SMUT (MINORS DNI), p in v, unprotected sex (seriously, wrap it up), mild angst, mild fluff, hospital setting, Frank is divorced, drugs?? what drugs, car crash victims/injuries of children, canon-typical gore, pet names (prettyboy, sweetheart)

not beta read

It was not unheard of for you to be down in the ED — for a consult, to bring a patient up to the ICU, or even just when you had a few minutes to spare. That was how you had met Dr. Langdon, over a pediatric patient who was going to need intensive care after a car accident. You had been down there to help stabilize before bringing him to surgery, where he would then come to the Pediatric ICU for the remainder of his stay.

Frank had been a livewire when you first met him, freshly divorced and on a downward spiral. His overtime was working overtime so he did not have to return to his quiet apartment. You weren’t exactly sure when something between you two clicked — likely somewhere between resuscitating a drowned little girl and sitting on the stairs hours later after she had been moved upstairs.

Neither of you really gave it a name, and with his divorce only months behind him, you had not wanted to title it. You weren’t really even looking for anything at the time, so being patient was not hard. Even as the months ticked on, you were content with late nights spent at his or lazy weekends at yours. No real dates, or anything concrete, but it was good.

The ED was a flurry of movement, of calculated chaos, bursting at the seams when you stepped off the elevator. It was usually those moments you questioned Frank’s sanity, for being able to thrive under the pressure of it all.

A mass pileup during the worst summer storm in recent memory had pulled a significant amount of doctors down to the ED, you included. You had heard a school bus full of kids had been involved, which was where you were planning to focus your attention.

To your relief, most of them had only been minorly injured, only one with a possible tibia break after being thrown from his seat. You moved your attention to the other patients, assisting where you were needed and assessing the kids who had come in.

You moved to get a suture kit for a head wound, and Frank stepped beside you. You did what you could to keep whatever it was between you a secret, but at the end of the day, you worked upstairs and didn’t particularly care about the ED rumor mill.

“Still expecting a few more ambulances.” He told you, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Anything serious?”

He shrugged, “Possible broken bones, and a severe laceration, I think.”

It was not just a few broken bones and a severe laceration. It was several. Add in the few slip and falls, a finger amputation, and some severe head injuries that had not been diverted to other hospitals, and you were back in the swamp. The influx never seemed to end and it made you want to beg for the sweet relief of the Pediatric ICU.

By the time you were back upstairs rounding out your shift, you were exhausted. Caffeine did little to pick you up and you wondered how Frank had been able to do that every day. Especially as a resident working extra hours.

He found you in the parking garage, lips in a smirk like he knew something you didn’t. And it was in the expression in his eyes that you found you were craving something equally salty and sweet.

Good thing Frank was both.

Frank’s lips were on you before you were even through the threshold of your apartment, hot, hungry and wanting. It was easy to fall into him, hands going into his hair while he helped you discard your scrub bottoms.

He had you against the wall beside the door, hands exploring, though as you bit his lip, he slowed down. Fevered kisses turned languid, beginning to take his time, which was a change of pace for him.

“You wanted to shower?” He breathed against your lips, his blue eyes piercing into you and making your stomach warm.

“The amount of shower injuries you must’ve seen surely should deter you, no?”

He smirked, “You’re no inexperienced rider, and I’m a professional.”

A brow quirked at his confidence, but it buzzed in your chest, “Oh, so you’re a professional now, prettyboy?”

“Oh, you think I’m pretty?”

You barked out a laugh, grabbing hold of his scrub top and pulling him to your bathroom. Clothes were discarded on the way, and something settled when the warm water hit your skin. Soft and unspoken, but known and quiet.

He held you close, arms wrapped around you in what felt like a tender moment. After such a long day, it was nice. His hand on your cheek, dragging his tongue along your lower lip before slipping inside your mouth.

You hummed when his other hand slipped between your legs, working slow circles on your clit. Your heart picked up and you hooked a leg around his hips, steadying your weight on him. He accepted the invitation, pushing you up against the tiled wall.

Heat was licking up your stomach before he was even inside you, growing buzzed on his mouth and the feeling of his hands on your body.

He kissed along your cheekbone, whispering in your ear, “You want me, sweetheart? Hmm, here?”

His fingers moved to your opening, teasing the entrance.

You moaned, gripping onto his shoulders. You attempted to move your hips, trying to gain more friction, “Fuck, Frank, please.”

You felt his smirk and he moved his head to look at you again, his eyes holding you steady. He trailed his hand along the thigh hooked around his hip, tugging it up a bit higher to allow him access. He braced one hand against the wall and moved just enough to line himself up, thrusting just enough to gain entry.

A low groan exited his throat, and you clenched around him. He didn’t move, just pulled your body closer, kissing along your jaw. You held onto him, enjoying the languid moment, relishing just how close you felt to him like that. Not just physically, but in a way that made your heart ache.

You kissed his shoulder and up his neck, adjusting your hips to take him deeper. He moaned and rested his forehead against yours, before he started moving — keeping his pace slow and deliberate.

You came undone wrapped around him, and he held you through it, never letting up or changing his pace. No words needed to be exchanged, just the soft moans and his low grunts. When his hips stuttered with his own release, he panted into your neck, still not letting go of you.

He swallowed and pulled back, eyes flickering across your face before a soft smile graced his lips.

“So you think I’m pretty?”

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All Content taglist: @nixandtonic

that man is so pretty🥺

my requests are currently closed.

[backinmyphase]

For over three months. You have tried to kill the King of curses Sukuna for over three months.

Four months ago your father sold you to his palace. Sure, it hurt, but you didn't have time to be sad, you had to serve the King, had to live in the small room with the other servants. You had to start to be a good servant, because if you weren't it would mean your death.

And god, did you despise this man. This monster of a man.

You had always heard the gruesome tales of him, how he killed thousands of men, how he could slice kids with a blink of an eye, how he burned down villages just because. And the moment you saw him you knew they were all... True. Yeah, they were definitely true.

On your third day he had a meeting with some men from a nearby village. You had heard them talk about trying to make a contract with the king. How they were hoping to get treasures for some women of their village.

One hour later you were ordered to clean up the leftovers of their corpses.

Of course Sukuna didn't care what servant cleaned up what, he just ordered whoever for whatever. You were sure he didn't know who you were. Still he looked at you like an ant as you sat in that pile of blood cleaning.

You felt rage, rage you had never felt before.

The same evening you decided you wanted to kill the man. You wanted to bring him down, show him his own mortality, he had so obviously forgotten. You wished, you could say it was for a noble reason, but it really wasn't. It wasn't for his victims, for the men you had to clean up.

It was purely because of your pride. Because you couldn't stand the way you had to bow before him.

You spent two weeks drawing a map of the palace, noting the schedule of the king, when he held meetings, when he dined etc. But it wasn't always completely clear, since he loved to go out and most likely terrorize people.

But after all you gathered all the information you could in these two weeks. You used your low place and profile in the palace to plot the death of the King of Curses.

At night you went out on the west side of the palace, the guards there fall as after 2 am, to run into anyone, any warrior who could take advantage of your information. Of course you didn't yell out 'Who can kill the King of Curses for me?', you did value your life. But you did know in which valleys you would find some shady figures who couldn't wait to get the information that you had. The deal was simple.

Your information for the life of the king.

There was a rather shady figure you found. You could never forget his sinister smile as he heard your request, he was no one you liked. But that didn't matter in this business.

So when you returned to the castle you had no other choice but to wait. Wait for Sukuna to fall.

One day passed. Two days passed. Three days passed. Nothing happened.

You thought the assassin had probably gotten cold feet or maybe just dipped with your information. But no that wasn't the case. There was a bad feeling in your chest which just wouldn't leave.

Till the fourth day.

That day Uruame asked for your Name. And as you gave it to them they just told you to go see the Lord.

With shaky legs you made your way to his chambers. And as you stepped in, the big man seemed to look at you for the first time.

"You wished for my presence?" you bowed before him. Unfortunately you had to.

He didn't answer, but you could feel his lingering gaze on you. Could feel him smirk. "Interesting." He only mumbled. "You are way more calm than I expected."

He let you leave after that. On the same morning you had seen other servants clean up a corpse in the garden. A corpse of a man who seemed to have been tortured. A man familiar.

The same day Uraume moved you into a big room.

"Your own chambers." They just said and left.

That was your first attempt to kill him. That was over three months ago.

Since then you had tried various things to get Sukuna to choke, both hypothetically and literally. Hired many sorcerers, tried to sabotage his thron, heck you even tried to poison him. But that bastard lived every time.

And you weren't even pissed because you failed, oh no. You were pissed because he knew you were trying to kill him and he got a kick out of it.

He had made you in charge of bringing him his food as if to challenge you. Smirked at you every time he ate.

And after every single attempt something new spawned inside of your chambers. Jewelry, clothes, a bigger chamber, food. Nothing could surprise you anymore.

You were the only servant with their own chambers, the only one in the whole palace besides Uraume he called by their name.

For other three months you were trying to kill the King of curses Sukuna.

And for over three months he had finally gotten excitement in his palace.

[butterflydm]

WoT 3x08 - additional thoughts

Random collection of thoughts after I tried to go to sleep and then proceeded to not fall asleep. Spoilers for all of s3 including 3x08 and for the whole series through A Memory of Light.

Mostly thinking about knock-on effects.

Egwene. Siuan's death. Egwene and how Siuan's death affects her storyline.

I noted in my 3x06 thoughts that Egwene is specifically devoting herself "to the Light" as opposed to any specific other allegiance, and I think I see how Siuan dying here matches that shift in focus. Egwene's loyalty is not to Rand. Egwene's loyalty is not to the Wise Ones. Egwene's loyalty is not to the White Tower. It is to the Light.

The show has been pretty consistent in sending Egwene down this road. She doesn't feel instantly "at home" at the White Tower the way that book!Egwene did. She doesn't embrace ji'e'toh the way that book!Egwene did. She has chosen a very specific duty and plans to follow it. I do wish we'd had some more insight into Egwene during that middle run of episodes (cutting a bit of time from Liandrin's backstory in 3x03, in particular, would have been fine, I think, especially since Liandrin is gonna be sticking around for a while longer) because I do think what she had going on was a bit too subtle, but it comes out strongly in both 3x01 and the ending of 3x08, where Egwene was there as a firm contrast to everyone else around her, who were embracing Rand as a figure of prophecy.

There's an ironic contrast. Which is... Egwene actually is being what Lanfear pretends to be, I would say.

Because Lanfear tries to sell Rand on the idea in their scene together that she was the one person in all the world who didn't ~bow~ to him and that's why he broke it off with her, but he's seen her for who she is and he knows that it isn't true. Just like he was able to see the truth about himself back in 2x08 and confidently tell Ishamael that he had never chosen the Shadow and never would. It's not because she refused to bow to him. It's because she's jealous, and petty, and cruel. That's why LTT broke up with her, and that's why Rand doesn't want her either, now that he knows the truth about her.

(also, did Aviendha kinda confirm that she was low-key listening in on Egwene and Rand's fight in 3x06? That or Egwene went around telling everyone about Rand sleeping with Lanfear, which I guess is also possible)

The Randgwene stuff in general has been the most frustrating/weakest element of the season for me, overall, but I will see how I feel about it when I rewatch. I do think... I do think I have a thread of a thought about the reasoning behind why it was written the way that it was but I want to poke at it some more.

I am interested in the show having Moiraine (I think) quoting that specific prophecy about the Dragon Reborn at the end of the season -- about how the heart of stone needs to remember tears and the soul of fire needs to remember love. Because Moiraine is the person who was trying to get him to distance himself from the people he cares about, yet some part of her is aware that the Dragon Reborn needs to be capable of tears and of love. So there's a tension there.

It does feel like we've set up pretty strongly for s4 (fingers crossed) to start in Tear - with Couladin trying to take the Stone, and Team Waste coming from the land while Team Tanchico comes from the sea. And potentially Moggy and Liandrin waiting in Tear to try to collar Rand as he goes for Callandor? Or maybe Lanfear and Rahvin will be trying to trap Rand?

And with Elayne aware that a Forsaken is messing with Andor, it feels fairly natural to have Andor be the focus of the end of s4. But there is also the possibility that they might do Dumai's Wells at the end of s4. That feels too early for me, but this show surprises me a lot, so it is entirely possible.

I am startled that (apparently) some reviewers apparently thought that the ending of the season implied no time-skip between s3 & s4, because it seemed very much set up for a time-skip to me, especially with Team Tanchico already in travel mode. tbh, that note from reviewer(s) was one of the things that made me think that Siuan wouldn't die!

But a time-skip lets Elaida settle into power as the new Amyrlin; it lets Team Tanchico get to their next destination (hopefully Tear); it lets Rand settle into power as the Car'a'carn, etc.

Overall this season, the villains have been shown to be a real and true threat to our heroes, with genuine costs enacted by their schemes. Perrin is imprisoned by the Whitecloaks and facing a trial that the viewers have no reason to believe will be fair and just. Loial and Siuan are dead. Rand got a large portion of the Aiel to follow him, but there's been the split in their forces and we have to deal with Couladin. Liandrin and Moghedien have the full male a'dam and want to use it to cage Rand. Lanfear was temporarily driven away but is still at large and now has no reason to go easy on Rand. The villains are much better at being villains in the show than they were in the books.

It looks like Siuan's speech genuinely shakes Elaida, but then Alviarin swiftly acts to try to prevent Elaida from actually reflecting and thinking on her choices, and kills Siuan. I am uncertain how suspicious her actions would be to show-only viewers and if they would clock her as a potential Darkfriend from what she does here.

[nquesoxlies]

https://www.tumblr.com/nquesoxlies/780567152604463104/let-people-be-upset-about-their-favorite?source=share

tbh there's also something a loooot of ppl need to learn calling "setting realistic expectations." i personally wouldn't want eddie back without an on-screen conversation between him and CHRIS about what CHRIS wants, otherwise his entire plot in texas would feel kinda moot with a throwaway "yeah chris is fine with coming back to LA :)" since this plot was big enough for eddie to drop everything to go finally make things right with his son. i didn't expect for him to show up for the two-parter. meanwhile, everyone i saw who was momentarily disappointed bc no tommy was like "ah well, we know we're almost definitely getting him next episode bc of leaks" and went on to enjoy the episode as a whole

its genuinely fine to go "aw no eddie? :(" its Not fine to review bomb an episode and repeatedly bitch about the director not putting ur favorite man in the episode when it makes 0 sense for him to come back so quickly and without showing us that he IS still working on being a better dad to chris. hell, go write fanfic about it where eddie IS back instead of review bombing!!! that's probably a way more fun use of time than review bombing!!!

honestly, these fans make me dislike eddie more and more ngl which isn't even the actor or the writers faults at all. if he leaves the show then it's not going to impact me that much unless his ending is fully unsatisfying, and that'll be more of a "cmon, writers, you knew this was where this was going, do better." i have never watched the show only for eddie like these people have. came into the show expecting to love madney + henren and ended up very emotionally invested in bathena while enjoying buck and eddie as well. i'm on the same page as a lot of ppl who have been here longer than i have been: we love the entire show rather than just eddie. honestly, i think half of these people don't even like buck. i already know most of them don't give a shit about the rest of the show from insulting ravi over him distracting buck with tommy to turning josh into the "number 1 b*ddie cheerleader" to ignoring henren unless they can use them as a "gotcha!!! you don't actually care about queer rep!!!" like.

@ BoBs: do YOU? because every time there's queer rep that threatens ur fanon ship, u actively get homophobic about it down to, what, 600? of you PROUDLY admitting you would commit a hate crime to make your stupid ship canon--including both real men and fictional characters like josh and tommy in your "i'd hate crime for them teehee!" bullshit.

idk queso its just wild to me how often i also see the "eddie diaz pretty pretty princess who wants to paint his nails!!!" like. painting ur nails isnt gendered, the fuck? BoBs see anyone gender non-conforming and goes "wow, inherent sign of queerness, i am very smart :)" while feeding directly into toxic masculinity with the idea that if you don't adhere strictly to what's deemed masculine, then clearly you're queer. even if you say you're straight and know you're attracted to women and only women, you're gay because you (checks notes) have emotions and cry over your friends and did ballroom dancing when you were younger.

anyway if im being petty then i kinda hope that eddie leaves to focus fully on chris and making a life for the two of them in el paso and ravi takes his place on the team so that we get indian rep permanently on the show for a bit! i think he could bring some new life into the team (regardless of whether the show goes on for one season or more) and it'd be nice to see buck in a mentor position to him. plus i'd love to see his dynamic with the rest of the team <3 i am still available to play his love interest who is there for a single episode before being relegated to one-off mentions <3 /hj

Yes to alllllll of this, Annie!!!

What's ironic to me, based on something you mentioned, is the nail painting. They want sooooo hard for RG to actually be gay yet an actor who does paint his nails (for self-harm reasons) they call a slur and tell him to die.

Like???? Wtf are we doing???

(I know your ask is about the characters but that shit will always rub me the wrong way about Ryan stans)